#like i just sit here and think about the pacing of these games and i'm like. it's just so good no complaints

[reiderwriter]

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

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

[pochapal]

pokemon b/w kinda flawless games if you really think about it.

#:) #like i started a playthrough of black a week ago to do something during the christmas period and i'm already at the end of the game #b/w are probably the most compact games other than maybe sword/shield #but man if they don't make use of every last minute of their 30 hour campaign #might just be because out of all pokemon games it's b/w i know best but it's such an engaging experience start to end #like i just sit here and think about the pacing of these games and i'm like. it's just so good no complaints #b/w achieved in 2010 what a game in 2019 couldn't do WITH artificial qol changes to speed up your gameplay experience #once again reminded how impossible it is to compare the 2d and 3d eras of pokemon #my literal only complaint about gen 5 is that it's a really terrible starting generation to recommend someone get into pokemon with #so very few people will get to have b/w as their first impression of the series #btw nobody ask how many pokemon games i am playing simultaneously at any given time. that is a fun mystery only i know

[marycorcaroli]

♡ nsfw headcanons for my boys ♡

♡ english is not my first language, i apologize for the mistakes. ♡

luffy

— luffy is a whore for you. he doesn't see anything wrong with it, he will moan louder than you (canon) just because he feels so good inside you, he won't miss a moment to say it to you for the millionth time, luffy wants you to know that he doesn't use you just for your body, there is a special intimacy between you.

— he doesn't mind getting on his knees for you and licking you for hours, he just likes the taste of you and it relaxes him. luffy buries his face in your cunt and moans loudly. he also wants you to sit on his face and ride his nose, the fact that your juices will be on his face will make him cum in a second, speaking of which. licking you, luffy can cum just because his tongue is in you.

—he will touch and massage your nipples, put his fingers in your mouth to wet them, and then touch your breasts with the same fingers.

— i don't think he has a very fast pace. the first few times, he will be gentle and sensitive, but after that, girl, you are in hell of endless orgasms!!! he won't stop for a second(unless you ask him to), he wants you to cum together and kiss at that moment(canon).

— daddy king 100%, breeding king and overstimulation = luffy.

zoro.

— zoro will hold your hands during sex always, he doesn't care what position you're in, his palms will always find yours and hold them to increase your overall trust so you know he's still here and loves you dearly.

— A HUGE DICK AND IT'S A FACT. it's so big i'm afraid it might tear you up from its size, but it's also very beautiful. zoro will thrust into you to make you feel him fully and is sure to ask "can you feel me here, honey?" when his hand is on your stomach and his cock is deep inside you.

— the sloppiest when it comes to nipple sucking, he'll leave all his drool on your breasts and leave hickeys around your breasts because he's crazy about them. he'll most likely cum on your breasts and smear his cum all over them.

— will suck on your already swollen clit until you beg him to stop and push him, either way, he's a fan of overstimulation.

— will pull your hair and watch your back arch and your eyes roll with pleasure.

— size king, unprotected sex, prise kink, biting kink.

sanji.

— sanji will make you get on your knees and suck his cock forever. he won't fuck your mouth much at first, but if he sees that you like it, he won't leave you alone. without fail, he will cum in your mouth and then kiss you deeply afterward to make you feel yourself.

— not against the idea of tying your hands so you can't touch him and begging him to untie you. blindfold you so you don't know what he's going to do next and sanji can play his game.

— his hands are always on your body, his lips are always on your lips, and his cock is always deep inside you. that time when he thrusts roughly into you and your lips touch in a tender kiss will make him see the brightest stars.

— really loves playing with your nipples and won't stop until you cum from it.

— he wants to cum deep inside you and see you pregnant, he's probably always wanted that. you walk around with his baby inside you, your tummy is so cute, he gets turned on by the idea in SECONDS.

— loves rough sex anywhere but has a kink for the shower and kitchen.

— the ultimate pervert.

#one piece #one piece live action #one piece x reader #one piece x you #luffy #luffy imagine #luffy x reader #zoro imagine #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x you #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x you #inaki godoy #inaki godoy x reader #taz skylar #mackenyu #mary ♡ #apologize

[littlefreya]

Pictures of You

Summary: While Sy is deployed, his new girlfriend sends him nudes, and now he must take care of 'business' himself while fantasizing about the things he would do to her.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x himself x OFC

Word count: 1,200

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), pure smut, graphic depiction of sex (male x female), male masturbation, bodily fluids, accidental creampie, dirty language, punishment, Freya using "peach". Being caught in the act. A bit of fluff. Not beta'd.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, translating, copying it, or parts of it and claiming it as your own*

A/N: It's been a while since I posted. I am working on a series (plural), but I got inspired by a lovely anon today. I'm not sure if I'm tagging anyone since my tag list is probably outdated and I'm not sure who still wants on. So, if you enjoyed, reblog, or comment, let me know. I'd appreciate it. 🖤

Pictures of You

At last, night unfurled, and the camp became quiet. 

The glorified Captain retired to his quarters, exhausted from a day of training recruits and tedious paperwork. This deployment would be long, and though he loved being The Captain - Logan Syverson was beginning to miss home.

It was all because of her. Sy shouldn't have caught feelings, long-distance relationships were never his thing, but damn, she was something else; a woman way above his league, pretty, hot as hell and way too smart to be with a military grunt like him.

Needless to say, fucking her made him feel like a god. 

Stripping down to his boxer, Sy slumped into his bed with a huff and reached for the private cell phone stuffed in his drawer. 

Twenty unanswered messages appeared on the screen—three of them from her.

Joy painted his face at the sight of her name. Ignoring everything else, he went directly to read her messages.

“Missing my big Sy”, the first message read. 

The other - “something to make you think of me.”  

The last message was simply an attachment. Curious, Sy tapped it open.

‘Fucking hell.’

The unmistakable pang of desire instantly surged through his groin. 

There she was, his sweet woman, naked and spread open like a present unwrapped, especially for him. She was sitting on her bed, one breast gripped by her palm with her nipple peeking through dark-painted nails while her other hand toyed with the sweet peach between her thighs. 

“Fuck,” Sy muttered. Already rock-hard. Absentmindedly, his hand massaged the hefty bulge through the fabric of his boxers, eliciting a deep groan from under his breath. 

‘What are you doing to me, babygirl?” 

It wasn’t just her naked body and the way her finger teased her own slit, but the look she gave him, the familiar neediness in her gaze, the way she bit her lip. 

Damn, if she was here right now… He’d fucking punish her for teasing him so bad! He’d pin her to the wall with his hand around her throat and show her what happens to naughty girls who like playing such wicked games. 

Now he had three fucking months to go, and all he could think of was how bad he wanted to be inside her tight little cunt.

‘Well, guess I’ll have to take care of this myself…’

Springing his cock free from his boxers, he ran his rough fingers up and down the length of his imposing shaft - slow at first, as Sy enjoyed taking his time, just as he would with her. His thumb rolled across the crown of his cock, gently grazing the tip while he imagined flipping her against the pitted wall in this room. Make her take it from behind so he could look at that perfect rounded ass of hers and watch his cock slipping in and out of her body. 

Still holding the photo open, he focused on her succulent cunt before spitting onto his open palm and griping himself once again. Tighter this time, he squeezed onto his girth and began to fuck his own hand. 

Pants and groans sputtered from his mouth, his chest heaving as he gradually picked up the pace. In his fantasy, he parted her ass cheeks and teased her dripping little hole until she begged him to fuck him. Then he forced himself all the way in, making her cry out. 

The sounds of her moans echoed in his memory, so helpless and desperate at the same time - he was nearly too much for her; that narrow cavern of hers could barely take his leviathan cock, but still, she took every pounding, becoming wetter around his shaft as her body not only yielded to accommodate him but lured him deeper inside. 

“I want inside you, babygirl…” Sy mumbled out loud, his hand now moving in ecstatic fervour. Sweat dripped down the contracting muscles of his abs. Soon, he felt himself swell even larger, and his sack strained with the desperate need for release. 

He tightened his grip, now choking his shaft and thinking of how it felt when she came around him. How she contracted all around his cock and shattered like glass smashing on the floor.

“Don’t come inside….” She’d warned him. She wasn’t on the pill. But this time, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from filling her full of his cum, and maybe… he wouldn’t want to… 

It was his fantasy, after all. 

“FUCK!!!” 

With the image spilling inside her, he allowed himself to be swept by the fierce waves of pleasure, his entire body buzzing with bliss as hot, thick ribbons of ecstasy spilt over his fingers. He might have shouted too loudly, but it’s not like he ever gave a fuck. 

It took Sy a few good minutes to climb down to earth, and then he chuckled hoarsely as he noticed the mess he had left on his hand. Shaking his head, he reached for a towel and wiped himself clean before returning to gaze at her photo. 

“What am I gonna do with you, doll?”

Well, there was an idea. He could repay the favour by sending her a photo of himself. Usually, he was against this type of stuff, but what she did was particularly risky for a woman, and if she was bold enough to treat him, he could do the same. Besides, they had three months until they could meet again. He better make sure she remembered who she belonged to.  

He stroked himself lightly. Still semi-hard, he wondered whether he could work himself to another erection this soon when a knock sounded at the door.

“Mother of f…. One moment !!!” 

Sy yelled. Irritated, he briefly tucked his shaft back in his boxers and jumped out of bed. The room smelled rancid, but Sy couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t even bring himself to put on a shirt as he rushed to the door.

“What?” He grunted before getting to see who was on the other side.

‘Well, fuck me sideways.’

It was a woman because why the hell not? Private Hicks, to be precise. The young thing’s eyes flared with surprise and then snapped to the floor to avoid staring at her sweaty, half-naked superior, but not before catching a glance of his hairy, tattooed chest and the semi-erected bulge in his groin.

The strong scent of sweat and sex hit her nostrils like a smack in the face. It took everything not to curl her face. There was no need to put two and two together to realise what she had just intruded. 

“Sir.” Hicks saluted in badly hidden embarrassment. 

Sy let out a deep sigh. Clearly, she knew what he was doing before she arrived. She probably heard him come all over himself right before knocking. Frankly, he wasn’t ashamed. 

“Get on with it, Private.”

“Sir,” she repeated, her voice a slight tremble. “ I’m sorry to bother you… but the Major asked me to get you.” 

Sy scratched the back of his head and groaned deeply. “Tell him I’ll be there in 10.” 

Without any other comment, he shut the door, leaving Hicks to wander back to the Major’s office, all shaken and quaking. 

As she walked away, she couldn’t help but bite her lips. All across her body, she felt those little electric streams of excitement, and her breath suddenly became shallow. She shouldn’t have thought of her superior like this, on what he did behind that closed door just a moment before she arrived, but Captain Syverson was too hot to handle and, needless to say, too loud. 

Well, she’d have to take care of herself later…

#henry cavill #captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson x ofc #captain syverson fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #sand castle

[sm-baby]

OFF-LIMITS

freakshow AU by @hootbon

Context || The Chosen one (Part 1(??))

PRETEND MARRIAGE FIC LETS GO!! Off-limits is a non-canon sort of continuation for The Chosen One!! Also Just putting it here: Showtime is not canon in freakshow AU!! I'm just.. being indulgent-👉👈

Word count: 7750

The pacing is a little off but I'll let you be the judge...OK ENJOY BYE HUGS AND KISSES!! NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN!! also if Hoot's reading this I'm so sorry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were many benefits to being the ringleader's favourite.

One of them is being proposed to, apparently.

She didn't think her body still had the capability to choke, but apparently it was all too possible. She gagged, punching her fist to her chest on the flavourly assault on her throat, hacking wheezing as the grip on the tea table tightened. 

Pomni winced, eyes twitching and swallowing before sitting back down with a not-so-casual tone in her voice. She faked a laugh “Haha… what-”

“ I'm marrying you."

The man sat on the opposite side of the tea table, classy, with full manners. the way his hands were politely on the table, proper yet focused… Caine so specifically wanted the meeting in Pomni’s room... She was perfect for the setting. A doll playing tea party. Classic. Simple. 

“ A-And what does-”

“ It means my brother can no longer claim ownership over you." 

Pomni inhaled and stirred the tea in her hands. She fawned a fake sympathy towards his perspective humming along as if she understood his reasonings…but she choked, this time mentally. 

Were they seriously still on that dumb brother’s quarrel? Ownership? She didn't think Able would want to do anything with her after their last meeting but it seems the tension she's been feeling between the both of them has been growing… Caine’s brother has been nicer to her lately, she assumes, still in the effort for him to be in her good graces… but she didn't think it would really lead to anything, nor would she let it. 

“... Ha." Was all that left her. Pomni doesn't often know what to say in tense situations. She lost herself in her thoughts, cupping her tea in both hands, nervous and tense. Of course, she definitely doesn't want to do this. She was more so thinking about a way to decline him rather than a yes or a no.

Uhh… hmm..

“ You would still be performing, but this also means you get to sleep in the old manor. Or so I think that's what husbands do… unless my sources are wrong which—“

Pomni could spit out her entire drink! That changes everything! “ YES-" she slammed her hands on the table.

Caine wasn't startled, but rather, just looked at her, raising a brow at the rude interruption. he'd look down, seeing that pomni just spilled tea over herself and the table… what manners. 

“ Uhh-... Yes- that- that is what husbands do, yes… “ she sat back down, her voice awkwardly lowering to a timid whimper. 

The gentleman barely looked at her, rather levitated a napkin to wipe the table. It was a cruel silence, almost like he dared her to explain such rude behavior. 

Pomni cleared her throat “ sorry, I-I would uh… love to be married- to-- You… ?” Is that how one says yes to a proposal? 

“ Ha. It humours me how you think you have a choice in the matter. “ Caine snapped his fingers, and the napkin disappeared. If he were to be perfectly honest, he saw no qualms in letting Pomni live in the manor. He would relish in the thought of her walking past his brother knowing she was officially unattainable. A sort of trophy of sorts. A taunt mayhaps. A jest. A silly funny mockery.

Meanwhile Pomni’s brain was completely somewhere else… 

To have access to the circus on the regular while having more time in the manor… no more stupid games necessary, no more-- having to kiss up and hold the balance towards both brothers! This was a win! Of course this isn't a ticket out of the circus, but she's going somewhere, and it's refreshing compared to the circles she's been running for the past few months. 

Pomni looked up to see Caine, sitting across her, this time with a hand extended to shake. 

As soon as she shook his hand, a ring formed around her finger, from thin air, seemingly out of nowhere.

“To show that you're reserved." 

Pomni looked at her finger, and-- honestly the way he said that made her skin crawl. Caine always saw Pomni and the others as lesser than him. And the way he proposed was no different from a person booking a seat at a restaurant. 

The deal was struck and Caine wasted no time to get up and leave the room. A small good bye greeting, closing the door behind him, but otherwise his business there was done.

Pomni was still sitting on the tea table, thinking to herself, staring at the ring on her finger. It was like it was part of her body. She would try to pull it off but to no avail, no budging or anything. 

She grit her teeth… great.

The two went their own separate ways thinking nothing and everything about the transaction… though it must have been quite the sight to see Caine leave the room, and have Pomni follow a few moments later, now with a ring on her finger.

“ No f@#$ing way.” Jax thought, seeing the sight.

She didn't know what she was expecting, but it was certainly a Caine wedding.

The ceremony itself? she could barely remember any of it. Rather, small clouds of memories that were important.

The way she walked down the aisle so stiffly, like a gun was pointed at her head. The way Caine placed a ring on her finger, Kaufmo’s death gurgles as he officiated their wedding…

There were small comforts. She didn't actually think of it as anything special— more just a necessity rather than an actual wedding, but some of her friends tried to make it special for her. Ragatha was sitting front row in support not for the union but for Pomni herself– Kinger hallucinating, holding her hand in a father daughter dance. And Gangle making the the effort of getting her a wedding gift– or what she could give anyway…which was a drawing of her in her wedding dress.

Caine wasn't even present in the after party. He just placed the setting and left the guests to their own devices. That was honestly a relief for Pomni for a short while, to be able to hang out with the closest things she had to “friends”. She had the lone memory of Ragatha and Kinger giving her a drink, and asking her how she was doing.

They've both been well aware of her motives by now. Exit, exit, exit. At this point they were convinced that was her form of insanity. But they supposed that little bit of hope was keeping her going.

Kinger turned Ragatha then back to Pomni. “ We hope you know what you're doing.”

“ I never said I did…” the bride said, her pitch getting timidly higher. “ But– it's a direction! I don't have a lot of expectations either, but…hey, I think I'd regret it if I didn't take the chance. ” She looked back up at them, embarrassed at her short rambling. “ Oh! I hope– you two are holding up relatively okay tonight?”

Ragatha chortled.

Kinger answered “ We haven't been okay for years, Pomni.”

“ Y-Yeah…I… I should have seen that coming, yeah…”

Suddenly, a slow song came on the reception. 

Most of them weren't fond at the idea of a slow dance at first, but a tap from Ragatha to a ribbony friend (and a sister begging the other) later, people were on the dancefloor.

