#hope its ok to publish

[vegance]

So I’m p sure you do this to promote education and to stop misinformation, but why do you engage with anti-vegan shithead carnists like sebbiesheepie, agro-carnist or dairyisntscary? I’ve tried in the past, especially for the above listed reasons but I’m found that engagement with them is less productive than talking to a wall and usually it comes with harassment and death threats sent to me from their fans. I guess, why would you subject yourself to such idiocy on their part? Also wanna give a shout out of a big “FUCK YOU” to these anti-vegan blogs and others like them 🥰

I guess as a follow up to what I just sent. What I mean to say is IMHO it’s a waste of time to spend on those cretins, and your mental and emotional well-being far outweigh their smooth brains. ❤️ 2/2

honestly i struggle with this, and i'm not sure i've found the best way to do it yet. but like you said, its to put some real information in a sea of lies and misinformation. i definitely don't think i will change their mind, some of them are definite trolls and the other ones...

but i do think its important to spread information where there is misinformation. its not for the person spreading the lies, its for the "audience". maybe some person lurking on here is going to scroll through the notes and see my reblog and look through it, see if my arguments and sources are more compelling. and that's why i do it.

i try to make some rules, i wont (generally) engage with a post that has very few notes (no point), and i wont engage with straight up trolls. but right now i feel like its important to be a counter voice to that i guess? i don't always follow my own rules, and i should do that more though :D

but also like...it doesn't super drain me atm? i have a bunch of resources that i kind of just copy, and i like scientific research (writing a paper on climate change and veganism for uni rn). and i want to help vegans find ways to argue against these things, to have resources and facts to use when they encounter such arguments. actually thinking of maybe making a quick resource post (though @acti-veg has so many resources, not sure it is necessary haha)

and i honestly could not care less about the anons lol. ignore and delete.

but thank you for pointing it out, this is definitely something i'm still figuring out, and i always appreciate input/counterarguments on this issue!!

#content #this is also my sideblog so i cant really talk to people in comments #which would be one way of doing activism without promoting their stuff i guess #ask #hope its ok to publish #i always publish unless ppl tell me they wanted it anon?? #but maybe others can give me advice #probably going to take a step back from reblogging straight from the most blatant liars out there #the ignorance and stupidity is honestly hard to bear #and i want to find other ways of making vegan #that helps vegans stay vegan and tries to deal with everyday problems #but i have no idea how to do that on here #and i hate all other social media #also i love ur blog

[charmac]

DomBottom x SubTop

Yup, Mac actually fucks Dennis

#macdennis #sugar daddy au #pretend dennis isnt supposed to be like 22 in that scene #i didnt wanna use a photo of glenn ooc lol #mac baby... #enjoy guys pls enjoy i hope its good tell me im good #this one im nervous about for like quality idk #rahhhh ok whatever its published #let me go die now

[waterwindow]

u-um please enjoy my humble jump movie

#im bad at video editing #the lady at the end isn't me obvs #pls be nice to me this is my first time publishing something like this where a lotta people might see it hhhh #its mostly sync clips cause pogo clips tend to be long and boring #i hope the sound comes out ok #video #in game #tf2 #enjoy royalty free piano music

[soracities]

Hello, I've noticed you often tag things with "idir lúibíní" and I'm curious about why. I looked it up and it seems to be from a poem?

yes! it's from a poem we had to study for school in irish which translates to "My Love (in brackets)" ("Mo Ghrá-sa (idir lúibíní)") and honestly it just popped into my head when i was trying to come up with a new tag for all my rambling personal posts (it used to be #shut up mim lol)--it just seemed fitting bc so much of what i say are tangents gleefully put in brackets (and the irish for it sounds so lovely)!!

#hope its ok to publish this ive been getting a lot of asks about this one recently so in case others were wondering! #ask #cyborg-empress

[egberts]

if you answer a deleted ask that's Not anonymous does the person who sent it still get notified that it was answered? (assuming they're not deactivated by now ofc)

actually that's a good point, it seems like the only ones that show up are anonymous! i wonder what that's about

#dont usually publish asks that arent anon so i hope its ok to publish this but it adds to the mystery #pallasinine

[candiid-caniine]

I second the last ask, I'm a switch and both sides are ones I always used to feel very self conscious about, especially the sub side and you've really made me feel less weird and uncomfortable so ty, Bug 🪲🐛! -jjba anon

im so glad my friend <3 im so proud of us. we r out here in 2024 being queer and kinky and pathetic and dominant, finding community and refusing to be caged (unless we want to be c; )

it's fucking hard to come to terms w being submissive sometimes. esp when it comes to the severe manner i have to protect myself - being militant abt boundary transgressions and blocking ppl, even tho my core is like "submit to the meanie" makes me feel all kinds of weird inside.

but good on us; 2024. we bark.

#jjba anon #gen #praise tag #btw my friend i saw ur other ask re: religion stuff #i see u i hear u i love u i believe in u #i hope its ok that i didnt post it #it just felt v personal #but i saw it and i hear u and i love u #and im proud of u #and feel free to message or just vent on anon n tell me not to publish it #<3 #asks #positivity

[speltfields]

I don't know much about Genshin but my friends love it so I've been TRYING to get into it, and that SPECIFIC version of Dottore makes me...it scratches my brain so good...hurrrg.....

okay so to be quite honest with you. that version of him isnt even in the game.... hes still evil and fucked up but they yassified him

and tbh when i saw this design at first i was like 😐🙄what EVERR

but then i noticed an important detail

🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

so anyway i started playing the game again.

but like the game itself is kind of *eyeroll* a lot and tbh the writing is not the best but theres like. 4 characters that keep me coming back. like literally i wish i could quit you. and i do feel the combat is fun /at times/ but thats my autism causing me to want to minmax combat and it gets very grindy so like it is NOT for everyone.... so anyways you could always just read the webtoon [<-i havent even done that yet lol but maybe soon] where that version of him is to dip ur toes.....i do like him a lot unforchunatally........😜

#anywayS... medical men in masks am i right..... #i can never in good consciense recommend this game to anyone because im morally against gachas but dottore is so [sweats profusely and #shamelessly even] #also publishing this ask publically to share my thots on the matter with the world i hope that is ok. #genshin impact #also oh god the game is so LONG like its going to take you forever to actually. meet him. it would take actual dedication.

