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pinkflower2003 · 3 days

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Hii could u do a MV1 x reader fic where Max and the reader were in a serious longterm relationship but broke up bc he wanted kids and she didn’t,, and a few months later he’s dating Kelly and is being a girldad to P when he bumps into the reader again and realises he’s not over her 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ LOOOOL I hope this request makes sense!!

Loss Of My Life - Max Verstappen x Reader

Based on – “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived”, “Loml” – Taylor Swift

Hi!! Thank you so much for your submission! So I wanted to change it a little bit, hope that’s okay!! So I’ve changed it so that it was the reader who wanted kids and Max didn’t, the reader is also a singer In this one (almost like how big Taylor Swift is, imagine her like that sort of star!) Idk if you have people performing at races but just imagine you do lol.

based off of this TikTok video

send in your submissions!<3

Word count : 2.3k

You and Max had been together for 6 years, 6 long years that made you think you were going to be together forever, he had been there through everything with you. You had both been together at the start of your careers and the height of your careers, and it was amazing to see how far the two of you could go. You had a very successful career in the music industry, bringing out albums that each became the highest-selling albums of the year and Max had a very successful career as a Formula One driver, winning world championships. But after 6 years, you had decided that maybe it was time for something more, you loved touring, singing your music, meeting fans, traveling around the world, but you wanted something more, you wanted a life with Max.

Deciding it was finally time to tell Max how you were feeling, you had sat down with him in his Monaco apartment whilst you had some time off from touring to write some new songs for a new album. Sitting down for food, you had decided there was no better time, “how do you feel about having children?”

Max hadn’t looked up from his food, just shrugging. “Don’t feel anything about them, I don’t want them.” He had replied bluntly, and your shoulders sank. You and Max had talked about children before, of course, you had, you can’t be in such a long-term relationship and not talk about what you both want in the future, but when you had brought it up before, Max had just replied with, “maybe one day, when we’re older and have achieved what we’ve wanted” and that was an okay answer at the time, at the height of your careers you had wanted to achieve more, but now you’d done it.

You’d become the best-selling artist of the decade, sold millions of albums, done a multimillion-dollar tour, travelled the world, you had done it all, and now seemed like the right time for the both of you to have this discussion. But clearly, Max had felt different.

“Max, I want a baby, I want to settle down with you, you’re my everything. We’ve been together 6 years, there’s got to be a point where you want that too, right?” You had pleaded with him, to make him show that he wanted that with you, that it wasn’t all a waste of time being together for so long.

Max had got frustrated, standing up, pacing around, not understanding how you didn’t understand that he was still at the height of his career, and settling down would only set him back. “I’m winning world championships Y/N, I can’t have kids doing that, my attention is on my career, not kids.” You had sat there, shoulders sagged, not saying anything, letting Max carry on telling you just exactly why he wouldn’t have kids with you. You just sat there, knowing that this was it, Max had chosen his career over you.

You had moved out of Max’s Monaco apartment, you had focused back on your career, you had left Max, or more like he had left you. After your conversation, you had understood where Max’s priorities were, and he had made it clear that it was not you. So, you had both left, you had cried for days, the last 6 years replaying in your mind over and over again. You remembered going to the races all around the world, each time you had gone, you had practically been treated like royalty, everyone from the engineers, the team principals, the drivers, and the fans, all wanting to meet you, wanting a photo with you, to shake your hand. But none of that had mattered, because all you wanted to do was to be with Max, and you had been, you had been the first one to run up to him when he won any race, he had kissed you with such force you had forgotten there was anyone around you, you had both forgotten you were both in the public eye with reputations to uphold, none of that had mattered.

Now, all of that was gone, everywhere you went you were asked questions about Max; what had happened? Were you now going to bring out a break-up album? Had Max cheated on you? So many ridiculous questions that you completely ignored. You had blocked it out, wanting to move on, but having an ex as big as Max Verstappen, you would never get away from his name.

Not long after you had gotten a call from one of yours and Max’s friends, Daniel, an old teammate and friend of Max who you had become close with throughout your relationship with Max. Daniel was one of your closest friends, and the split between you and Max had put tension on your friendship, Daniel knew if he had taken sides with you, the tension on the grid would be at an all-time high, and you couldn’t have that happen with Daniel, and so you had kept your distance between yourself and all of yours and Max’s mutual F1 friends.

But Daniel was the first one to call, and you had answered. “Y/N, hey, I’m sorry for not calling earlier, but everyone here misses you, you must know that. Why don’t you come to the next race, as my guest, of course, just to see everyone, you won’t have to see Max if you’re at my team paddock area, I promise, I know how much you loved the races.”

After giving it some thought and telling him that you would consider it, you received a second call asking you to perform at the race. You decided to accept and would perform some of your new songs there before going to stay with Daniel until he had to leave to go race.

And now, today was the day, anxiety was coursing through your blood as you stood at the back of the stage, waiting for your queue to go on. You had seen the news stories, the gossip that Max had gotten a new girlfriend, just months after your split. You couldn’t do that, your new boyfriend was your songs, they had helped you get your emotions out about the split, they had been your healer, instead, Max had found his healing in a new woman.

“And I don't even want you back, I just want to know

If rusting my sparkling summer was the goal

And I don't miss what we had, but could someone give

A message to the smallest man who ever lived?

Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?

Did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?”

Singing a song that everyone knew was about Max was dangerous, but you had made the decision to do it nevertheless. You thought that if he was going to start dating someone else so soon after you, you should express your feelings, and you should do it somewhere where most people knew him.

“Were you writing a book? Were you a sleeper cell spy?

In fifty years, will all this be declassified?

And you'll confess why you did it

And I'll say, "Good riddance"

'Cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden

I would've died for your sins

Instead, I just died inside

And you deserve prison, but you won't get time”

As you marched down the platform, your dancers trailed after you in the style of a marching band. You turned to face the audience and noticed the racers and their families cheering you on, and then you noticed him. You could see him well; he was staring at you. You sang the song's lyrics with all of your intensity, making eye contact with him even if you didn't want to.

With his arm over her shoulders, a woman who you could have assumed was his new girlfriend was standing next to him. She definitely was a lover of the song and sang along with it, but she didn't seem to care that you were singing about her boyfriend at the time. However, she was holding a small child in her arms who was waving and yelling your name. As you performed, your heart fell; his girlfriend had a child? Reluctant to reveal that it had knocked you, you waved to the little girl. The young girl screamed and jumped, screaming that you had waved at her. She then rushed out and grabbed Max, who smiled at her before turning to face you again while wearing a guilty expression.

Walking off the stage, you took your earpieces out, taking water from one of the workers next to you, thanking them. Daniel had been waiting for you behind the stage, with a sad look on his face, as he began walking next to you as you rushed to your backstage area to get changed into different clothes before the race started. “You never told me his new girlfriend had a kid, Dan.”

Daniel just nodded, trying to keep up with you and your security. “I knew it would upset you, Y/N, I knew how much you wanted kids with Max, I didn’t know how to tell you.”

You stood still, the rest of your team standing still with you, not knowing what to do. You had turned to them, “can you just give us a minute?” The team nodded, standing away, but still needing to be close.

Daniel stood opposite you, “how can he do that Dan? Six years and for what? Now he’s a stepdad all of a sudden and he’s fine with it? We broke up because he didn’t want children, but clearly what he meant was he didn’t want children with me.”

Dan was about to reply, but your name was screamed as you turned your head to where the voice had come from. It was the same little girl you had waved to when you performed, the same little girl who had jumped into Max’s arms when you had done so, the same one who had wrapped her hands around his neck as he bounced her up and down along to the music.

“Y/N! Y/N” She had ran over to you, wearing a shirt with your album on. You knelt down to her, changing expressions from the one you had worn with Daniel, to now your stage expression, a façade you knew all too well.

Kneeling to her height, she hugged you, her reaction like many of the fans you met. “Hi, what’s your name?” You had asked her, but she still jumped up and down. Behind her, Max’s girlfriend smiled and took photos of you and the little girl.

“Penelope, but mummy and Maxie call me P.” You swallowed at the mention of Max, fighting back tears knowing the little girl now had a nickname for him. “That’s a beautiful name, Penelope, you look beautiful.” The little girl giggled, and you stood back up, making eye contact with her mother, Max’s new girlfriend.

The woman held out her hand, smiling at you. “Hi, I’m Kelly, I’m a huge fan.” You shook her hand, smiling slightly, not knowing what to say to the woman who now had everything you had wanted.

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled, looking at Daniel who just looked anywhere else but the scene before him, unable to cope with the awkwardness of the interaction. Kelly had turned her head, seeing Max in the distance, waving him over. “Babe, come and see, P just met Y/N.”

Max had looked over at you all, breathing heavily as he looked at your face, whilst you just looked at Daniel, who had wide eyes. “I’m really sorry, I-I’ve got to go.” You began walking away, rather quickly that almost looked like running. Your team was unsure of what to do as you tried to get away from Max.

“Y/N!” You heard you name called as you got as far away as you could, you knew the voice from anywhere and you spun around, anger now coursing through your veins. “What Max? Go and play happy little families with Kelly, since clearly you’ve had a complete change of heart and you’re now ready to be a dad.” You scoffed, but he grabbed your arm as you went to walk away again.

“It’s not what you think,” he tried to tell you, but your voice became choked up. “Right, it isn’t the fact that just months after ending our six-year relationship due to YOU not wanting children with you, you find someone else. And you didn’t just find someone else, you found someone else where you have to step up and become a father figure.” You told him, “I wish you all the best with your new family Max, I really do.”

Max took off the baseball cap off his head that he was wearing, pushing a hand through his hair. “I never wanted this, Y/N, I’m sorry. If I could take it all back, I would. I would never of said what I said to you, I would take everything back, just to be with you again, you were my everything and you still are.”

You couldn’t breathe, he had practically still professed his love for you still, whilst still being with Kelly. “You lost that chance, Max. I wanted you, all of you, all the good, all the bad. But you didn’t want me, and you lost me.”

“I want you back. No matter what you think I have with Kelly, I don’t, I will never have with anyone what I had with you. I have no excuse that it took all of this to make me realise, but I’m still human, and human make mistakes, and I made the mistake of loosing you, because of my selfishness.” Max practically pleaded with you, but you just shook your head.

“We almost had it all.”

“And I'll still see it until I die

You're the loss of my life”

#formula one imagine #f1 smut #f1 imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #taylor swift #formula 1 #formula one x reader #angst #mv1 #mv1 x reader #max verstappen smut #f1 x reader #the smallest man who ever lived

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fanaticalthings · 12 hours

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Bruce coming home one day to find Robin Jason clinging onto a chandelier with Dick below him cheering him on.

Bruce: Jason what are you doing?

Jason: Dick said that you missed his antics after he moved out and so he’s teaching me how to be a better son

Dick: After this we’re going to drive the Batmobile into the bay :D

Jason: We’re going to what? I mean yeah! Right into the water.

Jason trying to whisper to Dick: Dick I can’t swim though

This just further fuels the chaotic dynamic of Dick and Jason during a time where Dick was still going through his teenage angst and was absolutely not a benevolent role model LMAO

I mentioned it in this post, but it's just so funny to me to imagine a Jason who grew up with an absolutely WILD Dick Grayson as an older brother, while the younger batkids grew up with a more mellowed out and mature (arguable but when measured against the other kids, he wins by a landslide) Dick Grayson.

Robin!Jason era:

Dick: You wanna go out and get high?

Jason: I can't, I have homework.

Dick, sputtering: HOMEWORK?

----

Dick, about to do an elaborate (and totally not dangerous) acrobatic move in the manor: Watch this, littlewing

Jason: You shouldn't do that, it'll make Bruce upset.

Dick, on the brink of angry tears: Why are you like this.

----

Jason, dejected: Listen, I know you don't approve of me because you think I'm not good enough as Robin, but-

Dick: Not good enough as Robin? I don't care about that, I just think you're a little bitch

----

Dick taking Jason out on a hangout for the first time: OK, looks like I got my work cut out for me. Take out a notepad and write everything down. I will NOT have my successor embarrass me like this. So what you wanna do to piss of Bruce-

---

[Years later, Jason returning to Gotham with the fury of a thousand suns and the chaos to match it]: I'm gonna make your life a living HELL, Bruce

Dick, older and relatively more chilled out: Okayyyyy, maybe let's just– calm down a lil, haha, no need for the theatrics

Jason, betrayed, observing a Dick Grayson who is teaching his new younger siblings to behave and be mature: Dick, what the FUCK

-----

Present!Dick, mentoring Tim: Make sure not to be too impulsive, don't wanna raise Bruce's blood pressure

Red Hood!Jason spying on them from afar: Who even ARE you??

-----

Jason: So you teach me ALL of that, only to turn into the ONE thing you despised so greatly all those years ago

Dick, sweating: Well-

Jason: I'm ASHAMED. How can you be worthy of being called my PREDECESSOR?

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little-diable · 2 days

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Drunken Minds Sober Hearts - Dean Winchester (smut)

We love a good friends to lovers fic, especially with Dean, don't we? Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Drunk off her face the reader told Dean, her best friend, that she hasn't slept with anybody because she wants him to be her first. But will she admit to that when she's sober too?

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, loss of virginity, outdoor, oral (f), friends to lovers

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (about 2k words)

The cold breeze teased her arms, leaving (y/n) shuddering with her back pressed to the blanket and her eyes focused up ahead. Even though Dean emanated enough warmth to make her feel his closeness, deep down she knew that she wasn’t trembling like a leaf because of the cold, but because of the awfully intimate touch this moment had to it.

No words were spoken between the two as they kept staring at the night sky, trying to count the stars that were twinkling for them only—or at least that’s what it felt like. She felt Dean’s hand close to hers, about to touch, about to interlace their fingers, and yet neither of them dared to cross the distance between them just yet.

Dean had asked her hours ago if she trusted him and if he could take her somewhere to distract them from past hunts and exhausting weeks. And who was she to say no to Dean Winchester—her best friend, her better half, her one true love—even though he knew nothing of the feelings she harbored for him.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you.” Dean cleared his throat, letting his head roll towards her as he spoke. She didn’t reply, only looked at him as she waited for him to continue.

“I don’t think you remember much of Saturday night. But you said something to me, something I can’t stop thinking of.” Heat rose to her face as Dean’s words began to sink in. Saturday night hadn’t been her proudest moment; with too many shots poured down her throat, she had eventually lost control, blabbering away things she now couldn’t remember.

“Is it true that you haven’t allowed anybody to touch you because you want me to be your first?” She choked on her breath, having to sit up to try and let some air flood through her aching lungs. Her body was burning up in embarrassment while she made a silent promise to never drink again. She felt Dean’s hand on her back, softly rubbing circles on the fabric of her sweater as she tried to calm down.

“Did I really say that?” (Y/n) couldn’t look at her best friend and was trying to figure out how she could get the ground to open up and swallow her whole. But before she could even begin to plan her escape, Dean’s hand had found her chin, tilting it up for her to look at him.

“Hey, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Her words got stuck in her throat as Dean’s thumb found her mouth, carefully pulling her lower lip from the grasp her teeth had on the thin skin. Both looked at one another as if they could read each other’s minds, deciphering every emotion flushing through their systems, emotions that urged their movements as Dean’s lips found hers.