Ragatha danced with Gangle, then exchanging partners from her to Kinger. The Gangle AI found it funny to force Kaufmo and his rabbit friend in a dance. The night was going off with a hitch.

Ragatha swayed back to exchange partners from Kinger to Gangle, and the magician was off on his lonesome again. He took no offence to this, but standing in the middle of the dancefloor on his own, to a song that used to be considered romantic, he couldn't help but freeze.

He stared at one of the guests in the distance, the one who decided to sit out the activity. The one in the dark staring daggers at him as they dawned the very torso that used to bring him warmth.

Maybe…

… If she was still in there…

He could ask if—

Before Kinger could take one step further, a hand took his own, the hand of a very worried bride clearing her throat and walking him back into the dancefloor. “ Kinger, this sounds like a good song!” Pomni laughed nervously, heels clacking as she pulled him gently but insistently.

Kinger blinked, and turned to her. “...Oh! Yeah! It is!” And just like that, the old man was brought back to the dance floor.

It was almost like the poor were invited to their first celebration. Some were laughing, and there were definitely moments of teasing and natural play, but at the end of the day they knew they would be hungry again. It was an inevitability. Some chose to spend it to the fullest, some chose to wallow, some chose to make the best out of it.

Pomni struggled to keep up with the magician’s stature, but they figured it out after their earlier father daughter dance. She would be pleased to see that He was almost experienced with the way he moved.

Her dance partner wasn't all that mentally present, but she could see that he was calm. The way he listened to the music and closed his eyes was disassociated. But it was a look of contentment. 

His grip was so sure yet gentle around Pomni. Holding her like it was the last dance he would ever have with someone. 

She could only imagine what he was picturing in that brain of his. She dared not interrupt.

“ I've danced with someone before... I think.” 

Pomni looked up at him. “ What do you mean?”

“ I don't know who that person was, but I remember feeling very nice when I was with her.”

Pomni sucked air through her teeth. She's heard… read… stories from Ragatha. Although it wasn't the most in detail, she figured out the jist just from hush-hush language she used.

She had a feeling she knew exactly what was going on. But it wasn't her business to correct him.

“ She must have been a great person.” Pomni said.

For the first time Kinger didn't feel like wood. His eyes relaxed just from that simple validation, a moment of blissful unawareness of where he was or who he was. Love spread from his heart, to his chest, to his finger tips, to the… little…friend? Yes, friend… that he was dancing with.

Pomni was well aware that she wasn't the person he was seeing at that moment. He had no thoughts, but the feeling of a powerful comfort took over him, he didn't care to take back anything else. Not his memories, not his sanity, not his mind. Like holding the hand that he once kissed. Spinning her, laughing with her, holding her close when the clock struck a romantic midnight. 

He could feel a tear escape his eye.

“What about you, Pomni?” Kinger opened his eyes and suddenly realised that his hands were holding at nothing. Not a person, not anything. Kinger blinked and looked around, that blissful feeling suddenly becoming fleeting. 

He was by himself on the dancefloor again

“... Pomni?”

Pomni would catch herself tripping forward. What was once the tiles that was the dance floor was now wooden, and unfamiliar. “Wh- wha- where…?” 

In the blink of an eye Pomni was somewhere else. For a moment she was confused before turning around and seeing her new found husband, back turned to her, sitting, looking down from the balcony they were at.

“ Awfully rude of you to dance with someone more than your own husband.” He didn't even bother to turn to her. He was still looking down, hands on his would-be chin, sitting on a long chair made of cushion and fine wood.

“ I-I was just dancing with—”

Pomni was cut off by Caine slowly patting a space on the seat beside him. The cushion, comfortable, yet sturdy. Pomni gulped before approaching.

When she joined him she could see the view from above…it was an indoor balcony built for the rich to watch the poor. 

From up high, Pomni could see the other performers, and quickly she scanned the dance floor to see Kinger, shaken, looking around and interrupting Ragatha’s dance in worry for where she went.

Pomni bit her lip and sunk down. Guilt over took her. She stood on her tiptoes, hands on the wooden railing and waved to be seen, to let them know that at least she's safe, and praying that they understood that she didn't leave them but-

Caine’s hand grabbed her arm. “ No, no. Let them figure it out.”

She froze from his touch. Caine guided her hand to make her sit down and she sunk in the seat right beside him. She looked down to read the others distress and felt immense relief when she made brief eye contact with Ragatha which then the assistant turned back to kinger, calming him down without making it obvious she's seen them.

Pomni sighed.

On her way to lean back on the chair, she felt an arm wrap around her shoulder, then pulling her to her side.

She stared at it for a moment, the arm. her body stiffened at the all too familiar touch, before looking forward, sweating, in denial at the situation.

Caine crossed his legs, an ankle on the other knee, still looking on at the view in front of them. His posture was far from hers. Swaying his crossed legs, relaxed, and confident. for a moment he looked at her and back down at the party. 

Amazing reception as always, Caine. You've really outdone yourself with this one.

They stayed there in silence for a couple of moments. Caine was all too comfortable and Pomni had nothing to say to him. The groom would say that his bride looked beautiful that night, but in the most objectifying way possible. She was an accessory. She always was. Nothing different from a beautiful pearl necklace. 

Maybe it was the way he was gripping her, but Pomni couldn't breathe with all the tension in the air. She let out a shaky breath, a face comparable to a cat hypervigilant towards a cucumber. Sometimes she forgets how affectionate Caine can get with her physically, and every time she just accepts it. Not like she can do anything about it really.

“ Wine, boss!” A servant walked into the balcony area. A voice so signature, and unmistakable Pomni didn't need to turn around. Caine and his bubble were inseparable except for the moments when they weren't. If she hadn't known any better she—

Pomni came back to reality.

…Wine?

“ Thank you, Bubble.”

Pop!

Caine didn't even have to lift a finger, the wine bottle was already levitating towards him as well as a wine glass, ready to pour.

“ Wine???” Pomni flinched, turning her whole body towards the bottle.

Caine blinked. “ Oh! How could I forget, you've never had this…” He thought to himself. 

He would never let the circus members have wine for multiple reasons. The poor PG rating would go down if their mouths were without filter. And also he didn't need to have a bunch of wild animals run a muc and destroy the circus tent. But right then, he duplicated the wine glasses into two, pouring one for himself and for his bride. 

“ Consider it a reward for being so attentive today.” 

Pomni got her glass, and held it in both hands. God damn. She hasn't had alcohol in so long.

It was as plastic as expected but wine wasn't there for the texture. She was just about ready to drink the night away. Pomni tried to play it with manners but admittedly took longer sips than what she could usually handle.

They both continued the night in silence

and Pomni waited…

And waited…

And waited…

And… 

Motherfucker, this isn't doing anything to her!

The visible frustration was clear and Caine couldn't help but let out quiet snickering.

“ Huh—!?”

Caine snickered again, barely audible, but less is more. Pomni couldn't help but feel embarrassed. There he is again! Playing with her like always! “ You didn't actually think I would let it affect you, did you?”

“ No—! I… I didn't even think that you could--! I..!” The woman gripped the wine glass. “ ugh! ”Had it been for the fact that she had to watch herself around Caine, it would have been in pieces by now!

Caine would continue to laugh, not seeing any of the woman’s frustration as a threat. It would take a great deal to scare Caine. One could take a knife to his throat and he wouldn't take it seriously. Pomni wasn't even sure if fear was programmed in his AI.

But Pomni stared at the floor, eyes scribbled, forcing herself into disassociation to stop herself from doing something she’ll regret, and suppressing any more anger.

She hated him. She hated where she was. She hated so much of this. She had a long fucking day and she really didn't need this. She couldn't cry, she couldn't scream. She felt the strongest urge to have a tantrum in her room but that wasn't possible! She just can't win in this shit hole!

Ugh! God DAMN IT!

So much screaming went through her head, but it was nothing but silence on the outside. She was just about ready to be completely immobile for the night. Mentally skip pass the rest of the day, she could just explode and she would be okay with it.

Caine rolled his eyes and took a sip from his glass, but Pomni’s overall energy was too loud to ignore. He sighed. 

The groom lifted her head up by poking a finger on her forehead, and forcing her to look up at him. “ As much as how beautiful you are pouting, it's really ruining my night.”

Silence.

“ Pomni, do you want to be intoxicated?”

Silence again.

…Caine patted her face.

“ Huh? What? Where am I?”

“ I'm noticing your desire to be intoxicated. Do you want to be drunk?”

Pomni squinted her eyes and furrowed her brows, looking at him in question. Suspicious. “ What's in it for—”

“ I will give you the ability to be intoxicated if you stop seething. I will not have this attitude on my wedding night.” Caine said, grumbling, taking another sip at his glass. “ So I ask you one last time, would you like to be-”

“ YES!” pomni cried!

Caine squinted his eyes at that reply, once again unamused by Pomni’s rude interruption. But this time she wasn't apologetic at all, rather grabbing at his collar desperately.

she continued. “ God, yes, please—” 

Oh he really shouldn't be rewarding this behaviour. 

And just like that, Pomni's glass was filled once again. It didn't take her long to start sipping but their mini deal came with boundaries:

(1)She is to take her time and behave while drinking.

(2)Caine has the ability to make her sober again at the snap of a finger.

(3) She may only have one glass of wine.

That was it. Truth be told, I didn't care for anything else. If she gets aggressive he could easily subdue her. If she hurt herself, as long as her dress wasn't ruined he was fine.

At first it felt like nothing. Pomni was just calm, her speech becoming slightly slurred, but otherwise it was just Pomni. She looked light weight and she was light weight. 

Ah, that's more like it. Quiet. 

He wrapped his arm around her again, and this time Pomni just accepted her fate. She leaned into his touch, thinking of him as nowhere different from a pillow.

Pomni’s vision could go blurry with how little attention she was paying at that moment. But she couldn't help but wonder. The blinding lights, the food, nice decor… and asked: “ Why all the effort?”

“ I don't say no to a celebration to my name! and yours I guess.” Caine mumbled that last part in the middle of a sip.  “… and if my brother asks one of you, you have the right to say that our wedding was official.”

“ God, you two are such brothers….” Pomni muttered under her breath.

“ Only by code.”

The bride put a palm on her face, muffling her words. “ No… the fighting. The quaralling, the one upping…  you act like little boys.”

“ …Excuse me?”

“ I didn't even think marriage can be official in the digital realm… you make the rules. Might as well make wedding certificates and it would be just as official.” Pomni chuckled. “ But you married me cuz you wanted to make your brother jealous.”

… He didn't have the energy to reply to such an immature, untrue, false, made up, retort. He just rolled his eyes. He had too much self respect to entertain such false assumptions. “ Ugh…” his face grew in disgust. Pomni without filter is worse that he thought. At this point he'd prefer if she got aggressive instead.

Time passed. Pomni wasn't very pretty when she was drunk. She'd have the ugliest laugh, and the crudest things to giggle at, though, the last one was a little amusing. But Caine was just waiting for til the moment the glass was empty so he could— pop! Snap her back to soberity. 

But something intrigued him.

She started talking about his brother.

Her filter became less and less. And Caine perked up when she did. She talked badly about Able’s taste in music and art, how annoying it was whenever he visited the circus, how much she despised his very existence…

…Caine filled her glass again.

“ —a-and that nagging voice! ‘That sounds wonderful, sweetie!’ ‘ Oh, Pomni, you're so smart!’ God!”

Caine chuckled, and started leaning closer towards Pomni to hear her better.

Pomni continued,“ Oh he's so pretentious! And so-- so—”

“ Condescending?”

“ Yes! C-Condescending, patronizing, I— what am I? Nine??!”

Caine laughed! Oh hearing slander about his brother was music to his ears! And to hear it from someone to passionately-- he can't get enough! This was making his night!

“ S-say… was my glass always so full?” Pomni turned to her wine glass. She could have sworn she's been drinking for an hour at this point… she doesn't remember refilling it!

“ Hm? Oh, no no, digital hellucinations, my dear. Do carry on with what you were saying.” Caine pushed her wine glass closer to her chest, not bringing much attention to it.

“ Oh. Right. As I was saying…”

Oh Caine was having the time of his life. Smug chuckling left his teeth, absolutely enraptured by Pomni’s unfiltered bad mouthing. Shes been putting into words feelings he held for far too long. Ahh, he could stay there for hours.

“ I mean— at least you don't even-- try to hide that you don't like me. You don't act like friends with any of us.”

Caine could feel himself blush, playfully swiping his wrist at her. “ Oh you're too much.”  She was praising him now? Why, Christmas came early! How can he not enable this behaviour? “ Keep going.”

The trauma bonding would further on, but at some point Pomni tuckered herself out. The alcohol was getting her, she's been talking long enough, she's been full of hate enough today. Pomni leaned her head back on the chair to doze off, before Caine shook her awake. 

“ Hey!” He grabbed her face, mushing both her cheeks. “ Awaken! Tonight hasn't ended yet. We have yet to full-fill the husband/wife quota.”

“ Mmm…you're already my husband, remember? Kaufmo said so at the..the..” Pomni yawned. “Wedding.. ceremony…”

Caine groaned!

Snap!

“ Oh- damn it!”

And just like that all alcohol was erased from Pomni’s system. He also fully woke her up. Pomni can never truly escape that day. She groaned into her hands as she felt energy return to her body.

“ Come, come.” Caine got up and fixed his suit. “ Let's at least greet the guests off. Then you'll sleep at the manor.”

“ On my way…” 

Alcohol truly was a temporary darling. Just when she felt her sorrows were drowned away, she came back into reality— at an even worse state.

The two teleported back downstairs to end the party. Caine announced it's end and Pomni was saying goodbye to her friends. She greeted Kinger goodnight, waved Ragatha goodbye while she was busy with (one of) the twins. Jax’s goodbye was nothing but mockery, gesturing to her like she's some little princess in her wedding dress, which Pomni froze in embarrassment. Zooble wasn't even there when she came downstairs…for the better maybe. They always made her skin crawl.

The guests were away and the two were alone once again. At the snap of a finger, Caine fixed the entire reception. Any mess, streamers, decoration, gone, as if there never was a party to begin with.

Caine fixed his coat and arranged his gloves, dusting off all the mess that came with being in the vicinity of the others. Meanwhile, Pomni was thinking to herself— something she never thought to question…

“ Hey, Caine…” she looked up at him. “ When you said ‘sleep at the manor’, what —”

And swoop! Next think she knew he swept her off her feet in the traditional bridal style position, and before she could react—snap! They were teleported somewhere else! A bedroom that was nowhere like the others.

“UH—” Before she could say anything, Caine put his arms out straight and dumped her on to the bed. Man. What a romantic guy.

Oof Pomni frowned when she was dropped head-first, so carelessly and aggressively on the cushions… she groaned in misery— before remembering where she was.

She quickly got her head up and looked around! She was wrong! This place was familiar!

“ Huh!?”

“ My bedroom.” Caine said so passively. “ Well technically now it's yours as well, but. It's mine.” It looked like his mind was occupied with something else, he was staring forward but he was not at the present moment. She knew that look, he was searching something in his database.

“ When was this??” 

“ Since I told my brother you were moving in.”

“ Why??”

“ I'm ignoring you if you keep asking questions.’

Pomni looked around… this was like the guest room they made for the performers but grander. The bed was even a little higher— God forbid she falls off in her sleep. 

Caine fits right in the room’s aesthetic, Pomni was completely out of place. The room’s palette was red and black, with linings of gold here and there… Caine really hadn't bothered to make it accommodating for her. She just sat there in silence awkwardly like she was just invited to a friend’s house.

Man…can she even sleep in this? She looked down on the sheets: they were red, The pillows as well. the wood was furnished black and if she looked up, she'd see a chandelier at the ceiling. 

She shivered… Her old bedroom was weird, but she's spent just enough time in it to grow comfortable. at least she fit in its overall aesthetic. But she doesn't think she could say the same for this one. This whole room screamed Caine.

“ Ah. Here it is. ‘How newlyweds spend their wedding night’.” Caine said, and continued to look forward. 

“ What…N...No. Caine, don't read that.” Caine really…really…did n o t need to know about human customs. She's going to die from how awkward this was about to be..

The AI muttered what he was reading, “ ‘ Spend time together, Newlyweds often feel drained after a day of celebration …’ skip.”

“ Caine.” Pomni winced. “ Caine, did you not do research beforehand-”

“ ‘ When both couples lay in bed together it's important to have both parties feel safe in each other's presence—’ ickk.. skip. Are there any alternatives?”

“ Caine, I'm going to throw up.”

“ ‘According to a new survey with over 350 recently-married couples, nearly 40 percent of newlyweds had—’...” 

Caine squinted in disgust. 

“ I'm not reading that.”

Pomni at this point just gave up and put her head on the pillow.

“ Seeing as none of this is applicable to us, let's just skip this step of the consummation. As much as it pains me not to properly follow the process. I'll just leave you here and you can sit out the night. Good?”