[quixoticrobotic]

Just wanted to say your icon shot me back to 2011 when I watched Princess Tutu (with my parents for some reason??). Fakir was the gender envy blueprint for real.

fakir is such a good source of gender envy is the thing. like his design is good and knights and swords and stuff are cool and awesome

meanwhile i was over here looking at this fucked up kooky ghost man who lives in steampunk clock hell and i was like "idk what this is but i want it"

my discord icon is actually concept art where drosselmeyer is a silly little jester

i remember when i first watched this show i would get home from school and excitedly check to see if netflix had mailed in the next dvd and remembering that makes me feel 1000000000 years old lmfao

#words to people #postmodern-galadriel #i hope its ok to publish this #sometimes i wanna change my icon to like. a more hip and trendy character. but princess tutus artstyle is so nice i love itttt

[nynehells]

A mario for your troubles?

Mario received‼

#i hope its ok that i publish this it made me smile haha #asks #tai replies #the scungles of crungles #thank u

[faehrys]

.

#anons i definitely agree but i kinda dont wanna fuel the fire again so i hope its ok that im not publishing

[penny-anna]

you do not have to like fanfiction. if you think fanfiction is cringy & annoying you can just Say That. but any attempt to argue that fanfiction is inherently inferior to other types of writing falls apart under scrutiny.

'most fanfiction is badly written' sturgeon's law is an adage that states '90% of everything is crap'. this was first coined in defence of science fiction, a genre often maligned as inherently inferior to 'real literature' (sound familiar??)

'oh but most fanfiction is worse than published fiction' yes; this is because pro published books go through a heavy selection and editorial process before the public see them. when it comes to quality of writing you are not comparing like to like. the appropriate 1:1 comparison would be fanfiction & amateur original fiction.

i have hung out in multiple online writing spaces & in 'anyone welcome' RL writing groups and can say with reasonable confidence that most original fiction getting produced is just plain mediocre. there's so so much bad original fiction being produced every day. u just never see it.

'you have to wade through so much garbage to find anything worth reading' you ever hear like. a fiction magazine editor describe what their slush pile experience is like??

'ok but fanfiction is bad because it lacks originality, it's better to come up with your own story & ideas' nobody actually thinks this!! people trot this out about fanfiction but like pro published literature is full of retellings of public domain stories and no-one ever argues that they're inherently worse or less creative than works with original plots.

the dividing line between fanfiction & 'original' fiction generally isn't actually originality, it's whether or not it's transformative of a text that's currently under copyright. & i would hope it's self-evident that the copyright status of the text a work is transforming shouldn't have any bearing on its literary merit. why on earth would it??

'but most fanfiction is trope-y and formulaic' yes this is true and yes i do think there's an argument to be made that a work of fiction that's interchangeable with thousands of other works of fiction is lacking in 'literary merit'.

however this is also true of a lot of pro published literature. whole swathes of genres like eg crime & romance exist to give readers the same experience over and over again. are these books bad? maybe! does their existence mean the entire genre they belong to should be written off? obviously no.

'but fanfiction is all about shipping' yeah a lot of fanfiction belongs to the romance & erotica genres. you do not have to like this. but disparagement of romance as a genre has its roots in the fact that it's mainly written & enjoyed by women. its just sexism lads. :(

'fanfiction encourages bad habits in writers' there's some merit to this argument IMO (that's a different rant) but see above re:90% of everything is crap; the presence of bad writing in a genre doesn't mean that the whole genre should be written off.

'what so you think fanfiction is as good as *insert classic novel here*' nobody is saying this; if you see someone arguing that fanfiction is real writing and jump to 'this person thinks MCU coffee shop AUs are culturally significant works of literature', to be blunt, that is a you problem.

'fanfiction just isn't real literature' ok so fiction divides into 'real literature' and 'not real literature'. got it.

[ID: screencap of a tumblr post by user theislandofmisfittoys:

Okay… nice dichotomy, IDIOT ‼ what lies  outside it???]

(OP)

#i realise i am preaching to the choir but i wrote this out so u guys have to read it

[impala-dreamer]

Tell me a story about reader trying to hide something from Spencer Reid (fluffish)

A Not-So-Secret Secret

Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Fluff and Secrets and Pregnancy Revelations

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

It was like trying to play tag with God. You took a step, and he followed. You turned a corner, and he was there waiting. It was fucking impossible. He seemed to be everywhere at the same time; his light brown eyes forever following you around, detailing and documenting every odd move and every evasive answer. It almost made you feel sorry for the serial killers he interviewed and every suspect he’d been in contact with.  

Almost. 

While you were becoming increasingly infuriated with his passive observational skills, you were still determined to keep it all a secret. Soon, you would make your little announcement, apologize for being so moody the last few weeks, and give an excuse for all the seemingly random running out of rooms you’d been doing in the early mornings. Soon, you’d sit him down and spill the beans; pray that he’d be OK with it all. Soon. But trekking through the damp woods of Vermont while looking for an UnSub was neither the time nor the place. 

Even though he was a few yards ahead, you could somehow still feel him watching you. It was as if he had eyes behind his head, or, at the very least, a bit of ESP that transcended the physical limitations of the human body and let him watch you no matter where he was. The internal workings of his mind were surely a sight to see. Maybe someday, you mused, you’d put him in an MRI machine and map his genius in real-time. 

Fallen branches snapped under your boots and the fog chilled your bones. The FBI windbreaker you’d grabbed instead of your usual wool coat was not enough to stave off the dampness. Pausing for a moment, you cupped your hands and breathed into them, hoping to take the frozen sting off of your fingertips.

Spencer heard your footsteps stop and spun around instantly. 

“Are you OK?” His voice was low but his concern carried easily through the trees.

A deep breath squared your shoulders and you prepared to resume your hike. “Absolutely,” you replied with a wink and a smile. 

He knew you were lying. He always knew. What he didn’t know, you hoped, was why. 

To your left, the heavy flapping of wings caught your ear, and you turned to see a large black bird taking flight. You followed it upwards, watching its impressive wingspan darken the sky as it ascended. As it faded into the gray sky, a line of smoke appeared about half a mile away. A chimney. The scent of burning logs floated by on a cold breeze and the smell turned your stomach. Quickly, you dropped your face into your hand, desperate to hide your gag. 

Spencer was a foot away when you straightened back up. His eyes were narrowed, his lips drawn into a tight pink line. He let his hand hover over your shoulder, unsure if you’d allow it to land. 