Dean didn’t allow her to break away as he pulled her into his lap, slowly feeling (y/n) relax in his grasp. Her arms found their way around his neck, getting lost in a kiss both had only imagined but never dared to speak of. The kiss was slow, allowing both to adjust to the sensation and yet it was urged on by their longings and fears, by whatever had managed to hold them back for the past years.

“I need you to be honest with me, sweetheart. Was it the truth?” Dean murmured his words against her slightly swollen lips. His hands kept a tight grasp on her, fingertips running along the seam of her sweatshirt, about to disappear beneath the thick fabric.

“It is the truth, and I’m sorry for drunkenly dumping that on you.” She tried to look away, tried to focus on anything but Dean, but the hunter’s grasp only grew tighter, not daring to let her go. Another kiss was pressed against her lips, a kiss that drew a soft moan from (y/n), a sound that gave Dean the needed push to flip them around. Their eyes held contact as Dean hovered over her, admiring every part of her frame.

“We shouldn’t do this out here, you deserve a bed, something comfortable.” The concern dripping from Dean’s words left (y/n) chuckling, she pulled him back down for a kiss, and let her legs wrap around his waist to feel his growing erection against her covered heat. Both moaned in unison from the new friction this movement offered, a sensation so addicting, (y/n) knew there was no way to ever let go of Dean again.

“I don’t need a bed, Dean. I just want you, and to be honest, something boring isn’t our style anyway, is it?” His chuckles vibrated through her body as Dean kissed his way down her throat, letting his hands pull her sweater up to her chest. The groan that clawed through him was raspier than any sound she had heard before, allowing her eyes to wander over his handsome features while his eyes focused on her naked, braless chest.

“You’re fucking beautiful, (y/n).” No longer did she feel the cold breeze stroking her, no longer did she pick up on the whispers warning her of the way she’d lose herself tonight. All (y/n) could focus on was Dean, the man who had always owned her heart, the man she’d give her life for.

(Y/n)’s head rolled back as his lips found her naked chest, sucking on one hardening nub while his free fingers took care of the other. Dean wanted to comment on how perfectly she fit into his hands, how it felt as if she had been created for him only, but his words got stuck in his throat as his middle moved against hers again, creating just enough friction for the both of them.

“Can I taste you? Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that for years.” Dean’s whispers left (y/n) choking on her gasps, unable to reply with any words. All she could do was shoot him an eager nod while raising her hips for Dean to pull her jeans down her legs. Once again, a growl managed to break out of Dean, a sound that forced (y/n) to drown in the different sensations she was held hostage by.

“You’re soaked, baby.” The comment drew a whine from (y/n), she had to grasp the blanket, had to find something to hold onto before she’d grow too eager, needing to feel whatever Dean could offer her.

His warm fingers pushed her soaked panties aside, he gave himself a few moments to study her, hoping that he could burn this very image into his mind – forever remembering it as if he were a blind man being offered his sight back for only a handful of seconds. And for that, he’d always choose (y/n), studying the woman he felt deeply connected to.

Dean’s tongue brushed against her pulsing bundle, leaving (y/n) moaning. He ate her out with an unfamiliar kind of urgency, offering her a glimpse into what was awaiting her. Heaven – the pearly gates – or simply the love both couldn’t deny any longer.

Whatever it was, it pushed her closer towards Dean, hearts and souls connected.

“Dean,” (y/n) sobbed his name as he pushed two fingers into her tightness, letting them curl against the swollen spot he instantly managed to find. With her back arched off the blanket, and her thighs quivering, (y/n) forced her eyes back up to the night sky. She needed to focus on something else, keeping herself from giving in way too quickly.

She had never allowed another man to touch her like this, deep down she had been too stuck on the possibility of Dean loving her, holding onto the thinnest thread of hope that had been close to snapping – a thread that now got woven into a thick rope, unable to ever snap apart.

Her shaking fingers found his hair, tugging on the roots to draw a raspy groan from Dean, a sound that forced her gaze back down to him. And as they looked at one another, pupils filled with love, adoration, and longing, (y/n) felt herself being pushed over the edge. She came with a cry, had to squeeze her eyes shut to hold onto this feeling, the blinding sensation that had never felt this strong when she had touched herself to the thought of Dean.

“Jesus, Dean. What even was that?” The sound of his chuckles echoed through the night. He moved up her body to find her lips for a kiss, letting their tongues tangle as she tasted herself on the strong muscle. Her hands disappeared beneath his shirt, feeling his muscles tense beneath her touch.

“Only the beginning, sweetheart.” He let go of her to undo his belt before reaching for his wallet to pull a condom free. She took it from his grasp while he freed his twitching cock from the confines of his trousers, staring down at (y/n) whose eyes had that special twinkle to them. His heart swelled in his chest at the mere sight of her, grateful that he finally got a chance to express his feelings, to leave his anxiety behind – all so he could love her the way she deserved to be loved.

Their eyes held contact as she rolled the condom down his aching length with shaking fingers, as she laid back down on the blanket, and as Dean positioned himself at her entrance.

“Tell me if it hurts too much, I’ll be careful.” (Y/n)’s arm found its way around his neck to pull Dean down for a kiss. The second their lips met, he pushed into her, drawing a pained whimper from her. He held still for a moment, allowing her to adjust before he kept on moving, sinking further into her tightness.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. You feel so good, baby.” Dean’s gritty voice left her walls clenching around him, wordlessly begging him for more. With his weight shifted onto his forearm, Dean started moving quicker, adding more strength to his thrusts to draw the sweetest moans from (y/n).

“Don’t stop, don’t ever stop touching me, Dean.” She sobbed her words as her fingernails began leaving crescent shapes on his neck. (Y/n)’s thighs quivered around his waist, she was torn between all different sensations, unsure what to focus on, while her second orgasm was close to flushing through her all too quickly.

“Touch yourself, make yourself cum on my cock.” His command left (y/n) gasping, forcing her eyes back up towards Dean’s green ones. The smirk playing on his lips was enough to leave her sweating in need while feeling him buried oh so deep inside of her. She rubbed her pulsing bundle with quick movements, set on pushing herself over the edge while Dean fucked her into the blanket.

“Dean,” his name left her lips like a prayer, in desperate need of guidance, unsure what to do with the massive wave of emotions which were about to flush through her. And with another whine leaving her, (y/n) came for Dean, allowing him to watch her unfold right in front of his eyes. He kept fucking her, didn’t want to give in before he had managed to push her through the intense sensation, only as she relaxed beneath him did Dean finally give in with her name leaving him.

“Promise to hold onto me forever, Dean.” (Y/n) panted the words with a smile glued to her lips. Her fingers brushed through his hair, desperate to keep on feeling every part of him.

“Let the stars be my witnesses, I promise to love you till the day I die, sweetheart.”

#Dean Winchester smut #Dean Winchester x reader #Dean Winchester imagine #supernatural

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im-subtextsexual · 2 days

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I’m glad so many people picked up on the vibes between Eloise and Cressida. Not a ship I ever considered before, but the tension was palpable. I’ve been a Queer Eloise truther since reading the books. Her portrayal on the show only made it more obvious in my mind. I didn’t think the writers would ever go there, but the set up is just so explicit, now I’m not sure. I don’t think they’d actually make Eloise / Cressida canon, but I do think they’re testing the waters for wlw Eloise. And it makes perfect sense.

First off, the character is queer (I’ll hold off from labeling her a lesbian outright, because there’s definitely room for other identities like bi, demi, ace…. etc.) Even in the books. I legitimately think Julia Quinn accidentally wrote a sapphic character and then didn’t know what to do with her. So what we got is “To Sir Phillip, With Love”, widely considered to be one of the worst in the series. Believe me, if there’s any story that could stand to deviate from the books, it’s this one. And the story could so easily be adapted to a wlw romance, it would be a wasted opportunity not to do it. Like… the story would be better if they tweaked it to fit a queer canon. AND it could be done in a historically accurate way to shut up the naysayers that “a lesbian storyline wouldn’t fit in this universe.” How? Allow me to explain.

*SPOILERS FOR BRIDGERTON SERIES BOOK 5*

In the book, Eloise strikes up a correspondence with Sir Phillip Crane. Yes, THAT Phillip, the one currently married to Marina from season 1&2. Marina kills herself because she can’t stand to be married to Phillip and deal with their children in the wake of her lover / his brother’s death. His initial interest in Eloise is to find a mother for his children. She is intrigued by his intelligence and decides she doesn't want to be alone, but isn’t necessarily eager to marry or have a family. Due to romance novel shenanigans, she runs away to Phillip's house and is forced to marry him. Even as they grow to kind of love each other, it's far from some grand romance. It’s the very definition of “settling”. The most interesting part is the narrative structure of their story being told through letters in the beginning. We could keep all that, but make it gay.

*Imagine*

Eloise meets some dapper gentlemen new to the marriage mart. We’ll call him Emmett. Very little is known about Emmett and his family as they keep largely to themselves at their estate in the countryside. The only thing that’s widely known is the family suffered a tragic accident where the man of the house and his oldest daughter died, leaving his son (the other twin) to take on the responsibility of rank and title very early. Emmet is making a rare appearance in London to find a wife (there are rumors of stipulations in his inheritance requiring a match). ALL the debutantes are fawning over him because he’s mysterious and extraordinarily good-looking. One might even say “pretty”… To everyone’s great surprise the season’s most eligible bachelor takes a special interest in Eloise after overhearing her talking about her disdain for the social convention of marriage, and how she would only consider it if it were an in-name-only, marriage of convenience. Emmett strikes up a conversation with Eloise and she is taken by his humor, wit and shockingly deep empathy for the limitations society puts on women. They continue to gravitate to each other through the first few events of the season, but Emmett has to return home suddenly because of a family emergency. Eloise is shocked to find herself disappointed, but they promise to write. Cue the correspondence romance.

Eloise grows more and more smitten with Emmett every letter she receives, but still has the same reservations about marriage especially when she thinks of the intimacy a relationship like that would require. When Emmett hints that he may want more than friendship, Eloise's feelings get the better of her and she goes to visit Emmett unannounced. He is shocked to see her, but let's her stay and she gets to know his mother and two younger sisters. The Bridgertons go looking for Eloise, worried something has happened to her. When she is found to have been staying for days in an unwed man's home without a chaperone, the potential scandal causes Anthony to force Eloise and Emmett to marry. Surprisingly, Emmett actually agrees so Eloise does too (all of this is essentially what happens in the book).

Eloise confesses to Emmett that she's nervous/resistant to physical intimacy, but he assures her they never have to be together that way. In fact, he would prefer the marriage of convenience they always talked about. Eloise is relieved until their kiss at the wedding sparks an attraction she wasn't expecting. They spend the first month or so of their marriage sleeping in separate rooms, enjoying each other's company, and letting the tension build. One night, Eloise's control and curiosity finally snaps and she goes to Emmett's room to initiate a physical relationship. She catches Emmett off guard in his sleeping clothes which makes it VERY clear... Emmett is a woman (cliffhanger of episode 4, and where we deviate from book canon to make it queer).

After the initial shock, Eloise allows her new "husband" to explain. Emmett is really Emma, the daughter believed to have died in a carriage accident with her father so many years ago. It was her twin brother that actually died, but since there were no other male heirs, Emma's family fortune would have gone to a distant uncle who is cruel and abusive. To save them of that fate, Emma's mother conspired with the local coroner to make it look like Emma was the one who died, so "Emmett" could inherit everything. Emma has been living as Emmett ever since, successfully keeping up the deception by keeping a low profile in society. The only reason Emma came to London that year is because her uncle died, and a cousin had come around asking questions hoping to inherit. She thought getting married would help secure her identity as Emmett and the cousin would back off. At first Eloise is outraged. She feels betrayed by Emma's duplicity, and is terrified if any of this ever got out everyone they know would be ruined forever. She agrees to keep the secret to save her family's reputation, but shuns Emma. Eventually, Emma (already aware that she's in love with Eloise) attempts to make amends and Eloise is charmed enough that she relaxes back into the relationship they had before the Big Reveal. The only problem is the attraction is still there, even more so now that Eloise knows the truth. Things come to a head, and they go at it Bridgerton style.

Emma and Eloise live happily in a true marriage for a bit until Cressida and Penelope come for a visit. They both find out about Emma, but are sworn to secrecy. Pen easily swears her loyalty (having already suspected Eloise), but Cressida is sickened. In a rage, she threatens to out them all, and storms back to London. Eloise follows her and begs Cressida to keep the secret, and tries to explain why the "wrong" feelings she has for Emma are very right for her. To Eloise's surprise, Cressida isn't upset about what she's doing with Emma, but who she's doing it with. She didn't know what they're doing was an option; that she was an option. Cressida confesses that if she'd known a life with Eloise was a choice she could make, it's the life she would have chosen. Eloise lets Cressida down easy by explaining they didn't have that choice. Everyone in the ton knows who they are. The only reason her relationship with Emma works is because of the ruse that allows Emma to be Emmett. Cressida takes this in stride, and vows to keep the secret, but her mother overhears and causes the biggest scandal London Society has ever seen.

The Bridgertons and a few friends (like Lady Danbury) are as understanding as possible, but the rest of the ton is rabid. Things escalate to the point where Emma and Eloise have to appear before the Queen. Emma pleads her case about pretending to save her family, and insists that Eloise didn't know until well after they were married so she's innocent. Eloise can't help herself and gets on her soapbox about the way society limits women, and that the Queen should understand their plight. Shockingly, she does. She annuls their "marriage" (because they didn't consummate anything... RIGHT?!) but she agrees to let Emma control her family's estate until one of her sisters produces a male heir. After that, she and Eloise will receive a pension from the Crown so they can live independently (the real Queen Charlotte actually did this for suspected historical sapphic couple The Ladies of Llangollen). Since Emma and Eloise would never be able to find husbands now, they decide that they'll just be two spinsters growing old together in their house in the countryside. You know... just two gal pals. No one believes that shit, but they rarely interact with the ton, so they're largely left alone to live as they please.

Happy ending, close to canon, historically accurate, and super gay. It's not that hard. You're welcome.

#did i really just fanfic a whole season of Bridgerton to prove a point?#of course i did!#GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!!!#bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #creloise #eloise x cressida

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gloomwitchwrites · 21 hours

Text

Locker Room

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, enemies-ish to lovers, sexual tension, arguments, suggestive themes, intimate touching, teasing, dirty thoughts

A/N: For @glitterypirateduck 's Ghost Writing Challenge. I used prompts 43, 97, & 99. (I had so much fun challenging myself to do this all in one go. I set a timer and everything.)

After finding an infuriating note on your desk, you confront Simon in the communal locker room.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

Beneath your skin is an inferno.

It’s not the kind that blazes for another, or burns in tandem with a deep yearning. This is just seething anger and blunt frustration.

You’re ready to knock out some fucking teeth.

How dare he? Who the fuck does Lieutenant Riley think he is?

When you return reports to Captain Price, you point out all the inconsistences and errors. The lack of accountability and absolute carelessness has been scratching at you for ages, and this time you had enough. Usually Price shrugs, fixes whatever you’ve marked—to a degree—and then returns them without argument.

This time? Price took one look at them and told you to talk to Simon.

