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burntoutdaydreamer · 8 months

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Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

#writing #creative writing #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #writing tips #writing advice #writers block #novel writing #fiction writing #writer #writers of tumblr

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sillysowa · 10 months

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RUNWAY MODEL

PAIRING: hobie brown x fem!reader

GENRE: suggestive, smut

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

WARNINGS: smut, vaginal fingering, choking (fem! and male receiving), vaginal sex, both hobie and reader are switches

AUTHORS NOTE: not proofread cause i’m so tired i can feel my eyes melting

SYNOPSIS: in which hobie brown is a model, and you are his favorite designer

—

Hobie walked into your studio nonchalantly with no apparent purpose, like usual. The day had been long and he was tired of bending around for the photographers, wanting to visit his favorite designer. He sat his tall figure in the chair across from you, kicking his legs up on the desk because he knows it doesn’t bother you,

“Oh, Hobie…you’re still here?” You mumbled drowsily, exhaustion present in your hoarse voice. It’s late and you probably shouldn’t still be here at the studio, but you’re so caught up in your work. Hobie leans forward slightly, catching glimpse at the scribble artistic designs that he can tell after for him,

“Mhm,” Hobie hums, “You never tire of this work do you?” He chuckles, leaning back and tossing around a pen of yours, “Y’alright? Must be tired.” He asks in that deep voice of his,

You sigh, “Of course…just…gotta get this right.” You scribble around on the paper,

Hobie’s interest is piqued at this and he eyes the sketch pad, “You know I’ll wear whatever you come up with.” He leans back in the chair, still studying the work in progress, “Don’t have to do such hard work f’me.”

“I know…that’s what makes it so complex…I mean there’s so many different things I can see you in! Like…this maybe?” You ramble, flipping around your sketch pad to show him the punk rock outfit you had crafted for him. It’s skimpy to say the least, exposing his abs, most of his legs, and the pants hang low, exposing that pretty V-line of his that you’ve seen with watchful eyes as he gets his pictures taken for especially seductive shoots.

Hobie studies the artworks with squinty eyes, a smirk spreading across his face,

“I like that one…” He smiles knowingly, bringing his feet off the desk to support his head in his hands with his elbows on his knees. He glances up at the design again, and then back at you,

“You always do these designs f’me, hm? Am I your favorite model?” He teases, smirking a little like he knows a secret.

You smile and lean back, chewing the inside of your cheek for a moment in contemplation, “I mean you’re honestly probably my favorite out of all the models I’ve worked with.“ You say bluntly, wanting to only slightly allude to how deep your desire for Hobie is. Clearly, it’s written all over your face. You notice his stare as he obviously tries not to smile,

“Wanna expand on that? You look a little…flustered.” His voice drops low, his flickering down to your lips and even lower for a moment.

“I’m not. You’re a stunning model, Hobie.” You smile, continuing your work. Your face is burning hot and you can’t look at him because all you’re thinking about is how how badly you want him to bend you over the table with his long fingers around your neck. He suddenly changes the topic,

“D’you think I could do a gig solely on m’hands?” He asks like he knows the answer, “I think you’re someone who can appreciate their beauty, hm? With your drawings n’all?” He smirks teasingly and you feel your heart drop into your stomach,

“What?”

“Well you’ve drawn my hands about a hundred times…I’ve seen it. Can’t even keep your eye off of em when we talk.” He replies, leaning in and shortening the distance between the two of you between the table. Clearly, he had been through your sketchbook—your stomach churned at the thought,

“And how would you know that?” You whisper, flustered at the idea of of being caught in a sense but so fucking up for this challenge that he’s offering—there’s nothing to be ashamed of now that he obviously knows you have a severe hand kink. He keeps smiling at you as if he was entertained by all this,

“Doesn’t matter. What does the bough is that you must take a hefty liking to my fingers, right?” He says, flexing them again across the table, stretched out to their full length. You don’t even give in to your desire, eyes locked on the way his middle and ring finger press together suggestively a d make your face feel hot.

You bite your lip, tearing your eyes away as you flip the pages on your sketchbook to change the subject,

“A-Anyways, I’ve also got this design you could try…”

Hobie just smiles and leans back, deciding to let it go for now and toy with you later. He looks at the papers for a while before he speaks up,

“You’ve done a great job.” Hobie says in awe, gesturing to the designs with a nod of his head and that signiature sly smile, “I like ‘em.” Hobie’s tone switches to his playful-work-voice of his now, and he reaches his hands out, gripping the edge of the desk as he stands,

“So, Y/N,” Hobie starts looking down on you. “Got any of these ready for me to try on?” He asks, leaning down to your eye level.

You squirm a little in your seat, your thighs clenching together. He always gets you so riled up you’ve never had this kind of one on one time together. You often just catch glimpse of him during his shoots,

“Yeah…I actually have one of them here if you really want to try it out early,” You say excitedly, walking to the clothing rack and plucking it off. Its gorgeous, grungy, and incredibly revealing. The other designers love to see Hobie in multiple layers and a lot of baggy clothing, but when you got lucky enough to catch the photographers bending Hobie around in nothing but tight boxers for his Calvin Klein shoot—you nearly died, “It’s a little skimpy.”

“Oh yeah? Just f’me?” Hobie chuckles, walking up behind you in the dimly lit room and brushing his hand onto of yours to grab the clothing hanger. He looks at you with his head over your shoulder, awfully close,

“If you wanted to see me naked could’ve just asked” Hobie teases, whispering in your ear before turning away from you. To your utmost horror and delight, he starts stripping right then and there,

“Oh my god you slut, right infront of me?” You gasp, turning around letting out a quick laugh in disbelief. Your face feels hot after catching the sight of his jeans catching on his dick as he pulled them down, looking at you out of the corner of his eye,

A snicker comes from Hobie as he gets undressed in a fashion comparable to a strip-tease,

“Oh come on doll, it’s not like you haven’t seen me at work with even less on. I don’t mind you watching.” He pry’s, his voice taunting and inviting like a sweet honey. You think of your job. You think about how you thought you were alone only 10 minutes ago before Hobie strolled in. It’s beyond after hours, and it’s just the two of you—quite literally a recipe for disaster. Hobie finished getting dressed, standing up straight in the designer outfit,

“Alright, alright, it’s safe you prude. Come get a look at your creation.” Hobie holds his arms out, flipping them and getting a look at it all himself before smiling at you. You turn and look at him and instantly your eyes as they widen,

“Oh…my…god…” You gasp, “You look so good!” Excitement covers your to face as you walk up to him, inspecting how everything fits. You marvel in the way his toned chest looks on display and his nipple piercings under the sheer top. The studded jewelry and leather accessories add so much to the look but most of all…his hands in those fingerless gloves are to die for. You inspect them closely, pulling them towards you as you dreamily stare at his long fingers, toying with them in your hands,

Hobie smiles in the silence of your admiration, “Y’know it’s kinda funny...” He murmurs. His left hand gently holds onto yours, lacing your fingers with his. His other hand grazes your side,

You freeze and look up at him—instantly, your stomach drops at his gaze, “What’s funny?”

“You clearly got a hand kink or something…or is it just mine, hm? Got a thing for me, miss designer?” He teases, gently pulling you close with his knee in between your legs. Your heart beats in your chest like a drum and your toes curl in your shoes. You lick your lips, melting at the proximity,

“Well it looks like you’ve got me all figured out huh?” You whisper as your skin warms under his touch, his hands feeling like fire on your skin. You shouldn’t be doing this…but it feels too good to stop,

“Yeah?” He pulls you up in an embrace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with his hot breath on your sensitive skin. His left hand grips your hair as he whispers into your ear,

“Say it.” Hobie enunciates every syllable, his lips hovering over the sensitive skin of your ear. You press your body against him and all logical reasoning leaves your mind,

“I want you.” You groan into his ear, balling your fists around his mesh shirt. Hobie grins, and his voice is low and husky when he whispers,

“I know you do. I want you too, dollface.” He wraps his arm around you fully, one hand still in your hair, and the other around your back. He stares straight ahead, his knee edging further up between your legs as he whispers,

“Let me show you…” He whispers into your ear, biting it gently and leaning down to kiss your neck. Your mind melts and you nearly collapse against him—it’s an all numbing feeling to have model lips like Hobie’s on your neck and his tall stature holding you so close,

You moan softly and dig your fingers into his clothes at the feeling, his lips on your neck make you feel so good inside. His large thigh slides up and now your skirt is pushing and your warm pussy is on his thigh. It’s lewd and oh so embarrassing until he groans, his voice all needy and horny, right in your ear,

“Oh, fuck…you’re already so wet? I’ve barely touched you, love.” He coo’s clicking his tongue, slipping his hands under the back of your shirt and undoing your bra in a swift, skilled motion. He toys with the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. After getting you topless, his hands are palming your breasts wasting absolutely no time. You throw your head back and shamelessly whine at the feeling—the feeling being indescribable desire,

“God I just knew those—ah! Mmm-knew those hands would feel so good.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you mewl, his fingers pinching your nipples while you’re mid sentence. He laughs darkly at you, leaning down and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, squirming his tongue around the small bud,

“Mmm…” He hums around your skin, his eyes rolling into the back of his head for your viewing pleasure—and oh does it do things to you. Your desperate moans echo in the empty studio, the low lighting reflecting off of Hobie’s dark eyes driving you crazy,

One of his hands grabs your chin, and he stands up straight again, lifting your face up so that he could look into your eyes, “Keep making those pretty noises, gorgeous…” He murmurs, his eyes on yours flickering down to your lips.

You so badly want to kiss him that you can’t even wait for him, pulling him the collar of his shirt and meshing your lips against his in a matter of seconds, capturing his lips in a moral-melting kiss. You knew if anyone saw you two—colleagues—grinding and kissing in the studio late at night, you’d both lose your jobs on the spot; but there was no stopping now. His lips were like magic on yours. You felt your heart rate pickup the moment his hands met your thighs and he picked you up, walking you to the desk and never once breaking away from the desperate needy kiss you were sharing. When it starts to get to your head and you feel a need for air, you break away from the kiss, panting and looking into his lust blown eyes,

“Fuck me on that desk…right now.”

Hobie is shocked for a quick moment before a grin spreads across his face. He wastes no time in laying you onto the desk and kissing his way down your stomach, his fingers toying with the top of your skirt,

“What do you say I put these long fingers of mine to use, hm?” Hobie’s whispers, his voice raspy and sending need straight to your aching pussy.

“You better…” You thrust your hips up as he removes your skirt, his fingers grazing your thighs before he spits onto them, shoving two right into your tight pussy,

“Not so sure i’m the model anymore—fucking look at you…” Hobie groans, kissing your thighs as he slowly thrusts his fingers into you. His pace is agonizing, and you grab him by his wrist,

“Please…just shut up and fuck me…I’ve seen how big it is and I can’t wait any longer…” You grunt and Hobie’s eyes widen more than you’ve ever seen. It’s his turn to look flustered and the feeling of being spoken to in such a dirty manner is enough to make his dick twitch in his pants,

“How can I deny such an offer?” He laughs breathlessly, standing up and unbuckling his spikey belt, pulling everything down and letting his cock spring free. It’s long, and thick, and there’s precum leaking from his tip like the glaze on your favorite dessert. He feels his face heat up at your hungry stare, leaning down and cupping his hands in the bend of your legs, pushing them down at your sides and spreading your legs wide open for him,

“Please—“

“Yeah I know…” Hobie groans, smearing his pre-cum across your pussy and gently thrusting into you. It takes your breath away and shakes the desk, your mouth hanging open as a guttural moan tumbles out of your mouth,

Hobie groans and kisses your neck, “You’re so fucking tight.” Hobie whispers, his voice shaking. He groans and slams his hips into yours, his hands gripping your hips as he desperately fucks into you. Never in your entire life had you felt something so big inside of you—so filling and so fucking good. Of course a model as gorgeous as Hobie has such a perfect dick—but this position isn’t doing it for you.