“Y/N-” 

Clearing your throat, you brushed him off with a reassuring but fake smile. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” 

Damnit. “Spencer, if I say I’m fine, I’m fine.” You crossed your arms and tried to stand your ground but another wave of nausea struck you. The wretch clicked in the back of your throat and you swallowed it down, hard. “Let’s go,” you insisted. “I’m freezing.” 

He sighed. “I told you to wear a sweater.” His hand fell lovingly on your shoulder. “You know, the weather in this area this time of year can-”

You cut him off harshly. “I do not need a lesson on the weather patterns of New England, Spencer!” 

He flinched at your tone and slowly curled his fingers as he lifted his hand away. He frowned and nodded thoughtfully. “Sorry.” 

Your heart sank and you cursed every wayward hormone and chemical in your body. “No.” You shook your head and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just…” Moody and terrified. Starving yet nauseated; freezing yet sweating… “I’m cold and I wanna get back to the hotel. This is getting us nowhere.” Did I mention I’m gonna throw up if I have to keep smelling that fire? “Let’s just hurry up and do what we came to do so I can go home. OK?” Also, my feet hurt and I’m a little dizzy.

He studied your face for a long moment and then nodded. “Let’s just go. We’re only a mile from the car and I doubt we’ll get much further before you pass out.” 

His words flowed in one ear and out the other before spinning around and slapping you in the face. You jolted. 

“Uh, what?” 

“You’re shaking and you’ve gone a little pale.” His hand returned to your shoulder. The weight was reassuring but his words had you on edge. 

Do you know? You stared up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I said I’m fine.”

His other hand pressed gently against your cheek and you melted into the comforting warmth. “You should probably eat something too. I have saltines and water in the car. It’ll settle your stomach.” 

Son of a bitch. “Not hungry,” you fibbed, “but thanks.” 

A gurgle from your stomach told otherwise and you gave up. Tiny tears welled in your eyes and you sank into yourself a bit. Busted. Found out. Betrayed by your own gut. 

Spencer smiled sweetly. “You know I know, right?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Well, I do now.” 

He pulled you close and kissed the top of your head. Wrapping your arms around him, you settled your head over his heart. 

“When were you going to tell me?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, when my water broke?”

He laughed. It vibrated through him. “Why were you afraid to tell me?” 

With a sigh, you pushed away to look up at him. He was handsome and messy and you wanted to punch him in his stupid perfect face for being so smart. “I wasn’t afraid, I just… wanted to… I don’t know, I mean, we never talked about kids or anything but-” 

He stopped your ramble with a kiss and held your face gently in his hands. “It’s a good surprise,” he whispered. “We’ll figure it out, OK?” 

His smile was honest and you relaxed. “OK.” 

“Good.” 

“But seriously, I need to eat something or I’m going to puke all over you.” 

The walk back to the car was somehow easier. Perhaps it was the relief of not having to hide anymore, or maybe the prospect of crackers ahead. Either way, it felt as if you were floating over the dead leaves. 

“I did hide it pretty well though, didn’t I?” 

He laughed under his breath at your query. “Yeah. Pretty good.” 

Who’s lying now?

“When did you figure it out?” 

Spencer pushed his glasses up a bit and looked off towards the big black SUV waiting at the edge of the forest. 

“Few weeks ago,” he admitted. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “You left the pregnancy test on the sink.” 

Son of a bitch…

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #fluff #drabble #tell me about

[monstersandmaw]

Male fox spirit x female reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Commission #4 in the list of 5! Thank you for trusting me with your prompt:  female reader saves a dying fox on her way home from work, who turns out to be a fox spirit. I hope you like it!

Contents:  Fox suffers a spinal injury when hit by a car (not the reader’s); there’s some magic; some domestic fluff; oral sex, fingering, him coming on her; and a sweet, fluffy ending.

Wordcount: 4400

Driving rain greeted you full in the face as you shoved open the main doors of the building and burrowed down into your coat, drawing the hood tight around your head in a vain attempt to keep the weather out. Nights like this — cold, damp, and at the tail end of winter before Spring took a proper hold on the land — were truly miserable.

Your fingers were half frozen by the time you had fumbled the keys out of your pocket and clambered into your car, and you fired the old thing up with a hopeful grimace that it would start. It coughed to life and you uttered a little prayer of thanks to whichever gods or spirits out there might be listening. “Now if only you could do something about my pathetic love life as well,” you said to yourself as you reversed out of the parking space and headed towards the main road. “Wouldn’t that be perfect?”

Half an hour outside of town, your headlights flashed over something lying on the side of the road, sprawled halfway across the white line, and you swerved instinctively to avoid it. Mercifully there was nothing coming in the other direction, or you’d have caused a serious accident. Adrenaline spiked through you and you slammed on the brakes.

The flash of golden-red you’d glimpsed had told you it was a fox, but it had had its head raised and it had been looking at you with its eyes flaring yellow in the headlights, but the expression on its face had struck you to the core. It had looked… resigned. Like it knew you were going to hit it. Like it knew it was going to die.

“No,” you said through gritted teeth.

You had some old work gloves in the back of the car from when you’d taken a load of stuff from the garden to the dump a week before, so you put your hazards on and slid out of the driver’s side door and into the worsening storm. You cursed softly, squinting amid the stinging rain as it struck your face like little iron nails in the gusty night. You cleared a space in the trunk for the fox, spreading an old picnic blanket out and grabbing those thick leather gloves. No need to get rabies if the thing bit you before you could get it to an animal clinic in the morning.

You knew it was a stupid thing to do, that cars hit wildlife all the time, and you really weren’t equipped to deal with it, but you couldn’t just leave it there when it had looked so sad; black ears drooping, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

Making your way along the edge of the deserted road with only your phone torch to light the way, you found the spot where the fox was still lying on the asphalt, and crooned softly to it. “Hey there,” you said, feeling a bit silly. “It’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s alright. Let me help you out… Let me take you home and see if I can take you to a vet in the morning…”

When your light found its back legs though, your heart sank. They lay limp and slightly twisted to one side. Its back had been broken by the impact with a vehicle.

“Oh baby,” you said, fighting sudden tears. “It’s going to be ok…” you lied.

Was it like with humans? Should it not be moved with a spinal injury? It would probably die anyway, or they’d recommend putting it down. You could at least take it in and keep it warm for its last few hours. When you knelt nearby, it just laid its cheek down on the cold tarmac, defeated, and let out a long, broken whimper.