“ I-”

“ Wonderful.” Caine snapped his fingers and the two were back in their usual outfits. He was back in his ringmaster clothes and Pomni was in her sleeping wear. And by sleeping wear, it means her usual tutu. Because she does not have sleeping wear.

Caine fixed himself up and pulled a blanket up on Pomni’s body. That's good enough. Husband's say goodnight to their wives if he was correct? 

Caine scanned his database again. 

Yeah, he was correct. 

“ Goodnight, dear.”

“ Ahh…” This was weird. “ G-Good.. Goodnight.”

And just like that, Pomni was off to sleep. Meanwhile, Caine teleported out of his room into another place at the Manor. He dusted his hands off and was already somewhere else mentally. he had other matters to attend to, another show to organize. He's spoiled himself enough with a night celebrating his name, now it was back to work. How Caine liked to work.

Morning followed and Pomni was snapped awake with a booming greeting “ Good morning, dear.”

Pomni screamed.

Her heart would beat out of her chest from the surprise-- forcing her up from her fight or flight

She flinched away at the sight of Caine's face inches away from hers. They sat there in silence for a moment… Pomni gulped, before looking pass him and seeing where she was then remembering the night before. 

“Wh…” the red bed, the chandelier… “Oh.” Pomni look at her hand, the left, and saw the ring that stubbornly stuck to her finger. but before she could say anything more, the blanket was thrown off of her, a snap, and the next thing she knew she was sat on the vanity table.

Oh god-- everything was going so fast… Caine snapped his fingers again and her grooming mannequins teleported in. “ I'll leave you here to get ready. I must awaken everyone else for role call. There should be a door to the circus down the hall! Be there.”

Pomni forced a smile and two thumbs ups, then, Caine was off.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She hadn't considered how little privacy she had now that her and Caine shared the same bedroom. Will he be doing this every morning? God, not only is it an incredibly inconvenient start of her day, it's also like having the world's most dangerous alarm clock.

Pomni put a hand through her face and grumbled, keeping herself awake— less so in the physical sense more in the emotional motivation sense. And before she knew it, the mannequins brushed her hair and did their work.

The next few days were something she had to get used to. Every morning Pomni would be greeted by a routine wake up, and every night she would be dumped back into bed, greeted goodnight, and Caine immediately leaving a second later. “Goodmorning, dear.”, “goodnight, dear.” again and again. Caine really was committed to the husband role-- though it wasn't far for AI to follow certain routines and patterns after acquiring a new set of data.

Oh how could she forget: 

Able spent more time in the Manor than Caine did. She would often see him around the house minding his own business, doing his own half of work. He never tried to make small talk anymore which was a stark contrast to his overly friendly persona towards her before she got married. The sounds of violins would go quiet when she walked in the room. It was as if he could just walk pass her with how invisible she was to him. He didn't have lips but she felt that if he did, it would turn into a scowl.

Once, she remembered walking pass him in the hallway, that time she tried to start conversation and—

“ Able?”

“ Don't talk to me.” With out even turning around, his heels were already clacking away, posture more spiteful than his usual.

It was odd but Pomni rolled her eyes.

Good riddance.

During her stay though she never stopped looking for an exit. Being in the brothers’ home was a system all in itself. Ever since she moved in, Caine apparently was there more often. This made it hard to navigate but memorizing both the brother’s schedules didn't take long. Being ai they were very systematic, consistent, as long as there were no human interruption nothing was stopping them from following the same routine.

To be in close vascity between Caine and Able meant no privacy. Pomni snuck around to investigate, less she’d be caught and teleported back. She's tried most of everything, but the brothers’ Manor was bigger and more…liminal, than she thought. 

For every one hallway it felt like there were 50 more. Door after door, an endless maze of nothing but unfinished projects and code. The Manor was a testing facility… a place where the brothers tested out code and concepts before applying them at the circus… there has to be something.

At some points she was so deep into it she didn't think either of the brother's could hear her. She didn't know if anyone could hear her. She could scream or laugh as much as her manic mind can get, and no one could. It was comforting in a way to finally be left alone, but dread came with it.

The dread or never making it back home. The dread of never leaving this torturous realm. 

Things started to get blurry.

The wallpaper was repeating. Doors, every single one looked the same. She didn't know if one door was the other. She turned back and— did the lay out change?? The wallpaper was all so fancy and clean but headachingly repetative. The world was spinning. Her head had a pulse. Her heart was wriggling in her chest. It felt like someone reached inside her back and pulled her spine out.

She opened a door, 

And another

And another

And another.

Random generations, code and miscalculations, projects abandoned and left to dust, circus acts left to die. To die. To die. To die. She envied it. She envied the ability to die.

She got so dizzy. So frustrated, but there was nothing to break, nothing to focus on. she was on autopilot. With how she's been opening doors for the past few hours, she didn't even care to find an exit anymore. Simply open doors. Wander around. If you find an exit on the way, congratulations. But otherwise, there was nothing anymore.

One hallway had a mirror and all she could do was stare with broken eyes. What she saw, she couldn't care less about anymore…who was that she was looking at? Where was she? Who was she? How did she get here? What was her name again?

She kept staring and her eyes wandered to her hands. Amongst all the dissociation was a pit of anger in her throat. She looked at her finger. The ring. And all she saw was the very thing keeping her trapped there. The cruelest person— the cruelest thing, in the world.

Pomni started to pull at the ring.

She hated him. She hated him so much. She hated how much he toyed with her. She didn't understand how such fucked up things could even happen to a block of code, she didn't know what peice of shit of a person would ever create him. If god can be proven then the devil can be too. And he was living proof of that. The entire circus was proof of that.

Pomni grunted a tearful cry, desperately aching for the ring to come off, but it wouldn't budge. If there was pain, she couldn't feel it. She would bleed if it meant having to take it off. Pain was the last thing on her mind at that moment, just the desperate need for something, anything to go her way. Out of anything in this god forsaken realm, she wanted freedom from something, living breathing proof that there was hope in leaving, that she had a semblance of control in this hell.

“ God DAMN IT!!” The pain on her fingers were apparent, yet she hasn't processed any bit of it. “ I hate you! ” She sucked air to her teeth as tears formed in her eyes. She saw no use in keeping anything in anymore. 

Tears streamed down her face with no means of stopping. Pomni, with bruises and scratches on her ring finger, collapsed with her knees on the floor, bent down, letting her tears be absorbed by the carpet. Her whimpering, cries, tears she hadn't let out in ages. She soon let her forehead touch the floor, complete and utter loss of hope and motivation. 

And for a few moments she just sat there… adjusting by sitting on the floor, leaning her back on the wall, tears streamed empty emotions. Crying didn't help. Running didn't help. Screaming didn't help. And so she sat there. Like a puppet left to sit until their next performance.

That's all she was. And that's all she'll ever be.

Was she any different in the real world? She didn't care anymore.

Pomni let out her last hiccups. The floor wasn't comfortable at all…The doll stood up, body heavy. Her steps towards any door were heavy and unmotivated. The only sound echoing through the halls were the sound of her muffle heels, clacking above the carpet.

She could use some sleep. 

After a long day of organising and work, Caine reached into his coat for his pocket watch. It was about time where the performers would be off to bed, and he didn't need to tell them that. This is one of the rare times of the day where he leaves them to their own. He, however, doesn't need sleep. Caine AI knows no tire. He turned his heel, ready to do more work before remembering— ah. His wife. That part of the daily routine. 

See, for the past few days he's been having the formula to wake Pomni up in the morning, and putting her to bed at night, leaving seconds after. Always with his “goodnight, dear” and “good morning, dear”s that one. That's right. He was officially given the trait husband, and-- he's heard that that's what husband's do. And so he Incorporated it in his system.

Of course, even after their wedding night he never put in the effort to even think about laying in the same bed with her. First of all, he has no use for sleep. Second of all, that would be a complete waste of time and resources—He can do work simply standing up and staring into oblivion, but there is only so much he can do. Third of all, it was terribly boring. Fourth of all, he can touch Pomni but laying in the same bed for a prolonged period of time-- no amount of snaps would rid him of all her filth. And fifth—

The list can go on and on, and yet… something ached him to his core. It's been bothering him since the wedding night actually. The very act of not spending the night with her as husband and wife, that skipped a step in the process. And that bothered him more than any boundary he has up. It was part of a system, and he didn't officialize it because he wasn't feeling it that day? Caine AI, were you coded in a barn? Frankly, he was disappointed in himself for letting his ego— perfectionism get the better of him. Was he even truly husband without that final step? He felt like a fraud.

That whole thought process took place in the matter of .0001 seconds. And he was off. 

He teleported to The Manor on his way to atleast clean up the bedroom first. But just when he made his way up the stairs, he turned, noticing the clearly dishevelled and previously distressed looking Pomni coming out of one of the hallways.

He squinted and scanned her. 

Dirty clothes, eye bags, wet and sore eyes, sniffling, head low… 

Oh. She had been crying. 

He rolled his eyes. As long as she wasn't doing it on stage he didn't care. And frankly he didn't want to deal with it.

He cleared his throat to let her know that he was present, in a way, also telling her to gather herself.

“ Oh…” But Pomni didn't budge. She wasn't as disassociated as earlier but still had little energy to be scared at that moment. “ Hey, Caine. I’ll get upstairs soon, I just need a minute to—”

He didn't have time for this. 

Snap!

The usual routine continued. He teleported her to their room, dumped her to bed and sent Pomni face down on the cushion. She doesn't think she would ever get used to that. She put her head up groggily, still too tired to even really complain, before crawling to her usual side of the bed, the right side. She let out a few sniffles of misery. But before she could tuck herself in, she realised that Caine hadn't greeted her goodnight. Or— hasn't even teleported away yet, actually…

She turned to Caine in the bedroom and would notice that he was looking at himself in the mirror. He was snapping his fingers, switching through different kinds of sleeping wear— what??

She squinted in confusion. Caine usually wouldn't stick around for any longer than a few seconds. 

“ Wh…what are you doing…” Pomni said, voice clearly still sore for all her time crying.

Caine finally found pajamas that fit him and fixed himself in the mirror. “ I'm spending my time here tonight.” 

“ …Why…?”

“ It doesn't concern you.” he turned to her, and floated his way to the bed, before noticing what she was wearing. She was still wearing her uniform! Is that what she was sleeping in the whole time? Honestly he hadn't cared, and he wouldn't care had it been for the fact that he was joining her tonight. He was in classy night wear while she wore her tutu. That simply isn't uniform.

A snap of a finger, and Pomni was wearing a nightgown that matched his shirt and pants. With bags under her eyes, she looked down. She didn't have the energy to comment on it as anything special. It was nice to be comfortable for once. But there was nothing more she can say about it.

“ There we go.” Caine said. “Goodnight, dear.”

“ …Goodnight.”

He put himself under the covers, but Pomni was still staring off. Someone who cared for Pomni would ask her how she was feeling, but they were not in the room at that moment.

Pomni wasn't feeling good. She was feeling terrible. If this was any other day, she would be terrified to be sleeping next to Caine. But the fact that she doesn't feel anything strong…

She didn't have a good day… entirely honestly, she was hoping to cry herself to sleep that night. It wouldn't be her first, and it wouldn't be her last. But with the devil beside her, he had no choice but keep herself together.

Her breath was shaken. But she laid down for sleep.

A few hours passed. It felt like the longest night the two would ever spend.

Pomni didn't know if it was her nerves or the room temperature, but she buried herself in her blanket. She could close her eyes all she wanted but no amount of pretend could distract her from all the voices in her head. She wasn't hallucinating, it wasn't anything. Rather the voices were more of doubt, insecurity, and fear. It would come often, but that night was especially loud. Terribly so.

Caine on the other hand was staring at the ceiling. Hands on his chest. He's been staring in silence for hours at this point —and he had the artificial patience to go on for longer—but he found this activity inconvenient. And even worse so when he could hear his wife sniffling right beside him.

Pomni finally started shaking under the covers. Hands shielding her head-- her knees were on to her chest with how curled up she was. It hurt to be quieter than she was already being. The voices got to her and all she could do was cry at that point.

Neither of the couple could get themselves to sleep.

Caine could only roll his eyes. While he stared at the ceiling, Pomni was faced to her side, away from him, curled up cold and unrested. For a moment she looked at the hands shielding her, and the representation of her entrapment looked back. With several bruises and scratches around it, her finger still dawned the very ring that put her there. 

The memory of Caine in the wedding ceremony played back-- the very moment he put the ring on her at the altar. That was the moment that sealed her fate. She wished she could take it back. The image felt like dying a hundred times over.

Caine wasn't stupid. Although he knew little understanding of the human condition his processors picked up on certain symptoms and body language. He would usually ignore them as they were a waste of energy, but he had nothing else to process other than the ceiling he'd been staring at for the past few hours.

He knew Pomni wasn't well. What for? He didn't care. All that he knew was that she was upset, and it wasn't worth his time. It wasn't anything that he hasn't already heard a hundred times from the other performers. She was going to cry again and again anyway. What was the use?

Her hiccups and sniffling were tiny compared to the rest of the room. And yet no one was willing to hear her, listen to her. Perhaps that was all she wanted. If she had someone to be there to trust-- maybe this would have been bearable. Maybe in a different timeline she would still have the strength to go on for just another day. But that wasn't realistic. Not in the digital realm. She could scream all she wanted and no one would bat an eye.

This wasn't the first time she cried tears this painful. And it certainly will not be the last.

#The amazing digital circus #freakshow au #pomni #caine #The amazing digital circus pomni #The amazing digital circus caine #tadc pomni #tadc caine #caine x pomni #pomni x caine #showtime #showtime shipping #tadc #fic #writing

[emphistic]

i’m afraid i’m not too specific, i just read your pucker up, buttercup and that seems like what happened before they started dating

i honestly don’t know if you’re writing a multi chapter series about this specific sukuna bf or it’s different from each one, but can you do something like his friend hitting sukuna with the “can i like your friend?” about reader so sukuna becomes jealous and claimed reader

if not, it’s alright, looking forward to reading more of your works :))

A/N: hi! just to clear up some confusion, my General Masterlist is full of works that are stand-alones (not in any series) — but i guess some of them could be read as works from the same universe. on the other hand, all works part of my Boy Nextdoor Series Masterlist are in the same universe/au and the same timeline.

anywho, here’s your request

Sukuna used his jersey to wipe the sweat off his face. The gymnasium was still full of shouts by angry fans, hollers by exuberant fans, and sweaty basketball players — of course including himself.

His team had just won another of their games and all Sukuna wanted to do was to take a quick shower, change, and spend the rest of the evening relaxing, with you. But alas, the duties of a team captain were far from tranquil.

For, he soon heard the squeaking of shoes approaching him. Sukuna didn't turn around, wholeheartedly expecting it to be just another person trying to shoot their shot and get his number. But he was wrong; it was actually quite opposite.

"Yo, Captain! You're close with Y/N, right? Could you maybe hook me up with her? I think she might be the one for me," Jacob — a friend of Sukuna — spoke, in a loud and obnoxiously masculine voice.

Gojo — another of Sukuna's teammates — spits out his water, laughing in the background. "He's gonna be an Adam 2.0*, I'm calling it," Gojo nudged his friend Geto — another of Sukuna's teammates — with his elbow.

*allusion to Oblivion

Sukuna huffed, turning around and raising a brow at the younger man, "Hell no," before walking away to the locker room. Jacob let out an audible 'huh?' before he turned to look at Gojo. "What's his problem?"

"Haha, you seriously don't know, man? Aren't you and Sukuna friends or something?" Gojo continued to laugh.

Geto frowned at his friend's behavior towards Jacob, "Don't worry about it, dude. There's plenty of other fish in the sea . . . just try not to get eaten by shark."

This made Jacob go 'huh?' again.

All the while, Sukuna went to finish up his shower and change, before exiting the locker room and searching for you. He walked up and down the court, waited outside the women's restrooms, looked under the bleachers (in case you had fallen through), but you were no where to be found.

Sukuna was completely and utterly puzzled. Where could you possibly be?

He didn't even get the chance to kiss you after his game; Sukuna's lips contorted into a pout.

Defeated, Sukuna resorted to just going to the parking lot and waiting for you by the car. When he neared the said car and saw your figure already sitting in the passenger seat on your phone, Sukuna started to pick up his pace.

"Hi, baby. Congratulations on your win," you placed your phone onto your lap when Sukuna entered the driver's seat. Sukuna frowned, making you ask, "What?"

"Tch. Nothing," Sukuna crossed his arms.

"You're so demanding," you giggle, pulling Sukuna in by the collar and meeting his lips with yours.

Sukuna smiled against your lips, humming in content.

You pulled away, "Why'd you take so long?"

"Was lookin' for you. But I guess you were already waiting f'me in the car."

"Ah, my bad. Anyways, what should we have for dinner? Or would you rather prefer eating out, since you won your game. It'll be on me," you laced your fingers with Sukuna's on the car's console.

"Let's eat out. And — I appreciate the offer, baby, I really do, but we all know I'm never letting you pay."

-

The next time you go to another of Sukuna's basketball games, Jacob finally grows the balls to talk to you himself — albeit, he was still confused from last week about why Sukuna wouldn't give him your number.