You sit up, your hands on his chest as you push him down onto the desk and crawl on top. Hobie looks pleasantly surprised at this, his hands coming up to your hips,

“Fuck…” He whines, his head thrown back and his adams apple bobbing in his neck. You sink down on his length, grunting so loud you’d think it’s injuring you as your hand comes to Hobie’s neck. You give him a gentle squeeze and he nods at you, his eyelashes fluttering as he slaps your ass,

“C’mon.”

You ride him like your life depends on it, your hands tight around his neck and his clothes. The studio echoes with both of your moans and you feel your head spinning as his cock melts your insides, the sensation eliciting desperate moans out of you.

Hobie feels lightheaded and delirious with your hand around his neck and your pussy squeezing him so good, broken moans, grunts, and whimpers leaving his lips. The messy sounds fill the dark room and you can barely hold on any longer,

“Give it to me—please…”

You squeeze his neck just right and his hand comes up to yours as you ride him, your pussy clenching and your orgasm nearing. Now both of you are gripping each others necks, grunting and panting and falling apart so beautifully,

“I’m gonna—“ Hobie starts but he doesn’t finish…well he does. He cums deep inside you as you continue to ride him through it all, making a sloppy mess and coating his dick and thighs in cum. His head falls back against the hard wood and you ride his soul out until you cum. When you do, you’re shaking and moaning loudly, your hands moving from his neck to his shoulders to support yourself as you nearly pass out, pulling too hard on the mesh shirt and tearing it down his chest,

Hobie’s breathing is slow yet heavy as he tries to get a grip on reality now. His hands are still holding your hips and his brain still feels like jell-o, but he’s slowly coming to his senses,

“Y’look so good fucked out like this.” He mumbles, smoothing his thumbs over your bare skin,

“You think I’m the one who’s fucked out?” You giggle as you look Hobie over. His makeup is smudged, his clothes torn, and his eyebrows are as furrowed as they were when he came. He looks perfect, because how could he look anything but? He’s a model…and he’s your art no matter what,

“Wait stay right there…” You smile, walking behind him to your desk drawers and getting your camera, coming back around to his front. Hobie rolls his eyes and laughs incredulously at you, holding his pose with his elbows behind him, his lips parted and his eyebrows pinched, and his cock on full display still pumping its cum. You snap the picture and instantly swear to yourself that this would not be the last time you fuck Hobie.

—

@ohxx @luxxtuxx @fatenpara @hobesbf @defnot-bri

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x you #hobie spiderverse #spiderman #x reader #silly’s fics

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soaqrudyz · 1 year

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i am of the firm belief that neither ghost or gaz cared very much for soap when he first joined the 141

gaz had never met him before, all he knew was the guy was just a little bit of a prick. he was incredibly talented, gaz would give him that, and he’d never been outwardly rude to anyone that gaz had heard of, but oftentimes his confidence bled into something just short of arrogance, soap always seemed to be the one ranting and raving about his achievements when everyone else spoke of their mistakes. in layman’s terms: he was full of himself in a way that would surely get him killed.

ghost; however, had met him before. they’d worked together some three times before price recruited soap. ghost knew of his skill, knew that sunny disposition got quieter at night when soap thought he was alone, knew soap would thrive with them; but god, if ghost could shove his thumbs into those all-seeing, all-knowing crystal eyes he’d do so in a heartbeat. he hated the way they seemed to burn straight through the heavy material of his mask, how they could look into his own eyes and hold infinite knowledge of his broken psyche by the time they flick to some other uninteresting member of his former squadron. it was horror, to be understood so wholly.

but then gaz got hurt, four days of medically induced coma hurt, and when he jerked awake at, if the clock on the shitty hospital tv was to be believed, 2 in the morning there was soap. he looked disheveled: hair a tangled mess, dark circles only worsened by the shadows of the mostly unlit room, and covered in scattered butterfly sutures. his head was leaned on his bicep, slumped over the lowered tray connected to gaz’s bed.

under his head were the blood and tear stained pages of his open journal, a gorgeous portrait of gaz sketched onto the yellowed sheets with sleep deprived rantings in the margins on how soap could have saved him if he’d just been quicker. gaz slips it out from under him, only feeling a tiny bit like an ass for flipping through the leather bound soul of his comrade, but soap had stolen his favorite shirt so it stood to reason he should take something back. the entire 141 is scribbled on in the pages, buried between bomb schematics and scenic landscapes and soap’s scrawled insecurities. something shifts as he soaks in the words, months of feeling like an outsider and desperate tries to be as good as his teammates.

it’s different, gaz thinks as he flips back to his own face, being in the mind of john mactavish.

but then ghost is walking past price’s office and soap bursts out, pushing past him with flushed cheeks and hurried apologies, practically sprinting in the direction of his shared room. ghost, loathe to admit it, was worried, afraid that the first real human connection aside from garrick he’d had in years was going to ripped from him before he’d even started putting time into it. he didn’t want to lose something good, not again, so he follows him, rushes to catch him before he slams the door in ghost’s face.

soap’s shoving clothes into his duffle when ghost slips inside his room, noticeably holding back tears as he rambles to himself. for a minute ghost is stuck, unused to such blatantly shown emotion, but then he takes a step, sets a gentle hand on soap’s shoulder and asks what’s going on, heart thudding against his ribcage.

“my ma..” soap croakes, and heavy sobs break up whatever else he was going to say. he doesn’t have to, ghost knows, probably better than anyone else.he does the first thing that comes to mind: he drags soap into his chest, wraps his whole body around him like he can protect soap from the hurt. the sergeant doesn’t deserve to feel that hollowness in his chest. soap crashes into him like a wave to the shore, balling his hands into ghost’s hoodie and hiding his face in ghost’s collarbones. ghost had never been one for physical closeness, but there was something different about being in johnny’s arms.

there was an obvious difference in their demeanor toward him in the weeks to come, but neither really cared about how it happened, just that it did, and now they can seek each other’s warm, pink tinted gaze when soap makes a fool of himself.

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dr3c0mix · 1 year

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Hi, I just started reading your works and they are fantastic! I saw on your request page that you do teratophilia, but I don't fully know if you do orc, so I wanted to know before I sent in a proper request. If you don't do orc I'll probably request something with a minotaur instead.

Little Duckling

Yandere!Orc x Gn Reader

cw: nsfw, kidnapping, stalking

⚔️ Valeth was a warrior, a dangerous, bloodthirsty orc. One who had the blood of hundreds in his hands. A scar-ridden man whose company consisted of the vile and ruthless, thieves and murderers.

⚔️ So why the hell were you in here??

⚔️ You looked so small, so weak. A tiny creature possibly from a far land from the look of your wide-eyed, innocent face.

⚔️ He stared at you from across the tavern as you happily scribbled on a notebook with a small glass of some sweet drink you ordered.

⚔️ He could hear the laughs and jeers of the other patrons, some giving you less than decent stares at your body, it made him sick.

⚔️ But why? Why is he suddenly so protective of a tiny, weak, small, soft, cute, adorable, fragile doll of a person like you?

⚔️ ...

⚔️ Shit...

⚔️ He pinches the bridge of his nose and gets up from his seat and walks over to where you're sitting.

⚔️ "You better get out of here before you get hurt Duckling."

⚔️ You look at him startled with the cutest eyes, fuuuuckk

⚔️ You ask why with the voice of an angel; the orc bit the inside of his cheek to stop him from smiling.

⚔️ "You new in Phenonia?" He crossed his arms, glancing at the others in the tavern, all of them looking away from you after meeting his gaze.

⚔️ You tell him you're a traveler in search of adventure. He lets out a laugh, giving you a tusk-filled smile.

⚔️ He offers you a walk back to your inn and you happily agree, skipping and rambling about your travels the whole way. Normally he would tune out someone as talkative as you, words he didn't understand going one ear and out the other, but you, you managed to hook him with your explanations of distant lands and the discoveries you made there. He even asked questions and gave you tips and advice for your future adventures in Phenonia.

⚔️ You reach your inn and you bid the large orc goodnight, shaking his calloused hand and heading inside.

⚔️ He stood there for a minute, looking at the hand that touched yours. He felt his face heat up a bit before he shakes his head, trying to get the image of your bubbly smile out of his head. He heads to his home to get some rest but all he can think about is you in the bed next to him. Its not weird is it? god what's wrong with me????

⚔️ You two ran into each other a few more times, Valeth always using the nickname he gave you; Duckling. He says it's because you remind of a little duckling always waddling and smiling at everyone all the time.

⚔️ He helped you out sometimes whenever someone gave you a hard time. It's like he would magically show up to protect you like a big green guard dog. You would always give him that damn smile and treat him to a meal.

⚔️ When you two weren't together, he would be watching you go about your day in a busy street or from behind a merchant cart or crate. He knew your set schedule like the back of his hand, where you'd go for breakfast, your favorite place to rest after a long day, the spot you would always draw at. He would pay friends of his to keep tabs on you to make sure you're safe.

⚔️ You left a scarf once and he found it with an adorable pin that was for favorite bug made from jewels of your favorite colors. He wanted to give it back to you, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it. he found himself taking in the scent of you from it. He imagined you actually there with him as he stroked his cock while moaning into your scarf.

⚔️ Eventually he had enough of merely watching you and quick hand touches, he wanted to know your touch, he wanted to know your taste, he wanted to know the sound of your moans under him.

⚔️One night after an exhausting day of trying to sketch a bird that kept flying away, you see Valeth waiting by your inn. You smile weakly at him and wave, but he just sighs and walks over to you.

⚔️ You start to get a bit uneasy and ask what's wrong but he reaches in his coat and pulls out a cloth.

⚔️ "Sorry for this Duckling.." He mutters to you before pulling you to him, covering your mouth with the cloth. You black out before you could even scream for help.

⚔️ You wake up in a bed full of warm pelts with someone lying next to you. You gasp, remembering what happened and kicked yourself off the bed.

⚔️ Valeth jolts awake and sees you scrambling to your feet on the floor next to the bed. He gets up and quickly pulls you close as you try to wriggle out of his hold.

⚔️ He tries to calm you down, whispering comforting things to you. You fight the tears threatening to run down your face as you feel his breath on your neck.

⚔️ His hands feel you up and down, rubbing you in order to comfort you, but it only serves as a way to scare you even more.

⚔️ He kisses your neck, licking your sweet spots, his tusks ghosting across your skin like a dull blade.

⚔️ "It's alright Duckling, you're safe, it's going to be okay. But you're gonna stay here with me now alright? I'll keep you safe, I promise."

⚔️ He reaches in the drawer next to you two and pulls out your scarf, he puts it on you, crying your teary face with the soft fabric. You hold the scarf close to you, but you still turn away from him.

⚔️ He sighs and puts his hand at the back of your head, bringing your forehead to his.

⚔️ "You'll understand soon enough Duckie...you'll understand how much I love you.."

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

⚔️ Valeth kept you locked in his home after that, always leaving to keep up appearances that nothing happened. Whenever someone asked where you've gone, he said you just left in search of more adventure as you do.

⚔️ He was as tough and stoic as ever when he went out but as soon as he comes back home to his modest house in the edges of the kingdom and sees you, he becomes a giant cuddle bug.

⚔️ This big battle-scared orc turns to putty when he hugs your small form.

⚔️ He still locks the doors and windows from the outside in fear of you leaving him, but it's ok! You can still write about your travels and such! He brings home things he thinks you'd like. Weird stones, leaves, trinkets, anything.

⚔️ He would do anything for you, and you're reminded every day when he cuddles you close, taking in your sweet smell. Everything. Except being let go of course.

⚔️ Sometimes you refuse to eat in hopes of ticking him off but he just laughs and holds you in his arms like a stubborn baby and spoon-feeds you.

⚔️ No matter how much you kick and scream, he's always stronger than you, always shutting down your tantrums as easy as placing his hand over your mouth.

⚔️ Eventually you learn to live with him and his affections, the pile of junk he brought home is rummaged through and actually paid attention to by you, meals are eaten, albeit with you staring daggers into him, but he couldn't be happier.

⚔️ He never forced you to do anything lewd you didn't want to do, but he would sneak off out of bed to watch you, sometimes touch himself to the thought of the day he finally gets permission to bed you.

⚔️ But now, he's satisfied with you just sleeping with him in his arms, his face buried in your hair.