Not a problem. No issue at all. You and Lieutenant Riley have always been on good terms. Sometimes, it’s been more than good. You’ve caught him staring for far too long, or he stands a bit too close as if the two of you are a couple and not coworkers. And while you’ve internalized the fantasy, it’s not like you’ve ever acted on it.

But now you’re just irritated.

You handed over the files yesterday evening, and this morning you found them back on your desk. It’s not the turnaround but Lieutenant Riley’s audacity of placing those files back on your desk with a singular sticky note.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

Sweetheart. Sweetheart?

The other day you imagined what it might be like to have the burly, masked man call you a pet name, but this is just fucking condescending.

Your heels clack sharply against the linoleum floor. Perhaps it’s the rage in your face, because every person you meet on your rampage steps out of your way, their gaze averted. Rounding a corner, you exit through a side door and into one of the hangars. A few people glance up, frowning, but return to their job.

Sighing heavily, you approach the nearest person. “Where’s Lieutenant Riley?”

The young man—who looks right out recruitment—glances up. He swallows and peers over his shoulder as if he’s not sure he’s supposed to say. “Locker room, ma’am?”

“Thank you,” you reply sharply, turning on your heel and heading for another door leading to the communal gym.

“But—” he begins, stumbling to his feet as you charge on. “Ma’am! You can’t—”

The door slams shut behind you and you don’t look back.

This is one of several communal spaces. There are the usual training areas on base but there are also a few gyms for those that want to get a bit of extra work in. Every head turns toward you and many don’t look away. This one is just for the men, and you’re the odd duck.

And fuck it. You don’t care. You’re too fucking mad right now to think of anything else but giving Lieutenant Riley a piece of your goddamn mind.

With everything pumping in your veins, the reality of you storming toward the locker rooms hasn’t even dawned. Hasn’t clicked. Fury laces your every step, and even here, where you’re not supposed to be, the men in your path move as if they sense the rage.

When you burst through the door and meet a wall of steam, all the heat suddenly extinguishes. Glancing around, you’re met with wide-eyed stares and surprised expressions.

Keeping your gaze as upward as you can, you clear your throat. “Where is Lieutenant Riley?”

There is only silence. Maybe if you stare at the top of the lockers for long enough, you’ll somehow gather your courage again.

“I asked where Lieutenant—”

“I’m right here.”

You turn abruptly and freeze.

Lieutenant Simon Riley stands before you in nothing but a towel. It hangs low on his hips. Other than that, the bottom-half of his face is covered up by a black mask and his dog tags dangle from his neck. His hair is a wet, tussled mess, and his chest glistens with water like he just stepped out from the shower.

Simon simply stares at you for a moment as you stand in utter silence. His gaze, which is piercing and fierce, slides away to scan the room. He doesn’t have to say anything. The rest of the men in the room grab bags and clothes, rushing to exit through the door you just entered from.

When the last man leaves, Simon rolls his shoulders, straightening his spine. It makes him appear larger, more intimidating, and that one movement draws forth a heat in your belly. This isn’t anger. This is need.

“I know what you came here for,” he says, and it’s so casual a tone that the earlier rage comes rising up.

“I’m sure you do,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

Simon says nothing. His dark eyes remain on you, unmoving and cold, yet pinning you to the spot as if you’ve been impaled by a spear.

“Are you going to apologize?”

“Why?” he asks automatically.

You scoff. “Are you fucking serious?”

“You didn’t come here for an apology.”

You uncross your arms and hold them out in front of you, bent at the elbows. “The reports—”

“The reports are fine.”

You roll your eyes and throw your hands up in the air. “There are inconsistencies everywhere. I can’t submit them as they are.”

Simon rolls his neck and then strides forward. Instinct has you stepping back, moving away, but you bump into a row of lockers. He doesn’t stop until he’s leaning over you, one large hand pressing into the metal to the side of your head.

“You’re nitpicking,” he replies.

“About lazy writing?”

“Oh, love. I assure you. I’m thorough.” At that, Simon leans in, and your hands rise instinctually, pressing against his firm chest.

Simon’s gaze doesn’t drop from your face. His entire attention is on you and that heat is back, twisting in your stomach, stirring up a slickness between your legs.

“Lieutenant,” you breathe, wanting the need between your legs to leave but also loving how close he is.

Sure, you’re pissed off but my god. The fresh scent of him is intoxicating, and you’re doing everything in your power not to lean in and lick up the droplet of water running along the side of his throat.

“Why did you come here?” He waits a beat, and when you don’t reply, Simon continues. “To argue?” He lightly pinches your bottom chin, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip, dragging it down a bit. You open your mouth involuntarily and Simon makes at sound in his throat that makes your legs weak. “To see me?” He leans in like he’s about to kiss you. “To be alone?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whisper.

Simon has you caged in. Pinned. The only thing separating your body and his is that towel.

“Why do you think everyone left when they did?” Simon’s thumb drops away from your lips only to press at the hollow of your throat. “It’s not because you walked in.”

“Why?” you ask, as Simon’s thumb drags lowers over your top to the space between your breasts.

“Because you’re mine. And they know it.”

“You—what?” Without anywhere to go, you can’t escape his intense stare.

“I’m staking a claim.”

“Lieutenant—”

“Simon,” he growls. “Call me Simon.”

“Simon,” you say, and he groans.

His dog tags brush against your fingers. The metal is slightly cool and damp. You curl on finger around the chain, and tug, bringing Simon’s face down to yours. If he can tease and touch, you’re going to do the same. He can’t have all the power.

Your lips brush against his through the mask, and Simon’s eyelids begin to close, revealing his gentle submission in this moment. Deepening the movement, you kiss him as if there were no barrier. This time, he truly groans, and you’d give anything to remove the barriers between you and find out what it’s like to feel him deep inside.

Fisting his dog tags in your hand, you shove him away, but only enough that there is a fraction of distance.

“Fix the fucking reports, Simon.”

Instead of kissing him again, or even touching him, you unclench your fist, releasing the dog tags. Slipping under his arm, you exit through the door and out into the gym, leaving a trail of steam in your wake.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth

@miaraei @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666

@unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @enfppuff

@cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @josephquinnschesthair @saoirse06

@therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf

@lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien

@xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project

@burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605

@contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic

@suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior

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paperbackribs · 1 day

Text

tags: steddie, nsfw, the homoeroticism of knowing you could treat them better

🥵🍆💦

"Okay," Robin smirks at Eddie as she pops the open button on the microwave in Steve’s kitchen, "But you understand how pathetically gay you sound right now, yes?" She pulls out a fragrant paper bag of popcorn; she says that she likes to have an extra bag before retiring after one of their movie nights.

Eddie scowls, forgetting that Steve's in the next room as he becomes revved up over a pet peeve that is less pet and more a wild animal, "It's not gay to appreciate a work of art." He gestures wildly, the lights above catch on his heavy silver rings, "It's not gay to understand that a sweet, beautiful boy is tragically unloved."

Robin snorts, pulling open the edges of the paper bag, releasing a plume of buttery steam, "No, pretty sure that's pretty gay. Next thing I know you'll declare 'no homo' while sucking his dick."

"I'd suck his dick better than Brittany or Betta or Betsy or whatever her name was," Eddie declares, sore at the memory of Steve's broken brow as he'd explained that his latest date had ridden his face and then gave him a pat on his shoulder, explaining that it was a nice time but not to expect a callback.

What an idiot, Eddie fumes to himself, neglecting to notice the shifting shadows in the hallway behind him; who doesn't enjoy a man who vehemently and vocally declares his love for going down on his partners? Eddie would kill for a partner willing to suck him dry.

Eddie may have blamed the deficiency on the female of the species, but Steve had allowed Eddie in the inner sanctum a few months ago: letting him know that it wasn’t only Robin and Eddie who were vehement friends of Dorothy, even if it was only Steve who enjoyed the full spectrum of the rainbow. And while B-whatever-her-name-was may be the source of Eddie’s ire right now, he knows that Steve has had likewise lousy luck with men whenever they’d ventured for their weekend nights out to Indy.

Each and every time Eddie had to endure Steve’s sad face a week or two later as he’d admitted that he thought his night’s partner may be up for more than just a brief bit of fun. And each and every time he’s been left dumbfounded because—

Eddie pulls at his hair, trying to work it out because—

Well. He can only imagine that every single person that’s walked away from Steve’s beautiful lips couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a fucking canon with the intelligence left over in their little pea brains. Because Steve Harrington is a goddamn catch and every one of them has let him escape their grasp.

Eddie’s too busy scowling down at his Reeboks to see Robin look over his shoulder and softly laugh. She scoops a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she swiftly leaves the kitchen, calling out, “I’m claiming the spare bedroom tonight—the one at the far end—see ya.”

Eddie looks up at the last minute, wondering at her sudden exit.

The air shifts again but Eddie doesn’t realise it until Steve’s right behind him. "Her name was Bella," Seve says in a low caress, close enough that his warm breath rustles Eddie's loose curls.

He stops, frozen, the touch of Steve's words making Eddie ache for something that he's wanted for such a very long time even as he’s unwilling to allow himself to think that Steve could mean anything by leaning in so close. But he can’t help but shiver, a tiny movement that brings his lips against Steve's sharp jaw, nearly stuttering, "Who?"

Strong arms wrap around him, bringing the broad planes of Steve’s chest against Eddie’s back, blunt fingers coming up to grip his jaw, directing Eddie’s lips to just under Steve’s.

Eddie freezes again in desperation, every single fantasy converging at once to break his brain and body while he tries to understand that the arms, hands and fingers wrapped around him are not an invention of a daydream.

"I’m saying,” Steve says patiently, eyeing Eddie with a dark gaze over his firm grip, "That I want you. Not Brittany or Betta or Betsy."

Eddie swallows around the knot in his throat.

"Just you," Steve repeats, a steady weight holding down his words that has Eddie’s gaze flying up to meet the hard pressure of hazel eyes bearing down on him. A force that has Eddie’s heart knocking heavily against his ribs, his breath shuddering against his frame, pressing taut and bullying against the thin of Eddie’s skin as he meets Steve’s expectant gaze.

And suddenly Eddie is angry.

Furious.

He’s had to endure weeks and months of listening to Steve be sad. Listening to Steve tell of glum exploits where women and men haven’t appreciated his freely-given love. Where it hadn’t mattered how quickly and devotedly Steve would put himself forward, that his partner would pat him on the back and distance him or herself after.

Eddie is furious and he glares at Steve’s beautiful hazel eyes, so close to his own and suddenly wide at the clear fury in Eddie’s eyes. Steve stumbles back, “What…” But Eddie lowers himself decisively, knees falling to the ground with a clear thump and thighs spreading as he knows with a deep conviction that he’s finally interpreting Steve’s actions correctly.

He looks up with dark eyes and presses into the tentative hand that falls against Eddie’s nape; Steve’s brows pull together, doubt drawing at them, “Eddie…”

Eddie glares up at Steve with all the strength of emotion running through him like the swift currents of a river. “No Steve, that’s it. That’s fucking it.”

He determinedly wraps his fingers around the zipper of Steve’s Levi’s and, as Steve chokes out his name again, Eddie glares up at him, daring Steve to take his prize away. “No, I’m done. You’ve given me permission now. You’ve given me a sliver of hope, and you’re not fucking taking it away.”

Eddie swiftly draws down the zipper, pulling down denim and soft cotton until Steve’s already hard cock bobs in front of him and he reaches forward quickly, hand already at its base and mouth open as he’s about to swallow him down but Steve’s hand buries itself in Eddie’s curls, gripping him tight.

“Do you want me?” Steve breathes and Eddie somehow finds it in himself to glower deeper, scowling up at Steve while refusing to speak. Inching forward until the tip of Steve’s cock hovers over Eddie’s open mouth. Steve curses and a heavy pearl of fluid drops from the tip to Eddie’s outstretched tongue. Eyes closing in contentment, he hears Steve choke as Eddie almost hums around the welcome flavour.

“Right,” Steve rasps roughly before pushing forward to rest against Eddie’s lips, he traces the heavy beads from his weeping slit against the petals of his mouth, breath running ragged before pressing further.

Eddie gasps, stretching his lips wide and pushing in and forward to embrace the cock intruding his mouth. His lashes flutter as he finally has the heavy weight of Steve’s cock resting on his tongue, stretching his mouth obscenely open before peering up to check where Steve’s at.

He needn’t have worried because Steve’s own mouth is hanging open with eyes darkly trained on Eddie. “So fucking pretty,” Steve gasps, gripping Eddie’s head to pull him closer. Choking Eddie as he moans, “Yes, fucking, yes, baby. Take it.” And Eddie does. Gratefully. Happily. Fucking swallows and devours and pistons back and forward until the bitter musk dripping from Steve’s dick is greedily consumed, taken within.

Steve cries out, throbbing powerfully and pouring into Eddie. Spilling and overflowing, fucking against his face until beads flood and stream out of his mouth. Eddie lets out a long, guttural and broken sound, grateful for the blessing that Steve fills him with.

He’s so consumed with the feel of Steve in him, surrounding him, that he barely registers the hardness in his own black denim until Steve drops to his knees too, meeting Eddie face to face before falling forward, fingers working his zipper open and mouth swallowing him whole.

Eddie gasps at the sudden sensation of the hot welcoming cavern of Steve’s mouth. He bucks, lightning shooting up his spine and overwhelmed at the attention as he thrusts once, twice and another before shuddering as he releases into Steve’s warm embrace.

Gasping, Eddie’s head falls forward to stare down at Steve in wonderment. In clear awe as he stares down at the beautiful boy in his lap. Mind blissed but still a niggle worries at the back of his mind, enough to have his hand reaching forward to Steve’s face, cupping his cheek and bringing him up to meet Eddie.

“Sweetheart,” the endearment drops from Eddie’s mouth without his permission.

Steve’s lips tug up, spreading in a grin and widening his eyes, “You want me, don’t you?” He asks, almost breathless.

“Yes. Fucking yes.” Eddie has nothing but honesty to his name at this point.

Steve smiles. Smug and fucking so proud of himself. He leans forward, “Then take me,” he whispers.

And Eddie does.

❤️ More steddie here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #paperbackribs writing

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 days

Note

Seeing that Epel and Rook used their unique magic, it makes me think everyone is gonna use their unique magic. Like imagine Kalim using his magic against his enemies or Jade use shock the heart for answers. Imagine reaching to Heartslabyul where everyone but Ace use it. This makes me think of Ace since he is a mysterious character and unclear motivation compare to the rest. What will be his dream? Will his unique magic be shown?

That’s true! Looking back, every character that is now “awake” has used their UM at least once:

Malleus uses Fae of Maleficence/Fae Maleficence to 7-37; this is the source of all our troubles in book 7 💀

Silver uses Meet in a Dream in 7-51, then again multiple times to dream hop and to wake up various students.

Lilia’s Far Cry Cradle is revealed in 7-81’s battle map via a flashback sequence. It is thanks to his UM that he understands the origins of the lone infant he finds in the ruins of Castle Wildrose. He blesses the baby and takes it under his wing as his own son… Silver.

Sebek’s Living Bolt, shown in 7-84, allows him to reach Silver and pull him out of the darkness that has swallowed him.