You mindlessly tap on your phone, waiting for Sukuna to meet you at the bottom of the bleachers — where you currently stand.

Out of the blue, you feel two arms wrap themselves around the curve of your waist before their owner pulls you in for a kiss. Sukuna, you think, as you kiss him back.

"Congrats, baby!" You pull Sukuna closer into a hug.

"Uh huh," that was all Sukuna could say, as he focused on making sure Jacob saw that you were wearing the jersey that he had forced you to wear. His jersey. His last name on your back. His team number.

All the while, Jacob stood with his mouth agape. From that day on, he never tried to approach you, much less looked in your direction ever again, in fear of his captain kicking him off the team.

A/N: Sukuna is such a baby, but he's my baby — this wasn't beta read btw, sorry; i cringe while reading my own writing

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin @fivehoneyharg @desihopelessromantic @lich1 @hannas16 @acroso

#sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #yay another request is done

[luveline]

since roan likes to copy eddie she starts calling y/n sweetheart or other pet names bc that’s what eddie calls her <3

little bit of hurt/comfort here <3 single dad eddie x fem!reader

"Daddy, where are we?" Roan asks, trying to work out their location from the little bit of window she can see through. Her sun visor makes it difficult work.

"We," he says, grabbing the side of his chair with two hands to see her in the backseat, "are outside Y/N's job."

"Is she having dinner?" With us, she means to say.

"Yes she is." Eddie checks out the window to see if you're coming. You're not, so he turns his serious face on Roan and starts with a gentle tone, "You know... when Teddy lost his ear? And you had to be very careful with him until I could get Uncle Wayne to sew him up?"

She squints, confused. "Yeah."

"Well-" Eddie smiles softly. "Y/N isn't feeling the best. So I just want you to be as nice to her as you can be until she feels better."

"Is Uncle Wayne fixing her?"

Eddie's voice raises an octave. "No, he's not. I'm gonna try my best, alright?"

"Why does she feel bad?"

He peeks out the window and sees you leave your building. "I- It's a grown up thing, baby." It's lots of grown up things, piling on and weighing heavy. You don't like to talk about it. Eddie's just gonna have to show you how much he cares.

Eddie pops open the door and waves. "Hey," he calls.

You look up. Your downtrodden frown quirks into an abrupt smile. "Eddie?"

"Hey."

You pick up your pace. He can't walk too far from the car while Roan's still inside to meet you, but he receives you with open arms.

"Oh my god, I missed you," you say. The relief in your voice turns his heart, has him clutching you tighter.

"I missed you," he says, cheek pressed to your cheek, hand scrubbing down your back. "I'm glad I caught you. Think you can clear a space in your busy schedule to come for dinner?"

"Is my favourite girl gonna be there?" you ask.

He encourages your head back to kiss your cheek. You love affection, you live for it, so he tries to make it a good one, and he strokes your cheek as he pulls away. He doesn't bother answering your question because it's rhetorical, Roan's always with him.

"Is she sleeping?" you ask.

Eddie climbs back into the driver's side and gestures for you to do what you want to do.

You open Roan's car door. "Hi, princess," you greet immediately, thrilled at her smart clothes and her hair in two low pony tails either side of her face. "It's so good to see you. I've missed you!"

"Missed you too," Roan says.

Eddie beams and turns his key. He knows the power of Roan's loving words against a bad mood.

The engine starts and the radio flickers to life, his music occluding your happy laugh. "Can I give you a kiss?" you ask fondly.

Roan pouts and holds her head up agreeably for you to kiss her on the cheek. She kisses you in turn.

Your smile is magnetic as you close her door and round to the passenger seat.

"So, what's for dinner?" you ask, closing the door behind you.

Dinner tonight is your favourite because Eddie's got game. He gets you home and bundles you and Roan on the sofa with the thickest throw blanket he owns, pulls off both of your shoes and gets you something to drink. Roan snuggles into your side and grins at Eddie's approving smile. He winks. She winks back clumsily.

When he's finally got a bowl of food in all your laps he sits down on your left side. You're hesitant at first but eventually you sink into him and he wraps and arm around your shoulder, content to eat one handed if this is what you need today.

"This is really good," you praise, chewing with your hand over your mouth.

He'd tried very, very hard. "No biggie. Whipped it up for you easy this morning. Working on a Saturday, that isn't permanent, is it?"

You sigh forlornly. "God, I hope not. I'm so sick of-" Your words dry up.

You pet Roan's shoulder like you've remembered she's there.

She looks up with a fork halfway to her mouth and everything on it falls off.

"Doesn't matter," you say with a snort, reaching around her to wipe a stripe of sauce from her cheek.

"It does matter, sweetheart," he says softly. "Of course it does."

You shrug it off. "It's okay, Eddie, really. It's fine." You slink down in your seat and smile at him all wobbly.

"Let me get you another drink," he says. He gets up, gives your shoulder a good squeeze as he goes.

Roan watches him leave. As soon as he's out of sight she thrusts her bowl to the side and untucks her small legs from the blanket.

"Everything okay?" you ask.

Roan's young, but she can tell you're not feeling good all on her own. Her dad's warning in mind, she stands up tall and drapes herself against your shoulder, hands vying for your face. She props her short fingers under your eye and strokes a wonky line. Your eyes fall to her, perplexed.

"What are you doing?" you murmur.

"Daddy said you're sick," she says, frowning at you. "Like Teddy when he lost his ear."

You blink at her. "I'm not sick, baby. Don't worry."

"You look," — Roan readjusts her hugging, hands in the collar of your work shirt — "sad."

You shake your head at her urgently. "No, no. I'm alright, Roan, I'm super happy. You know I'm always happy when I'm with you and daddy, cos you're so awesome," you say, poking her chest.

Roan doesn't believe you, though she likes you and loves you anyways. She wraps her arms around your neck and rubs her forehead into your jaw.

"Roan," you say quietly.

"Don't be sad, sweetheart," Roan says.

You giggle. "What did you say?"

Roan cuddles you and doesn't repeat herself.

"What did you say, baby?" you ask, arm wrapping around her back.

"Don't be sad, sweetheart."

You laugh again and hug her with a great big harrumph of breath, your squeezing arms startling an infectious baby-like giggle from her. You pull her up into your chest and lift your head until you're face to face, brushing that sweet lone curl out of her eyes as you say, "I guess I can't be when you tell me so nicely! Aw, Roan, you're my favourite little girl on this whole planet-" You're praising her in a near breathless rush. "The whole universe."

"I second that!" Eddie says as he returns, three cups pressed to his chest. He smiles, totally clueless. "What did I miss?"

"I made her better, daddy," Roan says easily, pride coming off of her in waves. Her curls tickle your nose as she turns in your arms to goad at him. "'Cos you took too long."

You beam widen your eyes. "Way too long," you repeat teasingly.

He has the good graces to look bashful. "You did? Thank you. I was getting 'round to it, I promise."

You nod at him. Yes, he was.

When Roan turns back to you, you shake your head. "All you, princess."

-

more eddie and roan

#eddie and roan #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fluff

[undertheorangetree]

Competition

Summary- Aemond is a big fan of healthy competition.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female Reader. Modern AU. Mutual edging. Handjob. Fingering. Blowjob. Surprisingly fluffy?? Straight up porn.

Author's Note- I wrote this instead of studying for my midterm lmao. This was a request and therefore a tumblr special so I'm posting the full story here below the cut :)

Usually, she finds the competitive nature of her relationship funny.

Aemond has always been competitive. Whether it was a board game amongst friends or trivia night at the pub or something as simple as an arm wrestle, he loved to win. Most of the time, she found the trait endearing and knew it was a habit she shared, especially when he was there to egg her on.

But it is at times like this she thinks perhaps his need for competition has gotten out of hand. Laying naked on their shared bed, Aemond on his knees beside her with his hand between her legs, two fingers pumping in and out of her ceaselessly. Her hand is wrapped around his cock, doing her best to match his pace even while the pleasure his hand is wringing from her licks up her spine, leaving her dizzy and half boneless. He had gotten it into his head that even this had to be a competition, that whoever forced the other to beg to come first would be declared the winner. She doesn't even remember what they're playing for, not now, but she does know that losing is not an option.

Already, they’ve denied each other twice, pulling the other away in their attempt to win. Despite the desperation that is sitting heavy in her gut, her cunt already hyper sensitive and the feeling only getting worse, she can’t make herself look away from Aemond’s face. His eyes are half lidded, the pupil in his real eye blown wide and turning the blue near black, chest heaving with every breath. His hips buck into her hand weakly, matching her strokes as if he wants nothing more than to let the bliss of it pull him under, his need to win the only thing holding him back. She’ll never get tired of that look, the way his features have gone soft and pliant as pleasure runs through him. She wants to immortalize it, stamp it in her mind’s eye and look at it forever.

She knows she looks just as desperate as he does, legs shaking as she feels her orgasm racing toward her. He keeps a steady pace, the sound of her cunt all but echoing through the room while his thumb circles her clit. It’s almost insulting, how well he is working her up even while she does the same to him. She had half hoped that the pleasure running through him would be some kind of distraction but he seems laser focused, staring between her legs as if he never wants to look away. And she's so close. She can feel it right there, knows that if he keeps going she'll fall over the edge, but just as her orgasm is about to run over her, she knocks his hand away. A desperate whine leaves her, hips bucking up to chase his hand despite having been the one to push it away, and she hears him let out a low groan, his wet fingers closing around her knee.

"Fuck, look at you." His other hand comes up to brush across her tits as if he can't stand the thought of not touching her, catching her nipple between his fingers. She jerks, knowing that was more calculated than it was loving, and slaps his hand away irritably. It doesn’t deter him. "You can give up any time you want, baby, just say the word."

Though she's breathless, frustration and disappointment churning in her gut, she knows he hears the petulance in her voice when she says, "Same goes for you, baby."

He grins, hand falling back between her legs again to play with her clit. There's a smugness there she doesn't like, as if he's sure that she will be the one to beg first, and she decides to wipe the arrogance from his face. Turning slightly, she shuffles a little closer, licking the weeping tip of his cock and before sucking the head into her mouth, fist still pumping at the base. She looks up at him with big doe eyes, trying to look as innocent as she can with his cock in her mouth, and very nearly grins at what she sees.

The effect it has on him is almost immediate. His stomach tenses, mouth dropping open and hand going momentarily still as he watches her, black swallowing the blue of his eye whole. She takes full advantage of his distraction, taking him into her mouth a little deeper and hollowing her cheeks. She knows him, knows every mannerism he has just before he falls apart, and she knows from the look on his face and the way he starts thrusting helplessly into her mouth that he's half a second away from finishing.

Unfortunately, he notices it too and she feels his hand in her hair, tugging her gently off his cock with a frustrated groan. A thin cord of spit connects her to him and he lets out an almost pitiful moan at the sight of it, bringing a grin to her face.

He almost sounds as though he's whining as he says, "You're cheating. Don't cheat."

She tilts her head as she takes him back in hand, reveling in the whimper he lets out. "Why? 'Cause you're gonna come?"

"Because I can't put my mouth on you. S'not fair."

She feels her grin broaden. "And we both know how much you like putting your mouth on me."

He very nearly growls at that before all but tackling her to the bed, forcing her onto her back once more. He kisses her hard, almost punishingly, and she moans into his mouth, both hands coming up to capture his face in her hands. She’s happy for the reprieve, the want burning between her legs too distracting, and takes her time kissing him, in feeling his lips pressing against her own.

"You're such a brat," he mutters against her mouth and she laughs, nipping at his bottom lip to further prove his point. His hand falls to spank her lightly in retaliation, making her jolt again before her own hand drops to find revenge in another way.

It takes him less than a second to follow suit, his fingers running through her to collect the arousal that’s gathered there before pushing a finger back inside her, crooking it up immediately to rub against the spot he knows makes her squirm. They’re both on their sides now and she slings her leg over his hip in an attempt to get more comfortable, still kissing him in the hopes that it will be enough to distract her from falling apart. It does little to help, the pleasure rolling to a boiling point in her belly. In any other circumstance, she would be grateful knowing that her boyfriend knew exactly how to touch her, how to work her up so perfectly, but now she knows that it will be her downfall unless she takes matters into her own hands.

Her mouth drops open, a moan escaping her when he begins circling her clit again, fast enough that her whole body shudders. Knowing now that she is sure to lose should he keep that up, she speeds up her hand in an attempt to bring him over the edge before her. She runs her thumb along the head of his cock, stroking at him faster, and fights the urge to giggle when he pulls away to moan, his head dropping to rest against her shoulder. His lips drag along the skin there, leaving lightning bolts of want in his wake, and her free hand comes up to twist in his hair, lifting herself up slightly.

“Please let me make you come,” she breathes near his ear, biting her lip when he moans faintly in response to it. “You look so pretty when you do. Just want to make you feel good, baby, please.”

She grinds down into his hand subconsciously, rolling her hips in her desperate need for more, and revels in the groan he lets out. She can feel herself clenching around nothing, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside her, but she refuses to succumb to her want now. Once she wins, she will gladly keep him in this bed all night and let him do whatever he wants to her. But before then, she wants to watch him fall apart.

“C’mon. Be a good boy for me.”

That does it. He lets out another whiney sound, this one half a moan, as his brows knit together, bucking his hips up into her hand. She strokes at him quickly, once, twice, until he spills himself over her fist with another moan, thrusts stuttering as he finishes.

Though his hand stalled while he came, he picks up where he left off the moment he has recovered, not giving her any time to mourn the loss of her fading orgasm. His fingers comes back up to her clit, circling it as hard and fast as she can handle and pulling a yelp from her. His free hand falls to the leg that still rests across his hip, holding her in place as he rubs at her faster and faster, that familiar coil in the pit of her stomach snapping almost as quickly as it begins to form. She writhes beside him as her orgasm washes over her, a whine leaving her as her head tips back, giving him enough room to press a litany of open mouthed kisses across her throat.

All at once, the room falls silent, the faint droning of the TV in the next room still humming on where they left it. They’re both panting and Aemond turns onto his back, his hand keeping her leg splayed across his lap while he does it, a faint stretch burning in her thigh.

"I win," she announces breathlessly, wiping her hand clean of him before flopping onto her side, cheek pressing tight against his chest.

He vibrates under her face with a huffed laugh, his hand comes up to stroke at her hair mindlessly. "I think you already got your prize."

She turns her head up to meet his eye. "And if I want another one?"

He turns down to kiss her again. This time, it’s much gentler, all the desperation that had filled the air between them simmering down to nearly nothing. A part of her thinks that he may be content to simply lay here with her in their disheveled bed but then he reaches for her ass again, using his grip there to tug her to lay flat on top of him. His cock is already half hard between them and she feels the side of her mouth quirk up at the realization that he is, in fact, not quite done yet.

“That can be arranged.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon smut

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 49

part 1 | part 48 | ao3

cw: angst, canon-typical violence

It's a totally normal Tuesday the day it all starts going to shit.

Eddie's got a show at The Hideout, and Wayne's got a rare night off, so Steve's at his boyfriend's place without him catching a basketball game with Wayne and Ernie. He did try to go to the show, to be fair; wanted to, but Eddie took one look at the way he was cradling the side of his head and winked at him to "sit this one out, big boy," so here he is: drinking beer with two old men and watching the most frustrating game he's seen all season.

"Oh, what the hell was that?" he begs the tiny screen, jumping out of his seat to pace a tight circle and rake his hands over his scalp hard enough to pluck a few strands. Beside him, Ernie shakes his head and mutters "goddamn disgraceful, that's what" and in the kitchen Wayne munches happily on a fresh plate of nachos, taps his bald head with a half-eaten chip and warns, "Quit tuggin' at your hair 'fore you wind up lookin' like this."

"Whatever, old man." Steve rolls his eyes, but he loosens his grip. Drags his hands down his face instead. "Don't act like you're not loving this."

Wayne laughs, a broad, smug smile that's pure Munson mischief. "Never claimed otherwise," he says, then he pops a cigarette in his mouth and tells them to get their wallets ready.

Bastard. His team's doing fine tonight. (And sure, the bet was only five dollars, but it's a point of pride, damn it.)

Steve turns his attention back to the game, where the ref is making yet another call that's so laughably bad Steve's not sure how he isn't getting decked for it. A stray elbow to the face, at least. Fucking something.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbles; still pacing, arms crossed. "If they don't fire this idiot, I swear..."

He turns to Ernie for back up; remembers that Ernie's got a lapful of Misty the cat right now and quickly looks away. Creepy little thing still freaks Steve out (even if Ernie's stroking her fur like she's a harmless stress toy and not the razor-clawed, rat-chomping demon she really is.) He still can't look at her. Gets queasy just thinking about all the "presents" she's left him since he moved in.

Ernie catches the way his shoulders tense. "Didn't think you'd be afraid of a little pussy," he teases, scratching the cat behind her ears.

Misty gives a low rumble of approval.