⚔️ "You're mine little Duckling...only mine..."

Thnkank uouyu anon <3 <3 <3

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

the girl next door 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You can’t remember the last time you had the house to yourself. Even if your mother’s just next door, it feels a little lighter around there. And you’re happy for her. Maybe having Steve around will be good. He can be an outlet so she doesn’t have to put all her frustrations on you.

She was happy when she left, even excited. That’s another rarity in your life.

You start your day off with a tea. The apple cinnamon bags are a bit old so you use two. You bring the cup into your room and get your table set up with your pencils and sketchbook. You open the window to let in the sunlight, the natural light much brighter than the yellowed bulb above.

You know your mom would tell you to do something more useful than just scribble in your sketchbook. You got the dishes done last night. Steve offered to help but you deflected as you foresaw your mom’s disapproval. You can’t let company pick up your slack.

You try to wipe away the anxiety of last night. It’s over now. You shouldn’t have worry very much about it again.

You finish your tea. It’s cold by the time you get to the dregs. You sit back to look over your sketch. Your eyes feel a bit fuzzy from hyperfocusing on that one stamen. You rub your brow and yawn. The sun shifts and you look over at the old alarm clock on your nightstand. It’s close to noon.

Something else catches your eye. You look up at the window across from yours. The curtain ripples around the gap before it’s pulled open from inside. Steve stands on the other side of the pane. Can he see you?

You can’t tell as he turns away without acknowledgement. The glare of the sun should hide your room well enough. You never really thought of it as your blinds are closed more often than not.

You get up to rinse out your cup. You stretch your legs as you pace in the kitchen. You’re restless. You’re so used to your mom and her demands and expectations, that having your own time feels aimless.

You could surprise your mother with dinner. Have it in the oven when she comes home. It’s still early but you can make something more than boxed macaroni. It will be a good cushion to fall back on when you remind her about tomorrow’s appointment.

🏠

When your mother returns, you can see the fatigue around her eyes. For as little as she goes out, you’re not surprised. What strikes you, is how happy she is. You help her to her recliner and she sighs as she leans back.

“Such a nice man,” she keeps repeating.

You smile and let her regale you with a recounting of her day. Still, you can’t help but wait for the pendulum to swing back to normal. She leans her head in her hand, her eyes distant.

“I swear, the universe sent him to me,” she says, “it had to. It was how much I need someone.” She drops her hand and traces her finger around the armrest, “sick, got a lazy daughter, stuck in this damn house...”

There it is. You frown. You mash your hands together and waver.

“I made dinner,” you offer.

“I don’t want KD,” she snips.

“I made... I made shepherd’s pie,” you offer meekly, “should be almost done.”

“Hm, wondered what that stench was.”

You frown. “I can put it in the fridge for tomorrow. Be good to have something we can just heat up after the doctor’s.”

“Doctor?” She grumbles, “eh... I forgot.”

She slumps and her eyes dull. You can’t help the pang in your chest. Sometimes you wish it was you who was sick. It feels like you deserve it more than her.

“Hopefully it’s good. If you can get the surgery--”

“Surgery!? Surgery. You keep going on about the damn thing,” she barks. “They can’t fix me, girl, get that through your head.”

“I know, mom, but they can help--”

“Like you help me? Crittering around here like a rat!” She hits the armrest violently, “would ya leave me be?” She closes her eyes and turns her face away, deflating once more, “ruined a good day...”

You sniffle and slowly turn on your heel. You should have known better. You should have just left her alone. As much as she rants about you staying in your room, she prefers you there. Out of sight, out of mind.

🏠

The next day, your mother doesn’t say much. Her silence is just a bitter as her words. You don’t push it. She gets in the car without argument and you set off into town. Even if she says it’s a waste of time, she listens intently to the doctor and answers all his questions. It’s only when she has to go through the tests that she shows her agitation.

After some hours spent at the specialist clinic, you’re free to go. Your mom is just as quiet. You feel her mood roiling in the air. Her hand is shaking to the point that she’s hissing at it.

You steer down to the corner and linger at the stop sign.

“Mom,” you squeak, “you want some orange julius? A treat for the way home?”

“Don’t talk to me like a damn child,” she snarls. “Let’s just go. I’m tired. Got no blood left in me.”

You nod and bite your tongue. Maybe you can just put her to bed. Her naps are a respite, though you find yourself anxious in the silence, terrified of waking her prematurely.

As you pull onto the suburban avenue, you slow and approach your drive. You pull in and shut off the engine. You get out and go around to help your mom. You open her door and she hauls herself out, tisking under her breath.

“Didn’t see him,” she mutters.

“Good afternoon,” Steve’s voice answers your question before you can ask. You look over the hood as he waves from his porch, “busy day?”

Your mother steels herself and forces a smile, “just went to the doctors.”

“Oh, everything okay?” He asks.

“Sure,” she chimes, “just some tests. Nothing serious.”

“Good to hear,” he stands behind the porch railing, arches crossed, “day’s not over yet. Still lots of time to enjoy the sun.”

“Mhmm,” you mom grabs onto your wrist, shaking you as leans into you. “Nice day out.”

“I was gonna do up a milkshake, if you ladies wanted to join me I got plenty to go around.”

“Milkshakes?” Your mother considers, “mm, I’d have to change out of these.” She looks down, “smell like a hospital.”

“Sure, take your time,” Steve says, “how about you, honey? I got strawberry. You seem like a strawberry type.”

“Eh, she’s more a vanilla type,” your other cackles. “Plain.”

“Got that too,” Steve ignores the joke. “I understand if you’re tired out though. Don’t wanna be too desperate over here, just wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I’ll be over soon,” your mom assures him, “she’s got some laundry to do.”

She keeps hold of you and points you towards the house. You help her inside, even though she does her best to hid how she clings to you. Her steps are uneven and stunted. You get through the front door and help her sit on the chair you keep by the door, just in case.

“Goddamnit,” she’s shaking pretty bad. “Help me, you dumb girl.”

“I... I don’t...”

“Get my goddamn inhaler. I forgot it this morning.”

“Oh, uh, okay.”

You hurry down the hall and to bathroom. It isn’t in the cabinet. You go back out and scan the table. Not their either. You find it next to her recliner. You wish she’d keep it one place. You go back to her and hand it over.

“I’m gonna go over,” she says before she huffs from the canister, “you’re gonna stay here. Out of my way.”

“Alright,” you agree. You prefer that anyway.

She takes a minute before she gets up. She shooes you away and you retreat to your bedroom. You sit on your bed and wring your hands, waiting as you listen to her. She doesn’t say goodbye before she leaves. Only the front door slamming lets you know she’s gone.

You exhale and pull the fold out table up to the edge of the bed. You open your sketchbook and stare at the pencil. You don’t feel like drawing but you have nothing else to do. You just sit, looking at the amaryllis. You can pick out every flaw in your work. You close the cover and frown.

A knock startles you and you stand up. Oh gosh, it’s probably Marge. What is it now? Is the siding too stained? Are the steps crooked? You get up and shuffles down the hall. You open the front door, hiding behind it as you poke your head around.

Steve has the screen door propped open against his elbow. He holds a tall glass filled with pink, “here. Figured I’d bring this over.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you accept the condensating glass, a wide straw poking out of the whipped cream topped drink.

“Maybe next time you can pop over too,” he suggests, “I’ve been working on getting the pool going...” he grins, “it’ll be a good summer for it.”

You nod and look down at the milkshake.

“Really nice of you,” you say.

“It’s nothing, sweetie,” he puts his hand on the door above him, looking down at you, “enjoy.”

“Uh,” you look at him then at the straw. You don’t want to be rude. You put your lips around the tip and take a sip. “Mm, yup, good. Thank you.”

His blue eyes stick to you and he drags his hand down the door, “I’ll make a deal. You come over to see the pool when it’s ready, and I’ll make you another. How about that, sweetie?”

You push your lips out. It’s not nice to say no. He didn’t have to bring you the milkshake or invite you. You shrug.

“Okay,” you agree, “erm, thanks again.”

He nods and taps the door frame before he steps back. He gently closes the screen door and you watch him through. He turns and strides down the stairs. You shiver as the cold glass numbs your fingers. Hopefully, he forgets about the pool thing. You don't even have a suit.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #au #silverfox au #the girl next door #mcu #marvel #captain america

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octuscle · 3 months

Note

this is an urgend call for help! I'm a 29yo teacher in europe and I have a problem with one of my students. He's 18yo, the star of the soccer team and of the whole school. he's looking at me and talking with me in a very special way. So I think he has a crush on me. I've to give him a lot of detention but he seems to enjoy it. Last time he says at the end: "soon you're one of us - your countdown is on...' pls tell me he hasn't used your program. If he has, stop this countdown immediately

According to a scribble in the student restroom, you are supposed to be the school's sexiest teacher for the third year in a row. Someone has sketched your cock next to this note. Obviously life-size, because the doodle is impressively large.

Well, you can't be the sexiest teacher for the third time because you've only been here at the school for two years. Before that you were at university. First in Milwaukee. Then actually only for two semesters in Lund, Sweden. But you fell in love with Sweden. And now you are very happy to have got a job as a sports and math teacher at the sports high school in Malmö. Sport here at the school usually almost automatically means "soccer", but as a native American you have less to do with it. Your sports are badminton, athletics and windsurfing in the summer.

You almost despair of the soccer star. A stinking lazy pupil. Certainly not stupid. But really lazy and uncooperative. According to his coach, he is the most disciplined person imaginable on the pitch. Here in math class, he's definitely not. Absolutely not! "Soon you'll be one of us - your countdown is on". That was yesterday… Today, once again, he didn't even show up for math class. Shit, he's ruining his whole career. Besides, you kind of miss him… He's not just a student… He's also kind of… A buddy! Damn, you can't have thoughts like that with a student!

You are looking for your student on the soccer field. Of course he's there. Of course he doesn't have a guilty conscience. Shit, of course you can understand him. After all, soccer is your life too. It was always your dream to become a professional soccer player. But unlike him, you were simply never good enough.

You try to talk him into his conscience without being such a bourgeois. You want to come across as cool. But on the other hand, you also know that you have to assert yourself as a teacher. It's your last traineeship. You'll graduate next year. Now you're still somewhere between the teachers and the students. It's a shitty situation. And the jock just laughs at you when you reprimand him. He says you'll soon be in detention together.

You are actually a really hard-working student. You are very keen to do well in your exams. You definitely want to work as a teacher at this sports high school. Soccer and math. That would be exactly your combination of subjects. But you can't study tonight. The day as a volunteer at the school was really exhausting. Before you go jogging for another hour, you look in the mirror as you change into your sports clothes. The fucking spots just won't go away. You still look a bit like you're still in puberty. But you finally seem to be growing hair on your chest. Maybe you will become a real guy after all. Whether the soccer star likes hair on his chest. Or if he has any himself? The thought of him gives you a boner!

When you wake up the next morning, you pick up where you left off yesterday. With a boner. My goodness, since you've been doing the internship here at the school, you've been kind of hard all the time. Of course, you've got a whole lot of damn tight guys among the other freshmen at your university… But the boys here at the sports high school are in a different league. They wank wherever they go and wherever they stand. And since you've been here, you've joined in.

You've been given a single room at the sports boarding school for the duration of your internship. You have a washbasin in your room, but you share the toilet and shower with the boys from the upper school. You're 21, hardly older than the guys who will be graduating this year. But you're still not allowed to fuck them. Even as a freshman and an intern, you are formally a member of the teaching staff. What a load of shit! How you'd love to let the star of the soccer team fuck you in the shower. It's obvious he wouldn't be averse either.

The internship sucks. Sitting in class without being able to shape it but already knowing everything is even more stressful and boring than it is for the students. Nevertheless, you try to look like you're paying attention and taking notes. This is actually more of a strategy to avoid falling asleep. You can hardly wait until soccer practice finally starts. You can just play along. You're more of a pupil than a teacher. The coach praises you and says that you're wasting a great talent as a sports teacher. He asks you to take the team star under your wing for a while. He could certainly learn a lot from you. Hehehehehe, you think to yourself. I'm sure you could from him too!