Idia uses Gate to (the) Underworld to open the gates to Tartarus and escape it in 7-114.

Book 7 confirms that Ortho is not capable of a UM, but is is his uniquely robotic ability to transfer his consciousness that allows him to adopt his Cerberus Gear in 7-50, infiltrate Sage’s Island, and return with valuable information to combat Malleus.

The magical glass coffin that Epel conjures with Sleep Kiss/Crimson Slumber in 7-135 protects Neige. It also (theoretically) slows the effects of Vil’s curse (the poisoned apple juice).

Rook uses I See You in 7-135 to tag Vil (who is sinking into the darkness of his dreams). This makes it easier for the gang to locate where Vil has gone.

Finally, in 7-138, Vil’s Fairest One of All allows him to poison Neige (who, up until this point, has been keeping tabs on him and preventing him from escaping the grasp of the dream) and rejoin with Yuu and co.

I guess since this is such a climactic book, the devs decided to go all out and have each boy show up and show off their own special power. This means we’ll most likely see the rest of the main NRC students using their UMs to help us out in the dreams! (Sasuga power of friendship…)

As for Ace! Now would be such an opportune time for him to develop his UM 😳 I believe the popular fan theory is still “Ace’s UM will allow him to copy others’ magic” since he mimics voices well and has a talent for quickly learning new skills (like dancing, as seen in book 5). And hey, if that’s the case then maybe Ace is the one who will be able to reverse Malleus’s magic if Malleus won’t willingly do it himself. Just spitballin’ here. Maybe Ace is frustrated that he can’t contribute in any way…? And then that feeling manifests as something?

How poetically ironic—the first student we meet ends up being the last to get their UM but also one of the final pieces of the puzzle to take OB Malleus down. It works out really well for Ace’s character too; he is the only character of the main cast who sees through the bullshit and calls people out, not caring about how influential or powerful they are.

I don’t actually think he’s that mysterious relative to other characters—we still barely know anything significant about Rook or Jade, for example (despite already diving into Rook’s dream). Rather, I think it’s more accurate to say that Ace has more simple desires. He just wants to be able to do what he wants when he wants, to not have to worry about his future plans. I don’t think his dream would really be anything that drastic; I see it as Ace living a chill life with his friends.

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g0dlyunsub · 2 days

Note

hey!!! Ugh I just love your account! I have a request for Spencer Reid x fem reader!! Can you do one where he is always working and it makes the reader upset bc he is cancelling dates and coming home late and kinda neglects her feelings and doesn't really notice how much it affects her and how sad she gets and then he misses their anniversary dinner and she breaks and tells him that it makes her upset when he's gone all the time and he just feels so awful bc he's so in love with her and never wants her to feel that way because of him and apologizes and reassures her and makes sure she feels loved!!

ty for the request and i loved the idea for this one!

wishful thinking.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: angst with a fluffy ending; very mild makeout session at the end :3

word count :: 2.4k

author’s note :: i kind of giggled at the ending as i was writing it, but i’m pretty proud of how this one turned out!

accompanying song :: neverthere by xander

spencer’s phone is quite literally the bane of your existence.

you know what to expect whenever it rings, so you hate when it actually does – its earthquaking vibrations and trilled beeps tear the happiness straight out of you.

it’s the second date in a row that he’s had to pass, and you wonder if you should just stop trying so hard. was it selfish to want to have him all to yourself, to have him seated right across from you, sharing your laughter as you pass him his plated pasta? were you expecting too much, imagining a serene life with him ten years down the road, perhaps with kids or pets of your own? was it unfair to think that you could craft a lie, telling him your stomach hurt really bad, so bad that you would have to curl up on the floor and pray he’d stay by your side just this once to comfort you?

all you ever wanted was spencer. more specifically, you wanted spencer during your first three dates, when he’d silence all of his phone calls, and wave them off like nothing even though you insisted he take them. maybe if you didn’t bring up the importance of taking work calls, none of this would have ever happened. maybe it was all coming back to bite you for your non-confrontational nature, since you could never plead him to actually stay.

but he’s your boyfriend… and that’s all that matters, right? after all, he has lives to save – people whose names are called out during prayers day and night by their loved ones as they cling on to the sliver of hope that your boyfriend and his team promise during the darkest hours. granted, spencer would drop everything if you were in a similar situation, but none of your problems have actually been life-threatening. but a girl can dream, can’t she? your first anniversary date was when spencer promised to make amends, a formal compensation for all of the past dates that he missed and left you feeling empty on your shared bed, stains of mascara chalked up on your dry cheeks.

“i’m so sorry, honey, i’ve just been… called in for work,” spencer stands, dusting the napkin that was folded nicely on his lap. you watch as he takes a sip of his glass of water, then walks over to you to plant a kiss on your forehead.

he runs his fingers along the velvety texture of the sleeves of your dress, and you offer him a weak smile.

“it’s okay, duty calls, right?” you feel the tears surfacing and you have to fight yourself to not blink. it’s too early to cry.

“i-it’s a really bad one this time, and i hate to do this on such an important day-” spencer begins to apologize frantically, and his face marks an expression of genuine concern with his brows furrowing and lips twitching.

“it’s okay. you need to go, i understand.” you state plainly, and you immediately feel shameful – your words are too assertive and snarly for how you normally respond.

spencer pauses briefly, fidgeting with his fingers, before he gives a slight nod in your direction. he then walks over to the couch, grabs a book, and tightens the clasps on his bag.

“i’ll be back as fast as i can,” spencer utters quietly and walks out of the door. when the apartment door locks with a click, you break down immediately.

at first, the tears fall one by one. but then, a salty stream evident of pure emotional wreckage makes its way into the slight gap of your lips, and it’s an unstoppable domino effect. your shoulders shudder and heave as you struggle to catch breaths in between, and you splutter cries of your boyfriend’s name.

maybe it would’ve been better to just stay as conversational partners, to exchange updates once in a while when he’d actually commit to a time. it was your fault for getting your hopes up high, and all of this – fanciful dinner and dressing your best for the occasion – was wishful thinking. you just didn’t want to admit it.

“y/n?”

you look up to see spencer in front of the doorway, and his bag that was barely holding on to his shoulder drops to the floor with a thud.

you quickly look away, brushing the tears away with one arm and sniffle before choking out a response.

“i thought you left already, why are you here?” again, your words come out icier than you had hoped and hit you with a sharp pang of guilt.

spencer narrows his eyes ever so slightly as if he’s scrutinizing you, observing your body language. it doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re upset.

“i was going to. realized i forgot-,”

he clears his throat when you raise your eyebrows and proceeds, "i misplaced my wallet."

he slips out of his loafers, shoving aside his pair of converses that lie adjacent to your pretty pair of heels. he walks over to you, and you realize that you’re still seated at the dining table. you must look so stupid right now, waiting as if he’d just be returning from a bathroom break.

“i need to head out, but i promise… i promise we’ll talk about this really soon. we’ll have the anniversary dinner and-”

“did you even try?” you blurt out, and you look up at him with your puffy eyes glazed with tears.

a deathly silence clouds over the entire apartment, and you’re thinking of two options: leave the apartment and go run to a friend’s place, or confront him and see whether making amends – again, wishful thinking – would be possible.

“y/n. please believe me when i say that i’ve tried to, i’ve tried-”

you slam a hand to the table before standing up, your face twisting into an expression of outrage.

“no, because then you would’ve silenced it. you would’ve cut the call, just like you used to.” you fire your words at him as your hair sticks to the drying tears on your cheeks, and you begrudgingly wipe at your face.

a slow sigh escapes from spencer’s lips, and he looks at you with those eyes – the eyes that seemingly warn you, saying you don’t want to go there. not right now.

but you double down on him, the rage fueling your words as you lash out.

“it was just this one time. i only wanted you to stay for dinner just this one time.” you helplessly drop your hands to your sides, the tears landing on the floor with soft plops.

“i know. and i’m terribly sorry.” spencer bites his bottom lip and takes a step toward you. but you take a step back, and maybe that pulls a string between the two of you, because you can see how his shoulders tense up.

“look, can we talk about this when i get back? i’ll make it up to you, i swear.” he combs through his hair, the stress almost palpable as it leaks from his shaking fingers.

while you know he has to head out again, the way he so easily brushes off the conversation like it’s something he doesn’t even want to think about feeds into your disbelief. soon, however, your anger subsides into a tired frown.

“i don’t know, you might come home late… when i’m asleep or something.” you look at the wall where a photo of the two of you is framed, and you weakly smile at how happy you seemed then.

“i’ll give you a call, is that okay?” he searches your face for any signs of approval, but you’re zoned out thinking about the past, of how everything used to be.

“whatever, just go.” you wave him off and walk to the couch, where you lie down and turn against him to face the plush fabric.

spencer sighs, and his hand looms over your head momentarily before he grabs his wallet from the table. you hear a faint sorry trail from behind as he leaves the room, and your nails claw at the arms of the couch before the darkness cradles you once again.

it’s 10:30 pm, and you hear the doorknob click again. you had just cleaned up the dishes after eating dinner alone and left his portion in the fridge. you were now changed into your pajamas and getting ready for your night routine.

you peep out of your bedroom door to see spencer, his suit all wet. he looks at you as he takes off his shoes, and a sullen expression paints his face. did it start raining after he left? you realize that you were mostly cooped up in the bedroom since his departure, so you wouldn’t have known.

bravely looking up at him in the eye, you state: “you came back early.” you hate how unwelcoming you sound in his own home.

he pauses before he sets his wet bag on the floor and removes his blazer jacket to throw over a chair.

he approaches you, hands in his pockets and hair twisted in matted curls.

“hm.” he grabs a towel from the closet and makes his way to the shower, brushing past your shoulder. you feel an icy shudder spread through your spine after he closes the bathroom door.

was he giving you the silent treatment right now?

you hear the water start from the bathroom and you sink into your bed while turning to twist the lamp lights on.

after all that torturous waiting you went through, he was giving you the silent treatment?

fifteen minutes later, a knock reverberates from the other side of the bedroom door, and even though you don’t respond, spencer steps in. he’s changed into a t-shirt and black pajama pants, and he drops next to you on the bed.

“i’m taking the week off.”

the sentence startles you, and it’s something so unexpected you choke on your own saliva.

“what, what do you mean you’re taking the week off?” you ask him, finally turning to face him in the eyes. his brown irises blaze into your own.

“i’ve been pushing off everything you wanted to do with me — things that I wanted to do with you — and i’ve just been…” he turns away to play with the wrinkles on his pants as he speaks, picking out the dust that lies embedded between the folds.

he pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a deep sigh. he continues, “i don’t know if it’s all worth it.”

silence casts a blanket over the two of you.

“spence,” you say after a while, and hesitantly lay a hand on his thigh.

“nothing’s more important in the world to me than you. you and your happiness. i know you love this job and i know you love helping people. you’re such a kind hearted man, and it’s why i fell in love with you in the first place.”

when spencer gives you no response, you confess: “spence, i get jealous sometimes.”

this time his eyes widen, and he looks at you.

“you do?” he asks softly, peering into your eyes and you cave instantly.

“of course i do. it’s… everybody wants you, spencer. we all need you, whether we realize it or not.”

he scoffs.

“but i only want you.”

his voice is raspy yet mellow at the same time, the smoothest stream of sweetness seeping through your eardrums. god. you can never stay mad at this gorgeous man, the same man that made you cry on numerous occasions just counting the past week.

“you need to do more than that, if you… you know.” you quietly murmur as you fidget with the hem of your nightgown.

“i know,” he speaks with a hushed tone. “i told hotch, and i told him it was going to happen whether he liked it or not. the demands of this job are… tough, but i don’t want to miss out on all the things we planned together. i won’t.”

you start bawling right when he delivers the last word, and all the tears that you were holding back spill over your flushed cheeks. your boyfriend immediately leans in to console you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his chin rests on top of your head.

it’s okay, he murmurs reassuringly. you ease into his touch, and you realize how much you missed this. how much you missed spending time with him.

his left hand tugs lightly at your soft hair while his right rubs your back in smooth circles.

“i missed you,” you speak with a hushed voice, looking up into his eyes as a glassy coat of tears blur your vision.

he cups your face with his hands before whispering, “i missed you too.”

you continue to blabber words of love-stained anguish but he cuts you off short, pulling you in for a short kiss on your lips, which are now tainted with your tears.

“you taste… salty,” he whispers, giving you a slight smile as he brushes off the rest of your tears that weigh down on your eyelashes.

“it’s because of you, silly,” you drawl as you taste the salty residue of your tears.

yeah, spencer responds hesitantly. but he’s wearing a small smile, tilting his head to one side as his eyes emit a glint of tranquilizing peace.

he reaches into his pajama pocket and takes out a piece of candy. you curiously watch as his fingers quickly remove the wrapper, revealing a glazed cherry-flavored sphere.

“may i?” he asks, and his faint voice is a gravitational force that you can’t resist.

you briefly respond with a lazy hm? before he plops the candy into your mouth and kisses you again. the sweetness explodes like fireworks with his warm breath, and the sticky layer of sugar melts like acid on your intertwined tongues. you let out a satisfied hum when you pull back, and it’s undeniably attractive the way spencer licks the corner of his lips.

a tear falls from your eye again, and this time, it’s not out of sorrow.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #mgg x reader

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literallyspiderwoman · 2 days

Text

“Dad are you really this afraid of me?!”

PS: I edit this a lot so be sure to come back occasionally!

There were a LOT of lines in ATSV that stuck out to me, but this specific one hit me right in the feels.

First of all the way Gwen says it, her tone, the pain and emotion in her voice, her expression, EVERYTHING leading up to this one simple question is heartbreaking. Especially when you consider why she’s even asking this in the first place.

I want to point out that right after Gwen took her mask off, the background colors change from dark red to much less threatening colors, much softer if I might add. This basically signifies George’s POV.

Gwen had just revealed her identity as Spider-Woman to her dad, who’s now in complete shock. He believes Spider-Woman is a murderer and the one responsible for Peter’s death, so now that his own daughter comes out and tells him that she is in fact Spider-Woman, he jumps to the conclusion that “Spider-Woman is a murderer who killed Peter so that must mean that’s all true about my daughter.” instead of “Ah, my daughter is sweet so there’s no way those things about Spider-Woman are true!”. Now when I first watched this scene, I was like “Huh?”, because Gwen could’ve said ANYTHING else to her dad. She could’ve been like “Why are you doing this?!”, or she could’ve gotten angry at him. Gwen is WAY stronger than George, if he decided to shoot her, she would have been able to easily dodge that bullet. She could seriously hurt George if she wanted to and she knows it, but when George started reading Gwen her Miranda Rights, Gwen wasn’t angry, she was heartbroken, and you can see the change in her expression.

At first, she looks upset, fearful, and worried. Then, she looks hopeful. Hopeful that her dad will hear what she has to say, hopeful that her dad will understand her and trust her when she tells him that she isn’t a murderer, but he doesn’t. THATS when Gwen’s expression shifts from hopefulness to disbelief and heartbreak. “You’re in this to help people right? Well so am I”, Gwen was trying to convince her dad that she was on his side, that she didn’t kill Peter, that she isn’t what he thinks she is, but George doesn’t listen. Gwen thought that by telling her dad “You’re all I have left”, that that’d make him listen, but it didn’t.