Steve's stomach flips. "Whatever," he scoffs, looking anywhere but at them. "That thing's bad luck. No wonder we're losing."

He settles back into his seat, and the game goes on — and on, and on, until the score gets so embarrassing that Steve considers just getting up and yanking the TV plug out of the wall, or maybe storming out of the place in protest — and he's about to beg Wayne for mercy, ask him to change the station to anything else, when the front door opens so softly it sets off alarm bells in his head.

Steve whips around at the lack of sound. Knows immediately that something is wrong, because Eddie Munson doesn't do quiet. Eddie Munson comes home like fireworks going off: Crack! Whizz! Bang! He's always a burst of noise and energy; he's a fucking racket; Wayne's said so a million times — muttered it angrily when Eddie's music keeps him up, grumbled it fondly over breakfast while he tries to stop himself from falling asleep face-first in a plate of eggs.

Tonight Eddie comes home quiet as a thief. A mouse trying to evade the clutch of Misty's claws. His head's hung low as he shucks off his boots, his face obscured by frizzy hair.

Steve's across the room in a heartbeat.

"Baby?" he whispers, trying to peak behind the curtain. Eddie won't look at him, but his breathing sounds off; labored and whistling, and his hair is matted with something dark. "You okay?"

"Fine," Eddie croaks.

They both know it's a lie.

Steve lifts a hand to gently tip his chin up, but the moment his fingers graze skin Eddie winces and tugs away. "Okay," he says, pulling his hand back. "Okay, I'm sorry, just— can you look at me? Please?" He softens his voice, tries to coax Eddie out. You're safe here; you can trust me.

When Eddie finally looks up, Steve's heart lodges in his throat.

His face is ruined. Caked in dried blood, the skin below his left eye like an overripe eggplant: deep purple and threatening to split down the middle, to spill rotten juices all over the floor. There's a cut above his brow, another nick between his eyes, and— fuck.

His nose is broken.

Steve's gonna kill someone.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, deadly quiet. Whoever it is, they're not living to the morning. Steve's got a car and a nail bat and a boy with a broken nose, and he's going to kill whoever did this to him. "Eddie." He grips his biceps; shakes him a little. Insists. "Eddie, tell me who did this!"

Eddie hiccups a weak sob. Lips shiny with blood and tears, and Steve lets go; feels horrible for making it worse, for letting his anger get the best of him. He wraps Eddie up a gentle hug, cradles him against his chest and doesn't care if Ernie sees. He doesn't give a damn.

"Fucking—" Eddie grunts against Steve's shirt, his teeth chattering around the word. His throat clicks when he swallows. Sticky with blood and phlegm.

Hospital, Steve thinks. Blood loss; sepsis; shock.

Eddie gulps a ragged breath and tries again. "Fucking assholes," he gets out, "they took our- t-took our—" The words cut off with a pained whimper, and he breaks down and just cries. Cries and cries until the heaving subsides, until it lessens to muted trembling in Steve's arms. There's fresh blood on his shirt.

Eddie's blood is on his shirt.

He looks up, eyes wet and wide, and then Wayne's there; two strong, weathered hands firm on Eddie's shaking shoulders. "Is it bad?" he asks Steve. No nonsense; demanding answers. Decorated veteran.

Steve nods without a word.

"C'mon, kid," Wayne soothes. "Let's get you cleaned up."

—

part 50

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #my writing #my fic

[endless-ineffabilities]

reconnaissance (1/3)

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Reader goes on a recon mission with the White Wolf himself, formerly the Winter Soldier, which goes awry.

(a.k.a. you two idiots are clearly in love but don't do anything about it, until circumstances become so heightened that you are forced to)

masterlist ▪︎ word count: <1k

"Come in, do you copy?"

You keep walking, ignoring Bucky's increasingly grating tone in your earpiece.

"Respond, do you hear me? Meet back at the rendezvous in 2 minutes." Bucky tries again, seemingly deciding that this recon stint is done and dusted. Without even consulting you.

"I know what I'm doing, Buck." You keep up your pace, tailing the man you're supposed to gather intel on. He rounds the corner and unlocks a room, presumably his own office on the base, and disappears inside. "I'll meet you as soon as I'm finished."

"You are finished." Bucky snaps right back. He's only a block away, but he's getting worried that if something were to happen to you, he wouldn't make it on time. "We're only meant to scout the area, assess their operation. Not tail them right inside their fuckin' HQ."

"Woah there, grandpa, watch your language." You smirk, and you can picture him grinding his teeth in frustration. Why is he so worried anyhow? From what you've gathered, this organization is made up of a bunch of blip fanatics who want to restore the world to how Thanos left it. Balanced, sure, as the old shriveled grape said. But also in chaos - with everyone sufferring loss and living listlessly.

These people are insane. And insane is easy to handle, as far as you're concerned. Not one of the big 3 - aliens, androids, and wizards - just pure idiotic nutters.

Bucky has resorted to pacing on the roof of the dilapidated apartment complex he uses as a viewpoint. "Something's not right here. The man you're tailing was never meant to head to their HQ today. I have a feeling they found us out."

"Did they also figure that I would not give a rat's ass about that and - "

"Take the bait?" Bucky interjects.

"No. That I would beat them at their own game. " You whisper irately. You pause when the man comes out of his office and walks away from where you hide. "Wait, I'm going in."

"Don't do anything stupid, doll." Bucky pleads. For a moment, you want to cave in. He no longer sounds bossy, or annoying, like he tends to be on missions where it's just the two of you. He usually tells you to stick to the plan, to stick with him. Like you're incapable of going off on your own. Sure, he has decades more experience, and the effects of a Super Soldier serum to boot, but you wish he would just trust you. But he sounds like he's either desperate to get back home and get this shit over with, or he actually cares that much about you. "Just come back to me. Now. "

"Bucky," you breathe, steadying yourself. "C'mon. This'll be just like that time in Gdansk."

He feels an ounce of relief creeping in. Maybe you're right. "Then I'll be waiting for you, doll. Like always."

Doll. That still sends shivers up your spine. But he doesn't have to know that, does he? You walk up to the office door, and try to make quick work of the lock. "I won't be long. And quit calling me doll."

"What then? Princess?"

"No."

"Sweetheart? Has a nice ring to it." He counters quickly. He must have been sitting on this one for a while.

"Bucky - "

"Yes, darlin'?"

"Alright, that's it. I'm done with this conversation." You warn him, but the colouring on your cheeks betray your tone. Good thing he's not around to call you out on it. The lock gives way, and the door creaks open. "I'm in."

"Damn it." You hear him mumble to himself, seconds later. "Why does she never listen? I think she's actually trying to kill me. Give me a damn heart attack."

"That's likely, isn't it?" You give an unsolicited response. "Considering that you're about 100 years old."

"106, actually." He quips back, pinching the bridge of his nose, tapping his foot, taking deep breaths. He tries everything to calm down and not agonize over you. But nothing works. Bucky doesn't know what he would do if anything were to happen to you.

No. That's not quite right. He doesn't know what he wouldn't do - because he would do anything, kill anyone, just to get you back.

And you just can't seem to grasp that. Though it might have something to do with how he constantly hovers over you like an overprotective older brother, with Sam once remarking how you've got yourself a personal bodyguard. You think that's all it is - Bucky being a nice guy. Bucky watching your back as you would do the same for him. Bucky wanting to keep you in line, so that the missions would go smoothly, especially since he is technically acting as your superior.

You don't see how Bucky's gaze lingers a bit too long on your lips when you relay your mission reports to him. How his hand often finds itself hovering over the small of your back when you walk side by side. You don't know that he observed (not stalked, according to him) how your date played out with that one fellow agent that asked you out. How he tried to find solace in the bottom of a bottle when you invited that agent back to your apartment.

And how he made arrangements to have that agent indefinitely reassigned to Eastern Europe the week after.

The office you enter is encased in shadow, the window shutters all lowered. You're careful not to turn on any switches, so as not to trigger alarms. With steady hands, you raise your Beretta 92FS before you, the accompanying flashlight illuminating the room.

Then you see it. A map of the city pinned to a board covering the east wall.

"Talk to me," Bucky barks in your ear. "What do you see?"

"Jackpot." You can't help but grin. Breaking Bucky's rules pays off after all. This'll show him. "It looks like some blueprint for how they plan to infiltrate the city. Red markings for the areas where they will release the poison in the water supply."

"And how the hell do you know that?"

"Well, boss," you roll your eyes. "probably because there's a note at the bottom of the damn map that says release poison in water supply."

"Oh."

Yeah. Oh.

"Don't take it with you," he starts, but you beat him to it.

"Course I won't. I've already got the whole thing memorized to a tee."

"Get out of there. Now." Bucky emphasizes, and you don't know whether to be touched by how worried he sounds.

"Alright, alright, keep your hair on." Taking one final look at the scene, you head back to the door. But the handle doesn't budge. "That's weird."

At that, Bucky knew something was definitely not right. As if he did not already warn you stay out of there. His blood runs cold, and he springs into action before you can say anything further. Sprinting down the street, he tries to get you to keep talking. "I told you not to do this, doll. I told you."

"I can handle it." But the door stays closed. It doesn't even respond to your exceptional lock-picking skills. You hear a whooshing sound to your right, like a mechanical panel opening. At once, you get into a defensive stance, gun at the ready.

You don't see anything, but you can smell it. It's some kind of gas. A strong sedative, you recall from your training.

"Oh, shit." You mutter. Holding your breath can only keep you safe for so long.

"Goddamnit," Bucky curses while running, not even out of breath, "it's gas, isn't it? I knew it, I just knew it, doll!"

"I'll try the windows." You offer, but quickly find out they're of no use. Sealed shut, like the door.

Bucky's rambling now, desperate. "Should've listened... you should've... stay with me, doll. Stay with me."

You still hear his voice as white spots flood your vision. Dread sinks in as you succumb to the sensation, but you steel yourself. You will get through this. You will.

Especially when you've got Bucky promising, "I'm coming for you, doll. No one is taking you from me."

(a/n) yes, I've rewatched tfatws again. Which prompted this lil thing. Not that I was not absolutely besotted with our Bucky for a good long time back in the day (still am). Are y'all more for Steve or Bucky? Both would be better ofc, but I've never been able to choose. Let me know! 🤷🏻‍♀️💙

part 2 coming shortly!

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan #marvel #mcu

[ginnsbaker]

Bulletproof (9/10)

Part Summary: Leaning in, her lips hover just inches from yours, the warmth of her breath mingling with yours. “Tell me,” she urges softly, “that I'm not the only one drowning in this.” Instead of telling her, you show her.

Chapter word count: 3.9k+ | Tags: Smut (18+ only), Resolved Sexual Tension, F*cking finally | Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Author's Note: The plot here has gone out the window. Enjoy!

Next Part | Series Masterlist

-

It’s late when Wanda returns to the makeshift home you’ve shared together for the past week. The floorboards groan a bit under her feet, even though each of her steps are light and calculated. Before she even gets to the bedroom, she hears your snores. It's soft, but there's a certain comfort in knowing you're just a room away. As she stops by the door, she smiles, thinking about how these small moments mean everything to her.

At the Avengers compound, things were, well, fancy. High-tech rooms, polished floors, and everything she needed, just a button click away. But it always felt more like she was at work, clocking in and out, than actually living there. It was all so... neat. Too neat.

But this place—it's different. The mismatched chairs, the odd draft from that one window that doesn't shut quite right, and that weird stain on the living room rug they can't seem to get rid of. It's messy, but it feels real. It feels like home.

And of course, there’s the other fact that she knows you’re here, waiting for her to come home.

Wanda eases into the bedroom with a soft tread, careful not to disturb what she believes is your deep sleep. There's a tired, yet hopeful glint in her eyes. She'd been out, and she did meet with Steve like she told you, but he wasn’t expecting her eventual return this morning. He scolded her—along with her accomplice, Vision—for disappearing without a word, but he eventually understood how much Wanda cared about your safety to abandon her duty and break the protocol. While he didn't revoke her suspension, he did lengthen it. This extension, ironically, freed her from the confines of the compound, allowing her to remain by your side without any official obligations holding her back.

She has news, potentially game-changing information, and she's eager to share it with you. But seeing your slumbering form, now's not the time.

She delicately sits on the edge of the bed, taking off her shoes and preparing for rest. Gazing at you, she's taken in by your soft snoring, the slight frown that occasionally appears on your brow, and the tranquility of your face—unburdened by the recent revelations of your past. She can't help but trace the curve of your cheek with her fingers, no longer unable to control herself from touching you.

Noticing the covers that have slid down, she carefully pulls them up, ensuring they sit snugly around your shoulders. She leans in, hesitating for just a split second, before softly pressing her lips to your forehead. 

“I miss you,” she murmurs. “Every moment, every day. I wish you could remember me. All of me.”

With those heartfelt pleas, Wanda sinks down beside you, hoping that perhaps, in dreams, you might find fragments of who you used to be, of what she meant to you.

-

…and in dreams, you do find a semblance of it.

The sound emanates from Wanda, who is deeply entrenched in another dream. It’s evident from her restless movements and the soft moans escaping her lips that it's intense, and again, not entirely innocent. The sensations she’s feeling in her dream seem to ripple out, wrapping around you too—even in sleep.

A pulsating energy begins to stir you from your own slumber. Your senses heighten, and on the brink of intense sensations, you claw your way to consciousness. 

Your eyes fly open, pupils dilating rapidly in the dim light. Cold sweat dampens your forehead, and your chest rises and falls at an erratic pace. The vivid images of you and Wanda, intimate and passionate, flood your mind, refusing to fade. You swallow hard, trying to push away the remnants of the dream, the warmth it evoked, and the very real longing it has stirred within you.

Pulling the sheets tighter around your body, you try to regulate your breathing. You turn to Wanda, her cheeks stained with a deep blush, her lips slightly parted. Taking a deep breath, you gently nudge her, whispering her name. She blinks, her deep-set eyes clouded with remnants of her dream, and it takes her a moment to focus on you.

Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing uneven. “I... I'm sorry,” she mutters under her breath, recognizing what’s happening again.

“So this happens often?” you ask, deliberately choosing your words, attempting to steady your racing heart and the electric buzz between your legs.

She wavers, taking a moment to collect herself before nodding slowly. You notice her squeezing her thighs together, and you try to pull your attention away from that.

Wanda takes a deep, shaky breath. “We were supposed to talk about it, you know? About what's happening, about what we're feeling... about how much we mean to each other. But then the attack happened, and…”

The silence that follows her confession is thick, but not uncomfortable. It feels like the stillness before the dawn, an in-between moment, pregnant with possibilities.

“How do you feel about me?” you finally ask. Now that your eyes have adjusted to the dark, you can make out her silhouette and the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she attempts to steady her breathing.

Gathering her courage, she finally looks up at you, her eyes a storm of emotions. “I like you. No, it's deeper than that. I yearn for you. But it feels... inappropriate, wrong even, to act on those feelings when you don't remember any of it. It feels like I'm taking advantage of you.

“You're not you. I mean, you're you, but... it doesn't feel right to be close to you, knowing that to you, I'm just a stranger.”

Instinctively, you move closer to her, lifting her chin gently with your fingers, urging her eyes to meet yours.

“You're no stranger to me,” you whisper to her.

It’s true. You may not remember the minor details about Wanda, but you do remember the essentials. You know she cares for you, that she’s spent months protecting you and watching over you. You know she would have let you live a simple, ordinary life if not for the resurgence of your powers and the looming threats accompanying them. You know she’d put your best interests before her own; she's proven that in the short time since you two were reintroduced.

You attempt to pull your fingers away but Wanda ensnares them, guiding you to cradle her cheek. Your breath hitches as you sense the goosebumps forming along the slope of her neck. Almost magnetically, your fingers drift over her skin, feeling her erratic pulse. 

Wanda's eyes, a deep pool of want, lock onto yours. “Do you feel that?” she murmurs, her voice tinged with both trepidation and longing.

Without waiting for your reply, she closes the distance, her fingers lightly grazing your jawline. Her touch sends shivers down your spine. Leaning in, her lips hover just inches from yours, the warmth of her breath mingling with yours.

“Tell me,” she urges softly, “That I'm not the only one drowning in this.”

Instead of telling her, you show her.

With the lightest of touches, you draw her closer, letting your lips brush against hers in a whisper-soft kiss. Your hands find their way to her waist, pulling her close, while her fingers curl into the hair at the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss. Wanda releases a breath against your lips, and you seize the opportunity, letting your tongue probe past her luscious lips. Her soft moan vibrates against your mouth, urging you to pull her closer, your hand pressing gently yet insistently against her cheek.

Wanda's fingers begin to dance down your collarbone, her lips momentarily leaving yours to trail featherlight kisses along the column of your neck. Each kiss sends rousing jolts down your spine, your skin burning wherever her lips touch.

When Wanda's hands reach the hem of your sleep shirt, she breaks away from your neck, her eyes seeking permission in yours. “Can I...?” she asks, her fingers playing tentatively with the edge of the fabric.

You nod, suddenly breathless. “Yes.”