“I’m going to pick you up, ok? Please don’t bite me. God, this is such a stupid thing to do…”

The fox licked its shiny black nose and just blinked slowly at you.

When it made no move to attack you or snap at you when you got nearer, you scooped it up and marvelled at how light it felt in your arms, its lovely, russet fur damp and matted.

“There,” you said, cradling it in your arms as you carried it back to your car. ‘Him’, not ‘it’, you saw when you set him down on the blanket and stroked his head and neck. He murmured softly, the sound almost a purr, and you swallowed thickly. He was so weak, you wondered if he’d even survive the journey home.

Five cars overtook you as you drove on after that, all beeping and honking their horns and flashing their lights to get you to go faster, but you absolutely would not be bullied into making this last car ride hell for the little, injured fox.

It didn’t take very long to set up a cosy den of blankets and towels in the kitchen by the radiator, and when you were satisfied that it was as comfortable as you could make it — and that any mess would be contained in an area with tile floors — you went back for him. He was still lying on his side, exactly as you’d left him, but his eyes seemed brighter and more focused, and his ears pricked up when you opened the trunk up and gazed down at him.

“Alright?” you asked and he gave a soft snuffle that was half-sneeze and half-chuckle. “You’re awfully perky for someone who’s just gone head-to-head with fast-moving traffic, buddy,” you smiled. “Maybe you will be alright. Ready to go inside?”

You had your gloves on but it didn’t feel like you really needed them, and when you settled him down on the veritable blanket fort inside, he heaved a great sigh and nuzzled his cheek against the fabric with a rumbling moan of contentment.

“You hungry?” you asked. “I don’t have much that’s fox-friendly, but I think there’s some ham in the fridge. Let me check.”

You offered him a saucer of water first, holding his delicate head up as he lapped steadily at it until he’d had his fill, and then you fed him little slivers of cooked ham which he took from your fingers like an absolute gentleman. “Aren't you dainty,” you chuckled as his small, sharp teeth pulled the next piece carefully free of your gloved hand.

He fixed you with such a flat, patronising look that you had to laugh.

The fox flicked an ear and looked away.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you said in a baby voice. “Don’t be grumpy with me, you precious thing… Here, have some more…”

He sneezed, then looked back at you and opened his mouth, head tipped back like a baby bird awaiting a worm.

“You’re not going to take it? You want me to feed you?”

He just stared at you without moving.

“Fine, your highness,” you said. “Anything for you.”

You let the piece drop into his tilted jaws, and then chucked him affectionately under the chin with your finger after he’d chewed and swallowed it.

He caught the leather of the glove’s fingertip in his teeth in a move that was so fast you didn’t even see it, but then tugged gently, insistently.

“I’m not taking this off,” you frowned. “You could have rabies for all I know.”

A tiny, rattling growl, like the world’s tiniest chainsaw, rumbled out of him and he folded his ears back indignantly before pulling on the glove again. Then he let go, his ears pricked about as far forward as he could get them, and he stared expectantly at you.

“No way, friend,” you said, and stood to put the empty ham packet in the rubbish bin.

With your back to the kitchen window, a golden light flooded the room, and for a wild moment, you thought someone was driving straight at the house, headlights blazing. When you whipped around though, you froze. The light was coming from… from the fox.

“The fuck…?”

Your heartbeat started to race, and you weren’t sure if the ringing sound was coming from your own blood pounding in your ears or from something else in the room. The brightness reached such an intense crescendo that you had to look away, shielding your eyes with the crook of your arm until the chiming noise stopped and you lowered it cautiously back down, blinking.

There, standing in the centre of the room, was a man.

You took a step back, fear crashing in on your senses.

You looked around for something you could use as a weapon, but a warm, gentle voice said, “Wait, I won’t hurt you. I swear it.”

Again, you went still, and after taking a steadying breath, you turned to face him again, wide eyed and shaking. “What the hell?”

“Not hell,” he smiled, and you saw that he had warm, tan skin and dark, golden eyes. His hair was a russet colour, and it fell in soft waves around his ears to the nape of his neck. He was slender, not especially tall, and he was quite possibly the most beautiful human being you’d ever laid eyes on. Except… there was still a kind of glow around him, like an aura, and his clothes looked like they belonged at a Ren Faire or something, though the dark green, belted and embroidered tunic was finely tailored and his dark brown boots looked soft and well worn. Tiny points of light, like fireflies, twisted slowly through the air surrounding him before vanishing into a miniature, glittering starburst.

“You’re not human,” you said, despite how crazy it sounded.

“No,” the man replied with a smile. “No, I’m not. But you didn’t know that when you took in an injured fox and cared for him.”

“You’re the fox,” you blurted without thinking.

“I am. Sort of,” he smiled, and you saw that he had perfect, white teeth, with slightly more pointed canines than humans usually did. “I’m a fox spirit. There are all sorts of us, and we’re known by many names all over the world, but the most famous is probably the ‘kitsune’ thanks to modern media.”

“Oh,” you said, only half aware that your vision was darkening around the edges until it was too late. The blood roared again in your ears and your knees went out from under you. The last thing you saw was a flicker of a frown on the man’s — kitsune’s — face before he lunged towards you with hands outstretched, and the world went black.

You stirred and found yourself lying on the sofa in your sitting room, with your feet raised about a foot or so off the seat cushion, and a stranger in green standing over you, holding your legs up by the ankle. The kitsune. The fox spirit.

“Got to say, that’s the first time someone’s actually fainted because of me,” he said with a smile, lowering your legs back down and stepping back. “Are you alright?”

“I fainted?” you asked stupidly, pushing yourself upright and swinging your legs slowly off the sofa and onto the ground. You swayed a little, but didn’t pass out again.

The fox spirit nodded, his lovely hair shining with strands of bronze and copper in the low light of the room, gold eyes glowing as if back-lit. “Thank you for saving me,” he said in a quiet, earnest baritone.

“Did I, though?” you asked, staring openly at him. “I mean… you’re… magic, right? I saw the way your legs were just… Your back was broken…”

“If you’d hit me with your car, or simply left me there for the next driver to do the same, then I wouldn’t have survived. We’re tough, and our magic can heal most things, but not that.”

“Oh.” And then your cheeks went hot and you looked at the carpet, “I’m sorry I baby-talked you like you were an actual animal.”

He laughed; a beautiful, bright sound like dry autumn leaves in clear sunlight. His head tipped a little way back and he looked truly delighted. “You weren’t to know,” he said, still chuckling. “And you’re not the first.”