You can hear the utter shock and disbelief in Gwen’s voice when her dad actually starts reading her rights, and you can hear how scared and distraught George is too, but there’s a hint of remorse in his voice. He sounds like he doesn’t want to do this. He sounds like he’s in pain, and well- he is. He’s arresting his own daughter. George thought that he was doing the right thing by hunting down Spider-Woman, he thought it was for the greater good, but now? He realizes he was just hurting Gwen.

Just put yourself in Gwen’s position for a second. She just revealed her biggest secret to her dad, and the reason she hid it from him for so long was because she was terrified of the thought that he would attempt to arrest her, and he DOES. He chooses to be a ‘good’ cop over being a dad. Imagine your own father, your own flesh and blood, and the person who gave you life, is absolutely terrified of you to the point where he almost aims a gun at you out of pure fear. But George doesn’t see his own child, he sees a monster. The same monster that murdered his daughter’s best friend. He quite literally can’t see his daughter in front of him, he just sees Spider-Woman.

“How long have you been lying to me?” Is the only question George asks Gwen throughout this entire scene. He asked this as a father, not as a cop. He was absolutely distraught and the only thoughts going through his mind were “No, this can’t be true…” and “How could my girl, my sweet girl…” (Actual line from the script btw). Another line that sort of stood out to me was “Can you just not be a cop for a second and be my dad here?”, Gwen didn’t feel like she was speaking to her dad, she felt like she was facing down a cop. George has been treating Gwen like a criminal this whole interaction. “Do you really think I’m a murderer?” Gwen asked this because could not BELIEVE that her dad actually thought that of her. The whole reason Gwen removed her mask in the first place was out of fear that her dad would actually shoot her, he already fired a warning shot, so why wouldn’t he just go ahead and pull the trigger?

Something I noticed earlier is how Gwen’s spider senses went off when her dad approached her. Spider senses ONLY go off when there’s a threat nearby, so this pretty much means Gwen saw her dad as a threat to her life :(

Also taking note of the fact that Gwen is his daughter, 16 years old- and like 5’4, but George is STILL powerless against her. His only option is to get her to surrender. Gwen and George kinda switched places throughout this scene. At first, Gwen is terrified of George, and then by the end it’s the other way around.

Gwen tries her hardest to plead with George, she kept her arms up in a defenseless position the whole time to show her dad that she won’t hurt him, but he can’t even look at her. This is something I took note of when watching ATSV; While George is reading Gwen her Miranda Rights, he can’t bring himself to look at her. He just stares at the ground, with a disappointed expression on his face. A face of pain. There’s a clear difference when George first says “You have the right to remain silent”, and the second time he says it. It’s like he doesn’t want to do it.

Now, I do hate George and I think he did a LOT wrong in this movie, but just look at his face for a second. Does that look like the the face of a man who is happy with what he’s doing? No. That’s a face of regret and guilt. He isn’t doing this because he wants to, he’s doing this because he’s afraid. Afraid of what exactly? Well, that brings us to my next point.

So obviously Gwen is in shock right now, her own father is trying to arrest her because he believes she murdered her childhood friend. Not only is Gwen shocked but she’s also confused. She’s probably thinking “Why is he doing this?”, and she came to the conclusion that her dad was doing this out of fear. Fear of HER.

This is a major reason as to why Gwen didn’t reveal her identity to her dad for so long. She knew he wouldn’t accept her, she knew he’d be scared of her, and she was right. George isn’t doing this just because he wants to be a good cop, he’s standing in front of the ‘dangerous menace’ who killed Peter, and that dangerous menace is Gwen, his daughter. George’s immediate reaction is to arrest Gwen because like I said earlier- He can only see Spider-Woman.

Now onto what this whole analysis is about, the line Gwen utters next… Along with “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done”, and “I can’t lose one more friend”, this line BROKE me. Gwen assumed that George was doing this out of fear, which is the main reason she asked him this. She was so frustrated by the thought of her own father doing something like this to her. She hated being misunderstood to the point of being seen as a monster by the one person she considers a role model to follow, the ONE person she has left. You can hear the pain in Gwen’s voice as well as her dad’s.

You can actually hear a slight change in George’s tone after Gwen says that line. Because SHE’S RIGHT. He IS afraid of her. That’s the whole reason as to why he’s doing this. He doesn’t even respond to her, his voice slightly breaks and you can definitely tell this is really hard for him. Hearing his own daughter straight up ask him if he’s really afraid of her probably felt like a punch in the gut, that’s a question neither of them thought they’d ever have to face.

George fears Gwen because she allegedly ‘killed’ Peter, but it’s also because of her abilities. George has seen what Spider-Woman is capable of. He’s seen what she can do. That’s the reason he backed away and raised his gun at Gwen when she took a step closer to him and yelled “DAD STOP!”, he was scared of her.

Gwen was heartbroken. She was trying her HARDEST to plead with her dad just for him to try and arrest her, aim a gun at her, and yell “DONT COME ANY CLOSER!” at her when she tried to approach him. Honestly I’m surprised Gwen didn’t snap after this, let alone forgive George at all. Imagine living with the mentality that your own dad didn’t hesitate to point a gun at you while yelling at you to not come any closer, poor Gwen.

I’ve always wondered what would’ve happened if Miguel and Jess hadn’t intervened. George actually had the intention of shooting Gwen, so if Miguel didn’t trap him in that box thing, George might’ve actually gone through with it, and that’s sickening to think about. The fact that he was even WILLING to aim a gun at Gwen is enough to fuck her up.

A difference between Miles and Gwen is that Miles knows he didn’t kill Uncle Aaron. Gwen on the other hand originally thought she didn’t kill Peter but the more her dad blamed Spider-Woman for it, the more she actually started to believe that she was responsible for his death. When Gwen told George “I didn’t murder Peter”, she was obviously trying to convince her dad that Peter’s death wasn’t her fault, but I think she was also trying to convince herself.

I don’t blame Gwen for wanting to join the Spider Society after all of this. I mean come on, her dad is terrified of her and thinks she’s a murderer, and she believes if she joins the Spider Society, she’ll finally find people who accept and understand her. No wonder she left Earth 65.

This entire scene was so heartbreaking dude I wanna cry time I watch it ☹️ The watercolors in the background as well as the voice acting from both Gwen and her dad were amazing and SO emotional, along with their expressions and the soundtrack- Ahh I could talk about this movie forever 😭 But anyways, thanks for reading my little analysis and FUCK GEORGE STACY ALL MY HOMIES HATE GEORGE STACY!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️💥💥💥💥💥🙅🏼‍♀️🙅🏼‍♀️🙅🏼‍♀️

#george stacy keep your fucking doors locked.#KYS GEORGE STACY #LEAVE GWENNY ALONE #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman #gwen stacy #spiderverse #ghost spider #spider gwen

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becsabillion4 · 1 day

Text

false god (we still worship)

pairing: carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary: Carmen has a bad shift, but you’re more than willing to turn his night around and show him exactly how good he is.

word count: 3,362

tags: SMUT, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, creampie, semi-public sex, window sex, lingerie, praise kink, vulnerable Carmy, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and yet again NOT an advert for safe sex. with that said, it’s fucking hot ;) and thank you to the wonderful person who submitted the prompt that inspired this, based around Carmy having a tough day and reader taking care of him (even though I’ve failed at tumblr and can’t find the original message). enjoy!!

thesydkid

Yo. Awful shift. Glad you weren’t here to see it.

whochefsouschef

fuckkk what happened?

thesydkid

Newbies think they know better than Tina because they went to CIA. You can imagine how Carmy took that.

whochefsouschef

was it kyle? he’s been like that since he started.

thesydkid

Yeah

Classic

whochefsouschef

syd?

I know that’s not all. kyle doesn’t warrant a text warning

thesydkid

Carm got food sent back.

whochefsouschef

shit.

thanks for the heads up

thesydkid

Good luck, cya tomorrow.

—------------------------------

It’s late, the kind of late where even the drunks winding through the streets have stopped their singing, the kind where it’s already too late to go to bed and get an ounce of good sleep. It’s the kind of late where you would have known it was a bad night even if Sydney hadn’t texted you first, because you know how hard Carmy cleans when he’s upset, and exactly how long that takes.

You sit up in bed abruptly, pushing your hair out of your face and considering your options. You have maybe ten minutes if Sydney texted you as soon as Carmy left, ten minutes to decide how you want to handle this kind of bad day. You feel a surge of frustration that you weren’t on shift tonight. As the Front of House Manager, you could have soothed the moronic, greedy, power-tripping customer who wanted to pull one over on the best chef in Chicago by sending back his perfect food-

Actually, maybe it was for the best you weren’t on shift tonight, or you might no longer have a job.

You smile when you think about how Richie will have handled it though. His courteous, collected energy even as he probably said something like, “Oh, you’d like to send this back? Wow, I’ve never heard a, uh - what do you call ‘em - oh, complaint before. Are you sure you know what this dish is?”

The smile fades when you think about Carmy’s reaction. You push yourself out of bed, decided by the image of his frustration, the anger he uses to hide his sadness. There’s been a few particularly bad shifts since you and Carmy moved in together - and Richie labelled himself as “matchmaker to the stars” for hiring you - and you know that if left to his own devices, Carmy will happily stay up all night stewing.

But you’re here now, and you’re determined not to let him. So you set your plan in motion.

By the time you hear his keys clink in the lock, you’re settled by the sofa, bare skin slightly chilled by the evening air coming in from the cracked window. You glance up as Carmy walks in, catch his eye, and he stops dead, hand still on the lock.

Bluer-than-blue eyes flicker across the scene you’re presenting for him - your best lingerie, your patient kneel, steady eyes - and he straightens from his tired stoop.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes still tracing how the lace drapes across your skin in the low light.

“Hi,” you smile. “Join me?”

Without looking away from you, Carmy shuts the door, drops his stuff in a careless pile. “Syd texted?”

“I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to surprise you.”

Carmy’s eyes drift away from you for a second, glancing around the room, like he does when he’s thinking something through. You can almost hear his brain clicking through the gears. Turning the kitchen off, turning something else on.

“It was bad, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuckin’ shitty.”

“It’s over.” You raise a hand to him, tilt your head towards the sofa. “Get over here and let me do filthy things to you to make up for it.”

He laughs at that, toes off his shoes and takes the few steps to the sofa. He doesn’t sink into the cushions like you expected though, but kneels in front of you. You reach out, run a hand over the side of his face, feel the days-old stubble rasping under your touch. Bringing your other hand up, you cup his face, thumbs tracing over the bags under his eyes like you can smooth them out with that simple touch. You can feel his exhaustion in the way he leans forward into the feeling, and it breaks something in you.

When you kiss him, you intend for it to be careful and slow. Bring him out of his shell, remind him that things outside The Bear exist. But the moment your mouths press together, the moment you nip the edge of his bottom lip, the drained and defeated Carmy is gone.

He surges forward, almost sending you tipping over backwards, arms wrapping around your waist. One hand slides to your lower back, stretching to cover as much of your skin as he can possibly grasp. Pulling you forward, Carmy bows his head to suck a bruise into your throat and you know for damn sure it’ll be visible tomorrow. A glaring mark, a “fuck you” to the rest of the world painted on your skin.

Your hands are far from idle either, and as one pulls at his T-shirt, rucking it up to explore the muscles beneath, you run a finger from the other over the arch of his ear. Carmy shudders in a broad, full-body motion and his hips stutter, jerk forward into you. You both moan at the contact and you want to chase it, feel him pressed between your thighs, but clearly Carmy has other ideas.

He reaches under your arms and pulls you up to stand with him, letting his hands continue their journey down your sides to reach your waist. All you have time to do is gasp as he hoists you off your feet, and he’s already walking towards your floor-length window as you desperately try to wrap your legs around his waist. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe, the hand not holding you up pushing deep into your hair and curling strands around his fingers so he can pull your head back, press more kisses to the hollow of your throat.

For a dizzying moment, you can see the lights of Chicago upside down, but you manage to pull your head up just before your back hits the cold glass. You hiss at the chill against your bared skin and Carmy runs a hot palm around to your back in apology even as his tongue continues its insistent sweeps against your own.

You barely register the soft clink of his belt, the push and rustle of fabric between you until his cock is pressed close, the only thing keeping it from filling you your own stupid lacy underwear.

With a frustrated groan, Carmy gently lowers you until your feet sink into the carpet, but he still gives you no room to move, pressing you into the misted-up glass as if he can’t tear his body from yours.

“Carmy,” you pant, unsure what you’re asking, but you know he understands when he grabs your upper arm, spins you around to face the view. The glass is warmer now, but still cold enough that the press of your barely-concealed nipples to its surface makes you moan as you hear Carmy kneel, feel him sliding your panties down your legs.

He doesn’t even let them reach your ankles before he’s up again, kissing his way along your spine as he goes, and finally, finally, the head of his cock nestles in where it needs to be.

Its hot and heavy presence has you pushing your hips back, wanting to feel the glorious slide of him, lose yourself in the moment he splits you, and all you can see, eyes half-slitted in pleasure, are the glittering lights of the city below. You live pretty high up and the lights are low enough that none of the busy pedestrians below should see, but all it would really take is a glance up and an observant eye. To see your breasts pressed against the glass, Carmy’s possessive hands gripping your hips as he finally drives into you. Even from this distance, you imagine the pleasure on your own face and your walls flutter around Carmy until he growls, pulls your hands from where they were flat against the window into a bind behind you.

There is nothing kind and gentle about this moment, no give in Carmy’s body as he fucks into you, and you revel in it. Let him take his pain and translate it into pleasure through your body. Let him take and take and take until he has nothing left to give, and let the world see him doing it. Let them see what’s his.

These thoughts alone have you teetering, desperate for a few more strokes, but the surprise of Carmy reaching around to draw lazy circles over your clit as he snarls, “Fucking look at you, look how good you take me,” has you seizing up instantly. You can faintly hear your own surprised cry through the buzzing in your ears, and Carmy’s gasps as he feels you pulsate around him, but you only fully come back to yourself when you press your forehead against the blessedly cool glass.

The strength of your orgasm is enough that your legs are visibly shaking now, and without a word, Carmy bends to scoop up your lower half and pulls you in, cradling you across his front. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to calm your breathing as you push your face into his chest, but before you can even begin to get your head straight, you feel soft sheets on your back as he lowers you to the bed.

He sinks down beside you, and all his desperation from a moment ago is gone as his body finally relaxes. He’s still hard and straining towards you, but the light has dimmed in his eyes, so when you reach for him, it’s to run a hand across his cheek, to bring his eyes to yours. When you move towards him, it’s to curl your legs with his, to press your forehead against his and settle his breathing with your own.

People think Carmy is so used to taking shit that it doesn’t hurt him anymore, but you know. You know how each word drives so deep that he doesn’t know how to take good anymore, how he invites the anger and the aggression of a kitchen into his soul because the alternative is realising that all the shit he’s been through is too awful, too devastating to reconcile. To keep feeling it, so he has no time to wonder what his life would be without it.

You see the weakness and the fear and the vulnerability, and you know how he absorbs the feeling and translates it into his work, how he uses it to fuel him, how he turns the criticism and the insults and the hatred into being better, being perfect, doing a good job.