After training, you go to the gym for a bit of strength endurance training. Suddenly the soccer star is standing behind you. He runs his hand under your sweaty jersey and plays with your nipple. Thank God you're alone in the gym. You take off your jersey and he sucks on your nipples like a puppy on its mother's teats. Shit, his smell of wet grass and sweat alone is driving you crazy. With one hand you take your boner out of your pants. With the other, you push his head down. He blows like the devil. And you cum like a fire hose.

A delicate fuzz appears on your upper lip. That's the only good thing about fucking puberty. Your voice is cracking. Your pimples are annoying. And every other morning you wake up in a huge mess in your bed. Every morning that Lars hasn't blown you first. Or you blew him. You're congenial on the soccer pitch. Whatever congenial means. But the coach always says that. You think you're totally congenial in the shower and on the toilet and in all sorts of other places too. The fact that Lars and you met here at the boarding school is damn lucky!

You've been inseparable since you were 18 at the latest. During the week at Intermat, at the weekends either with your parents. Or at his. Your parents are cool. Although you're not sure if they know what you're up to.

Lars and you both think school sucks. You're here to become professional footballers. You don't need fucking math or history for that. Your coach predicts a glorious future for both of you. The man is cool. He's ancient, probably already 30 or so. But much more relaxed than your other teachers. And he'll cover for you if you skip math again. But only if you've used the time for fitness or technique training. If you don't show full commitment, the coach has no mercy.

It is an honor to have been accepted at this school. You have no intention of disgracing the school!

It's a common saying that the two of you only exist in a double pack. Your classmates have turned 'Lars' and 'Zlatan' into 'Latan'. It's no coincidence that your name is Zlatan. Your parents are huge fans of Zlatan Ibrahimoviv. And the fact that you made it to school here in his community, that you are the second Zlatan to become a national player from Rosengård, makes your parents proud. But if you become a national player, Lars will also have to play for the national team. That's a matter of honor. You look at yourself in the mirror. The fuzz on your upper lip isn't quite ready for a cool beard like the one your role model has. And your parents never allowed you to have long hair. But since you've come of age, you've let it grow. It won't be long before you look like the great Zlatan!

You don't like it when Lars and you are put on opposing teams in tournaments. But Coach is right, of course, he needs to train your killer instinct. An opponent is an opponent. Even if you occasionally get shagged by the center forward. And how you get fucked. Shit, your cock is already famous in the changing rooms near and far. But against Lars' beast… You're nothing…

It's pouring with rain. The soccer match was a mud fight. But you won. "As we agreed, the loser has to blow the winner" you tell Lars after the final whistle. "I can't wait to suck your cheesy boner clean" Lars replies with a grin. Even though almost everyone knows that you are a couple, you are usually rather reserved in public. But today… Fuck it!

#male tf #reality change #age reduction #race change #ai image

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clemkruckinnie · 10 months

Text

first time-d.lambert

summary: dalton decides he wants to take his relationship with you a step further.

You feel peaceful.

Though it’s a Friday night on campus, you and Dalton have created a peaceful little corner of the dorm for yourself. You can’t help but steal glances at your boyfriend, scribbling furiously in his sketchbook. He’s drawing, and erasing, and drawing again, and before you can ask what’s up, he shoves the sketchbook off his bed.

“Everything okay?” You look up from the other corner of the bed, sitting up.

“I’m just not having a good creation day.” Dalton explains. “Nothing I wanna draw is coming out right, I have this stupid deadline to meet and I can’t even land on a rough sketch because my stupid brain and my stupid hands won’t-“

“Dal.” You cut him off, putting your hand over his. Getting an idea, you sit up further, uncrossing your legs. “Lay down.” Dalton happily obliges, sighing like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders once he lays his head against your thighs. “Better?” You ask, moving so that your hand is in Dalton’s hair, rubbing his scalp lightly.

Dalton nods against you. “Don’t make me fall asleep.” He warns you, half joking.

“Why, you’re not having nightmares again, are you?”

Dalton pauses.

“Oh, baby-“ You push his hair back from his face, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just thought it’d be too much for you. That I would be too much for you.” Dalton explains.

“If it’s too much for me, it’s definitely too much for you.” You tell him, “let me know about that stuff, okay?”

“I don’t want to burden you.” Dalton objects, you shaking your head. “Thought i’d scare you off.”

“You don’t abandon the people you love when they’re hurting. You stay and shoulder it with them.”

You don’t realize the words that you chose until you say them, looking up into Dalton’s wide blue eyes.

“What?” His voice comes out shaky, uncertain that he heard you correctly. “Do you mean that?”

“That I love you?” You ask. “I do. I love you, Dalton.”

Dalton almost knocks you over with the force he hugs you with, tucking his face into your neck.

“I love you, too.” He pulls back, laughing tearfully. “We’re in love.”

His gaze softens before he leans in, cupping your face like he’s holding something delicate, and kisses you with a passion that almost makes you lightheaded.

When he finally pulls back, your entire body feels like it’s on vibrate. By the way his pupils dilate, you can tell Dalton feels the same.

“What’s on your mind?” You finally ask him.

He leans in again, but moves upwards, kissing your forehead instead of your lips. Then, he moves back down, resting his forehead against yours.

“I wanna do what people in love do.”

“You mean-“ You trail off, Dalton nodding against your head.

“I need you.” Dalton moves his hands down, his arms around you. “Please, baby.”

You lean back in again, kissing him with a passion new to the both of you as he lays you down. He moves to your jaw, kissing it gently before he goes down further, his soft lips trailing down and across your neck. “Dal.” You sigh, hands between his shoulder blades.

He lets out a sweet sound against you, the vibrations making you shiver. “Say my name like that again.” He sucks lightly at your pulse point, drawing his name out of you in a whine. “Sound so pretty.” He pulls back, his hands resting against your stomach, having slid them under your shirt. “Can I?”

You nod almost too quickly, wanting to get the offending garment off before you get too nervous to. Any lingering feelings of anxiety leave your body like a floodgate opening as he takes you in. You’re in an old pair of running shorts and a sports bra, yet he looks at you like you’re the finest piece of art in the world. “Beautiful,” Dalton marvels, smoothing his hands over your chest. “All for me, right?”

You nod, Dalton shaking his head. “Tell me.” His voice is so gentle, you feel your eyes heating up and you try your best to not cry while topless in front of your boyfriend for the first time. “All for you. I’m all yours.”

Dalton smiles, leaning in and kissing your nose before sliding his hands under you, by the clasp of your bra. “Want me to take this off?”

“Please.” You almost whimper, Dalton swallowing thickly as you lean upward. The proximity of your faces isn’t as close as it had been when you were kissing, but you’re close enough to see all the shades of blue in his eyes, the concentration on his face as he works at your bra clasp.

“Hi.” You break the silence, Dalton smiling at you again.

“Hi.” He whispers, finally undoing the clasp. “Got it. Let me just-“ He pulls your bra down your arms, discarding it somewhere in the room.You’re fully bare from the waist up, but don’t feel exposed at all.

Dalton drinks in the sight of your bare chest, sliding his hands up to cup each breast in one. “These are perfect.” Dalton marvels. He brushes his thumbs over your nipples, you arching into him involuntarily.

“Does that feel good?” Dalton asks, not cocky, genuinely curious. You go to nod, but stop yourself, remembering that he likes verbal confirmation. “Yes,” you tell him, “they’re really sensitive.” You admit. “Feels nice when you play with them.” Dalton groans, your praise giving him the motivation he needs to keep going. “Wanna get my mouth on them.” He tells you.

The word “please” is barely out of your mouth before he’s taken one nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers as he sucks. It sends a pang down between your legs as you moan, loudly, going to put your hand over your mouth. Dalton grabs your wrist, using his surprising strength to keep your hand away from your mouth. “Don’t muffle yourself. Let me hear you.” Dalton tells you, kissing his way across your chest to your other nipple, repeating what he had done before. Your hands find their way to his head instead, pushing his hair away from his face.

“I need more.” You beg. “Please, baby-“

Releasing your nipple with a pop, Dalton scoots down between your legs, tugging your shorts off. He’s about to take off your panties when you stop him.

“Is something wrong? We can stop-“

“No! No, I wanna keep going.” You assure him. “You just still have all your clothes on. Doesen’t seem fair.”

Dalton looks down at his sweatshirt and laughs softly. “You’re right. That’s not fair.” He tugs the shirt over his head. “Here,” He stands up, tugging his pants down and kicking them somewhere on the floor, leaving him clad in his boxers. “We’re even.”

You smile, nodding as he re-situates himself. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down and discarding them somewhere with the other clothes.

“Can I taste you?” Your hips almost buck at the way he asks it, the way he looks at you, him, but you settle for a “yes”. He licks an experimental stripe up to your clit, circling it clumsily but still enough to feel good. You moan softly, Dalton taking it as his cue to keep going. He doesn’t really have a technique, as expected—you knew he was a virgin when you two got together, but he’s not doing a bad job, either. You can only imagine how good he’ll get with more practice.

“Am I-?” Dalton pulls away, looking back up at you.

“Try sucking on my clit, just a little. Not too hard.” Dalton nods, licking back up to your clit and sucking, like you told him to.

“Oh my God.” You moan, Dalton sucking at your clit again, anything to get you to make that sound again.

“Need your fingers.” You whimper, “Please, wanna feel them inside—oh!” Dalton easily slides one in, moaning against you at the feeling of you around his finger. “One more, please-“He slides another one in, stretching you open as he licks around and on your clit. He pulls away, his fingers still inside you as he looks up at you.

“Do you like it like this?” He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you, gaging your reaction.

“Yeah—curl them up a bit, like,” you make a “come here” movement with your fingers. Dalton mimics you, pumping his fingers the slightest bit faster as he curls them. “Wanna kiss you when you cum—“ he tells you.

“Then get back up here and kiss me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice, speeding up his motions as he moves back up to kiss you. You two separate with moans and gasps, surprised your teeth aren’t clashing with the way he’s kissing you. You can already feel the coil tightening as he fingers you, but when he moves his thumb up to circle your clit, you go over the edge, tucking your face into his neck as you come undone.

“Holy shit,” Dalton pants, “I made you cum.”

You nod, smiling, dazed after the intensity of your orgasm. “I did, hard.” Dalton laughs, pulling his fingers out of you slowly. Before he can do anything with them, you take his hand, guiding his fingers to your mouth and sucking them gently. Dalton watches you, mesmerized at the way your cheeks hollow, the feeling of your tongue on his fingers.

“I need to fuck you.” Dalton pulls his fingers out of your mouth, “Shit, condom. Uh-“

“You can pull out.” You assure him. “I’m on the pill, anyway.” Dalton almost passes out at the idea of being inside you bare, but manages to stay upright. “Is this position-“

“Dalton?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s perfect.” You cut him off. “Like you.”

Dalton smiles, lining himself up with you. “Wait.” Before you can ask what’s wrong, Dalton takes one of your hands in his, lacing your fingers together and holding them down on the bed. The intimacy of the gesture makes your eyes well up again. You don’t miss the way Dalton’s face falls, and before he can ask, you tell him the truth.

“That was just sweet—I just really, really love you.” You admit. Dalton kisses your forehead once more, pushing in with his lips still against your skin.

You both moan together as Dalton pulls back out, then plunges all the way in again. He keeps at the slow pace for a little bit, you getting more exasperated. “You can go faster.” You tell him, assuming he’d been afraid to hurt you.

“I know.” Dalton smiles cheekily, “Just wanted to tease you. Make you beg for it.”

You gasp at his dirty talk and newfound cockiness, tossing your pride aside and giving in. “Please, Dalton, please fuck me harder, I need it so bad-“

Dalton moans, giving in and speeding up his thrusts, grabbing onto the mattress with his free hand, balling up the bedding as he pounds you.

“Feels so fucking good, beautiful-“ Dalton ducks his head down, kissing your neck as his thrusts speed up, “-‘m not gonna last—“

“Let go.” You encourage him, “I came already, just let go—“

It’s as if his body was waiting for those words to finally let go, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. He weakly thrusts his way through it, pumping you full as he cums.