“Oh,” you said, like a broken record.

From where he stood nearby, the fox spirit smiled at you and then inhaled deeply. “I… should go,” he said, his golden eyes turning a little sad. “Let you return to your life…”

“Wait,” you called from the sofa as he turned away. “What’s your name?”

He cast you a look over his shoulder and the smile he gave you was wry and amused. “You may call me Rowe.”

There was a nuance there that you weren’t understanding, but you told him your name in return, and he inhaled suddenly as if you’d struck him.

“You would part with your name so carelessly?” he whispered, brows pulling together into a frown of utter confusion. “You…” and then his expression cleared and his shoulders dropped. “You have never had dealings with the fae, have you?”

“The… fae?” you stuttered. “Like… fairies?”

The smile that replaced the frown was patient and amused in equal parts, and he sighed and shook his head. “Well, here’s your first lesson. Never tell your true name to a fae.”

Again, all the sound that escaped you was a dull, “Oh.”

He exhaled and approached you, and you tried not to lean back, to lean away from him. This whole night had gone from bad to utterly bizarre in the blink of an eye and you felt a little sick from the whiplash.

To make matters all the more confusing, the strange man knelt before you, sweeping his long, otherworldly tunic out of the way as he sank down onto one knee like he was going to propose or something, and he bowed his auburn head. “You saved my life without thought of debt or repayment, and in recognition of the gift, I give one of my own. I bind your True Name to my heart and hold it there in silence. I may never speak your True Name aloud unless you give me leave so to do. This I swear upon my spirit and my magic and my own True Name.”

The air in the room prickled like static and you had to fight the urge to see if your hair was standing on end. Goosebumps flickered along your arms and legs, and you drew in a shallow breath. “Anything else I should know about?” you asked faintly.

He looked up at you and shrugged. “We’re allergic to iron,” he suggested. “And we’re overly fond of cream and sweet cakes…”

“Sweet cakes,” you repeated thoughtfully, eyes drifting towards the kitchen where you’d bought a strawberry sponge cake just the day before, and an idea half-formed in your head.

Rowe smiled and your heart slipped sideways in your chest for a moment. He was so beautiful it was almost hard to believe he was really there and really standing in front of you. Well, technically he was kneeling like a knight in a fairytale. Fairytale indeed, you thought.

“You don’t have to go,” you whispered.

You were afraid of sounding childish, that if you spoke too loudly, he would think you desperate and would laugh at you, but all he did was tilt his head to the side the way he had done as a fox, and he nodded once. “Alright,” he said.

“I mean, don’t feel like you have to stay either,” you babbled, making a rather pathetic, flapping gesture in front of you with your hands. “I just meant… you’re welcome to stay if you want to. I was going to cook some dinner and watch a movie… eat cake for dessert. I thought… I thought since you’ve had kind of a rough day, you might like to just… chill out with me for a while.”

“May I help you cook?”

“If you… If you’d like to?” you said, standing carefully and holding your hand out to him to encourage him up off the floor.

He slid his warm fingers into your palm, and got to his feet with the grace of a prince, and offered you another smile. “I’d like that very much.”

Rowe stayed with you for a week. You explained that you had to go to work or you’d get fired, and when you came back on the first day, you expected him to have gone, leaving you wondering if the whole thing hadn’t been a hallucination brought on by the combination of a stressful week of work and the awful weather. But no, Rowe was there that evening, curled up as a fox on the impromptu bed you’d made by the radiator while the rain hurled itself at the window pane above him.

“Rowe, you don’t have to sleep on that!” you gasped, dropping your bag by the door and making him startle awake, ears pricked, tail fluffed up in rather adorable alarm.

In a flash of gold light, he was human again, standing beside the bed and smiling at you. “I don’t mind,” he chuckled. “It’s comfortable, and when I’m a fox, I don’t think in quite the same way as I do when I’m in this form. That’s how I got hit by the car in the first place… Please, don’t fret.”

You scowled at him, but relented, and asked him about his day. It seemed he’d spent most of it in his fox form, either out and about in the woods near your house, or sleeping by the warmth of the radiator.

“Didn’t you get bored here?” you asked.

“I could have done the housework for you,” he smirked. “But I thought that might have been an intrusion on your privacy.”

You laughed. “Thanks?”

After three days of sharing your space with him — he sleeping contentedly as a fox on the pile of blankets and you upstairs in your bedroom — you cleared your throat that evening as you sat together on the sofa like old friends, and said, “You know… uh… I… I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to come upstairs with me… I don’t want you to feel like you have to sleep down here like you’re a…” you trailed off, flushing hot with awkward embarrassment.

One russet-brown eyebrow climbed a little higher than the other. “… a what?”

“Like you’re some kind of pet… you know…”

Rowe laughed and, as it always did, your heart skipped a beat. His cheeks dimpled and Adam’s apple danced in his exposed throat and you ached. It felt like a long time since someone had touched you; since you’d been held, let alone kissed. He had a beautiful mouth, like he’d been made just to tempt you.

Some of your thoughts must have shown on your face because the laughter died in his throat and he fixed you with a look that was all concern. He murmured the name you’d given him permission to use when it was just the two of you and asked, “What’s wrong? I’m not upset about the animal comment,” he said, reaching for your forearm and trying to reassure you, but you shook your head. “Then what?”

Tears came unbidden to your eyes and you turned away. His hand felt hot through the fabric of your hoodie, but his grip was feather light. It would take nothing at all to pull yourself free, but the thought of it seemed overwhelming. “It’s nothing,” you choked, pressing your lips together and hoping he’d let the matter drop.

He didn’t. His eyes flared bright gold and he scowled at you when you risked a glance at him. “The fae can always taste a lie,” he said with the slightest growl to his voice. “And I can tell you’re hurting. We were laughing, and then… you weren’t. What changed?”

“It’s —”

A short, animal growl echoed in his throat but he bit it back, shut his mouth with a click of teeth, and glared at you.

“Ugh, fine,” you huffed, standing up and pacing across the room. “It’s been a long time since it’s been this easy around someone, ok? And it’s not every day that a handsome, cute guy with a great sense of humour shows genuine interest in me. I just wished, for like half a second, that you might be interested in me, but I get it. You’re not even human. I was nice to you. You probably feel obliged to stay here. You… You should probably go soon anyway.”