“You are so wonderful, Carmy,” you murmur, and when he tries to look away, you hold his head still. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing. Shit, not really anything.” You’re silent, and he sighs as he caves under the pressure of your gaze. “Back when I was in New York, you remember that chef I told you about?”

You nod, because you know you can’t say anything remotely okay about that particular chef.

“He had this thing, about pasta. Thought he was some kind of expert because he spent, like, three months with Massimo Bottura. We had to boil water from cold every time, for every single batch of pasta we served, and there was this exact amount of salt we had to add. It wasn’t like a teaspoon, it was seven point three grams for every hundred of pasta. And he could fucking tell if you were off, he barely had to taste it. One time I saw him smell somebody’s pasta and tell them they were off by point two.” Carmy’s voice is shaking, and you move your thumb along his cheekbone slowly, calmly, giving him something to root himself to. Remind him he’s not there.

“And I was thinking about it while I was cooking the bucatini, and it’s like he was in the room again, saying the same shit he always did. Watching over my shoulder as I added the salt, and it made me so mad,” Carmy mutters, breaths coming in pants now. “And I didn’t even think, I just added like way too much salt. Enough to fuckin’ ruin it, ‘cos I just wanted to see him choke on it. And then I sent it out.”

You don’t take your eyes from his face as you curl one hand down to straighten the fingers of his, to stop the nails he’s digging deep into his palm from cutting into his skin.

“And of course it got sent back, and Richie apologised and comped their bill, and they didn’t care. But, like, I just sabotaged my own restaurant. My own reputation, becuase I can’t stop fuckin’ thinking about salting pasta,” Carmy finishes in a rush, and he finally meets your eyes.

“Carmy, you’re working in a kitchen every day. It’s no surprise you remember other kitchens you’ve been in, and the kind of behaviour you’ve had to endure. But it’s not that kitchen anymore. This is your kitchen we’re talking about, your space. When you look over your shoulder, he’s not there anymore. Syd is, and she’s got your back. We’re not some pristine, sterile team with no heart. Richie’s there.” You feel a surge of emotion so strong for the brilliant, vulnerable man in front of you that you push your face into his shoulder, hard enough that he has to steady himself from falling back onto the bed. His other hand comes up to card loosely through your hair, and you suppress a soft noise of comfort to finish with, “I’m there.”

“I know, baby,” he responds, pulling you closer until you’re practically curled into his lap. “And I think it’ll get easier, it’s already easier. I just don’t think I’ll ever entirely stop sabotaging myself. I’m not like the food I make, I’m not composed and-and, perfect. I’m not, uh, not always good at stuff.”

“Okay, but you’re good plenty of the time,” you whisper, looking up at him. You smile as he glances down, catches your eye. “I could go on for days about the stuff you’re good at.”

“Oh yeah?” Carmy murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, down and round the edge of your face to the shell of your ear. You shiver instinctively, press into the feeling.

“You’re good at that. Good at getting me out of control,” and your voice is already shaking.

“You’re not out of control, babe. I’ve got you. You’re mine,” Carmy is muttering inbetween kisses as he rolls you onto your back, pins your arms to your sides with his legs and begins to fully slide off your lingerie, slowly, carefully. His hands are, as always, steady. You remember all the times you’ve watched him roll a cigarette, piece together edible art as flames lick at his chef’s whites, and you can’t remember a time you’ve seen them shake.

From the eye of the storm he’s creating in you, you watch as he slides down the bed, skimming his lips across your trembling thighs until he sits back, and moves his hands to your knees.

You can almost feel the pleasure it gives him as, at the lightest touch from him, you part your legs, let him see what he does to you. What he has done. When he growls, you realise he can see remnants of your earlier escapade against the window at your entrance, his come marking you.

When Carmy dips his finger inside you, your hips jerk towards him, but he holds them down with one hand. His finger delves deep for a moment, and then leaves you suddenly, but before you can protest, he brings his hand to your face, offers you the digit. You’re entranced by the silent command in his eyes, and with no hesitation, you open your mouth and let Carmy’s come-covered finger slide inside, press deep towards the back of your throat. When you swallow, the bitterness makes you moan, envision being on your knees for Carmy, his fingers twined so deep into your hair it hurts, feeling his white-hot heat at the back of your throat.

It breaks whatever tension was stretched taut between you, and Carmy wraps his arms around your legs, pulls your body towards him and lowers his face between your thighs. For a moment, he teases you, nibbling at the juncture where your leg curves into your hip, skimming his teeth across the bone, but you know he’s secretly just as impatient as you are, and when he takes his first tender lick across your clit, he moans even louder than you do.

Giving head is an art for Carmy, and feels like a privilege to you. You’ve seen him enjoy food in the kitchen, give somebody that blown-away glance that they’ve worked their whole lives to see, but he never takes more than one bite.

But this, with you, as you watch him devour you whole...It’s the only meal you’ve ever watched him finish.

Tongue swirling delicately across your center, breaking for hungry kisses to your thighs as his hands grasp at any inch of you he can reach, you can’t help the words that spill from you, “yes, yes, Carmy, you’re so good, you make me feel so good, my good boy, please-“, but you can’t continue as he slides two fingers deep inside your aching pussy, so deep you don’t ever want him to move.

At this point in the erotic novels you read during your lunch break (which, if Fak were to find them, would spell the end of your career), the heroine says something about how it feels like hours pass with her lover between her legs. But this is real life, and all Carmy has to do is mutter, “Finish for me baby, finish for me,” for you to come embarrassingly quickly.

You’re practically incoherent on the comedown, and all you can summon the strength to do is pull him into you, press kisses to his forehead and mumble over and over how fucking amazing he makes you feel.

“If you lose everything else, Carmy, if you ever think there isn’t a thing in this world you’re any good at, just know that you are a god at giving head,” you pant eventually, and when he pushes his face into your neck, you can feel his smile there.

For a moment more, you just enjoy the press of his body against yours, revel in the sweat and slick between you. It dawns on you slowly just how slick it feels, and you gasp as you realise-

“Carmy, did you-?”

Carmy laughs into your skin, tracing one hand across your chest idly until you shiver. “Yeah. You, uh, you were moaning and telling me how good I was and…it was hot.”

You laugh with him breathlessly, still kind of in awe at how well you fit after all this time, how at home you feel with him. “Well, I hope that made your bad day a little better.”

Carmy is silent for a second before he murmurs, “You have no idea what you do for me,” and you can see the shine of his eyes in the glitter of the city lights filtering through your window. “There can never be a bad day if I end it right here, in this bed, in your arms.”

You would reply, but he’s kissing you into silence before you can, and you wonder for a moment if any words will ever need to be said between you and Carmy again, or whether you can communicate all the fear, all the anger, all the love, just with kisses and touch and his lips against yours. But eventually, as you slip into sleep with his body twined around yours, you decide that tongues were made for more than just talking.

#becsabillion #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #Carmen berzatto x ofc #the bear #the bear fanfiction #carmy the bear #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #carmen berzatto smut #jeremy allen white #the bear fandom

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spiinvisble · 3 days

Note

Please write a fic about Hamzah fucking “you” while you wear his shirt omg I feel like his tags are so dry lately.

Please and thank you ♥️

t shirt | hamzah the fantastic

notes/warnings: nsfw! unprotected sex, praising

(first imagine… its kinda short sorry so go nice on me please also the way i struggled with this so hard.. haha hard!)

fridays were your favourite because that was the day you would get to sleep over at hamzah's apartment for the weekend. as soon as you stepped through the door, you noticed hamzah sat with focused eyes on his computer, headphones on, editing his youtube video.

“hi baby i’m gonna shower” you said, kissing his cheek and trying to get his attention away from the screen.

“mhmm” he replied, nodding as he is editing the finishing touches of his video.

you headed to the bathroom, eager to feel the relaxing feeling of cold water on your skin. after, you come out of the bathroom with dampened hair in hamzah's t shirt. the fabric hits an inch below your hip, effectively hiding your panties.

“finally” hamzah muttered to himself as he stretched his arms. he turned around to face you and formed a smirk “you’re wearing my shirt?”.

“yeah i hope you don’t mind” you replied, walking towards him.

“not at all” he said pulling you close “there is just one thing though” he added, putting his hands on your hips.

“what is it?” you asked. you can sense the tension because you knew hamzah was a sucker for you wearing his shirt. you realized this a few weeks ago when you "forgot" your pyjamas at your place and asked for some clothes. you didn’t actually forget; wearing his clothes was way more comfortable anyway. but, the minute you walked out that night with his shirt, ready for bed, you guys didn’t do much sleeping.

“i want these off” he murmured, sliding your panties down. he then stood up from his chair maintaining strong eye contact “you look really good” he whispered leaving cold shivers down your neck. he began giving soft kisses on your neck and the only sound that escaped your lips were quiet moans and “mhmm”.

hamzah took the hint and gently laid you on his bed. “fuck you know what you do to me?” he said gesturing you to look down. he never had a problem with randomly getting bricked up but whenever he saw you or even had a thought about you, he felt the rush.

he quickly removed his shirt, and you eagerly unbuckled his belt, helping him take off his boxers where his member sprung out. you widen your eyes because no matter how many times you seen it, you will always feel so needy for him.

hamzah grabbed your face and kissed you. he began to climb over you, his kisses getting more passionate and slower. you feel your neediness get stronger and start moving your right hand up and down his member. he stops and looks down at you.

“fuck why did you stop?” you whispered moving his hands from your hips to your wet slit so he can feel how badly you also wanted this.

“already so wet for me” he groaned putting his finger in. you initiated another kiss and continued stroking him with your right hand while the left was deep in his curls. hamzah sees you getting so flustered and added a second finger. the motion and especially the curling of his fingers felt so heavenly.

you can’t handle this heat and remove his hand to begin rubbing his member on your wet clit.

“fuckkk” he moaned, starting to adjust himself. hamzah grabs your waist and he begins to slowly move back and forth. you took him all in and start wrapping your legs behind him pushing him in deeper. he then lifts your shirt to see your tits, loving the way they bounce because he was the reason for seeing you in this position.

the sounds of your wetness and the smacking of his thrusts grew louder. his hair began to curl more from the sweat on his forehead, and his biceps flexed as he gripped your waist, trying to get even deeper.

“just like that” you moaned, gripping his back and leaving some scratches from the digging of your nails. he continued his pace and you can feel your insides twisting into knots, feeling a release.

“good girl, i’m so close” he says breathing heavily and giving a few more strokes before he pulls out and aiming for your chest as he hits his high.

he kisses your forehead and quickly grabs a towel to clean up the mess.

“so what is it with this shirt?” you asked, your breathing still heavy.

“i mean it’s my lucky shirt. i mean whenever you wear it i just guess so lucky” he says forming a smirk and winking at you while he finishes wiping you up.

#hamzahthefantastic #spiinvisble #hamzah x reader #hamzah x y/n #hamzahthefantastic x reader #smut #hamzahsmut #hamzah imagines

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beefrobeefcal · 2 days

Text

Let's Get Physical! feat. Marcus Pike & f!Reader

a Marcus Pike one shot | Rated: 18+ | word count: 3,883 warnings: swearing, rougher p in the v unprotected sex, fingering, talk about weight gain, belly appreciation, self esteem issues surrounding weight, reader is assumed to be shorter and lighter than Marcus, reader has long enough hair for Marcus to grip,

A/N: Okay y'all... here's the mam himself! Thank you to @rebel-held for their dedication and holding vigil for his arrival, and for @yahtiwakitakos for their love of Marcus! Thanks to @strang3lov3, @noxturnalpascal & @neverwheremoonchild for their eyes & thoughtful insight.

As soon as you’d gotten the desk next to Marcus, he knew you’d be friends. He’d transferred out of being on the field and to the home office in your state after a personal matter had him decide to transfer. Since that point, you’d worked closely together, learning almost everything you could about one another.

You’d taken to him almost immediately, but his kind and aloof manner kept you from pushing further to see if there was something more. You’d eventually fallen into a content and friendly rapport that turned into a work-based friendship.

Marcus learned about your love of reading, allowing you to collect obscure information, and you’d learned that he did not cook, opting for take out at every meal.

You’d even earned nicknames from one another. You called him Pickles after a long-forgotten joke about his last name, and he called you Dex, short for Poindexter, given you aptitude for Trivial Pursuit.

You worked side by side for four years, and in that time, you’d noted that Marcus had gained weight, but it wasn’t that noticeable – it was gradual. His clothing had always fit. He'd never had an ill-fitting suit or a too-tight dress shirt or jacket. Yes, you'd notice his weight fluctuate and increase, but he camouflaged it well with his clothing. Sure, he’d developed a bit of a softer jawline under the scruff on his face - it enhanced his pout with those big brown eyes; and yeah, his middle looked less trim, as did his thighs…

You’d told yourself that you really didn’t notice or care – Marcus was your friend.

You repeated those lies every time he’d look up at you and ask if you were ready for lunch or pat your shoulder as he said you’d done a good job. You did notice his waistline increasing and you thought it was sexy and hot, but your own internal battle with self image and weight had tarnished your ability to admit you liked heavier men and watched to help them get heavier.

You so badly wished he was more than a friend. He was kind and sweet, and never swore, even going so far as to tell you to ‘behave’ or ‘watch your mouth’ when you left an f-bomb slip. The way his big brown eyes watched you, you wished they were imagining you naked and crying out for him, and as you’d lose yourself in this fiction, he’d bring you back to earth, asking if you’d read the latest case file.

You’d told yourself that you really didn’t notice or care because Marcus was your friend.

*****

“Morning, Dex!”, he called as he meandered to his desk. He had two coffees in his hands from your favourite coffee shop… the one that was out of the way for him to get to on his way to the office… the one he only stopped at when he either needed a favour or had bad news.

You narrowed your eyes at him and motioned to the coffee with a pointed finger. “Stop. What’s that for?”

“Just wanted to get my best girl a coffee. S’that a crime?”, he smiled, trying to force as much innocence from his eyes as possible.

You didn’t move from your position and raised your brow. He sighed and put the coffees on the desk and slumped his shoulders, letting his work satchel drop to the floor.

“I need your help.”

“I knew it.”

“But you can’t laugh.”

His last statement made you freeze. Looking up at him, his face looked slightly pained as his winced, waiting for the sign to continue.

“Out with it, Pickles.”

“They want agents to be in the field. I saw the sign last night as I was leaving, so I looked into it. Don’t get me wrong – love the office but I miss field work.”

He paused, eyes searching your face for approval. You could see the worry on him, the fear of rejection to his idea. You nodded, arms gently moving from their crossed position, and you reached for the cup closest to you on his desk and took a sip. It was good coffee and you hummed in approval.

Marcus let out a breath he more than likely didn’t realize he was holding and continued. “There’s a catch thought – I have to pass a physical.”

You just about spat our coffee out and swallowed it funny, causing you to start coughing. You waved him off, sputtering an ‘I’m okay.’ as you motioned for him to keep talking.

“Yeah… uh – so the physical.”, he said slowly, watching you carefully with a bit of worry. “I have to pass the one I did when I was a rookie… the one we all had to pass. You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded again, trying to get the image of Marcus huffing and puffing on a treadmill, sweaty and just a plain mess… the same way you’d imagined he’d be on top of you… rutting and jack hammering you into your mattress…

“Yeah! Just peachy, Pickles!”, you croaked, the rasped out a laugh. “You want to go in the field and leave me behind? Be Mister Bigshot and meet some other prettier coworker to bring coffee?”