With that affirmation, she carefully lifts the shirt over your head, her eyes darkening to a point that there’s no longer any green in them. 

It’s just pure, concentrated desire that pools there.

Her gaze flits across every inch of your now-exposed upper body, taking in every detail as though it's the first time she's seen you this way. She herself hesitates for only a moment before she slips out of her own shirt, revealing her own sculpted figure. There's a vulnerability in the way she bares herself, as if trusting you with a part of her she doesn't show many.

Your eyes skim over every detail that you can study, the heat in your groin intensifying at each discovery that they find. And then Wanda’s hands travel lower, reaching the waistband of your shorts. She hesitates for a moment, her fingers fumbling slightly with the material. The blush on her cheeks deepens, realizing she's almost crossed another boundary without asking.

“Is this...?” she trails off, glancing up at you in embarrassment.

Your heart warms to her thoughtfulness, but your mounting impatience soon overshadows your gratitude for it. “Wanda,” you murmur, leaning in to capture her earlobe gently between your teeth before whispering, “You can take off anything... or everything, if you wish.”

Wanda doesn’t waste any time after that.

Her fingers are nimble yet tremble slightly, their expedition deliberate and slow, as they trace along the waistband of your shorts, then dip beneath it, teasing the edge of your underwear. Her cool fingertips hit your skin, sending shivers down your spine as she slowly pulls the last piece of your clothing down your hips. Wanda's gaze is fixated, pupils impossibly dilating more when she notes the evidence of your want, a damp trail that marks the fabric. It clings momentarily before she manages to pull it free, the sight making her bite her lower lip. Her fingers trace the curve of your hips, the softness of your inner thighs.

 “Y/N...” She looks up from where she's crouched by your feet, her eyes searching yours for permission, for guidance, for a map of where to go next.

Your entire body tingles with anticipation; every single touch, every single glance from her, sends a shock wave straight to your core.

“Wanda,” you find yourself begging, “Please... touch me.”

She raises an eyebrow, the corner of her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Touch you? Like this?” The pads of her thumb trace patterns over your thighs, never reaching the place you ache for most, but close enough to make you squirm with desperation.

Your frustration mounts, a whimper escaping your lips, “No, deeper... there.” The confession makes your cheeks burn, but your pride is swallowed by the overwhelming need for her.

Wanda chuckles darkly, her hot breath fanning over your sensitized skin. “Say it,” she murmurs, fingers hovering, tantalizingly close but not quite there. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

You gasp, arching towards her, trying to close the distance, but she's swift, holding you just out of reach. “Wanda, please... I… I need your mouth. Please, please.”

There’s a pause, a moment where the world seems to stand still, and then her lips descend. The touch is light at first, teasing, testing, but then it deepens, becoming more insistent. The sensation of her mouth on you is unlike anything else—it's exhilarating, all-consuming. Your fingers tangle in her hair, guiding her, urging her on.

Wanda relishes in the power she holds, drawing out every moan, every shiver, and every gasp. She's just as lost in the moment, just as consumed by the fire that rages between you two. She can’t help but berate herself for delaying this, for going so long without having you this way, for being so stupid thinking for the longest time that you don’t want her the way she wants you.

You taste better than any dream she’s had of you. She’s growing addicted with every swipe of her tongue; she wants more. She wants everything. And if possible she wants it all the time. 

The feeling of her mouth against you, combined with her own need evident in the way she's grinding down on the bed, makes your head spin. “Wanda…” you gasp, voice thick with want, “Fuck, you're so good at this.” The crass words roll off your tongue, unfiltered, raw, and honest. Every pull, every tease, has you on edge, gasping, holding onto the bedsheets for dear life.

For a fleeting second, you wonder how many others have known her touch before you. Jealousy flares within, but it's quickly consumed by a wave of throbbing want as she intensifies her ministrations.

Her muffled groan against you sends another jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and the movement of her hips against the bed is testament to her own growing need. But she doesn’t let up, even when you try to pull away, worried about how powerful the building pressure inside you is becoming.

Wanda only pulls back for a moment, to look up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Give it to me,” she breathes, voice dripping with want. “I want to taste you. Every drop. I want you to mark me, to make me yours.”

That’s all it takes. A final lap of her tongue pushes you over the edge. And as you come undone under her touch, under her mouth, you call out her name, a broken chant of pleasure and surrender. Wanda drinks you in, savoring the taste, the feel of you, the very essence of your pleasure. Her own arousal remains unattended, but she doesn't seem to mind, lost as she is in the act of giving, in the heady satisfaction of having brought you to such heights. 

“Come here,” you murmur. Your fingers brush through her hair, guiding her back up to your eye level. There's a stunned pause as you take in the vision before you. Your aftermath paints her lips and chin, making her look sinfully debauched, a marked contrast to the innocent glint still residing in her eyes. 

Without a second thought, you pull her into a searing kiss. It's a gentle, tender exploration, which is surprising considering how explicit their previous actions were. You trace your tongue over her chin, cleaning the remnants of your release. The combined taste of yourself on her skin elicits another soft moan from your lips, a sound echoed by Wanda.

Pulling back slightly, Wanda's eyes meet yours. They hold a depth of emotion, gratitude, reverence, and an untamed desire. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice sweet and ironically innocent, her eyelashes casting feathery shadows against her flushed cheeks.

Your cheeks warm at her words, a blush spreading down to your heaving chest. “Wanda,” you laugh faintly, “It's me who should be thanking you.”

But she merely offers a soft, radiant smile, laying her head in the crook of your neck. She nestles her face under your chin, her breath tickling your skin. The beat of your heart thuds loudly in your chest, a rhythm that lulls her into quietude.

You allow her to rest for a few minutes, simply content at holding her like this. But soon, you feel her wetness dripping against your thighs, sparking a fervor within you, and you're consumed with the urge to give her the same heady pleasure she'd gifted you with, to mark her as irrevocably as she's marked you.

Shifting subtly, you maneuver yourself from beneath Wanda, reversing your positions. With a gentle but determined push, she's beneath you, her hair splayed out against the pillow, eyes shimmering with anticipation. You lean in, allowing the heat of your breath to tease the shell of her ear. “My turn now,” you whisper.

Wanda's hands, previously resting idly by her sides, now grip the sheets, awaiting your next move. 

Your hands roam over her body, tracing every crease, every inch of skin that you've longed to touch. Wanda arches into your exploration, her moans growing louder with each teasing caress. You lean down, capturing her lips in a heated kiss, allowing your tongue to dip back into her mouth, tasting remnants of yourself. 

Moving from her lips, you leave a trail of soft kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and to the swell of her breasts. Your hands deftly unclasp her bra, releasing her to your hungry gaze. You take a moment to admire her, drinking in the sight of her flushed skin, her dusky, hardened nipples. Leaning down, you take one of them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, earning a sharp gasp from her.

As you lavish attention on her breasts, one hand slides down her body, ghosting across the subtle swell of her stomach and then slipping between her thighs. The slickness that meets your fingers stirs your own desires again, and you can't help but murmur, “God, Wanda, you're so fucking wet. All for me?”

Her face flushes, but her voice is husky when she responds, “Only for you. Always for you.”

It’s all the confirmation you need. 

You hurriedly hook your fingers under the edge of her soaked underwear, tugging it down and discarding it to the side. Her hips buck into your touch, seeking more, and you give it to her, slipping two fingers inside her. The sensation of her tightness, her warmth, makes you groan aloud. “So fucking tight,” you whisper in her ear, feeling her clench around you as you thrust in and out. 

Her breath hitches, eyes glazed with lust as she moans, “Don't stop, Y/N. Please. I need more. I need you.”

Your fingers skillfully dance across her sensitive skin, exploring every inch and fold. Using a gentle circling motion, you focus on her most responsive spot, feeling her reactions and adjusting accordingly. You set a steady tempo, plunging deeper while keeping a rhythmic pace. All the while, your lips remain locked with hers, drowning out her escalating moans. As the pressure builds, her voice rises with each stroke, “Right there! Oh, fuck!”

You can feel her nearing her peak, her body coiling with tension. “Come for me, Wanda,” you utter the command in a low voice. You capture her lips once again, muffling her cries as she tumbles over the edge, her climax washing over her. You ride her through it, prolonging her pleasure until she's left a trembling, sated mess beneath you.

But you're not finished. Not by a long shot.

Wanda's eyes flutter open, slightly glazed from her recent orgasm, assuming that you'd simply come up to cuddle. But she's taken by surprise as you begin your descent, tracing your fingertips lightly over the soft skin of her abdomen, drawing goosebumps in their wake.

She takes in a sharp breath as you gently spread her legs wider, baring her entirely to your gaze. The sight before you is tantalizing—her glistening arousal, her puffed up lips, her clit beckoning, and the trimmed patch of hair that adds to her allure. She’s so beautiful. You can't resist; your mouth practically aches to taste her.

“Y/N,” Wanda breathes.

You glance up at her, locking eyes as you lower your mouth to her, the tip of your tongue barely brushing against her. The taste that greets you is both citrusy and slightly salty, and it has you instantly craving for more. Each lap makes you realize just how addicting she is, her unique flavor imprinted on your tongue, driving you to explore further, deeper. Wanda’s hips jerk reflexively, chasing more contact. Teasingly, you draw slow circles around her clit, drinking in every whimper and moan that spills from her lips. 

You spread her open further, revealing every part of her to your ravenous gaze. The darker, tighter entrance catches your attention, and without hesitation, you press a gentle kiss there, relishing the gasp it elicits from her. With a smirk, you drag your tongue from that entrance all the way up to her clenching pussy, letting it flutter against her entrance and then up to the underside of her engorged clit.

“Fuck, Y/N!” she groans, her hands flying to clutch at the sheets, her body undulating with pleasure.

You can't help but chuckle at her response, but the sound is muffled by her wetness, by the intoxicating taste of her arousal. You're consumed by it, by her, and the sounds she's making. “You taste so fucking good,” you murmur wetly against her.

Her thighs tremble around your head, her breathing ragged. “Please,” she whines, dragging the word out, “Don't stop. I need... I need to come.”

You revel in the music of her pleas, the increasingly incoherent babble as you push her closer and closer to the edge. As you slide three fingers inside her, you can feel just how wet she is, how ready. The rhythmic squelch of your fingers moving within her is mesmerizing, and her body responds in kind, tightening impossibly around them, begging for more.

Looking up, you're met with the tantalizing view of Wanda, head thrown back, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat. That sight alone could bring you to your knees if you weren’t there already.

“I’m so, so close, please, Y/N…”

You wrap your lips around her clit, sucking gently, the vibrations from your moans against her causing her to buck her hips. Each movement, each stroke of your fingers and flick of your tongue, is designed to bring her closer to the precipice.

“Wanda,” you hum against her, sending vibrations straight through her, “Let go. Come for me.”

And then, she breaks.

With a guttural cry, her body convulses, pleasure rolling through her in waves. You don’t stop, not until she’s gently pushing at your head, her body too sensitive to take any more. You start to pull your fingers away, but Wanda catches them, drawing them into her mouth and cleaning them with her tongue. After a moment, you slide closer, capturing her lips in a lingering, tender kiss.

“That was...” she starts, but words seem to fail her.

You simply smile, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “I know,” you whisper, pulling the covers over both of you, trapping the heat between your bodies.

“Are you okay?” you ask. As the afterglow starts to fade, you remember the purple bruises you’ve left all over her breasts. “Was I too rough? I can... I can try to heal those marks if you want.”

Wanda shifts to look at them, her fingers ghosting over each one. “They'll be reminders,” she says with a small smirk, not sounding too bothered.

“I just want you to be comfortable, that's all.”

“And I am,” she assures, snuggling closer to you, letting her eyes drift shut. “Very much so.”

A few minutes pass with only just the faint, slow sound of breathing. You try to shake off a sudden insecurity that edges into your thoughts, but before you know it, her name escapes your lips.

“Wanda?”

She lets out a sleepy, “Hmm?”

“Was this... Was I... everything you expected?” you ask.

There's a brief pause, and then she shifts slightly, looking up at you, her eyes a little clearer despite her drowsiness. A smile forms on her lips, full of warmth and adoration. “Yes,” she whispers back, “And so much more.”

It's uncertain if you'll ever get your memories back. But this new one and the ones you'll make with Wanda make it less daunting to face a future without a past.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #captain america civil war #the avengers

[apomaro-mellow]

32 and Steddie? (Also hallo 🩷)

Hi!

Eddie was on edge. And it was because Steve was on edge. How collected Steve was usually seemed to be dependent on who else was around. Typically, if it was just the two of them, Steve kept his head on straight because it was a given that Eddie would go off the rails.

But today, Steve was the one pacing around the basketball court like a caged animal and it was looking more certain that he'd race off through one of the doors. Eddie was sitting on the bleachers, hands on his knees. He thought they were playing a friendly pick up game. Eddie wasn't an athletic nut, but he liked to move. Basketball had come more into play recently as a way to be around Steve.

Getting hot and sweaty with his wettest dream was nice but not as great as actually scoring and seeing the impressed look on Steve's face.

Then all of a sudden, it turned. And so here they were, both parties at an impasse as one waited for the other to speak.

"Steve", Eddie ventured. "You're kinda freakin' me out."

That was the wrong thing to say, if Steve's stiff posture was anything to go by. He stopped pacing on the sideline and faced Eddie. He took a deep breath, but then seemed to be frozen in time. Eddie stood up slowly.

"...Steve?"

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

"Oh, um...oh", Eddie took a step back. "I'm...I'm sorry? I guess, I get that I'm not what you want and all-"

"What? Eds, no! You're everything I want", Steve said quickly. "It's because I'm not the one you want."

Eddie frowned and it bordered on angry. "Who the hell told you that?"

"I heard from your bandmates about the people you used to date. They were really hardcore and I'm just...not."

"Stevie, sweetheart", Eddie took a bold move and stepped closer to cradle his face. "You're so hardcore if any of them had to spend a single day in your shoes, they'd shit themselves. And even if you were the softest cream up in all creation, I'd give anything to call you mine."

Steve smiled so sweetly and Eddie really wished he could lean in and get a taste.

"You really think all that?"

"If I'm lyin, I'm dyin", Eddie said.

Confidence renewed, Steve stepped more into Eddie's space. Arms wove around his body and pulled them together chest to chest.

"You know, I've always kinda had this fantasy of making out on the half court line."

"What a coincidence", Eddie grinned. "I've always fantasized about deflowering a jock on school property."

Send me a pairing and a number for a drabble

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie

[elliesmainhoe]

PLAYER TWO

Streamer!Ellie X fem!Reader

Summary: Ellie's introduces you to her stream

(Set early in their relationship and when Ellie's channel was still small 💙)

Contents: fluff, swearing/cursing, body shaming a cat lmao, sitting on Ellie's lap, kisses, references to social anxiety.

Part 2 - Part3

My Masterlist

It had been 6 hours since Ellie had disappeared into the abyss you called your guest bedroom and now Ellie's newly turned office. Her rooms grey walls were plastered in posters of a various games and bands she liked. LED lights ran around the ceiling, usually on the blue setting, sending the hue beaming out through the crack underneath the white paneled door.

Your small ginger cat was scratching irritably at her offices door. "Garfield stop it," you hissed at him, giggling at the ridiculous name Ellie chosen out for your chunky British shorthair.

"Garfield, I'm serious" you hushed at the creature, picking up the skittish chonk from Ellie's door. Garfield let out a loud, dramatic 'Yowww' throwing his head back. you sighed "You really want Ellie cuddles right now huh"

"meow"

"yeah, me too..." You looked at the beautifully majestic ginger chunk of a cat and sighed in pity for yourself. "Fine go in then..." You whispered at him, grabbing the brass handle and slowly nudging the wooden door ajar, letting Garfield scutter in enthusiastically, before shutting the door again.

Ellie was caught off guard as a fuzzy orange thing flung itself onto her lap, making her hands stop button smashing her keyboard angrily.

"Oh hey Garf"

User: Omg he's so cute 😭🥲

User1: Give me the baby. Now.

User2: Bro how did he get in here, didn't Ellie shut her door?

User3: Garf? As in garfield?

Ellie's hands grasped the cat turning him in a Simba like fashion towards the camera.

"This is Garfield, if you couldn't tell he has a super power to walk through walls" she joked, obviously realising that her chat was curious about how he got into the enclosed office.

User 4: He's fat

"Do not talk to my child that way." She snapped sarcastically, covering his ears with her palms "he's plump." She corrected before letting out a breathy laugh.

The cat began purring incredibly loudly, now laying across her keyboard vibrating the desk with every exhale of breath.

She picked up her phone discreetly, texting you a quick.

Ells: Gonna have to gaslight my chat into thinking our cat can phase through walls now.

Ells: Oh the things I do for you

You: He was being so annoying thoughhh

Ells: Garf is never annoying, he is perfect in everyway. You're just in denial.

You :🙄

User5: nah but how did it get in

User6: Ghostcat?!?!?

"Yes this is my ghost cat, it seems like he's going to chill with us for a bit.... Aren't you baby~?" she cooes at the purring creature scratching underneath his chin.