His expression turned from concerned to carefully neutral, and he stood. “If that’s the way you feel,” he said, “Then I can leave. But you should know that I’ve had a wonderful time with you, and…” he swallowed and took a breath, “I think you’re beautiful, through and through.”

“Please,” you scoffed. “Don’t bother trying to spare my feelings.”

“We can taste a lie, but we cannot tell one,” he said evenly. “I could not tell you that your clothes are yellow when they are not, nor that the sky is green, nor that you are not beautiful.”

You turned slowly around to look at him, and found him glowing gold again, those points of light spiralling lazily in the air around him. The slight shape of fox ears seemed to be picked out in two, brighter lines above his copper hair and behind him you saw a golden tail swaying back and forth. His eyes blazed bright like burnished bronze, and he was staring directly at you as he spoke.

“Oh.”

“I would very much like to stay with you, and share your bed, and, if you would let me, I would bring you pleasure too.”

Your breath hitched and you licked your lips. He even spoke like he was out of a fairytale. “You mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Ok,” you smiled.

Together, you tidied up the sitting room, and he followed you upstairs, still glowing softly, as if he were utterly contented and couldn’t help it.

Rowe undressed with you in your bedroom, baring a body like polished bronze; all lean lines and languid muscle, and you almost couldn’t look away. He asked if he could shower with you, and gently washed you and touched you, cupping your breasts and trailing his hands down your sides with reverent care. He passed his thumbs over your hardened nipples and kneaded your breasts until you gasped and tipped your head back, eyes closed. He teased between your legs with his fingertips, and then when you turned the shower off, he kissed your forehead. In a rush of magic, both your bodies were completely dry and your skin glowed softly with a thousand, dewy, golden sparkles. You beamed up at him, and he kissed you.

When he drew back, he led you by the hand into the bedroom and you lay down on the bed, heart racing. He knelt between your parted knees and you stared openly at his beautiful body. He looked like a statue come to life, and his cock had been more than half-hard ever since the shower, even as he turned his attention wholly on you and skimmed his palms up your thighs. You parted your legs a little wider for him and he bowed forward to kiss along your inner thigh until you shivered and lay back on the pillow behind you with a gasp.

He kissed you and tasted you, moaning softly before letting his tongue sweep up over you. He took your sensitive clit between his lips and kissed you there as well, and then he slid his arms under your thighs, lay down on his front, and you lost yourself to the pleasure of his mouth.

You lost count of how many times he made you come that night, with his tongue and with his fingers, but he never asked for more than you were ready to give.

“Come on me,” you murmured. You had no idea how well your current contraception would withstand a magical fae, but you were pretty sure you were safe with that, and when you asked, he nodded.

His fingers were slick from where he’d made you come, again, and he closed his hand around his cock with a low groan that dissolved into a gasp as he brought himself to the brink. He glowed gold again and you saw those ears made of light and the tail gleaming vividly behind him just as he spilled over your stomach with a muted grunt and another beautiful moan.

The golden light suffused the room, and you watched his expression as he came — open and vulnerable and achingly beautiful — and wished more than anything that he would stay.

When you woke in the morning, you expected to wake alone, but the warm pressure of Rowe’s body pressed against your back and the weight of his arm across your waist drew a little inhale of surprise from you. Apparently that was enough to wake him, because he kissed the back of your head and mumbled a sleepy good morning into your hair.

He was hard too, you realised, and you deliberately rocked your hips back against him.

Rowe let out a grunt and his hand shifted to your hips, drawing himself closer to you with a languid, answering roll of his hips.

“I don’t know if the fae have weekends,” you said, “But today is Saturday. I don’t have to go in to work…”

“Good,” he said. “I’m not sure I could let you go anywhere today after last night.” He said it with a laugh that told you he would let you do anything you liked, and you rolled over to face him. The softness in his smile brought one of your own to your lips, and he slid his hand down over your breast and then down between your legs.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he slipped his fingers easily inside you, and you rolled onto your back as he started a rhythm that would end in the kind of pleasure you had only ever dreamed of before him.

He smiled and kissed your cheek without his fingers once faltering, and whispered in your ear, “I’ll stay with you as long as you want me.”

You gasped and bucked, and almost missed his promise.

“I’ll stay with you forever.”

__

Thanks for reading this story, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging it (as well as leaving a like) if you enjoyed it, since that will help others find it.

Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar) | Library/Story Archive Blog

#kitsune #male kitsune #male fox spirit #fox spirit #fox shapeshifter #fae #shapeshifter #male kitsune x female reader #female reader #male fae x female reader #fae x reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #kitsune boyfriend

[chxrrysangel]

Drinking Games

Pairing| Eddie Munson x reader

Warnings | friends to lovers, fluff, mentions of alcohol/drunkeness, love confessions, it’s really cute ok

Author’s note | this is the first thing I’ve published in like 5 months so…gentle please. Also this 100% came to me in a maladaptive daydream…lmao

Sitting around the circle, your body buzzed with excitement and the mixed drinks you had tonight. Robin sat not more than three feet away, acting as the self-appointed dealer. The game of the night had long been forgotten by name, but the rules were rather simple: answer the question or drink. One could hardly mess up something so simple but your friends were always eager to conquer the impossible.

Secrets and juicy tidbits were revealed throughout the night, each of your friends making the hard choices to spill their guts—not that you minded. Eventually, your turn game around again and Robin’s eyes glistened with intrigue. Anxiety lodged itself in your throat, fearful of what horror lies on the card in her hand. She always had this look when up to something, her lips curling up into a frighteningly devious smirk like she knew something you didn’t. She turned towards you, your name dripping off her tongue with a noticeable air of mischief.

“Would you consider the person across from you in the circle to be attractive?” Your heartbeat sounded noisily in your ears, a cold sweat finding its way onto your hot skin. You had no reason to question who was across from you, already knowing the answer.

Eddie.

Edward Munson, your friend—dare you say best friend— who stole your heart the second you met. The two of you became fast friends, quickly falling into an agreeable routine at school. Once graduated, you stayed just as close if not closer. The chemistry between you was undeniable, but you were always “just friends.” Even when you started a little too long at him from across the room or burned with jealousy when he flirted with people at the local bar, he was just your friend. And it killed you.