You were trying to tease him, but your words and the sharpness of your tongue sounded like they aimed to wound, and it wasn’t lost on Marcus.

“Well, why not come with me? We could be partners.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought of travelling with Marcus to different art crime scenes. You’d never been able to shake the stories he told about the weird things he’d investigated in the field. Yeah, there were the big things, but you were more intrigued by the obscure things he’d investigated, like the unnamed famous actor who’s inadvertently bought stolen vintage clown pornography, or the weird old grumpy suburban guy who cluelessly had a priceless - albeit mundane - horse painting hanging in his bedroom, or the time some government worker was caught at the airport with illegally imported erotic art from South America that reeked of cigarettes.

The idea had merit and you nodded, cautiously optimistic.

*****

"Look, I know what I said, but maybe...", Marcus called out from behind the bathroom door. "...maybe I am a little more out of shape than I thought." You stopped your advancement down the hallway and chuckled with a smile.

"What are you talking about?"

"It... it-uh... it fits... different."

You paused and as the cogs in your head turned, trying to decipher what he meant. It hit you and you felt heat bloom in your core and on your face as your smile exploded into a wide-eyed grin.

If what you were thinking was true, the gym clothing that was standard issue for all new FBI trainees - and would be the required outfit for his upcoming physical fitness test - would give you an eye full of how pudgy he'd really gotten. While sitting in your thoughts, your silence made Marcus nervous.

Deciding to just rip the band-aid off, he opened the bathroom door and stepped out.

Your jaw dropped.

You’d seen the pictures of him during training. The clean-shaven sharp jaw and trim toned body clad in a too big t-shirt and knee length shorts.

That was not who stood before you. His shorts, while tighter, still looked like they fit. But that poor t-shirt was pulled tight across his broad chest and shoulders, and the hem was unable to traverse his ample middle, exposing about an inch above his belly button down to the curve of his underbelly and giving you a full view of his love handles.

His face was flushed, and his eyes pleaded with you. You cleared your throat and smiled, trying to hide the fact that your core was clenching on nothing.

“It fits!”, you managed to squeak out and Marcus look at you stupefied and held his hands open to his sides.

“Really?”, he asked in exasperation, raising his eyebrows. “You think this – “, he motioned to his middle. “- qualifies as fitting?”

“I mean, you got it on? That means it sort of fits?” You winced as you spoke, trying to keep a pleasant smile.

“Fuck!”

You jumped as he let out one the loudest ‘fuck’s you’d ever heard, and your eyes grew wide that it was him who yelled it. He threw his hands up in the air and stood with his hands on his hips, knee popped. His jaw tensed as he looked away, stuck in thought, and you took the opportunity to gaze over his body, noting the way his stomach moved with each frustrated breath and the way his shoulders pulled the absolute life out of the shirt’s seams.

You were lost in thought ogling him and didn’t notice that he’d turned his attention back to you. When you finally looked up at him, both feeling your faces heat up slightly and an awkward silence sat heavy between you.

You decided to break the silence first, clearing your throat again. “Pickles, you… you look great.”

Marcus stated to laugh, and you couldn’t help but join him.

“I know I look like a busted overstuffed sausage – “

“Oh, stop it!”, you hushed him, stepping towards him. “Okay, sure, it doesn’t fit quite the same, but nobody stays the same size their whole life.”

He rolled his eyes with a smirk and nodded. “Fine.”

*****

So far, all the equipment in his apartment complex’s gym were now Marcus’ sworn enemies. The last three hours had been filled with Marcus angrily sweating and using every curse and swearword under the sun. He was so focused on being angry that he forwent any self consciousness about his clothes not fitting.

After another failed attempt at trying to navigate the elliptical, he yelled “PISSING SHITTING FUCKING COCK SUCKING MOTHER FUCKER!!” and stormed out of the gym. You quickly grabbed the things he left in his departure and followed him.

*****

“Fuck it! I’m not fucking doing this!”, he boomed, furiously ripping open his refrigerator and grabbing the carton of chocolate milk and chugged it.

You quietly tried to get him to water to hydrate, and contemplated asking why his swearing sounded so natural when you’d never heard him use anything harsher than ‘fiddlesticks’ prior to this. “Marcus… maybe some water would – “

He finished the chocolate milk then tossed the carton haphazardly into the sink, and his eyes aggressively looked you up and down. You closed your mouth and stood, light a deer in headlights, nervously fidgeting your hands as you felt heat bloom in your core and on your face.

“Don’t look at me like that! I know what you’re thinking!”, he barked at you, making you jump. “God dammit! You think I’m too fat and out of fucking shape to pass that physical! And you know what?”, he yelled, grabbing one of the giant pretzels he’d picked up yesterday from the kiosk in the mall. “You’re fucking right!”

He angrily bit into the pretzel and chewed, then huffed and ripped open the fridge again and grabbed a king-size can a beer. You watched, bewildered and bewitched, as he maneuvered between chomps and gulps of the pretzel and beer.

You’d never seen him this enraged and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Sure, you’d seen him get snide or lippy when he was frustrated, but you had no idea he could turn his temper up to eleven and he had such a vast array of foul words in his vocabulary – and find it so hot. You were staring at him, seeing that once he’d finished the pretzel, his hand went to his underbelly, pitching and kneading it slightly as he downed the rest of the beer. Your eyes were then pulled to his crotch in the almost too-small shorts and the noticeable bulge that had developed there.

Your lips parted and your brows tented. Marcus kept his eyes on your face, seeing the reaction you were having to his meltdown. It egged him on, knowing that you were getting something out of this. He’d longed for the chance to get to hold you beyond the occasional side hug or shoulder bump, wanting to touch you and make you feel as beautiful as he saw you. But he’d assumed you were completely fine being friends, given the way his weight had creeped up. He didn’t want to lose you by making a move and wrecking the chance to get the pieces of you that you allowed him to have access to. He’d stayed respectful, and courteous, and friendly, all while desperately wishing he was yours. But all that went out the window the moment he felt rage course through his veins and saw you look at him like that. He wanted you to be his.

He threw the empty beer can aside, hearing its tinny landing by the sink, and stalked towards you. Taken slightly aback at how aggressive his body language was, you stepped back and were stopped by the counter behind you. Marcus crowded you, standing over you, his belly moving against you with every ragged, angry breath.

“Marc – “

His name was cut off in your mouth as his collided with yours. He roughly grabbed your waist with one huge hand while the other held your face. He dominated the kiss, his tongue pushing for entrance again your lips, and you let him in, tasting the hoppy beer and salty yeast of the pretzel. As the passion built between you, the kiss deepened, becoming more fervent and urgent. His hands roamed, pulling you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair. There was no rhythm to this kiss; it was him exploring and dominating and you submitting to him and your desperate needs.

You finally parted, panting and breathless. He looked beautiful; his eyes were dark with blown pupils and his lips were reddened. The hand that had held your waist moved down to the crux of your thighs and pressed against your Athleisure legging-clad core. Your mouth opened and a soft, breathy whine barely sounded out. The fury in his eyes had ebbed and morphed into an aggressive and possessive need, but he watched you, looking for any sign to stop. You gave nothing but green lights.

He leaned his face closer to yours, his nose nudging your cheek. You let out a small whimper and nodded, tilting your head, and he grazed his teeth along your cheek to your jaw, then bit down softly. With his mouth on you, he growled through his teeth, “Mine.”

He pulled back and turned your around, pushing your palms onto the counter, and he stood flush with his front to your back. As he grinded against you and bit and kissed your neck, he pushed your leggings down over your ass with one hand, the other pushed between your legs in the front.

“Oh fuck… you’re soaked, baby…”, he growled, biting the back of your neck. His middle finger ran along your seam, pulling a mewling whine from your mouth.

“You want me? Tell me you want me.”

When you didn’t answer beyond a frantic nod, he said your name in a low snarl and his grip on you tightened. “I asked you a question.”

“Mar-Marcus! Please!”, you cried out, feeling his finger circle then tap your throbbing nub repeatedly. You felt him smile against your neck, his other hand palming and squeezing your tit, and he started fucking into your wet heat with his pointer and index fingers.

“You’re so gorgeous… so funny… so smart… and you’re letting this fat guy finger you in his kitchen…”

His thumb caught your clit in the haste of his hand’s movement, and you let out a surprised yelp and your body jolted. The hand gripping your breast came up your sternum and secured itself around your throat gently, forcing you upright and flush against him.

“Juicy little snatch… just gripping my fingers, baby… you - you gonna cum for me, Dex baby?”

You whined and nodded. His hand moved up and he pushed two fingers into your mouth, exerting the power he had over you. He did it because he could, because you let him. You were both learning more about the other: he wanted to dominate, you wanted to be dominated.

You came as he pressed your tongue down, almost eliciting a gag from you. It felt filthy and raw and everything you’d hoped but never thought Marcus could be.

“There is it… Good girl… You’re mine… I’m gonna fuck that into you.”, he grunted and pulled both sets of fingers from your wet holes, shoving you down flush with the counter.

You’d barely finished cumming, let alone gotten through the aftershocks making your cunt flutter as he shoved his shorts down and lined up his cock with you and pushed in.

“Jesus fuck…”, you groaned. “You’re s’fucking big!”

“You like me big… say it. Say you like me being a fat desk jockey…”

“Yes… god yes…”

“Like seeing me eat, too, huh?... like watching me get fat?”

“Yes! Please… Marcus, please!”

You felt the beginnings of another orgasm as he pounded into you from behind and filled your mind with the images of him stuffing himself stupid on take out at work while you sat on his lap and helped feed him. It was a guilt-filled fantasy that you’d never allowed yourself to fully process and accept until this moment.

Marcus pulled out of you suddenly. Fearing you did something wrong, you made a frantic and breathless ‘huh?’ sound. He picked you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

“Wanna watch your pretty face while you cum, Dex.”

You couldn’t help but smile; Marcus was ever the romantic.

He tossed you on the bed and crawled up to you, pushing your legs apart. He took a moment to look at your pussy, smirking with a smug head shake, then locked eyes with you. He leaned forward, one hand landing beside your head and his other hand grabbed your hips, pulling you closer to him, guiding his cock back into your desperate, wet cunt.

“Look at you… just gorgeous… “, he marveled with smug satisfaction as he pounded into you, watching your eyes close, brows furrow, and lips part to let out a soft pant.

His thumb came down on your clit, rubbing harsh, fast circles. “Come on, Dex… gimme one so I can watch… lemme see…”

“Marcus… I’m close…”

“I know, pretty girl… give it to me… come on… gimme one I can see…”

“Yes… right there! Right there!”

His thumb hit just the right angle and you fell apart as he pistoned you on his cock. Your hand reached up, gripping the arm above your head, and you arched your back in pure bliss.

“There it is… there you go… fuck, good girl… look at you… so god dammed pretty…”

The noises you made sounded alien coming from your mouth. You’d never heard this cacophony of whines, cries, mewls and moans come from your body before, and Marcus was revelling in it. He removed his thumb form your oversensitive nub, and he brought him body down onto your as he continued to thrust into you. His weight felt amazing; it was everything and ore than what you could have hoped, and you needed more of it on you. You hooked one leg on his hip, then brought the other one up, trying to lock your ankles. Marcus was too big, his love handled waist too wide and his thrusts now to frantic to get a good latch.

You raised your head and captured his mouth in a messy kiss, and he interlocked his fingers into yours. He panted into your mouth as you made eye contact; gone was the ferocious and angry man who’d fucked you in his kitchen and back was Marcus: sweet, funny, soft Marcus.

“Come on, Pickles.”, you whispered against his lips with a wry grin.

The surrendering groan that tumbled out of him matched perfectly with his out of rhythm thrusts.

“You gonna let me cum in you? Please?”, he panted, hips stuttering.

Nodding, you desperately whined, “Yeah… yes, please… please… c-cum in me!”

Marcus dropped his forehead onto yours. With a few more snaps of his hips with corresponding grunts, he let out a string of groans and panting breaths, then stilled in you.

You were both breathing hard, and his fingers flexed and relaxed repeatedly in yours as he came down from his high. Your mouth found his again briefly, then he pulled back and looked you in the eyes. His brows furrowed and his eyes softened further, as if the weight of what had just happened suddenly dawned on him and he was worried this was it for the two of you.

“Hey… hey hey hey…”, you soothed, hand coming up to cup his cheek, a soft smile on your face. “It’s okay… I’m okay.”

He nodded, still unsure, the blurted out, “I like you so much, Dex. I wanted this for so long…and I wanted it to be special, and – “

“It was special!”, you beamed with a smile, loving how adorably flustered he looked in contrast to before. “You hulked out and railed me in your kitchen!”

He stopped and looked at you, dumbfounded. Slowly, a smile peaked out on one side of his mouth. “You liked that.”, he huffed out in a laugh. “Dex, you kinky girl!”

You laughed and playfully slapped his arm. “Knock it off, Pickles!”

He pulled his softening cock from you and kissed you, both of you giggling.

Marcus pulled away and teased, “You liked getting railed by a fat guy… in the kitchen…”

“Yeah, I did!”, you challenged with a smile. “And I hope that fat guy does it again!”

His breath hitched and he swallowed, looking away for a moment. “So, you’re okay with…?”

He couldn’t finish saying what he wanted to. Years of poor self esteem and heart-breaking moments with other women wouldn’t let him, nor did that part of him want to hear your answer in case it was rejection. Your hand guided his face back to you.

“I wouldn’t have let you if I wasn’t.

His smile softened. “How about a date first?”

You couldn’t help the heat and shy smile that bloomed on your face, and he watched as you melted into his words.

*****

Marcus walked into the office the next Monday, carrying another two coffees from your favourite place. You were preoccupied with one of your coworkers but shit him a smile before returning your attention to the file before you.

He placed the coffees down, hung his coat and bag, then noticed the collection of tupperwear containers with a sticky note on them.

Getting takeout is fine, but this is a sampling of what I can do for you. Xoxo Dex.

He opened a few of the containers and in them were homemade versions of his absolute favourite take out meals. He brought one to his nose and inhaled, just as your coworker left the room. You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his middle, patting and squeezing his belly.

Marcus deciding he wasn’t ever going to need to pass a physical again.

No more tag list! follow @beefnotes for fic updates!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike smut #🥩

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wutheringcaterpillar · 2 days

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An Odd Arrangement.

Pairing: Cuck!Neil x Reader x Jackson

Summary: Neil has a kink to watch you get fucked by other men, only stipulation being they can’t cum in you due to a medical diagnosis of his. Enter Jackson, his older brother who happens to be a willing participant, only thing is, he has plans of his own.

Warning: Cuck!Neil, cuckholding, unprotected sex, p in v, medical diagnosis, noncon toward the end, forced breeding, smut below the cut, filming

The blinds were drawn, the chandelier being the only light in the darkened room as you swayed your hands down the curves of your body. He should be here any minute.

Typically, you’d both bring a stranger in but Jackson was fully aware of his little brother’s rather odd requests, who was he to deny lending a helping hand, he’d always found you attractive, wanting a taste of you ever since Neil began dating you a few years ago.