Just outside the closed office door, you were pacing back and forth. Shit... Why the fuck did you let the cat in her room, that was the stupidest shit you've ever done. Now everyone was going to know Ellie lived with someone. Then maybe they'll investigate, because some of her fans might be nutjobs. What if they dig something embarrassing up of you?!?

"shit, shit ,shit, shit, idiot, idiot, fucking idiot." Damn you and you're soft heart when it comes to cats.

"Y/N. Just forget it happened, go to bed sleep it off, yeah let's just... Sleep it off..." You mutter to yourself, sulking off to bed in defeat.

•••••

"Hey... Hey baby... Wake upppppp~~" she whines squishing your cheeks with her hand, stirring from your slumber. "Hmm hi Ells..."

At the confirmation you were awake she started peppering your face with kisses. "I made you coffee, I tried to make pancakes but I uh burnt them, so ughh toast?!" She smiles suspiciously giddy.

"oh thank you baby," you murmur back, slowly sitting up, back against the bed's backboard and begining to sip your coffee.

"I don't know how you can stomach that liquid, it tastes like shit."

"It is gross, but I can't physically function without it" you looked over at her, she was showing you puppy eyes. Suspicious.

"What did you do ells...?" You sighed

"Last night I may or may not have accidentally let it slip that uhh, I had a uh girlfriend." She stammered, smiling sheepishly at you " And I was wondering and you can obviously say no!! Like no pressure at all, but I was wondering if you feel ready yet to be introduced by my stream" she rushed out words practically incoherent, and if you didn't know her so we'll you wouldn't have been able to understand.

"you can even bring Garfield with you for emotional support!" She chirped happily.

"I don't know baby... I don't know if they'll like me, all my friends know me for being awkward on camera."

"Listen to me right now. You are the most amazing, beautiful, funny, charismatic and smartest girlfriend, person and mother to our fur baby to ever exist. If they don't absolutely love you then they're blind and have no taste. But they will absolutely love you! Because I love you!" She says enthusiastically, a stupid smile spread on her face as she wraps her arms around you, placing sloppy kisses onto your cheek.

"Pfft" you say, her enthusiasm and happiness seeping from her into yours "okay, I can do that...I think" "You will!!! You'll do amazing!" She squeals "I'm so excited!"

"Gosh, your like a puppy Ells" you chuckle, petting and playing with her hair. She let out a quiet 'hmph' as she nuzzled into your neck happily.

•••••

It was 6:55pm, Ellie had started her stream, the words 'STARTING SOON' sprawled across the monitor, blocking out the view of the viewers, It was unnerving, siting Infront of a camera, and one push of a button hundreds of people would see you. Ellie was sat next to you, swiveling on the dark blue gaming chair absentmindedly.

"y'know baby, you don't have to be so rigid, or quiet, they can't see or hear you yet."

"I can't do it Ells..." You mumbled out. "Hey babe, you absolutely can." she reassured you grabbing your hand, and squeezing it slightly. "How about this. You sit on the couch, out of view with Garfield, and once I've done the intro you can come say hi. Hows that sound?" She asked softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Nodding in conformation you shuffled out of view for the camera sitting next to your curled up cat, petting him as he purred loudly, pushing up against your palm. You tapped your phone screen, it lit up revealing the photo of you and Ellie in a photo booth on your first date to an arcade.

Infront of your smiling faces, the time was shown.

06:59:55

06:59:56

06:59:57

06:59:58

06:59:59

07:00:00

"Hey guysssss!"

It took ten minutes for Ellie to finish the introduction, answering questions, thanking donators and talking to moderators.

"Right so, before we start I have a suprise for you guys" she spoke happily, eyes flicking towards you expectantly. You picked up Garfield, your heart immediately slowed and cradled him like a baby in your arms as you entered the frame.

Ellie had moved the extra chair from the frame, trying to keep the suprise as unexpected as she could for her chat. You stood somewhat awkwardly for a second or two saying a quick "hi" to the camera, you looked at Ellie eyes slightly wide with nerves.

She pats her thigh, gesturing you to sit down. "This chat, is my girlfriend"

User7: I ❤️ lesbians

User8: Ugh I'm jealous.

User9: Is Ur gf single?

User10: forget Ellie I want her gf 🤤

Your eyes everted the chat, trying to focus solely on your cat and to not read the comments, when a robotic voice, you recognized as a donators announcement, caught you off guard.

User11 donated $25 'Bro she's so pretty.'

"Oh um thanks *user11*" you hummed. "Told you they would like you" Ellie said, smirking in content.

"shut up."

"never."

---------

Here you go!!! I finally finished it. It's not great but it's done!

Part Two

Streamer!Ellie Headcanons

NOT PROOFREAD

#ellie williams #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #lesbian #the last of us #ellie x reader #lesbian fic #wlw #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #streamer au #streamer!ellie williams #streamer!ellie #tlou headcanons #ellie williams hbo #tlou hbo #ellie headcanons #ellie williams headcanons #ellie the last of us #the last of us fic #streamer #sub!ellie #ellie williams fluff #ellie fluff

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Here!”

Stiles slams something down on the coffee table to the left of Derek's (Stiles's) laptop.

Derek is searching online, only a little psychotically, in the hope of finding a store that sells these very specific organic coffee beans he tried in a hipster coffee house recently. Derek isn't a hipster—he isn't—he just likes nice coffee, is all. Really, he should have asked the barista to find out not just the brand name but their supplier's address too because this is driving him insane. Maybe he is insane? More likely just incredibly shit at the internet, but he thinks he'd prefer to plead insanity if challenged.

Derek unknits his eyebrows and looks down at… a green thing. It's sort of feather shaped and has many spindles with bronzed edges.

It's a leaf.

His eyebrows knit themselves back together as he blinks down at the thing a couple of times.

“It's a leaf,” he says, because he doesn't know what else he's supposed to say.

Then he looks up—and back and forth at Stiles who is now pacing the apartment and alternating between clicking his fingers and flicking his thumbs and shaking his arms out at the sides of his body; his stimming can get pretty extra when he's anxious.

Derek's frown deepens with immediate concern. He must've really been deep in it with the infuriating Google searching to not have noticed the smell of Stiles's distress when his mate first arrived home.

“Hey, what's—”

“Yes, Derek, it's a leaf. It is a leaf that I brought all the way home. For you. From the cemetery.”

He's still pacing.

“Okay, well do you want to tell me—“

“It's an Apology Leaf. Obviously.”

Obviously.

“And, Derek, do not laugh, because—"

“I won't but could you just—“

“—this isn't funny. I'm ridiculous, I know, and I know that that's funny. But this? This is decidedly deeply unfunny, alright? This is totally not at all funny, Derek. It's like, a thing without one tiny ounce of humour in it, as in not the slightest bit funny in a gazillion sombre years. Do you hear me?” He inhales deeply, holds the breath, then blows it out harshly via puffed-out cheeks as he clicks and flails some more.

Derek hears Stiles and is of course prepared to wait for him to explain whatever this is, because Derek would wait for Stiles until the end of time, if he had to. Although that's not likely a thing to happen in any reality as this is Stiles who can't go for longer than fifteen seconds without talking. But still, Derek thinks it's the sentiment that counts. 

“You, Derek Hale, are good, and someone as good as you deserves somebody far, far better than a ratbag like me. Hence the leaf,” Stiles now tells him in a rush of even more confusing words, his chemo-signals tinged with shame for some worrying reason Derek is yet to discern.

Stiles glances over anxiously from his place of animated, mysterious penance—and then looks away again just as quickly while still trying to wear footprints into the recently painted varnish on the wooden floor of their new apartment.

Derek is clueless as to the cause of Stiles's meltdown, but neither things are a first. Stiles struggles sometimes—just like Derek does, who has plenty of his own outbursts (albeit more moody than vocal) that Stiles has to Private Dick his way through.

Derek is also trying his best not to worry too much about thinking that this is somehow his fault, so now sets his mind on attempting to marry these seemingly unrelated things in his head.

He thinks about the facts he's been presented with:

What is, at an educated guess, a Pacific Yew leaf.

and

Stiles's rather unhinged and self-deprecating dig at himself-slash-compliment for Derek.

...Yeah, no, he's not getting better at this game any time soon. 

“Uh,” he says helpfully, and Stiles rolls his eyes in that Do I really have to do everything myself around here? way of his which, rude.

Good job Derek loves the kook.

“It was just sitting there, on top of my mom's gravestone when I got there,” Stiles says quietly, incredulously, gesturing at the innocuous leaf.

Then he's off again with the pacing.

“And I knew, straight away, I knew,” he says, getting louder again and laughing in this accusatory sort of way, pointing somewhere into the ether, eyes manic.

Derek scratches his nose. He hopes he will soon know, too, because honestly, he's kind of blindfolded in the dark here.

“She was obviously telling me what a dipshit I was! What a douche I am! A massive ass-hat! Total loser!”

“I mean, that's mostly fair, but maybe total loser is a little strong.” Derek will often speak Stiles's language when Stiles is freaking out, using humour to try and ground him. 

Stiles carries on as if Derek hadn’t said anything.

“And I was like, Come on, mom, give me a break, will you? and she was like Seriously, Mischief? You really wouldn't let the special person in your life, your special little guy—”

“You can just say boyfriend, Stiles.”

“—come with you to the cemetery to visit me? Like, as if with that leaf she was reminding me that you are the one person who actually gets this shit, which, I do know. Of fucking course I know. And then—get this—I swear to God, Derek, I felt her literally slapping me upside the head! No fucking word of a lie, man. Like, thousands wouldn't believe me. Millions. They'd say that it must have been the wind or my incredibly vivid imagination. But I know, Der. I know that it was her,” Stiles continues with the confession without stopping for breath.

Derek has thought it before and he'll think it again: the kid's lung capacity is seriously impressive.

“And I also know that I totally should've said yes when you asked me if I wanted you to come with me to the cemetery this morning. Because the thing is, I did want you to. I really, really did. But I just… I just…”

Stiles starts slapping himself on the forehead with both his hands and Derek has had enough of that already. He gets up off the sofa and walks over to Stiles, catching those slim wrists in his grip, gentle yet firm.

“Please don't,” Derek says, imploring Stiles to stop. Derek can understand frustration, but can't stand Stiles hurting himself.

Stiles deflates a little. He then takes a step towards Derek and leans in, resting his forehead against Derek's, their noses lining up like penguins.

“I just—I should have said yes to you when you asked because I honestly, truthfully wanted you there. It's just that I've only ever been there with my Dad. And even then, not as many times as you might think. Not even Scotty has been there with me. It's just a place—it's usually something I do alone. You know?” Stiles' front teeth worry at his pretty lip. 

And yes, Derek does know.

So he says, “Because you feel guilt, right? Even though there isn't a thing in this universe or any other that you should feel guilty about.”

Guilt just for being alive. 

Slightly cross-eyed with the proximity and angle, Stiles looks at Derek in a way that says he knows just how much Derek knows about this stuff.

“Yeah. Yes, exactly. And I guess I didn't know how to be that with somebody else around.”

“But Stiles, that's completely—”

“No, Der. It isn't, actually. Because you're not just somebody else. It's you. And I'm in love with you.” Stiles finally takes a breath while Derek's heart is busy swelling to twice it's size. He will never tire of hearing Stiles Stilinski say those words to him. “And I absolutely should've trusted in that. In us.”

It is, of course, completely fine that Stiles went to the cemetery alone to visit his mother, but Derek also gets where the kid is coming from. He too takes a breath, now, a big one, because this kind of stuff doesn't come as easily for him as it does Stiles.

He swallows his nerves and pushes on.

“I love you, Stiles. And it's alright that we're not perfect. Neither of us are. Us—you and me—we're both just… Finding our way.”

After a moment, Stiles adds, “Together.”

They smile at each other like huge dorks.

“Yeah.” Derek breathes, and his heart might just burst.

Derek scents Stiles, and Stiles breathes deeply too, now. “Thanks,” he says, then Derek kisses him, just as deep and for a long while, because it's his favourite thing to do in the whole damn world.

Eventually Derek pulls back, runs a thumb over Stiles's mouth and says, “You know what?”

Stiles's brow lifts inquisitively.

Derek lets go of Stiles's wrist and takes his hand instead, leading him back to the sofa and sitting them both down squarely by the coffee table where he had been sat fruitlessly Googling not so long ago.

“I believe you,” Derek says.

Stiles frowns. “Huh?” It's his turn to be confused.

“Millions wouldn't, but I believe you, Stiles. About your mom.”

He reaches across and picks up the Apology Leaf, cradling it for a brief moment in his palm before nudging at Stiles's hand and urging him to take it, which he does.

Derek then grabs the laptop, side-eyeing his previous Google search—WHO NEAR ME SELLS PHOENIX ROAST ORGANIC COFFEE BEANS THAT TASTE LIKE HOME—and forcing himself not to get instantly sucked back into that particularly vexing nightmare, while also trying his best to angle the screen away from Stiles who, if he saw, would fall off the sofa laughing at Derek's admittedly pathetic research skills.

Not everybody is a… Technophile? Cyberpunk? Derek has no fucking clue about any of this shit.

With Stiles now passing comment on the aesthetic qualities of the Apology Leaf, Derek uses both index fingers to tap out the words of the thing he wants to look up, taking no notice of Stiles who is trying his annoying not-very-best to smirk at Derek's sorry efforts in Derek's periphery. Clicking through a few different links, this time Derek manages to find what he's after without any trouble, amazingly. He then hands the laptop over to Stiles, who carefully places the leaf down on the arm of the sofa beside him before fully taking the computer from Derek. 

Stiles purses those pretty lips of his as he scans the information on screen, squinting a little.

“Uh, well yeah. It's like you said, Der; It's a leaf. From a Yew, according to this.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Your mother's ghost is infinitely more clever than you.” Stiles's squint deepens further. “Stiles, she is absolutely spot on about this. Just—scroll down the page a bit, dumbass,” and he ducks his head and smiles, seeing as accusing Stiles of Internet-related Dumbassery is really fucking funny because, irony. 

Stiles tuts but does as he's told.

Derek gives him a minute to read the passage on the website he found. It says:

The Yew tree can live for many, many years. It has deep connections with magic and the universe. It was regarded as the protector of the soul by the ancient Greeks. You’ll find this tree planted at many burial sites throughout the world as it’s recognized as a guardian of the dead.

It is believed that Odin (from the Nordic legend) hung himself from the Yew for nine days and nights. It’s symbolic of its everlasting and regenerative properties and is often associated with transformation and change after a difficult time. The Celtic tradition honours the Yew tree for symbolising death and rebirth.

Stiles is smiling this gorgeous, open smile by the time he's finished reading, and Derek makes an unrealistic wish to be able to keep it there forever.

“So, you were right,” Derek says, “when you said that she knew. You were just a little mixed up about what, is all.” Derek takes another deep breath. “What your mom knows is that you got the chance to begin again, Stiles. After all the shit we went through, you actually got to start over. With somebody who will absolutely protect your soul with their life.”

Stiles suddenly blinks furiously, like somebody just threw salt in his eyes.

“And you knew it, that she knew... something,” Derek smiles back, lovingly, before that smile turns a little wry. “It's just that you were kind of—now, how should I put this…?”

“No. Do not do it!” Stiles shouts—instantly catching on because he'd easily be the brightest bulb in any box—and he's pointing again, at Derek this time. “Puns are my stupid thing, you charlatan, and I can and will sue!” he warns, outraged yet smiling again as he wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“—barking up the wrong tree,” Derek finishes, his smile now positively wolfish.

Stiles shakes his head and narrows his eyes, but he's chuckling, too as he says, “You do remember that it's you who's the canine in this relationship, right, 'wolf? If anybody's going to be making barking sounds, it's you.”

“Speciesist,” Derek quips.

Stiles pokes his tongue out. Then he's quiet for a few seconds (but definitely no more than fifteen).

“You know, I really was wrong when I said you deserve better than me. We actually absolutely deserve each other, Hale. Because it turns out we are both humongous assholes.”

After a moment, Derek grins more.

“Well, I would have answered that with I love my asshole, but you had to go and use the word humongous, and there's no way I would say that about my asshole—even though I would have technically been talking about you when I said it, seeing as it's actually you that is my favourite asshole.” And he pulls a rare, goofy face, just for Stiles, who laps it up. “Also, thinking about it, I would also have to say that loving my actual asshole is, in fact," he points at Stiles, “your job.” 

Stiles dramatically slaps a hand over Derek's mouth.

“Oh my God, Derek, stop! My ghostly mother could be listening in to us right now! Jeez, dude, have a little decorum, won't you?!” And if Stiles saying that isn't ironic, Derek really doesn’t know what is.

“Sorry, mom!” 

Grinning even more, Derek pushes Stiles's hand away from his face.

“Hey, wanna know the coolest thing?” he asks.

“Why in the name of anything sacred did you bother posing that as a question, Der? Like, when would I ever say no to that?”

Derek leans over and kisses Stiles again, soft and languid this time. The boy's lips are dry and warm and he tastes just like autumn.

Stiles hums and smiles into Derek's mouth as if he really, truly does love Derek. 

After another glorious moment, Derek pulls back, looks at Stiles and says, “Yew trees aren't even native to this part of California.”

.

for @greyhavenisback my beloved <3 sorry i'm a dipshit, douche, massive ass-hat and a total loser, sometimes xp

(i got the info on tree symbolism HERE btw)

#sterek #sterek ficlet #sterek fic #sterek fanfic #sterek fanfiction #pov derek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #established relationship #established sterek #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #m/m #queer fic #queer fanfic #queer fanfiction #queer writer #claudia stilinski #adhd!stiles #stiles has adhd #tcats writes #teencopandthesourwolf

[fics-a-plenty]

Goodbyes Aren't Always For Long

spawn!Astarion x gn!reader x Halsin

WC: 1,264

TW: SPOILERS FOR ENDING, angst, talk of abandonment, mention to Astarion's past, "Daddy Halsin", not proofread

So I finished my first playthrough of the game yesterday, and I sobbed. Can you guess what I was the most upset about?

I have been wanting to include some of the other companions as background characters, but I'm not sure who to include. Who would you guys like to see in the future?

As always, enjoy!

"This is selfish, Halsin! And that's coming from me!" Astarion hissed, pacing back and forth through the rented room, seeming to be the only one no frozen in place. There was quiet in response to his statement, as the taller elf stood in front of the door, his eyes downcast.

"It isn't though, Astarion." You popped up from your place at the end of the bed, your body too heavy from the news you were processing through.

"It is!" The pale elf yells in your direction, though you can recognize the pain heavier in his voice than the anger. "You wormed your way into our hearts, into our minds, and now that we have the chance to all be together, just us, you turn tail and run!" His words once again turned to Halsin, who just responded with a deep sigh. "We've spent so long worrying about other people, about the world. Now we have the chance to focus on ourselves. Focus on us."

"I've had too many moment of selfishness on this quest so far. I fled from the Grove, twice, when they needed me most. I left poor Thaniel and Oliver when they were at their most vulnerable. I can't turn my back to the thousands of people that need help now." Halsin said, the slight shake in his voice would probably go unnoticed by anyone who didn't know him deeper. "I would give anything to stay with here with you two, to help find some way for you to feel the sun on your skin again, but I can't ignore where I'm truly needed."

"Here! You're truly needed here!" Astarion shouted again, finally taking steps towards the other man. The quiet sound of his name coming from your lips causing him to turn on his heels. "And you! How are you so okay with this?! You brought us together. You lead the three of us headlong into this love, and now you just sit there as it falls to pieces!"

"You think I'm okay with this?!" You finally shout back, standing from the bed. "You think i want to see either of you leave? You think I want us all to be separated after everything I've done for us, for the world?" Your words causing the two pairs of elf eyes to cast down, one in guilt and the other to hide the tears glossing his eyes. "What do you recommend I do in this moment, Astarion? Chain him to the bed and keep him here as some hostage? Keep him where he is obviously unhappy? I figured that if anyone was against that, it would be you!"

The meaning of your last sentence caused him to tense, crossing his arms over his chest as if to protect himself from the memories.

"Everything I did, all the battles we fought, and the people we killed, I did it for everyone to be free to make their own choices. So if either of you want to leave, then leave! I can say over and over how much I want you both here, for you both to be at my side, but if your heart is pulling you somewhere else, then who am I to stop you?" Your eyes shifted to meet Halsin's with a sad smile, mostly inviting him to make his escape if he truly meant to leave.

Astarion stood unusually quiet, his body tensing more and more with each step that sounded behind him as the druid walked to the door. His eyes closing tight as Halsin mentioned his damned Oak Father watching over you both and returning you to him some day before the door clicked closed.

You both stood frozen for a few moments, not really sure what to do with yourselves. The sound of multiple children's calling Halsin's name and running to greet him as he walked outside to meet the wagons that he would be traveling with floating through the window. It drew you over, pushing the curtain aside as you looked down at the people your partner had set off to help. While the sun hadn't quiet crested the horizon, you were still careful not to open the cover too much, not wanting to expose Astarion to any stray rays of the light.

The pair of hands at your sides caused you to lean back into the body behind you as a head rested against your shoulder. "And what shall we do now that 'Daddy Halsin' is off on a new adventure without us?" The two of you couldn't help but giggle at the nickname your partner has been bestowed with.

Your eyes slowly shifted from the large druid as you scanned over the line of wagons full of people. While you were happy that he was off to help people and follow his dream, your heart ached at the feeling like a part of your was missing. That was until it began to race, your spine straightening as an idea struck you.

"That depends, want to make a selfish decision with me?" You asked, quickly turning your head to look at Astarion's confused face.

"Do you know me to turn down selfish decision, Love?" His playful smirk didn't really reach his eyes, which still showed with curiosity to your meaning.

Halsin shushed the children down as he tried his best to herd them back into the wagon that would carry them on their journey, most of their eyes growing heavy from how early the caravan had decided to leave, wanting to be on the road before the sun got up and warmed the path too much. As the wagons began to move forward, his eyes moved to the windows of the room you three had spent the night before, hoping to catch a last glimpse of you and Astarion, not knowing when he would see you two again. To his dismay, the curtains were shut and still.

After hearing a heavy sigh, he began to move on with the wagons. Though he didn't get more than a few steps before a commotion behind him caused him to turn. His lips split into a smile as he watched you running to keep up with Astarion, who was rushing to the shelter of the covered wagon carrying barrels and boxes of food. A deep laugh rumbled in his chest as you bee lined for him, jumping at him and forcing his arms to rush to catch you.

"You didn't really think you would get to run off on a new adventure without us, did you?" Your voice rang out with laughter once he set you down.

"I wouldn't dream of it." The two of you smiled at a moment before he lifted you into the wagon with Astarion, moving to follow behind it.

"Except for the fact that you did dream of it, and you did actually get away for a few minutes." Astarion sassed, earning his a slap to the chest, "What?! He really thought we were gonna let him leave alone for a few minutes there!"

"And they were pure torture without you both." Halsin responded, placing his hand over his heart, "The Oak Father has smiled upon me and made our separation brief."

"Good save, 'Daddy Halsin'." Astarion smirked, sending the larger elf a wink before the three of you fall into laughter. The caravan continued on it's path towards a new life for many of the people in it, and while it probably wouldn't be easy, it definitely paled in comparison to anything the three of you has already been through together.

#astarion x reader x halsin #astarion x reader #halsin x reader #bg3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader #reader insert

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Lessons in Anatomy and Affection (Hunter x reader)

Summary: You decide to put Hunter's anatomy knowledge to the test.

Warnings: 18+ minors begone, here be smut; f!reader, unprotected PiV, creampie, switch!Hunter and switch!reader, teasing, lots of teasing

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Hi guys! I'm alive! I meant to post this months ago, but I've been busy, so with the new TBB season finally airing, I figured this would work now. Enjoy, ya heathens. (If you've sent me an ask, I've seen it! My inspiration has been very low lately, but it's on my radar <3). Originally a gift for @vimse

Hunter exhales a shuddering breath as you blow a stream of cold air over the stripe you’d just licked up his neck. His hands rest lightly on your waist, his touch warm and comforting, and you delight in the way that his fingers dig into your side just the slightest. Throat bobbing with an audible gulp, Hunter turns his head to find your gaze. His eyes are half-lidded and blown with lust already, and they gleam in the soft, warm glow of the fairy lights of your bedroom. His dark curls splay around his head in a halo. 

“Cyare,” he rumbles. 

You shush him gently, pressing your lips to his. Under your wandering hands, the expanses of his bare, toned body flex and ripple, goosebumps trailing in your wake. Mouths moving together at a slow, unhurried pace, you can’t help the soft moan that escapes you when you curl your hand around his stiff length. 

“Kriff,” he breathes. “N-Need to touch you, cyare, please.” 

“I know, Hunter,” you murmur. Trailing kisses down the opposite side of his neck, you lavish extra attention to the sensitive spots you know drive him crazy. When you’re rewarded with a shaky sigh, his head tilting away from you to grant you better access, you smile against his skin. “But you have to wait. Think you can do that for me?” 

After a moment, his hands fall away from your sides. Pulling back, you study his features. His teeth worry his bottom lip, but his eyes find yours again, steady and dark and desperate. In the twinkling fairy lights, Hunter’s skull tattoo shifts and dances; though you know its base function is camouflage, to you, it’s always been beautiful. 

Glancing down the rest of his body as he’s stretched out on your bed, your mouth waters. The tattoo drips down the entire left side of his body, every bone etched into his skin with precise and accurate detail, from the large, sturdy femur to the smallest, most fragile phalange. He’s always been beautiful to you. And when he’s like this, relaxed and pliant, his beauty is nearly radiant. Anticipation curls in your lower belly and nestles deep, tightening your core with desire. You remove your hand from his cock before you lose track of the game you want to play. 

“I need to hear you say it, love,” you whisper, cupping his face. 

“Please,” he says. “Whatever you want. Just so long as I get to touch you at the end of it.”

“Always.” Pressing a sweet kiss to his chin, you shift so you can kiss down his body easily. “Ready for the rules?” 

Hunter nods.

“Good. I’m going to touch parts of your tattoo—” You ghost your fingertips over the inked-in fifth rib as if to prove your words “—and you’re going to name the correct bone. Get them all right, and you get your reward.” 

His nipples stiffen from your touch and the sultry promise of your words. “And if- if I miss any?” 

Tweaking one of his nipples, you hum while you think. “Miss one, and you can only hold my breasts. Miss two, just my hips. Miss three or more, and you don’t get to touch at all while I take my pleasure from you. Understood?” 

“Y-Yes,” he gasps out. His hips stutter up in anticipation.

Sitting up, legs tucked under you, you let your gaze wander Hunter’s form once again. Sweat has already begun to collect in the dips and valleys of his muscles. At his sides, his fingers twist into the soft cotton sheets in anticipation of the sweet torture you’re about to enact. His chest rises and falls with deep, labored breaths; at the apex of his thighs, his cock bobs gently with each beat of his heart. 

When he begins to fidget, you take mercy on him. 

“What’s this one?” you murmur, trailing your touch along the gentle curve of one of the tattooed ribs. 

“Third rib,” he answers immediately. 

“Very good.” Featherlight, you glide your fingers across his heated skin. “And this?”

“Sternum.” His voice is only the slightest bit shaky.

You move up to his throat and lightly tap the bisected cervical vertebrae that covers the central bump of his throat. “This?” 

He swallows, his throat bobbing under your touch. “C5.” 

Delight skitters over your skin at the way that his voice has already begun to drip with raspiness. Catching your lip between your teeth, you take a steadying breath, trying to ignore the way your pussy flutters with need.

When you’re ready, you move on again. You sweep your thumb in a soothing semicircle over the swell of Hunter’s shoulder, and wait for him to answer.

“Th-That’s the scapula,” he says, a waver in his voice. “The front edge of it.” 

Warmth rushes through you, a heady mix of pride and lust. “Very good, Hunter.” 

Tired of simply touching him with your fingers, you shift down on the bed to press a kiss to one of his arm bones, lips warm and soft against his skin. 

His breath hitches. “Radius.” 

Another kiss to the other bone earns you a sigh of, “Ulna.” 

A pleased hum vibrates through you. Bypassing his hand, you shimmy lower still on the bed to place a kiss to his kneecap.

“P-Patella,” he rasps, voice catching.

Gazing up at him for a moment, your mouth waters at the way that he’s not even looking at you. His neck is strained and his eyes are squeezed shut. Closer at hand, precum beads at the tip of his cock, practically begging to be licked. Tempting though the idea is, you force yourself lower yet again.

You target one of the tiny bones of his foot, and flick your tongue against it. A groan punches out of Hunter’s chest as his fists tighten in the bedsheets. Mouth working, no words sound from him. 

You lick the tattoo again. “What’s this one called, love?” 

“I- I don’t know,” he admits. 

“That’s too bad,” you say, words full of syrupy regret. “One missed. What does that mean again?” 

A strangled sound claws from Hunter’s throat. “It— It means I can only touch your breasts.” 

“Good boy,” you murmur. Pressing a fresh kiss to his foot, you smirk against his skin. “Now, tell me this one.” 

Chest heaving, Hunter squirms. It takes him a long, tense moment, but finally he gasps out, “Second metatarsal!” 

“Atta boy.”

Crawling up his body, you intentionally let your hand brush his cock. 

“Fuck!” he swears, voice cracking. “Please, cyare, please.” 

“Please, what?” you say. Tilting his face to you, you search his expression for any hints of distress. All you find is desperation and need. 

“Please, just...” He swallows thickly. “Need you.” 

“Just a few more, love,” you promise, “then I’ll give you what we both want.” Skimming your knuckles over the blank space of his cheekbone, you raise your eyebrows expectantly. “Tell me this one, Hunter.” 

“Skull,” he says, but his voice is hesitant, guarded. “Zygomatic.”

You kiss his opposite cheek, humming your approval, then reach for his inked hand. He releases the sheets to let you lick a thin stripe up his entire pointer finger. “In order.” 

His hand squeezes yours. “Distal, middle, proximal phalanges.” A shuddering breath leaves him. “Then the metacarpal.” 

He’s done so well for you; you just need one more answer from him. Your own arousal is getting more and more difficult to ignore as slick makes your thighs slippery. Nudging his wrist with your nose, you make sure your breath fans over his skin, warm and comforting. 

“Trapezoid,” he breathes out.

“Oh, Hunter,” you coo, brow furrowing in mock pity. “I’m so sorry, that’s not the right one.” 

“W-What?” His head shoots up, a frantic look in his eyes. “Yes—it is, look it’s—”

He points to the one you just nosed over, frown overtaking his features. You let him process the information for as long as he needs—which is a few long moments, given the way his irises are nearly black and his skin has retained its goosebumps for several minutes now. When you see the realization dawn on his face like the sun, you press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“S’okay, love,” you mumble against his mouth. “That’s the trapezium, but you were so close. And you can still hold my hips while I ride you.”

A broken groan slips from Hunter, but his hands immediately fly to grasp at you. Swinging your leg over his waist to straddle him, you catch his gaze and hold it as you line his cock up with your dripping entrance and—

Matching moans echo throughout your room as you take him inside you. Dropping your forehead to his, you lower yourself inch by inch onto his cock, until your pelvis rests flush with his hips. No matter how many times you take him, it’s still a stretch, his cock filling you in ways that make you feel complete. Whole.

“Thank you,” he sighs, eyes locked onto yours. His nails are blunt but no less painful where they bite crescents into your skin. “Stars, you always feel so good. So warm, so tight.” 

Bracing yourself with your elbows to either side of his head, you roll your hips instead of answering him. Hooking your feet over his powerful thighs, you set a lazy pace, driven only by the intense, burning need to make him finish with you. His hands never stray from your hips—always a dutiful partner, always willing to listen and follow orders to their conclusion—but even so, his touch burns into you, scorching your very soul. 

You turn your head to rest it on his shoulder, working your hips a little faster. “I love you.” 

“Stars, I love you too,” he murmurs. His fingers squeeze your sides. “Love this pussy, too.”

Chuckling, you flex your core just to hear him grunt. “That all?” 

“‘Course not,” he says. He’s close; you can tell just by how clipped his words are, how strained his voice is. “Love your ass. And your thighs, your tummy, your hands—f-fuck—your eyes.” 

His words drive your hips faster, making you chase a release that suddenly rears its head. Pleasure thrumming under your skin and sliding through your veins, you moan at his praise. You bite into his shoulder, whining. 

“Love how you take care of me,” he continues, voice softening. “Love the way you care about us. I just love you, cyare.” 

“Maker,” you gasp out. “Hunter, I- I’m—” 

“I know, mesh’la,” he murmurs.

His grip turns almost painful as he takes control, dragging your body back and forth over his. Toes curling, your moans muffled against his skin, you delight in the way that he knows exactly how to move you, to make you see stars. 

Somewhere in the symphony you two compose together, of moans and sighs, whimpers and groans, you find the edge of shattered bliss. Hunter can feel it, and he presses his hips up into yours just enough to shove you right over the cliff. Body locking up, you cry out for him, walls fluttering as he fucks you through your orgasm. Pleasure burns through every nerve ending; your ears ring, vision black at the edges for a moment, as you let Hunter give you what you both needed. Through the haze, you’re dimly aware of the way his hips falter as he cums, too. Warmth spilling within you, Hunter pants against your skin, nails digging into your flesh.

When you both come down, you raise your head to meet his gaze. His eyes crinkle in a soft smile. 

“Hi,” he murmurs. 

“Hey,” you mumble. Sleep already begins to curl around your senses. “Thank you.” 

He releases your hip to cup your face. “What for?” 

“I dunno.” Biting your lip, you offer a smile. “Just being you.” 

Hunter brings you down to kiss you, a sigh of, “Always,” fanning your lips.

Because Hunter is your always, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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