Tentatively, you lifted your gaze from off the rugged carpet towards the metalhead across from you. Eddie looked at you innocently, not wanting to push you to answer. He was so kind that it was unnerving, how could you not like him? For years, he carried this reputation of a mean rugged guy who’d pulverize anyone who made eye contact. But, he truly was the exact opposite. Eddie could hardly hurt a fly, actually running in the opposite directions of them. The next few seconds were spent deliberating over your response to the challenge.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to say it?

“Yes.” Eddie’s gaze locked with yours as you spoke, his expression nearly unreadable if it weren’t for the hint of surprise in his doe eyes. Robin was satisfied with your answer, choosing to move on to the next person.

At some point during the game, Steve tapped out, choosing to play dealer with Robin. Everything was going smoothly, almost too smoothly. You had opted for water about 20 mins ago, sobering up a little bit. When the circle moved onto Eddie again, Steve picked up a card this time. The ex-jock couldn’t even pretend to hide his smile at the words, excitement clear on his features.

“Eddie, is there any person in this circle that you’d consider kissing.”

You didn’t mean to do it, but the hopeful high schooler buried deep in you couldn’t help but look at him in this moment. His chocolate brown eyes flicked across each person in the circle before landing on you, locking eyes comfortably. His gaze held for just a few beats, almost unclockable to an outsider.

“Yes.” Just as quickly as his gaze landed on you, it moved back over to Steve for approval. The boy leaned in, some other plan brewing in his mind.

“Follow up question. Will you disclose who they are?”

Again Eddie's eyes met yours for a few seconds longer than normal, unwavering in his decision. In any other headspace, you'd be inclined to brush it off and make excuses. But in this moment, your usual instincts felt almost elementary.

“I don't think I have to.”