After a medical diagnosis however, revealing Neil wasn’t able to reproduce, there were certain limits set that no other man could cum in you aside from Neil himself. The news saddened him deeply, thinking his sperm was broken and he couldn’t give you what you both wanted, instead settling for cats as your babies for a happy medium that worked for your relationship.

Checking in with Neil, he nodded reassuringly, taking his seat on the chair opposite of the foot of the bed as you tied his restraints, securing his ankles to the chair, so he wouldn’t be able to stop you, exactly how he wanted it.

At that moment there was a impending knock at the door. You placed a delicate, chaste kiss to Neil’s lips before taking a breath, and going into character, acting as if your boyfriend wasn’t in the room.

Jackson stood in the doorway, arm resting against the frame, biting his lip as his chilling blue eyes scanned your body. Taking in the way your black lingerie hugged your thighs tightly, squeezing around your torso perfectly and barely held you breasts in. He pursed his lips like he was going to whistle, eyebrows raising in amusement.

“Such a sight for sore eyes, did you miss me?” His frigid hand skimmed down your cheek, you leaned in closely to his touch, batting your eyelashes innocently before pulling him down into a deep, passionate kiss.

“I always miss you.” He followed you into the room, watching your hips sway from side to side, the cheeks of your ass jiggling with each step. Throwing his jacket to the side, the tailored fabric landed on top of Neil as if he weren’t even there.

Jackson took his seat on the bed, eyeing you seductively while you approached him slowly, straddling his lap and kissing his neck.

He released a menacing chuckle, hands gliding underneath your ass cheeks, caressing and groping the fatty skin.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He asked quizzically, the smoothness and sarcasm in his voice getting you all hot and bothered.

“Out of town, giving me more time with you. I hate when you’re not here, I have to imagine it’s you fucking me, he’s such a bore.” Neil released his cock from his pants, the antsy member popping up instantly, slapping against his torso.

His eyes focused on in the scene, watch your lips connect with Jackson’s in a passionate, aggressive manner, taking note of his tongue gliding into you.

Neil needed to be suppressed, he needed the degradation, watching you with another man, insulting him. The act brought a tremendous amount of pleasure to him, fueling his jealousy.

When you released your breasts, Jackson clung to your nipples, twirling his tongue slowly around the sensitive skin, feeling them harden in between his lips. Releasing a moan, your head fell back while you grinded down onto his lap, his lengthy, thick cock rubbing your mound harshly through his pants.

“If you missed me so much show me what that pretty little mouth can do.” Biting your lip playfully, Jackson smirked as he watched you sink down to his waist seductively, unzipping his pants to reveal his cock.

When it popped out you were concerned that this was going to upset Neil, his brother was much bigger than him. His cock stood up proudly, at least eight inches with a decent girth and thickness to it. It might’ve been the biggest cock you’d have in you.

Staying in character, you didn’t want to ruin it and acknowledge Neil, instead your tongue slid from the bottom of his shaft, up to the head of his cock slowly before taking his head in.

Hallowing your cheeks, your head bobbed up and down half his length, tongue swirling and sucking around his head each time you came up.

Slowly, you worked your way down his length, Jackson’s moans filling the rooms as his hands tangled in your hair before holding you all the way down.

“I see why he keeps you around, if only he could see you right now choking on my cock.” Jackson chuckled darkly, eyes focusing on the tears streaming down your face as you struggled for air.

He rutted into your mouth, smacking your face lightly and ordering you not to use any teeth. Your saliva was building, and producing relatively fast, making his dick a slip n slide.

Neil slowly rubbed himself just at the head of his cock, watching intensely as you were being used by Jackson. He didn’t exactly love seeing how rough he was with you, but the act in itself and hearing all of the terrible things you guys are saying about him really made him twitch with pleasure, spiking his arousal.

The tensions rising as you hummed in satisfaction around his cock, allowing Jackson to hold your head down, pumping himself rapidly, you warm cheeks bringing an alarmingly pleasurable sensation to Jackson, his moans filling the room.

He pulled you off of him, not wanting to bust already.

“Take off your panties for me, tell me how much you need me, what you want me to do to you.” Moving to the headboard, you spread your legs, trailing your fingers over your soaked heat seductively, never breaking eye contact with Jackson.

“Need you to fuck me stupid, fill me up and send me back to Neil with your handprints on my ass.” Climbing on top of his you plants your lips firmly to his, your hand sliding down to cusp his length, pumping him slowly as you moaned into his kiss, your tongues battling for dominance, exploring every inch of another.

Jackson being Jackson had to be in control, he flipped you over causing you to release a squeal of excitement and anticipation.

“Oh, Jackson! So much rougher than Neil, I love it!” Scoffing, he aligned himself with your dripping, enticing cunt, grabbing his phone in the process off of the bedside table and snapping a video and a photo of his dick stuffing you like a thanksgiving turkey, holding open your legs wide before being an ass and sending it to his brother, knowing the damage this would cause after he fulfilled his desire unbeknownst to either of you.

“You don’t feel the least bit bad do you, such a naughty slut.” You shook your head no, grinning playfully, eyes fluttering to the back of your head as he fucked into you, getting one more picture of the mascara running down your face, your lips opened slightly in desire as his hand was curled around your neck.

Your pussy quenched in a feverish, impatient need for him to fasten his pace, your slick walls suffocating his length in desperation.

“Is it bad that if Neil walked in right now, I still wouldn’t stop fucking you. I’d still want you buried in my aching cunt.” Jackson shook his head before fiercely grabbing your hips, drilling into you relentlessly taking you by surprise. The sudden move shaking Neil’s arousal, massaging his balls with his free hands as he watched your boobs bounce up and down, how you were gripping the sheets and fully indulged in Jackson. His breathing became uneven, ragged as he spit down onto his cock for lube.

Jackson’s frigid eyes never left your, staring down at your desirable body in a frenzied hunger, paying close attention to how your chest rose and declined quickly, your thighs already trembling when he was just getting started.

Realizing that he wouldn’t last very long in this position either, his fist curled in your hair, yanking you up before bending you over. Your bare ass on full, display for him as he spread your cheeks a part watching his cock disappear in your delectable, tight abyss. You released a choked sob, whining from feeling empty but he wasn’t having it, instead slapping your ass cheek, the smoothe skin turning a hazy shade of red from the brunt force he used this time, making you writhe in pain. Not wanting to hear your cried anymore, he covered your mouth with his hand, gagging you as he plummeted his cock into your dripping cunt, causing you to mewl and scrunch your fists into the sheets.

His hand held you by your throat, constricting your airways, his finger nails digging into your skin as your head rested against his shoulder.

“Oh fuck! Make me feel so full..” Jackson smirked and began to thrust quickly into your blooming rose, hitting your cervix with each pivotal, powerful motion.

“Fuck sweetheart, my cock’s going to ruin that pretty pussy, loosen you up.” You pounded back against him, never having felt so full in your life, needing more and more.

His other hand glided down between your breasts, your naval, eventually landing on your throbbing clit, stroking and massaging the sensitive area agonizingly slowly, making you nearly crumble in his grip.

“Is my little slut going to cum, hm? Going to make a mess on daddy’s cock?” You bit down on your bottom lip, releasing an existential, obscenely loud moan as your back arched, thighs shaking from your high. Moaning Jackson’s name over and over as the intensity kept building, the pressure rising in your cervix.

“Fuck! Fuck! Just like that! Don’t stop!” He watched intently, your ass ricocheting off of him with each vigorous thrust. The sound of his name rolling off your tongue so desperately had him close, he was going to cum when he saw your sweet nectar covering his rather large shaft, painting his skin white.

At the moment Neil had found a pleasurable rhythm, his grip around his cock strong as he stroked himself quickly, coming to his own high in the chair. His lips dropped a gape when he made eye contact with you on the bed, shattering into pieces from the euphoric feeling of Jackson’s dick buried inside your wetness.

He came right then and there, staining his brand new shirt without a care in the world. He was happy until this moment.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum..” In your fucked out state, you still had the sensibility to realize he hasn’t pulled out, still fucking your overstimulated pussy, making your legs shake.

Attempting to get up, and remove yourself off his cock, Jackson had other plans, he wasn’t going to pass up cumming in your pretty pussy, wanting to claim you as his and disregarding the agreement.

“Jackson! Pull out! Pull out!” He ignored your pleads, Neil fumbling in the chair trying everythinf to get out of his restraints, screaming for his brother to stop but it was too late.

Jackson held you down firmly, his hand pressinf strongly on your back, your body sinking further and furth into the mattress as he released his seed inside you, oozing into your sweet abyss and painting your walls white.

When he pulled out, Neil was a dissaray of emotions, he was crying hysterically while screaming at his brother and wanting to run over to you.

You shot up from the mattress, shoving Jackson into the wall and hitting his chest repeatedly. He simply smirked and grabbed your wrists, holding you in place.

It was no use to try to fight him, he was much stronger and more experienced. An impending, threatening shade of blue dawned over his eyes, as he stared down at you menacingly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He tightened his grip around the small of your wrist, just giving you a small taste of his strength as a warning to stop.

You backed away from him, eventually hitting the wall frightened. Wiping the sweat off of his forhead, he pulled up his pants, gathering his things to leave and glancing over at Neil on his way out.

“Look at the bright side, at least the little bastard will still look like you. Thanks for the quickie sweetheart, same time next week?” Yelling in aggravation and anger, you took the clock from the bedside table, throwing it with all your strength at him. The object clashing and shattering against the wall as you missed him.

Jackson simply smirked, winking sarcastically at you before making his way out, unfazed by the damage he’s caused.

Rushing to Neil, you undid his restraints, cradling him as he cried hysterically, falling limp in your arms. The agreement was since Neil couldn’t have kids, men had to pull out of you, he couldn’t handle the thought of another man impregnating you, let alone Jackson.

He knew his brother was an asshole but this? This was a new low, intensifying Neil’s one insecurity. When he picked up his phone the photos and videos broke him mentally. Jackson’s seed leaking out of you onto the carpet, making you cry more, trying to come up with some solution. You weren’t on any form of birth control, given you’ve never had anyone break the agreement and always brought in people you both trusted. With Gumshoe doing less business, you were both living paycheck to paycheck, barely making the rent due date. If he had just never even reached out to Jackson this wouldn’t have happened.

There was always plan B but that wasn’t 100% and you both knew it. “Please delete those Neil, we’ll figure this out, the pill’s only $60, we’ll- we’ll find a way, okay? I’m sorry, I tried- I tried to-“

Neil shook his head, not at all blaming you for a second.

“It’s not your fault, it’s not… I- I should’ve done something, I should’ve-“ You cradled his head, brushing the strands of hair out of his beautiful, pained face trying to calm him down. It wasn’t exactly like you could go to the cops or the courts about this, how could you even explain this and have authorities take you seriously. Was there even a charge for something like that?

Only time would tell. Gathering yourselves, you picked one another off the floor, taking a hot bath as you tried to sort through the events and be there for each other in this difficult time.

#Jackson rippner #neil lewis #jackson rippner x reader #neil lewis x reader #Jackson rippner x you #neil lewis x you #red eye #watching the detectives

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lokicraft · 3 days

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Self indulgent idea about task force 141 rescuing a wrongly-kidnapped scientist/researcher reader. Gender neutral reader, implied American reader implied violence and torture, implications about the reader looking young (I imagine the reader being between 20 and 30 years old). I see it as future tf141xreader, but feel free to imagine otherwise and/or take this idea and run with it as you please. MDNI.

————

Imagine you are a government researcher. Technically a government employee but you are pretty low on the ladder, just starting out at a research laboratory on a small military base. You are so excited to start working with your supervisor/PI, a very influential scientist who has their fingers in a lot of research pies (some more secret than others).

But you have nothing to do with the secret stuff. You’re more interested in environmental research (of which the military does have to pay at least a little bit of attention to, so you work with what you get).

You’re getting out of the lab late one evening, having to stay even after your PI left to clean glassware (your least favorite task). You lock the door to the research building and walk to your car, only to see someone else parked next to you. The hood of their car is open and they look distressed. You don’t recognize them but it’s not like you know everyone on base. So when they ask you for a jump start you agree and start rooting around your car to pop the hood. You just got your hand around that pesky lever when you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head and everything goes dark.

————

You wake up in a dingy concrete room with your arms and legs tied to an equally dingy chair. You are shocked, panicking and in pain, but through the ringing in your ears you hear shouting from outside the room.

“What do you mean that’s not Dr. Scaffer?” An angry accented voice shouts.

“It was bad intel!” Another voice insists, same accent as far as your fuzzy brain can register, “we did not get any physical description, only that they would be the last one out!”

“A head research scientist with top secret clearance won’t look like a kid who just got out of college!” You hear a muffled bang - your heart stops beating in your chest - but the voice continues, dismissive, “I have to do everything myself.”

He enters the room.

————

Two hours later, not that you can really keep track, you are left alone again. Significantly more injured from what you just went through (your brain cannot even ponder the word “torture” through the unceasing static of your thoughts), you realize that you are going to die. Whoever kidnapped you grabbed the wrong person, and unless they want to know about the water quality of the watershed around base you don’t have any information they want. You are no use as a hostage, and you are going to die. You can only hope it will be quick and painless—

You can’t breathe, you were never good at handling stress.

At least when you’re unconscious it doesn’t hurt anymore.

————

Recovering VIPs is well within their capabilities, Gaz thought to himself as he recounted the brief they were given a short two hours ago. But usually if it was a researcher they were rescuing then their area of expertise would be weapons technology, or infectious diseases, or something that’s not water chemistry. It’s not his job to judge, it’s his job to get you back home where you belong. However the judgmental voice in the back of his mind can’t help but kick in, remembering the profile photo they were provided of you.

“They’re quite a cutie, no?”

Gaz is knocked out of his thoughts when Soap catches up to him, both fully geared up and heading to airstrip. Wheels up is in 15 minutes, and Gaz is sure their Captain and Lieutenant are already in the transport. While Ghost is probably just sitting and “brooding” as Gaz likes to call it, he gives Price a 50/50 on being on the phone with Laswell. Their Captain probably wants to know how a young researcher got kidnapped from an American military base only to end up as a hostage in Russia. Hell, Laswell probably wants to know that too.

“Time ta go save us a bonnie researcher!” Soap proclaims picking up the pace and rushing in front of Gaz. It’s obvious Johnny shares the same thoughts as Kyle when it comes to your appearance, only one is better at keeping those thoughts to themselves.

“Yeah let��s make sure we get them back alive” Gaz responds, his sharp mind working overtime to calculate how long your captors will keep you alive once realizing you are not a spring of top secret information nor a high profile bargaining chip.

“Of course we will mate,” Soap declares, his sober tone almost catching Gaz off guard, “with LT back on the roster we’re at full strength again, n’one left behind.”

Gaz agrees with the sentiment, and taps Soap on the chest lightly as they approach the transport.

“No one left behind”

————

Thanks so much for reading, this is my first time writing something like this so I’m still trying to get the character’s ‘voices’ right and all that. If you decide to build off this idea please tag me! I appreciate y’all 💚

#cod mwii #task force 141 #tf 141 x reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #fic idea #text post

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