“Fuck, baby.” Dalton breathes out shakily, kissing your neck softly before pulling away to look at you. “Came so hard, don’t know if I can walk.”

“Then don’t.” You offer. “Just lay with me.”

Dalton nods, smiling softly as he pulls out, laying next to you and pulling the comforter over the two of you.

“We should probably clean up soon, though.” You tell him. “Don’t wanna traumatize Chris.”

Dalton laughs, “We don’t have to worry about Chris. I paid her 10 bucks to crash in a friend’s room.”

“You planned this?” You ask, feigning offense.

“I planned the seduction, not you telling me you loved me.” He defends himself. “Like i’d only fuck you once in a night.”

“You didn’t know how it would go!”

“I knew I wouldn’t be done with you yet.”

You smile, nuzzling your head into his chest. “I wanna do all of that and more, but for right now I just wanna use you as a pillow for a little bit.”

“You want a hoodie?” Dalton offers. “We could watch a movie for a little bit. Don’t want you getting cold.”

You smile, nodding. “Always taking care of me.”

Dalton shakes his head, getting up and pulling on his boxers to find you a hoodie of his.

“Not as good as you take care of me, baby.”

#dalton lambert #dalton lambert smut #dalton lambert x reader #insidious the red door

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pinksugarscrub · 25 days

Text

Sun and Moon

Deep sea! Hobie x mermaid! reader

Scenario: Inspired by an ask by🪦anon on @the-kr8tor 's blog! When two fish nerds meet.

taglist: @theres-a-spider-in-my-pillowcase

Warnings: blood, gore

Parts: 1, ?

Prologue

Bottles and vials clink together. It’s a sound you’ve come to love as you scribble in your notebook. Pearls coated in luminescent algae overhead so you can see your work. Held together by strings of silk or seaweed.

You sneak a glance at him. Watching as he mixes together a new concoction before quickly looking down and pretending to write when in all reality there’s an out of place squiggle on the page. You wait a few minutes before bringing your attention back to the man you love. A fishing net around his waist (a new addition) that holds together his black robe. Neck littered with random trinkets, shells, and pearls.

Sighing softly you rest your chin in your palm. The sketch of him long forgotten as you admire the real thing. This time you don’t shy away when he looks over his shoulder.

Hobie laughs softly, “caught you…” His eyes sparkling as he sets down his tools. Swimming over to your side he towers over you (quite easily I might add) as he reaches down. Gently, he rubs his thumb over your jaw. “What are you thinking about guppy? Me?”

Bubbles leave your lips as you laugh. Playfully pushing his hand away but it’s soon replaced by his own lips as he leans down. Peppering kisses to every inch of skin he can reach.

“Yes and-” You laugh louder as he changes to blowing raspberries against your neck. “-no! And if you don’t stop I won’t tell you anything!”

Hobie, of course, ignores this and wraps his tentacles around your waist. Bringing you closer until you’re effectively trapped. The only portion of you left uncovered are your fins. Flailing weakly against the water.

“I could just force it out of you my love,” he grins. The pearls in his hair shining under the dim light that managed to squeeze through a crack in the cave. You’ll never get tired of the way his eyes glow, even under the sunlight. Like gold rings of fire that you’ve seen on the mainland.

“You could,” you muse,“but are you going to?”

He stares.

You stare right back.

Then he clicks his tongue and loosens his grip but only enough to allow you to shift around to lay against him. The telltale sign being his hand placed over your naval.

You follow his motions without protest and eventually you both settle into the comfort of your bed full of kelp and sea sponge. His chin resting atop your head as he wraps his arms around your waist. Immediately tracing the outline of gold in your scales ever so gently.

“Alright, on with it. What did I do this time?”

Hobie relishes in your laugh. If he could, he would bottle up the sound and keep it tucked away for the days you’re away. He wishes he could finally convince you to stay but he wouldn’t think of ever getting in the way of your dream. For now, the daily visits would suffice.

“I was just thinking…about the day we met.”

“The day we met?” He repeats. Chuckling as he moves to bury his nose into the crook of your neck. “What about it lovie? Are you missing the days where my hair was longer?”

Your eyes glaze over the scar on your tail. The scales surrounding it are a bit discolored but iridescent nonetheless.

You reach for his hands wanting to seek the same feeling you felt all those months ago. Tending to you. Even the rings on his fingers are the same except for one on his left hand. The peridot matching the one around your neck. He glady intertwines your fingers.

“You did look quite rugged,” you tease.

His chest rumbles beneath your back. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

You inhale sharply.“Anyway-”

“No, no, we’re coming back to that.”

You shush him while petting one of his tentacles and he practically melts into jelly. Accepting defeat he moves another tentacle to caress your fin. You chuckle at the gesture. He might as well be a sea urchin.

“I was just wondering, what would have happened if you hadn’t found me.”

He pauses, taking his hand and lifting your chin so he can look into your eyes. “Why are you thinking about that?” You can practically feel him frowning. “Are you-”

“No,” you answer quickly. Smiling softly to reassure him. “I’m not. I feel safe with you.”

Hobie scans your face for any sign of a lie. Knowing how stubborn you can be when admitting to having nightmares again.

“I mean it love,” you laugh. Shaking your head as you poked his nose. “Don’t look so distressed. I’m referring to how much you’ve changed my life.”

He quirks a brow and you can’t help but laugh harder. Seems you have some convincing to do.

It’s not easy recalling some memories from the past but you can’t have light, without the darkness. Much like Hobie can’t be without his sun and you, can’t be without your moon.

Chapter one

Scavengers were the absolute bane of your existence. For weeks, weeks, you’ve been sourcing red seaweed. Rare red seaweed. Because greed and pollution seem to infect every corner of the sea now. It’s specifically ordered to be used as parchment for royal records and as the kingdom’s archivist it’s your duty to provide. You would lose your job in an instant if someone, anyone, found you unfit to continue guarding documents that are as old as the man who calls himself your superior.

You can’t lose the one chance you have to advance into a position you actually enjoy. So if it takes you another decade of stocking scrolls and collecting algae, so be it! But you can’t do that if you don’t figure out some way to get the remaining seaweed.

There isn’t much you can do except probe the regular patrons of the library for any leads. They seem to pity you with how their eyes follow you as you sift through maps that you already know like the back of your hand. You’re hoping a new path will magically appear on the page when you blink.

It’s hours before you finally stop and rest. You don’t think you’ve swam this much in months.

“A witch?” A voice whispers.

You sit up straighter on the bed of sponge you’re sitting on. Leaning over to see past the spiral staircase of stone. There’s a woman— scratch that—two women along with a small girl. The young mermaid sucking on her thumb as her eyes traced over the coral chandelier.

Witches weren’t…unheard of but it’s not like you believed in such stories. They were just tactics used to scare children into eating their clams and keeping them away from deeper water.

The stories claim witches have golden irises that can turn you into seafoam with just one glance. A voice so enchanting that they use it to lure sailors just as much as they would merfolk. The only positive thing you’ve heard over the years is their ability to heal but even that came at a price.

You sit back into your original position. Making bubble rings and watching them make their way to the surface.

The women are talking in hushed tones that you deem unnecessary with how vacant the library is. You close your eyes as you continue to listen in. Gossip is normally beneath you but you need a laugh after how long a day you had. Honestly, you’re only taking bits and pieces of information until you hear one word, apothecary. And it’s like it all clicks into place.

“An apothecary!” You laugh before promptly slapping your hand over your mouth.

How could you be so stupid? An apothecary! There were several of them strewn about. Most abandoned as the men and women who practiced lived inside the kingdom now. In the past however, they always grew their own stock to avoid having to pay merchants or hire a forager. If you can find just one, that should be enough to satisfy the king’s order. What’s even better is it’s entirely possible you’ll be able to regrow what was stolen. It’s the best solution you could have asked for.

By some miracle your ‘aha’ moment isn’t heard. Neither is the flick of your fins as you sneak past the trio. You really don’t want to try to justify your eavesdropping and you’re sure they don’t want to discuss the existence of something only known to be in folklore with a very skeptical scholar.

The water rushing by your ears blocks out the rest of their conversation. Only the statues bear witness about the abandoned apothecary the witch inhabits.

That night you gather a sickle, a ration pack, and a bag with plenty of room to stuff bundles of seaweed into. A map tucked into the outside pocket.

There were six apothecaries in total, all surrounding the castle at varying distances. There’s a chance the ones closest have already been raided so you decide to venture further out towards the ones in the south. You’re both excited and terrified to be venturing out on your own but maybe this will prove you are capable.

When the sun rises, you’re already out the door. Compass in hand as you swim around the castle gates.

You are in complete awe at everything you see. Tall stalks of coral the size of ships and fish so bright you have to stop and admire them. You try not to get too distracted but with the number of things you see you lose your way. Heading East, toward the dark sea.

After what feels like hours you arrive at the mouth of a cavern. So large it almost seems to come to life as the shadow cast from the sun moves low. Fish swimming in and out like it was sucking and spitting them out.

Flipping open the map you stare at pathways. Tilting your head to try to make sense of the markings. There is an obvious seal at the edge of the cave but the image is practically scratched off so you can’t identify it. Your compass, as it turns out, is left unusable as it spins in every direction. Obviously, this isn’t good news but did you really risk all of this just to return home empty handed?

You swallow thickly as you stare down into the cave. It can’t be…too far. Can it?

Circling the entrance you gnaw on your thumb. Turning away to face the already rising moon. You weren’t expecting to stay out all day but you have enough supplies to tide you over for the night. You’re not completely inexperienced.

A deep rumble echoes through the water and you pause. Eyes darting to the cave again and darkness stares right back but it dawns on you as you feel the current shift that it wasn’t coming from inside.

This was wrong. You shouldn’t be here.

The fish dart away to any available crevice along with the vibrant anemone that sink back into themselves. Another hum reaches your ears but you can’t bring yourself to look behind you.

Shaking you count to ten then twenty before a shadow is cast overhead. The sea is silent. Nothing moves, nothing breathes except…

A leviathan.

Breathe.

You choke back a sob. It reeks of death. Jaws stained with blood, fresh blood as it dissipates into the sea.

Stories filter through your mind at a mile a minute. You were told about great adventurers. Of their bravery and cunning against giants like the leviathan but you feel neither brave or prepared.

For the first time you hear your heartbeat. You weren’t even aware that, that was possible. Maybe it was a form of mercy, feeling your lifeforce before it was stripped from you.

It’s waiting. You can see it. Its eyes have never left yours. Its pupils so dark it reminds you of the sky. Above the surface of what you call home.

You make the mistake of looking away and everything happens in an instant.

You scream and it bellows as it strikes. Hot rushes of pain erupt with every flick of its head as it tries to swallow you whole. Jagged rocks digging into your skin as your hands bleed from smashing against its teeth. Your fear only doubles as it takes you deeper into the cave you were so hesitant to even look at. You can’t see, just feel and hear the monster that’s in front of you.

You wish you hadn’t tried to fight back. You wish you were home. You wish it had killed you quicker.

You’re so disoriented that the flashes of light that spark into your vision you mistake for the sun. The heat of each bang doing nothing to aid the tears in your body.

The leviathan roars and with each smash of glass it shrinks back until eventually it flees. Thick tail hitting the walls of stone and breaking just the surface.

You hear sounds above the calamity, words that you can’t make out because you think it’s finally over. You can rest now.

Gentle hands run over your body as you lose consciousness. Holding onto you like you were as precious as a pearl. Rings of gold are the last thing you see.

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xwingsandohs · 1 year

Text

‘Haunted Beauty’ | Spencer Reid

prompt: ‘Person A likes to sketch, and B catches them sketching, and asks what they are drawing. Person A had been drawing B, so they stutter out an excuse while slamming their sketchbook closed.’

word count: 2.3k

content warnings?: none. fluff

a/n: this is the beginning of a renaissance where i come back to tumblr. bare with me while i reformat stuff and checkout my recent posts if ya can

When you reach eleven days without being called out to the field for a case, there’s a lull in the BAU that leaves everyone bored and irritable.

Morgan sits at his corner desk twiddling his pen, spinning on his chair and occasionally ripping up small pieces of paper to aim at someone’s (usually Reid’s) head. His aim is terrible, only because the small, rolled-up balls weigh so little, so you can watch with suppressed giggles until Reid finally notices his game. A hit to the head leads to an irritated “Hey!” - While you and Morgan laugh openly.

Morgan walks over to ruffle the messy hair of your colleague and picks up the small mess he’s left on the floor around him- Spencer shuts the small notebook he’d been working in at the disruption.

You spin around on your chair to see Emily not-so-subtly looking for cheap flights on her laptop- one of her favourite ways to guarantee her time-off is approved is by booking the trip before she even puts in the request. There’s no need for the efforts really, Hotch has never denied a PTO request since your jobs are so demanding, though it doesn’t hurt to be sure.

JJ comes up behind Emily waving an empty mug, asking if she wants another coffee too. She nods, groans into a “God, yes please.” - before JJ begins to ask about her vacation plans and where she hopes to go, pointing at her computer.

Coffee sounds like a fantastic idea, so you stand from your chair and do a lazy spin towards Morgan - “Yes please, mama.” - and taking the empty cup from Spencer’s extended hand too before he even gets the chance to ask. You smile at him warmly- and before you even get a chance to lean over and see what he’s been working on, he’s slammed his notebook shut again and said “Actually, I could do with a break too, I’ll join you.”

You nod and shrug acceptingly, and Spencer jogs across to JJ when she shouts to make enough for everyone, and grabs the two mugs from her hand as well. “Thanks, Spence.”

It takes you only a minute to prep the coffee, replacing the filter and dumping in some grounds and Spencer has swooped in to fill up the water jug before you get the chance. You thank him, and watch as he turns to the sink in the small kitchenette, flicks the tap on and watches as the water fills its container.

He’s wearing a comfortable-looking navy cardigan, it’s well-fitting and you’re acutely aware of how he’s allowed his own sense of style to come through in his working wardrobe over his years in the BAU. You allow yourself an indulgent look at your co-worker while his back is to you, grinning slightly as you enjoy the view.

“How’s the case files?” He asks as he finishes loading the machine and presses the button to let the coffee drip. His hands glide in their motions after so long of using the machine most days.

“I finished all my consults, now it’s just an endless pile of cold cases to keep me busy.” You drag out a few vowels as you speak, teetering close to yawning in exasperation but the easy nights at home have kept you well-rested.

“Me too.” He shrugs, gently pushing the tub of sugar closer to the mugs to use when the coffee has finished.

“What are you making notes on?” You ask, and lean your body comfortably against the countertop.

“Notes?” He scrunches his face.

“You’ve been scribbling in your notebook for the past half hour.” “Oh!”

Realisation washes over his face, and you wonder if there’s a reason for his unusually cloudy brain. You laugh just once and raise an eyebrow in confusion at him.

“Nothing in particular, just some musings to keep me busy.” He shrugs.

There’s an old metal tin sitting on the side, some cookies that an agent had made and brought in for everyone to take from. You reach across and open it, looking closely for the biggest one before taking it. You snap it in half and present the biggest piece to the man beside you.

“Thanks.” He utters, before taking an indulgent bite.

“What kind of musings are keeping Dr Reid busy on this fine Thursday afternoon?” You ask with a glint in your eye.

He shrugs, and begins to mumble through his cookie-filled mouth before pausing to actually swallow before he speaks. His action makes you giggle. “I was asked if I’d like to do a guest lecture on profiling for the FBI Academy and I’m not really sure if I want to do it.”

“Why not?” You ask sincerely.

“I think a lot of my stories about the job might change their mind about working here.” He smiles, you both laugh, and then he shakes his head. He’s not wrong. “No, I’m kidding. I’m just not sure if I’m ready for doing something like that alone, I think there’s a lot of pressure for lecturers to be engaging and informative, and I tend to go off on a tangent.”

“I love your tangents.” You reply honestly and with a smile, which he returns appreciatively, and a little rosy in the cheeks. “But I know what you mean, I’m a profiler for a living but I don’t think I could get on a stage and give a good lecture on it.”

“I, um,” He smiles wistfully and nods his head as he speaks, something he frequently does. “I’d love to run my own classes at the Academy or maybe Georgetown one day, but I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility yet.”

He’d be a fantastic professor, you know this. And you’re sure he’d have a lecture full of hopeful psychology fanatics just like you both once were. “Maybe a guest lecture is a good trial run, even if it’s a little out of your comfort zone.”

“Yeah.” He smiles, then begins to pour out the coffees. Each mug is almost identical- white or navy with some variation of the FBI logo on, but somehow he knows who’s is who’s, and leaves enough room for cream in cups that need it. “Which case would you choose?”

“For a guest lecture?” He nods. “Um…”

It’s difficult, while every case is important you know that a balance needs to be found in a case chosen for an Academy lecture- it can’t be too standard, it wouldn’t show off why your jobs are so important or might even struggle to keep the audience interested. But you can’t choose one of your worst cases either, some of them can be particularly heavy even for you all to think back on.

“Maybe the zodiac imitator?” You suggest with a shrug. “You can go through how you deduced it wasn’t the real zodiac, looking for messages in online articles, Garcia going through MENSA records, you could even talk about navigating all the reporters and public attention.”

“Y’know, I was thinking about that one.” He agrees and you tap his arm playfully. “The trainees always enjoy the imitator cases.”

“As much as you can enjoy this kinda thing, right?” You laugh humorlessly. Spencer knows everyone’s coffee preference off by heart, you know that, but it still makes you feel a little hot when he perfects your drink and holds it out to you.

“Maybe ‘interested in’ would be a better way to put it.” He corrects himself with a similar chuckle. You nod in agreement.

You both take a small moment to enjoy a sip of your drinks before taking the rest of the mugs to the members of your team- Morgan grins at Reid as he passes his mug, and JJ and Emily thank you when you bring their drinks too.

“What do you think,” JJ calls you by name. “Where would you go for a beach holiday?”

“Beach?” You say and laugh lightly. “Wherever Morgan’s not going.”

They both grin and laugh, and you hear Emily begin to say “Y’know I’ve seen those pictures of Morgan’s Jamaican resort…”

You head back to your own desk, you have Reid right in front of you and Morgan at a table across from you both, it makes for easy conversation and sharing of the sweet treats you bring in when you try to hide them from the rest of the team- more for you that way. Every so often you stop on your way to work and fill up a pick ‘n’ mix, you know by now that Spencer’s favourites are the chocolate jazzles and Morgan loves anything sour.

Emily shouts for Morgan to help her find a holiday destination, so he shakes his head playfully and taps you on the shoulder as he walks past you.

The coffee is perfect as you sip it, just slightly hot, not too sweet and not too strong. You cradle it between two hands as you step past your desk and stop in front of Spencer’s, leaning gently against the table. He looks up at you, mid sip, and raises his eyebrows to ask what you need from him.

“Can I see what you’ve been writing?” You ask innocently, pointing at the small brown book that sits central on his desk. A pen sticks out of the top of it to hold the page he was using, and he seems unusually shocked by your question.

You’re profilers, though Spencer is a surprisingly good liar, you have a feeling he wasn’t pondering a guest lecture for the Academy.

“There’s nothing important in there.” He shakes his head and instinctively goes to pull it out of reach.

“C’mon, Reid!” You giggle, putting your coffee cup down in a space on his desk. “I just wanna know what’s been keeping you occupied. You’ve been scribbling in it all afternoon, so secretively too.”

“I-I’m not-” He pauses, stuttering and puts his own mug down and out of reach before pulling the pen from between the pages of his notebook. He leaves the brown pad where it is. “being secretive, why do you want to see?”

“I’m just curious.” You say, bowing your head in apology. “I didn’t mean to pry, I’ll just leave you to it.”

“N-no, wait,” He stops you, seeing your small change in demeanour and immediately washing with guilt. Your body language changes just slightly, not quite closed off but a little less open and maybe a smidge of your own guilt for possibly upsetting him. He’s not upset, and he certainly does want you to be. “I’m sorry. I-I’m just, um,”

You turn back to him, offering another apologetic look. It’s not necessary, and he holds the notebook tightly in his hand, looking at it while he thinks. “Would you like to see?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Why not?” He hums, gently passing the small brown book to you. You take it, just as gently, curling a finger into the gap created by the pen to hold the open page.

The brown book is worn on the edges, creased from opening so many times and his recent page is over half way through. You’ve seen him scribble in it frequently, and you’ve seen the way he slips it into his satchel at the end of the day- it’s important to him, you know that.

You open the page and it’s a drawing, a sketch in black biro. You’ve seen some of Reid’s drawings before- wavy lines, shrunken eyes and wiry hair, it’s his own unique style of illustration and you love his hidden passion for it. His drawings have been of imaginary characters, animals, even halloween decorations; they have a haunted aspect to them and you admire his talent for capturing the way he sees the world. This one is adorned with small wavy lines bouncing off the central figure.

“It’s-” This one you recognise, an unhidden smile and the shape of the hair. “-me. You drew me?”

“Um… yeah.” He smiles, but it doesn’t hide his nerves as he shifts in his chair while you look over the lines he’s made.

It’s today, you know the top you’re wearing today and one wiggly line for the chair you’ve been perched on. Your hair is styled as it is today, but you haven’t smiled so brightly today, you haven’t had the reason. That part, you realise, is from his memory. You like that he thinks of you as a happy person- the lines show that too, they add a bright, liveliness to the illustration of you.

There’s small flowers on the page adjacent- lavender, daisies, chrysanthemums, with what you assume is the scientific name underneath. They dot across the page like a printed pattern, but with the handwriting you know of Spencer all around. Underneath the drawing of you, though you’re not sure if it’s meant to describe both pages, it says “Beautiful”.

“Wow, Spence- I mean- Spencer,” You stutter over your words, grinning and feeling flushed at the thought of him spending his afternoon drawing you so dearly. “It’s amazing, you’re really good at art, y’know.”

“Thanks.” He replies sweetly, face unabashedly pink and smiling from ear to ear. “It’s um, really tempting to draw you when you’re sitting right across from me. I wanted to try and capture your smile but my drawings have given you more of a… haunting beauty.”

You don’t know what to say, still smiling and stuttering over nothing at all as you look over to him, to the drawing, then him again. His pride in his work makes his face light up in a way you rarely see on the job. “A-and Spence is fine, if you like.”

“Thanks for letting me see, Spence.” You say, dancing lightly around the last word, an affectionate nickname you know is only reserved for the special few. It feels good to be special to him. “I’ve never been very good at drawing.”

“I don’t think skill matters when you’re passionate about what you’re trying to recreate on the page.” He says with a simple smile, then bites down on his bottom lip to stop it from being too bright.

“You think so?” “Yeah.”

—

a/n: and just for funsies…

#writing #catching the other doing something cute prompts #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid prompts

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abyssruler · 2 years

Text

breaking up, breaking down

pairing/s: albedo, childe, diluc, kazuha, scaramouche, xiao, venti, zhongli x gn!reader

summary: if there’s anything you can expect to be consistent in life, it’s that everything has an end. or — genshin men and how they are after you break up with them.

note: angsty in everyone’s part, but it got too lighthearted in childe’s bc i simply cannot take that ginger seriously (affectionate)

ALBEDO

There aren’t any notable changes to his routine. He’d still go about his day, working on his experiments and scribbling down notes, occasionally taking a break to sketch a pretty flower he saw or the wing pattern of a passing butterfly.

And then he finds himself drawing the outline of an eye, then a nose, then lips. Until he suddenly stops in the middle of drawing a strand of your hair blowing in the wind, your face frozen in a smile staring back at him through the canvas of his sketchbook.

It hits him then, the realization, the heart-wrenching clarity of what happened that leaves him sitting in his chair, staring at your face in paper and wondering where he went wrong.

He tries to distract himself by continuing his research, but his mind has a hard time focusing on what needs to be done. It’s agonizing, he doesn’t think he’s felt this way before, never even thought he’d ever feel such pain. In a way, he’s glad his master isn’t here to make a study of what emotional pain means to an artificial human like him.

He sees you two weeks after you broke up with him, laughing as you tried to haggle with a merchant for their wares, unaware of the charm you exude that draws people in like moths to a flame. But then your gaze moves, searching through the crowd—and Albedo should really leave now, avoid barging into your life because there simply isn’t a place for him there anymore—but he does none of that.

Your eyes meet. He doesn’t think he was imagining it when he saw yours dim for the briefest moment. (His heart hurts. Why are you looking at him like that?)

You make your way through the busy street to reach him. He tells himself he should leave, but for the first time in his life, he does what contradicts his logic and stays.

“You look good,” you tell him, something melancholic in the tone of your voice. Oh, if only you knew.

“You as well.” He wants to say more, wants to say how radiant you looked under the sun, the light hitting you in just the right way that has him itching to grab a pencil and immortalize the image in paper—but he holds his tongue. “I need to go.”

Your face falls. He wishes he wasn’t the cause of it. “Ah, right. You must be busy, as usual.” There isn’t a hint of bitterness to your voice, just resignation.

He leaves after bidding you goodbye, feeling the heat of your gaze at his back as he walked away.

CHILDE

He wants you and he will do everything in his power to have you back.

In the early days after you broke up, you won’t hear a word from him. Not a peep. You only hear passing news that dead monsters and hilichurl camps near the vicinity of your home have been utterly eradicated. Passing travelers claim how the areas were ‘strangely flooded’ even though it hasn’t rained in weeks.

Then come the gifts. From flowers to clothes to accessories to different delicacies that are all worth more than your entire life’s paycheck. And when that doesn’t work, Childe sets to work on his recruits.

You suddenly find yourself constantly being approached by a startling amount of Fatui recruits ranging from normal lackies to gunners to cicin mages, and even that one memorable time when a mirror maiden approached you in the middle of buying groceries and proceeded to buy everything in the store, saying all of it was for you.

The Fatui recruits had one thing in common: they all had nothing but praises to say for the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger.

“Master Childe defeated all the recruits in under ten seconds!” “Have you heard how Lord Harbinger killed twenty geovishaps and came out without a single scratch?” “I saw him buying that exact same shirt yesterday, it cost one million mora! He’s so rich!” “Lord Tartaglia has been so down lately. He keeps saying how much he misses his beloved.”

“Did you know? Even Lady Signora wept after she heard that you and Master Childe broke up.” That one, you’re certain never actually happened, and you made sure to tell that with an unimpressed look to the pyro agent who told you. As if Signora would ever cry, she’d probably throw a party for you for finally leaving Childe.

In the end, after cycling through so many recruits, he had no choice but to come to you directly.

…Which is how you woke up at six in the morning to the ground shaking and the sound of an eerily familiar laugh right outside your house.

You open your window to find Childe fighting a lawachurl right in front of your house, a ring of Fatuus surrounding and cheering him on. His smile brightens to an almost comical degree once he sees you and your bedhead squinting out from a window.

“You look so stunning today, beloved!” He steps back from an earth-shattering punch by the lawachurl. “I’ve brought you the biggest lawachurl I could find so I can show you how worthy I am of you!”

He then proceeds to—and you have to blink a few times to see if you’re not hallucinating—fist fight the lawachurl. And he’s actually winning. No vision, no weapon. Just his bare fists.

When the commotion wakes up your entire neighborhood, you have to go down there and yell at him to stop or take this fight somewhere that isn’t right in front of your house! He complies with a grin and a promise saying he’ll meet you later.

There’s something fond curling in your chest that you try and fail to smother. With an exasperated tone, you tell him that yes, you’ll find time in your busy schedule to meet him. He lights up like you just agreed to marry him and yells out rapid orders in Snezhnayan to his recruits.

“I’ll see you later!” He blows a kiss in your direction that you ignore. You turn away and walk back into your house, trying (and failing) to fight the growing smile on your face.

DILUC

It’s not evident to anyone who doesn’t know him well, but Diluc takes it close to heart and buries it among countless other regrets that have accumulated in his life. The turbulent feelings that threaten to overcome his mind at any hour of the day manifests itself in him becoming more withdrawn.

He’s gloomy, more brooding than usual, and the reason becomes apparent once the other patrons notice the lack of a certain person who usually sits by the bar during his shifts. Your usual laugh accompanied by teasing grins and playful swats at his long hair when you think no one is looking are nowhere to be seen.

One particularly drunk person had come up to him as he was wiping down the counters and asked why you weren’t there. Anyone who had been there to see the sight would tell you that he didn’t say anything, hadn’t been able to say anything. He just… stood there, hands frozen mid-motion and eyes drawn somewhere, lost in thought.

He slips up sometimes. Asks the maids to prepare a dinner for two only to stop in the middle of talking as he realizes what he just said. At breakfast, he pauses in the middle of reading his daily papers to turn his head to the right, a question on the tip of his tongue that dies when he sees the empty spot you usually occupied. It’s the pitying gazes that follow when he slips up that he hates the most.

He makes your favorite drink sometimes, on the days when he’s on shift and feeling particularly self-destructive. It stays hidden under the bar counter, hoping against hope that you’ll walk through the door and greet him with an upbeat ‘good evening!’ that makes his day all the more better. You never do.

It’s on a bright, sunny morning when he’s out overseeing the delivery of wine to the tavern that he sees you again. His heart soars for all but a second before it comes crashing down, because Diluc Ragnvindr does not deserve nice things.

You’re holding the hand of some nondescript man, grinning and laughing and emitting such a great sense of contentment that he can almost feel it from where he’s standing meters away from you.

You’re happy. It’s been months and he’s still wallowing in old hurts. You’re happy.

Did you ever smile like that when you were with him? He likes to think so, but the realistic, pessimistic thought is that you’re probably better off not being with him. You’re happy. Happier now than you were when you were with him.

Everything he’s ever loved has been hurt directly and indirectly by his hands. He turns away from the sight of you and pretends to be preoccupied with his task. Maybe it’s for the best that you left before it could happen.

KAZUHA

He tries not to take it to heart. He understands why you left, knows it before you even made the decision to leave. And in the aftermath, much like a leaf adrift in the wind, he roams about aimlessly, lost in thought.

Grief is not an emotion he’s unfamiliar with. As he sits by the cliffs overlooking the endless ocean, grief burrows its way to his chest like an old, unwelcome friend. He doesn’t fight it. He’s learned the hard way that fighting it is a losing battle, like picking at a scab, hoping that doing so will make it heal faster, yet only succeeding in worsening the wound.

Kazuha isn’t a stranger to loneliness, of letting the wind kiss his tears away as they dried on his cheeks. He is, however, unfamiliar with this new kind of ache in his chest. And only after much rumination does he conclude what it might be.

The loss of his family, the loss of his heritage, the loss of his friend, and now, the loss of his lover. A master of loss, he could almost call himself. His old friend would certainly find such a title amusing.

He finds himself writing letters to you, even with the knowledge that he’ll never be able to send them to you. It’s the thought that comforts him, the pretense that he still has someone to tell of his travels, someone to simply come home to, even when he knows he isn’t welcome anymore.

In his weakest moment, when he had too much to drink and too little self-restraint, he sends one of the letters to you. He’s forgotten whether it’s the one where he laments the loss of your presence, the one where he begs you to have him back, or the one where only three words are written, a small blot in the ink where a stray tear had fallen.

He waits, and waits, and waits a little more, staying for a whole month in the small village he’d addressed the letter from for the small, improbable event that you may have written back. He learns later on that the letter never made it to your hands. The ship it had been on had lost all its cargo to the sea, including his letter. When he heard the news, he hadn’t known whether to be relieved or lament on what could have been.

It isn’t unpleasant to see you again. Kazuha has had time to let go of his hurt, but still, the image of your nostalgia-inducing eyes leave in him a sense of loss he thought he had already settled. Your mirage smiles, “Kazuha.” Had he been a weaker man, he would have folded and swept you up in his arms.

Nobody asks why his eyes have a slight sheen to it after he forces himself to walk away from you. He stands atop the beach and lets the waves wash over his bare feet, closing his eyes and imagining what could have been had he let himself succumb to the desire of holding you one last time, even if you were merely a mirage from the past.

Truly, the golden apple archipelago is a place where dreams are made into reality.

SCARAMOUCHE

He tries to act above it all, feigning indifference as if the entire thing is just a mild inconvenience to him.

Oh, you’re leaving him? That’s fine, he doesn’t care. Do you know how many people would kill to share his bed? You were tolerable, a way to pass time. Don’t think you were anything special. You, a normal person? Don’t make him laugh. You were nothing more than a pet he kept because you entertained him. It’s good that you’re leaving, actually. It saves him the trouble of having to get rid of you.

He’s… not very kind about it all. Defensive and on guard, hackles raising with every word that comes out of his mouth. He hates every second of it, but he can’t stop because stopping is to admit defeat, it means having to acknowledge that you meant something to him after hundreds of years of loneliness. He let you in his carefully guarded walls, and now—now you’re leaving him? Abandoning him after he bared himself open to you?

You are just like her.

Scaramouche stops before he can say those last words. The red that had been threatening to overcome his vision slowly recedes, leaving a numbing sort of clarity that washes over him like the rising tides of Inazuma’s beaches. His mouth feels dry, throat closing up.

There are tears streaming down your face.

He wishes you’d do something. Hit him, yell at him, curse his name. Anything. Just… anything but this silence that hangs heavy in the air, cloying in it’s thickness and threatening to drown him with words that can never be taken back.

He doesn’t apologize, won’t ever apologize. He is a god, and not even you would make him say those damnable words. He sees the way your eyes dim in understanding as you realize the same thing, and that, perhaps, is why you turn your back to him and walk away.

He wishes he could say that he called out for you, that he grabbed your arm and made you stay, that he just… held you. Instead, he watches you leave him, face blank and a phantom ache resonating in his hollow chest. The silence after you leave feels like the night before his creator abandoned him.

He tells himself it’s fine, that you’ll come back. You always do. This is just one of many arguments that always get resolved after a day or so—except. Except, he doesn’t let himself think of any other possibility. You’ll come back. (You have to.)

The months following your absence is a blur, spikes of irritation mixed with hateful words and barbed insults directed towards anyone who so much as breathed the wrong way. His subordinates are half-contemplating desertion just to escape his wrath. They all wonder where you’ve gone. You’re usually the one who soothes the Balladeer when he’s in one of his moods, like the godsend that you are. Though none of them are brave enough to mention your name after what he did to the foolish recruit who asked of your whereabouts.

Years pass. You never did come back.

He still gets the occasional reports about you and your general wellbeing, still sends out his best soldiers to clear out any monsters who’ve settled near your home. You never find anyone else after him. It brings a strange sense of relief in him when his monthly reports on you end up without a hint of a new lover.

He tries to forget you, but even with a new heart and the ascendance to godhood, there is still a lingering sense of loss and past regrets.

XIAO

He lets you go without argument. He’s used to people leaving him, but this is… different.

The thought of you there, physically within reach yet unable to to cross the distance that separates you from him. It’s a different kind of agony from the ones that have afflicted him for millennia.

He sometimes finds himself standing by the balcony of Wangshu Inn, eyes roaming over the vast landscape of Dihua Marsh, looking for the slightest hint of your silhouette. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs always attracts his attention, anticipating your signature greeting and the smell of whatever mortal sustenance you’ve deigned to make for him to, as you once put it, let him experience the delicacies that this world has to offer.

You can’t call yourself ‘having lived a long life’ if you haven’t tried all the tasty food, Xiao!

…He misses you, though he will never admit it, perhaps not even to Rex Lapis himself.

His time—which once consisted of you, killing monsters, you again, roaming the lands for the remains of old gods, tasting whatever you cooked for him, and accompanying you so you can get home safely—is now comprised of nothing but endless slaughter. He tells himself it’s not a distraction, but it’s a thinly veiled excuse, weak even to his own ears. How low he has fallen to create such feeble excuses to justify the hurt that spreads from his chest to the tips of his fingers.

He used to pick up small things and trinkets in his time scouring the land for evil. A shiny pebble that reminded him of your eyes, a particularly large sweetflower that you would gape comically at once he showed you, qingxin flowers he plucked from the highest mountains just so he can see the way your face lights up in a smile. He still does all these things, only now, the objects are stored in a realm made in the likeness of your home, placing each one in a shelf or table that he thinks you would have arranged them in.

One time, he panics when he sees the flowers start to wilt, and in the heat of the moment, he placed adeptal power in them to ensure they will never die. To this day, he isn’t sure why he did so, only that he imagined at the time how upset you would be that they died in his care, even though he knows how unlikely it is that you will ever discover his hobby of collecting flowers and storing them in his realm.

Perhaps he hopes you’ll come back to him, so that when you do, he can see the way your eyes brighten up once he shows you everything he got for you while you were away.

It’s unlikely, he knows, but it’s nice to dream of it. He thinks his siblings would be proud to see him finally have a little hope for something.

VENTI

He spends the rest of the week in the tavern drinking as much as he can. For once, Diluc doesn’t try to reproach him for drinking what he can’t pay for.

He doesn’t exactly get drunk—can’t get drunk, more like. To a god like him, drinking a hundred barrels of Mondstadt’s finest wines won’t even be enough to get him tipsy. He is the god of freedom (and wine, he’d like to add), he can outdrink every single one of the archons and still have enough semblance to go to war. And yet…

You appear on the seventh day like a salvation, face contorted in worry when you see him slumped on the counter and one inch away from falling off the stool. It isn’t difficult to act the part of a drunken bard, pretending to sway on his feet and donning a fake intoxicated grin as he asked Charles for another glass.

The wind tells him of your arrival, but he ignores it just as he ignores the way his heart soars when the wind brings him the barest hint of your scent. He wishes you didn’t come here. He wishes he didn’t act so drunkenly. He wishes you were more heartless and ignored whoever must have tattled on him drinking Angel’s Share into bankruptcy.

You call his name. He pretends he’s asleep just so he doesn’t have to face his problems. Ha. How ironic. Will he wake up to Mondstadt destroyed by the remains of Khaenri’ah this time? He nearly did once.

He hears you sigh before he feels you bring his arm across your shoulders. You help him get off the stool, an arm around his waist to help keep him steady. The weight of Diluc’s disapproving gaze for deceiving you about his drunkenness is heavy, but he tells himself it’s alright. He just… wants to be selfish for once. If he has to act drunk to feel your arms around him again, he’ll suffer this humiliation as many times as he can.

“Venti,” you start as you walk him in the direction of your home. “I was worried, you know. Aether told me how much you’d been drinking since…” You trail off. He feels you shaking your head before continuing, “Just… don’t be so reckless with your health.” You laugh, mildly sardonic that’s directed more towards yourself than him. “Ah, what am I saying… you won’t even have any recollection of this tomorrow anyway.”

He wants to say something, but saying something means breaking this moment between you, it means revealing that he doesn’t actually need your help because once he starts speaking, the dam will break and everything will come spilling out. I’m sorry, I miss you, I love you.

The front door to your house opens. He’s gently placed down your couch, a blanket thrown over him as you thoughtfully take his shoes off for him. He feels you linger by his side, can practically hear the conflict in you.

He’s unprepared for the feeling of your warm breath on his skin, your lips hovering over his face before placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight, Venti.”

He leaves before the sun rises.

ZHONGLI

He only smiles, small and understanding with a hint of sorrow at the corner of his eyes.

He tells you he’ll respect your decision, but should you change your mind, he will always be here. You say it’s doubtful, he would’ve probably found someone else by then. Zhongli doesn’t correct you, only leans in and places his lips on the top of your head, as gentle as he’s always been with you, somehow managing to convey with a single gesture how high he holds you in regard.

And for the barest, infinitesimal moment, you half-contemplate the idea of staying. It’s a wishful thought. You end up leaving before you can change your mind.

He’s still as grounded as ever, but there’s a fragility to it, a certain brittleness that threatens to crumble from within him. He is the Lord of Geo, and yet he is so easily undone by you. The pain is temporary, he knows from past losses, but it doesn’t lessen the ache that resonates in his chest.

For the first time in his long life, he curses his golden memory that makes him incapable of forgetting, though that which he curses is also something he is grateful for. He can’t bear having to suffer losing the memories of your time together.

Your relationship is amiable, like that of old, awkward friends you had fallen out of touch with rather than that of old lovers. It’s what you wanted after all, this sense of normalcy. He has become such a vital part of your daily life that you simply couldn’t cut him off of your life entirely.

He doesn’t know which is worse; having to act as a mere friend when he wants nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and never let go, or to have no contact with you at all.

Morax is not one to ask for things, not one to plead his case to anyone. He was a selfish and proud god, a necessity that was shaped from him by the war. To love a mortal enough to leave his throne and fake his death would have been unthinkable. But that is why he is no longer Morax. He is Zhongli.

And Zhongli? He wants you. Desperately. Enough that he is willing to beg should you ask it of him.

His deceased enemies would laugh in mockery at what has become of the fearsome Morax. How low he has fallen—but it is a burden he is willing to bear. He will suffer as many humiliations as it takes to have you back.

The only issue is that you don’t want him anymore. But he is a man who finds gold where others would see stone. If he has to build his way up from friendship all over again, then it is a task he will do so gladly. As many times as it takes for you to want him back.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #xiao x reader #venti x reader #zhongli x reader #gn reader

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sepptember · 2 months

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𝐃𝐄𝐖𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑 :: miles morales

pairing :: miles morales x gn!reader.

content warning(s) :: none!

sypnosis :: miles is spending the evening with you, the tv playing in the background. he decides you look pretty on paper. requested here.

word count :: 0.587k

Miles loves rainy days, but he loves them more with you—the soft hum of your tv playing as your fairy lights add a soft warmth to your bedroom, the rain drumming against the window.

You look beautiful, undone for the night, wearing the matching pajamas you insisted on buying the both of you. He loves seeing you relaxed. He loves the calm you bring after a long day that he melts into. He loves you.

And maybe that's what compels him to grab his sketchbook from his backpack, taking out his pencils and markers. He takes in the details of your face, following the edges of your nose, your eyes glowing in the reflection of your lights and the tv. He copies every one of them on the paper. You occupy numerous pages in his sketchbook already—what’s wrong with another?

It's rough at first, a loose sketch of the more vague pieces of you and the window in the background. Miles takes in the different colors, the warmth of the room bouncing off your skin, and the changing colors of the scenes, and he mimics them with his pencils and markers.

Miles steals you from the world. He swiftly curls your image into his fingers and lays you flat on the paper, carefully tucking you away before the world can steal you back. He will have that peaceful picture of you forever, and Miles wants the world to be jealous of that. He wants it to envy him for being able to keep that exact moment of you forever because the world only got it for a second.

The show is a few more episodes in when he finishes—you've changed positions, your head resting on your mountain of stuffed animals and blankets, but he still managed to copy you perfectly.

“Miles,” You say, his eyes moving from his sketchbook and up to you. Your eyes are slightly droopy, your voice just slightly a grumble. “What're you drawing?”

The way you say drawing makes him feel like a kindergartener with crayons. Suddenly, his art has become a scribbled stick figure. “Just a doodle.”

“Can I see?” You ask, and it feels like it'd be illegal to say no—even though he knows you'd completely understand if you did. He hands you the open book with a hint of embarrassment. He's sketched you so many times before but rarely shows them to you. He worries you'll think they're terrible.

You grab it as if it will tear at the seams if you're not delicate, but you beam when you finally see the page. You pull it onto your lap, taking in every little detail, completely mesmerized in a way Miles wasn't expecting.

“Oh my god,” You say, the smile growing, and Miles wants to copy that onto paper, too. “This is amazing, Miles. Really.”

He can't help the way he smiles at your compliment. It's an ego booster, almost. His parents have showered him with comments about his creativity, but they've never affected him much because they're his parents. Yet when you say it, it's something completely different. He values your opinion and cradles every comment you have close to his heart. “Do you have more? Not one of me! Just more art you'd be okay with letting me see.”

“You can flip through all of it. I don't mind.” He says, scooting closer to you. You grin again, and he swears it's the prettiest thing in the world, and he knows it will look just as pretty on paper.

reblogs > likes!! thank you for reading. <3 requests are open!

#august writes.#miles morales :: august edition.#miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #atsv x y/n #miles morales x y/n #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x you #atsv x reader #atsv x you #itsv x reader #miles morales imagine

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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Eddie, your boyfriend, and you discussing having a threesome at some point. And then he offers you a threesome with Chrissy. You get confused like does Eddie wanna sleep with Chrissy? I just thought they were friends? But then he explains babe, Chrissy wants to sleep with YOU. She, like, is always telling him how pretty you are

You were only eager to explore the idea of a threesome with Eddie until he had a name already locked and loaded for your third party. You thought you'd scout a bar together, or rope one of your friends' friends into a one-time test that would determine whether 'the more the merrier' applied to sex. But when Eddie responds to your initial proposal with a quick nod, and a, 'Chrissy?' you start rethinking your offer.

"Uh," You flounder, stomach starting to churn, "I guess- maybe? I thought you two were just friends."

"We are," He nods, still absent-minded until his brain catches up with him. Then he's dropping his pen onto the scribbled doodle he'd been sketching, looking up at you with wide eyes pooled with understanding.

"Wait, wait, wait, not like that." He reaches for your hands, and you hear him out with dread still pooling in your stomach.

"We are just friends," He assures you, pretty brown eyes dripping with sincerity behind his long lashes, "But she likes you. She talks about you all the time. At first she was just, like, asking me how you were doing when she saw me and stuff. But then she came to my van to pick something up," He clears his throat, politely leaving the name of whatever drugs she was buying out of your conversation, "-and out of the corner of my eye I saw her slip something into her pocket. I only realized later, when you couldn't find it, that it was your lip gloss that you keep in the cupholder. And when I saw her again she was wearing it, now it's the only thing she wears."

You mull the information over a bit, deep in thought. Then, in a quiet voice, "That doesn't mean she wants to have sex with me, Eddie."

"That's... not all of it." He admits, raising a hand to scratch at his hair, "I tried to be casual about it. I said the stuff she was wearing looked like yours. And she got all red, started talking about how pretty the color was. I was starting to get a little suspicious, but I really couldn't tell if she was after me or you, y'know?"

You nod, and he squeezes your hands tighter.

"Then the next time I sold stuff to her, she asked about you again. I teased her a bit, asked if she just wanted to come over and see you. She heated up again, started smoothing out her skirt and messing with her shirt, asking if I meant 'right now?'. That's when I figured it out."

"I kinda elbowed her, y'know?" Eddie mimics the gesture, rocking his body to one side, "And I said 'Holy shit, you've got a thing for my girlfriend!'.

"No!" Chrissy stammers, shaking her head so that her ponytail bounces, "No, Eddie, that's- I would never do that to you!"

I don't blame you," Eddie shrugs, a smug smirk on his face, "I've got a thing for her too."

"I think she's really pretty." Chrissy admits, eyes wide and glued to her feet, "But that's- she's your girlfriend! And I know it's not fair, I- I'm really sorry, Eddie."

"Really," He laughs, knocking his shoulder into hers, "It's fine. I know you won't try anything. Hell, you're so sweet you'd pr'y come crying to me feeling guilty before you'd even made a move. You are not a cheater, I know that."

"Thing is," Eddie picks away a smear of nail polish that's stuck in the crease of your finger, "Now that I know, she won't shut up about you. She just talks and talks and talks, all day long, about how pretty she thinks you are, how lucky I am, and I don't really disagree."

"That's.. crazy." You shake your head, not because you're upset, but because you're surprised. You've interacted with the girl before, and she's been almost unbearably sweet, but you hadn't thought anything of it. You'd heard only good things about her, so you just assumed her saccharine demeanor was the default. You have to say, thinking about the starry-eyed girl having a puppy crush on you is making your heart beat just a bit faster.

"Well, all I'm saying is, she's a willing candidate. We'd have to break our 'no kissing' rule, though," Eddie grins, "I think she wants to give back some of that lip gloss she snatched."

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