The rest of the game passed on normally, your mind just barely present enough to answer the questions or take a shot during your turn. Eddie barely spared another glance in your direction, at least that you noticed.

~~~~~

You said your goodbyes to everyone, planning your thankfully short walk back to your place. Safety keychain in hand, you snuggled into your coat and headed out. Between the crunching of your sneakers on the gravel walkway and the howling wind, you could hardly make out the sound of someone shouting a bit ways behind you. You would’ve ignored it altogether if it weren’t for the yelling getting louder, testifying that it wasn’t in your imagination.

A certain curly-haired metalhead made his way towards you, smile bright in the otherwise barely lit street. Even drunk out of his mind, Eddie was gorgeous -- something you almost hated about him. He didn't even try to be hot, he just was.

“Hey. Mind if I -um, walk with you? We live close together anyways.” Not trusting yourself to speak, you moved over on the sidewalk to allot space. The walk home was largely silent, much too in your own head to say much. Eddie made no attempt to stir conversation, which you were grateful for. His usually chatty self was nowhere to be found.

As soon as the sight of your apartment building came into view, you thanked heaven and earth for saving you from this anxiety. You could pretend the night didn’t happen and move on with your life.

“Hey, sweets I’ve uh got a question.” Eddie cleared his throat, which did very little to hide the nerves in his tone. Hesitant, you chewed on your lip for a moment. Eddie’s gaze flickered down to your mouth for a moment, before quickly shooting back up to your eyes.

“Shoot.” The metalhead averted his gaze, something rather atypical for such an extroverted guy. His voice got quiet as well, like he didn’t trust himself to speak. It was endearing.

“Did you mean what you said tonight? About…finding me attractive?” His voice was hopeful, at least that’s what’s it sounded like. But you had to have imagined that.

“Yeah… I did. I have eyes Eddie. We may be friends, but I know handsome when I see it Eds.” Your voice was hesitant, but more honest than you've ever been.

The barely audible comment of “yeah friends.” could be heard from his lips, like he was whispering it to himself. It dawned upon you that the two of you were crossing the line in this moment.

“Eddie, I also have a question.” You had to be brave in this moment, knowing you might never get another chance again for this kind of honesty. His head perked up, curls bouncing and falling into the mess you loved so much around his features. With his full attention, it was now your turn to be nervous.

“Did you mean what you said tonight?” Even in the dimness of the overhead streetlight, Eddie’s entire face burned red with embarrassment. He chuckled in disbelief, shifting his weight with each foot.

“Full disclosure, I was kind of hoping you forgot about that…I was so bold and I don’t know why. But uh yeah I did mean it.” His head dropped into his hands, filled with embarrassment and shame.

With the last few words, something shifted in that moment. Eddie was no longer your goofy, lovable best friend that you secretly pined over. He wasn’t the guy who Robin and Steve damn near had to kill somebody to get you to admit that you liked. He was just a guy, one who admitted not even 2 hours ago that he’d kiss you if given the chance. And he knew that.

With one brave step towards one another, you could feel the heat radiating off his body. Maybe it was the alcohol or just his proximity, but your head felt light.

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” His lips ghost over yours, brushing in a way that makes you feel pathetically needy.

“Can we make good on that wish?”

He hums in response, cradling your face in his hands as he gently presses his lips to yours. He doesn’t rush, savoring the taste of you as if he’d forget. You quickly find harmony in your movements, both hungry with desire but desperate to make the moment last as long as possible. He whimpers in your mouth, needing more than one could give on a public street.

It’s only when your lungs begin to burn with lack of oxygen that you break away. You make no move to back away, encased on his arms like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

“So…”

Your awkwardness breaks the silence, the two of you making eye contact before falling into a much needed laughter fit.

“We’re gonna have to talk about this tomorrow, for sure. Perhaps over breakfast?.” His beloved goofy smile is on display, the signature one you couldn’t make to say no to.

“Are you asking me out on a date Munson?”

“Not yet. But soon. Definitely soon.”

You say goodnight, making headway towards your apartment door before you’re suddenly pulled back. Sandalwood and vanilla engulf your senses, Eddie stopping you from going to sleep. Without warning, he places his hand on the side of your neck and kisses you once more. This one was rather short, but equally sweet.

“Just wanted one for the road.” He winks, bowing like an idiot before walking into the night towards his own place. You smile to yourself as you walk the building’s empty hallways—giddy, lovesick, and still a bit drunk.

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

[dduane]

Hello! I was wondering if you’ve shared your ao3 account? Like, have you acknowledged “this account is mine,” or do you keep it personal? Totally respect if you keep it under wraps I just wanted to know if I’m missing something. Hope my wording of this makes sense!

No, it's OK, I get it. You're asking "Have you publicly ID'd a given AO3 account as yours?"

No, and I'm not going to. Because it contains fanfic I've written for pleasure—exactly as I started writing it in my teens—and I have no desire to have that publicly connected with me.

Leaving the usual legal concerns aside (and not being even slightly concerned that a judge would fail to find the fiction "transformational", if the truth came out in a court of law) a significant part of this effort is about answering the question: "What would happen if people read fiction of mine and they didn't know Diane Duane was responsible for it? What would their reaction be?" That urge to discover whether the fiction stands on its own, without the inevitable shadow cast by one’s reputational backstop, still comes up for me in some moods. So when the itch to write fanfic comes up, I scratch it. And all I can say is that, by and large, the results have been satisfying.

Frankly, it's a ton of fun. There's no one to satisfy (at the most immediate level) except me and the local embodiment of the Creative Urge. No one will ever accuse me of "just churning [this] out for more $$$$", because there is no $$$$. And there's room to stretch further and harder than I might normally do in my public work (because there's more forgiveness for failure: and in the arts, I think, failure is absolutely one of the most effective ways to grow). Whatever comes back to me in return for this work—and it is work, some of the hardest I've ever done—is in the form of raw appreciation. So, people, on behalf of my colleagues, let me just say: comment on AO3 fics, yeah? You don't have to be fulsome about it. A word or two will do. And bestow kudos where you may. It's all an AO3 fanfic writer asks.

...And of course some people will say: "Are you off your rocker? You're traditionally published for decades, you have awards, you've been on bestseller lists, how can you not be sure that what you're doing's any good?" ...But you know, no writer is sure all the time. All of us wake up in the middle of the night some time(s), thinking "I'm not sure I've still got it..." and squeezing our eyes shut in terror of future reviews containing the horrible conjecture that Maybe We Never Really Had It To Start With. When you've spent a significant portion of your lifetime making stuff (up) out of nothing, the horrible suspicion that maybe it really has been nothing all the time—I mean, nothing nothing—is unavoidable.

So sometimes some of us want to go out in disguise (and I don't mean paid pseudonymic work: that proves nothing in this particular arena) and see how we fare. I know other traditionally-published writers who've done this—names that would surprise you—and who, by and large, have done it for the same reasons. We are the dark figures, hooded and cloaked, sitting in the shadows of some of the more prominent fandoms that express themselves on AO3; eyes glinting in the firelight, enjoying the reactions to the stories we've got to tell.

It's not bad here, in the shadows. For one thing, you're in a better position to appreciate the figures moving in the light. There's a lot of extraordinary talent on AO3 (and elsewhere in the online fanfic world), sharing stuff with us out of their own hard work and from their own urge toward grace. It's a privilege to read them. (Some of them are better writers than I am. I appreciate them: and comment, and leave kudos, because that's how appreciation is concretely shown. And I take notes.)

Beyond that, there's nothing much to add except that I have no plans to stop. And also: that I think kindly every single day of the very small and exclusive group of people who know "who" I am on AO3, and have kindly kept that data to themselves. Your confidence honors me, friends. May the Work do you honor in return. :)

And now: I owe you all an update, so you'll have to excuse me while I get on with it. :)

#AO3 #fanfic #anonymous writing

[rookiesbookies]

Hii I hope this doesnt bother you but afab reader who just got married with simon and after their marriage ceremony (im sorry I've never gotten married) he's just ready to make love with them because reader wanted to wait to have mattress mambo with anyone (only being simon)

Its ok my lovely lil anon, i’ve never been married either. But with a lil bit of research (asking my mom) I believe I am decently enough equipt to write this ask! I do what to apologize because Ghost/Simon is one of the harder ones for me to write so I hope I did him justice!

Smut is implied because this was taking longer for me to write than I liked, so sorry there isn’t a full scene. I wanted to publish this sooner rather than later.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the small gathering, the wedding reached its climax. Simon stood at the altar, fidgeting with the edges of his tux, trying to maintain the facade he had carefully constructed for years. It was definitely more difficult with his face free to the air. The team, gathered around him, looked on with a mixture of curiosity and understanding. They knew Simon's reasons for wearing the mask, just as they knew the effort it took for him to even consider taking it off.

It was Soap's wedding that had started it all. Simon had arrived at the ceremony, resolute in his decision to keep his mask on, no matter what. But the others had other plans. When Simon wasn't looking, Soap had swiftly plucked the mask from his face, much to Simon's dismay. The rest of the day had been a blur of laughter and camaraderie, and Simon had begrudgingly admitted that it hadn't been as terrible as he had imagined.

Now, at his own wedding, Simon found himself in a similar predicament. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t put the mask on. As Simon's teammate and Commanding Officer, Price knew Simon better than anyone else, he was who Simon gave the mask to. Today he wasn’t Ghost. This wasn’t a mission, he wasn’t saving the world.

He understood the significance of this moment, not just for Simon but for the entire team. Their resident scary dog was getting hitched. Simon was going to be happy again.

For the first time in years, Simon stood before his friends and loved ones, unmasked and unafraid. He had actually willingly handed off the mask to Price

And as he exchanged vows with his partner, he knew that this moment would forever be etched in his memory as the day he finally let go of the mask he had worn for so long.

The wedding night was as expected, Simon was more jittery than he had ever been.

She had been holding off and Simon expected it. They had kissed before, made out, but they never took it much further and he respected it. He wore blue balls with pride.

“If you decide to back out we don’t have to do anything tonight,” Simon said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

“No, I want this. I have wanted this, Simon,” she brought her hands up to his face, rubbing her thumbs over his cheeks.

He took one of her hands and pulled her in close. He just stood there and held her.

“I worry you’ll regret it.”

“Marriage or having sex with you?”

“Both.”

“I could never.” She brought her hands to his face, “I love you how the Sun loves the Moon, let me shine my light on you and show you just how much I could never regret anything with you.”

“Are you ready than?” He asked, turning away to unbutton his shirt, “because once I get ahold of you I won’t let go.”

“Simon. We’re legally married. I’m considering burning the receipt so you don’t try to return ME.” She giggled as he turned to pull her back into his body. Leaning over her to undo the corset of her dress before helping lift it over her head to get her out. He hung it on a hanger in the hotel room.

“Never.” Was all he said before he planted kisses down her body, her hands found there way back to his face.

“You got one more time to back out before I’m giving you a safe word.”

“I don’t think I’ll use it.”

“Pineapples.”

“Pineapples? Pineapples.”

That was the conversation before Simon absolutely tackled his now wife onto the hotel bed.

I pity those in the room under theirs.

#cod x reader #call of duty #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader