#x fat reader
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Doctor, Doctor, please listen!
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!reader
Cw; Tension (I tried), cursing, the smallest physical description of reader in the last portion (just mentions their stomach going over their pants), reader has scars from previous cases, rivals to lovers?, lmk if i'm missing smth
Summary: 3 times you called him doctor, 3 times he wonders why.
Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but I don't really ever describe their bodies that much cause it's x READER and every body has a different body <3
WC: 3,596
I am literally so obsessed with criminal minds somebody save my soul
OBLIVOUS IDIOTS WHO WANT EACH OTHER MY BELOVED.
Title from mad hatter by Melanie Martinez don't even @ me for that
1.
“...she will be an important part of making your team function quicker. We fought hard to get her here. I ask that you all treat her with respect and not make me intervene.”
Strauss finished her introductory spiel with a familiar “mom-glare” towards the team, walking away once she finished her speech. Unfortunately, her departure left you standing alone in front of the most intimidating man you’ve ever seen and four of his team members. You had been practically still until now. You hated the pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, causing a general freeze response to the stress of a new team. Fawn, you thought, the newest addition to the fight or flight categories and also the lovely thing forcing you to practically disassociate in front of your new boss and co-workers.
“Welcome, Dr. L/N. We’ve heard good things. I’m Aaron Hotchner, I supervise the team.” He was leaning on the table before he stepped forward to shake your hand as he spoke. “This is Emily Prentiss, Jenifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid.” He pointed towards the corresponding people as he spoke of them. “Agent Rossi is away right now, and you’ll meet our T.I. later…she’s been excited.” If you hadn’t been good at your job, you’re sure you would have missed the way his lips turned up slightly at the edges when mentioning the woman. He didn’t seem so scary anymore, more like a father of the team. You’d been expecting a drill sergeant - your last team leader could have given a bull a run for it’s money with how much aggression that guy had. You welcomed the rush of excitement you felt at the discovery, mentally shaking off the stiffness you were carrying.
“I’m happy to be here, sir. I’ve heard good things about the team, too. Your boss seems to think highly of your capabilities.” You addressed the room as you spoke. Public speaking was a skill you were still trying to master, so you practiced whenever you could.
Your statement earned a chuckle from the table. Nobody bothered to explain the reason. You figured it was too much history to sum up on the spot. Your eyes wanted to linger on Reid. He seemed so young, and you wondered if he’d been told that his entire career - lord knows you had too. A fellow doctor. You assumed he was a bit of a stickler about the title, as even his boss kept it tacked onto his name when introducing him. You’d originally hoped to find some comfort in the man, on the surface he seemed a lot like you. He was probably too smart for his own good as well. Given the way he was staring at you, though, you felt the realization sink in that the man had no intention of welcoming you.
“Why exactly do we need another profiler?” His voice held no malice as he spoke in the direction of his boss. There was more curiosity in his voice than anything, however you did pick up on the sense of superiority that sat just beneath the surface of his words. You guessed that’s how he behaved generally - as though he was superior. Still, your head tilted slightly to the side at the question.
Damn. Tough crowd.
You saw the intake of breath in Hotchner as he prepared to defend your place here but you spoke before he could start. “While I am a profiler, sir, first and foremost I am a psychiatrist - a doctor. As I’m sure you heard from Strauss, the board is unhappy with your recent efficiency rates and would also like to aid your team in dealing with mental health crises. I’ve spent my entire life studying the effects and conditions of the mentally diseased brain. I’ll be able to tell you the most efficient and effective way of interacting with these individuals, along with more accurately predicting their actions and methodology. I’m an agent, I took the same oath everyone here did but I was brought here for my expertise.” You were on a bit of a tangent, you knew that, but something about the smug feel of the man forced an emergence of competitiveness. He looked at you so indifferent, and you couldn’t help the tiny sparks of anger lighting beneath your skin. You kept a friendly disposition towards the man - you were a professional, after all, not a teenager - but you sensed a rivalry sprouting it’s roots.
The others at the table suppressed their smiles or looked down to hide it. Nobody had ever challenged Spencer like that. They could all feel he was a tad bit territorial. He was the guy people went to when they needed to know something. He was the Doctor of the group. They didn’t think he would take too kindly to another one encroaching his land. They saw the way he was tense, even more so after you responded. It was a riveting sight, though. The lot of them saw Spencer as a younger brother, and him meeting his match was something they were all so excited to see.
“Play nice, pretty boy.” Derek muttered to him, Spencer was slightly slouched in his chair now, not losing sight of you. Derek followed suit, turning his attention towards you. “We’re glad to have you, Doctor. We’ve spoken about an addition like you before, I’m glad to see the higher ups finally listened. I look forward to working with you - excuse me.” He left once his phone rang.
The others took his exit as an excuse for their own, everyone giving you a warm welcome as they left. You reciprocated happily, telling everyone they could just call you by your first name, never having been one for titles. ‘There’s one difference.’ You thought, even your internal dialogue was bitter. Aside from him, there was a warmth here that you had been desperate to find in your last team. If you had to work passive aggressively with one uptight man in exchange for a team like this - you were going to take that deal.
He refused to leave it seemed. He just sat looking inquisitively at the table, occasionally extending his stare to look at you before returning. How did you two end up alone in this room?
“Are you gonna have a problem with me, Doctor?” You shifted slightly on your feet. A notoriously nervous sign, one he definitely picked up on.
He stared again. It was his mind that kept him rooted in his seat. You were fucking alluring. He’d never met someone so like himself in his line of work. He was being a dick and he knew it but it seemed to be instinctual - some type of precaution, maybe. He didn’t know why you were being so respectful. Doctor. God, he didn’t know if the title had ever sounded so good being directed at him. His frustration only rose as he thought on the issue more. He wasn’t welcoming, it would be so easy to drop the formality, something he knew you knew would get on his nerves. But you didn’t. It didn’t seem like a question of dignity. You didn’t seem like the type to refuse a little pettiness - he sure wasn’t the type either. A thought stirred, an unsafe one he wanted to squash immediately but one he also couldn’t help but lean into. Did you want a power imbalance?
“No.” He stood abruptly, obviously still focused on the thoughts in his head. “Welcome to the team.” He addressed you one last time and then walked out of the room.
You followed shortly after, ready to make home on your couch and be done with being the newbie for the day. Your stress would follow you home, though, as the last thing you heard before you left the building was “Oh my god they’re perfect for each other.”
2.
The first few weeks were always the hardest. This was something you knew and were prepared for but it did nothing to calm your nerves. You’d been on countless missions having worked this job for a while now, but this was an entirely new dynamic to learn. You were an outsider for the first time in four years and it was scary. This case was shaping up to be a rough one, too. A man was having delusions telling him to kill. An extremely rare manifestation of his Schizophrenia, only elevated by the newly acquired aspect of him being an insomniac.
Spencer hadn’t ceased being headstrong in cases either. Every time you wanted to help he made it his mission to overcompensate in order to snuff you out. On the contrary, he’d warmed up to you a little. It wasn’t major, he barely held any positive feelings toward you, but barely was better than not at all, so you coped. You two had managed a couple small talk conversations outside the battle of one-upping that you were currently losing. You absolutely hated it, but you liked him. You liked him a lot, actually. You don’t know when in the past few days that anger morphed into fondness but it had shifted hard. The casual dominance he exuded drew you in like a porchlight lures a moth. You doubted the opposite proved true for him, and that stung. You came to enjoy the banter, the competition, even if you were always playing the losing hand. It was the only way to get his undivided attention and the feeling of his eyes on you started to follow you home.
You thought a lot about how you could get the relationship to pivot into something better. You didn’t want to be the girl he bickered with at work. You didn’t know what it was you wanted but you knew that your current fate sounded horrid. He was an ass, though, and he did not make it easy to admit those feelings. Every time he undermined you, you grew more attached and also more angry at yourself for doing so. It was because he’s so much like you, you thought. You knew from the way he interacted with his team that he wasn’t a cold guy, didn’t hold malice towards people for no reason. He needs time. He needs to know you, and God how badly you wanted to know him.
You had sustained good relations with everyone the past few weeks you’ve been here. Meeting Garcia and Rossi had been a treat - both of them being delightful company. You’d heard them whispering about you and Spencer when they thought you weren’t around. The whole team seems to think that you’re basically fated to be together. It was unnerving how comforting that thought was to you. You hoped they were right.
Spencer hoped they were right too. He’d heard the same whispers you had, chastising the team when he got the chance as if he didn’t think about you every moment he could. His eyes seemed to naturally land on you if you were around. He watched you walk around the bureau more and more lately, enjoying the gained confidence in your step as you cemented your place in the team. The sway of your hips or the swing of your arms. You mesmerized him no matter what you did. One time he got so caught up in his thoughts of you that Prentiss had to check he wasn’t having a silent panic attack. He clung to his sense of resentment, tried so hard to remind himself of the feelings he had when he first met you - you were beautiful, of course you were - but you were on claimed land and he was anything but eager for you to make home on it. That had faded fast, seeing how kind you were, scrambling to help and earn respect from everyone. The only reason he kept up the act of “man who wants you gone” was so that he could keep talking to you. Spencer was a genius but he didn’t know how to handle someone like you. He’d been interested in girls before, hell he’d had girlfriends before but it had never felt like this in such little time. Such intense infatuation was crippling for someone who’s brain worked in patterns - this was new ground for him.
“Everybody suit up. We have Foster’s location and we need to move quickly. He’s going after the source of his rage and we don’t have time to spare.” Hotch came down the stairs two at a time, spurring the team into action.
“This man is highly dangerous but also highly deluded. The cases I’ve read similar to this say it’s best to speak gently. He’s sick but he can be reasoned with.” Spencer pulls from his memory as he sets his ‘FBI’ vest into place on his chest.
“No, not this time. This man is too severe, his mind is too far gone. If these hallucinations of his are strong enough for him to touch them it’ll be extremely easy for him to rearrange or imagine your words differently. You need to be loud, direct, and assertive. Speak as little as possible. The quieter you are, the easier it will be for him to change what you’re saying in his head.” You also spoke while putting your vest on. You didn’t carry a weapon - a personal vow of yours, as you were more than classified to - so there were no holsters to fill. The contradictions between the two doctors of the team made everyone hesitate even though they lacked the time to do so.
Spencer looked at you, slightly out of breath from working so quickly. “You’re questioning my memory?”
“I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor. I’m questioning your sources. There’s a higher risk level if we do what you’re suggesting. Let me do my job.” You made the final adjustments to your attire as you finished speaking. You returned his eye contact for just a beat too long, letting the others rush out of the building while you stood your ground, the two of you begrudgingly following after them a moment later.
You had been assigned a different car than him for the ride over. ‘Thank God’ was the only thing you could think when you saw him heading to the other SUV. After another confrontation - another public one, at that - you weren’t sure you could handle being pressed leg to leg with him in the backseat. Your words were a looping record in his head as he rode towards Foster. They were about to attempt a hostage negotiation with a man seeing people who weren’t there but all he could think about was that fucking word you refused to drop.
I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor
You had to be doing this on purpose, he thought. He originally believed this had started because you knew stripping him of his beloved title would cause irritation. Now he suspected you knew how badly he wanted his name in your mouth and this was your way of torturing him. ‘It’s working.’ He thought. God was it working. He agreed with his team, you were perfect for him. You had knowledge to match his, kept him on his toes. One time the start of a ramble slipped through his “I don’t like you” façade and he felt his heart speed up at the genuine interest that roused in your eyes. You wanted to know him and he was an idiot for all the shit he was doing.
He wasn’t surprised when your strategy worked and Ben Foster was taken into custody. You were the one to talk him down, and if you hadn’t already been accepted to the team, he knew then and there that they needed you. You were flawless. He knew you’d been doing this as long as he had and it showed. He pleaded with himself to stay focused, zeroed in on the weight of the gun in his hand to save face. His mind never left you, though, much like his eyes. This was the expertise you spoke of - no wonder they fought hard to get you here.
“You were excellent in there.” It was just the two of you now. Even in the dull, flashing police lights, you were breathtaking. “Good job.” He said. Then he walked away because he was on the brink of kissing you and didn’t feel like breaking about 18 workplace rules while at the scene of a crime. You wouldn’t have been complaining if he did.
3.
Every time something like this happened it was difficult to remind yourself that not carrying a weapon was a choice you made willingly. You were currently sitting in the back of an open ambulance, about to be hoisted onto a stretcher and driven to the ER for stitches. You’ve been with the BAU for almost 3 months now and have miraculously managed to avoid injury in that time. This had been one of the easier cases. No chases or clues to follow, just a sick man who left a fairly obvious paper trail. You were the speaker on almost all cases. You were in charge of de-escalating a situation, making sure the bomb didn’t blow. You’ve never carried a weapon, always preferring to take the wounds of a job over using a gun to back up your words. You were a psychiatrist, you wanted to make people better, not vilify them. It worked, usually. People did tend to trust you more when you were unarmed. This time, though, it got you stabbed.
It wasn’t a bad injury, the blood had already stopped and was mildly dry by the time Spencer was joining you. Just one more scar to your collection. It was to the side of your quad, missing any artery by miles and just serving as a pain source at this point. A little numbing and some stitches and you’d be right as rain is what the doctor in the ambulance had said.
“What happened?” He spoke softly to you. There wasn’t a rivalry between you two, not really. The banter hadn’t stopped, but it changed. It was playful and actually fun now. The both of you weren’t obsessed with outdoing the other anymore. Some casual boastfulness and a budding friendship is where you were at with him currently.
“I got stabbed.”
“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”
He exhaled like he couldn’t comprehend the stupidity of your answer. You laughed at that. One enjoyable pastime you’d picked up in the past month was trying to bewilder him. The EMT said he needed to check the rest of your body for injury despite your protest of such a procedure. It was typical and you knew that, but you held onto the fear of your own body that middle school gave you. There was a man you liked here, and the thought of him seeing the bit of stomach that hung outside the waistline of your pants scared you more than you thought it would. You forced yourself to be rational in spite of this. It was Spencer, you wanted to be seen by him.
“Holy shit.”
You chuckled at that. You forgot that maybe a warning was in order for the amount of scars that littered your stomach.
“Probably should have told you about those.” There were dozens. You amassed a countless amount of scars over the course of your job. Stab wounds, bullet grazes, burn marks. Unsubs, as much as you tried to empathize, were often violent at the end of the day and usually lashed out before they could be helped.
He was staring - well, gazing more like. Not like someone stares at a car accident on the freeway but instead how someone stares at the moon - awe. He was in awe of you. Your strength, your courage, the fact that you went through all these individual events and still chose not to arm yourself. Some of these were in places that could have been fatal, and he thanked whatever entity may be listening that you persevered, begged them to continue that streak. He crashed hard into the desire to touch you, to run his hands over what little of your past he could see. He wondered if you would let him. If you’d fit into his palms the way he thought you would - if that was something you even wanted. The EMT was gone by now, having moved to the passenger seat for the ride to the hospital.
“Could I - " He hesitated for a moment, this was definitely the wrong question to ask. “Can I touch you?”
Your eyes glazed over slightly. Jesus. You felt your lips part a little.
“You want to?” Genuine surprise. You didn’t think you looked particularly desirable in your current state. He wanted to touch your fucking scars. Who does he think he is?
“Please.” He was looking at you in a way you hadn’t seen before. His eyes were glazed over too. You held his eyes as you nodded. The heat was so stifling that you laughed just a little at the tension.
“Fucking hell, Spence.”
Blood shot to his ears when you said his name. It had been well worth the wait to hear you say it like that - breathy and confused and so fucking pretty that he wondered how he ever lived before you said it.
“Will you tell me about them?” He was breathy too, but he wouldn’t have you here, not like this. He just needed to feel you.
“I’ll tell you anything you want, Doc.”
His hands were warm. It wouldn’t be the last time you felt them.
#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#x reader#x chubby reader#x fat reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds x reader#fanfiction#suggestive#spencer reid x chubby reader#spencer reid x fat reader#spencer reid x plus size reader#plus size reader#comet: SR
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Been thinking heavily about Luffy being obsessed with cuddling a fat!reader...like ugh he thinks you're so soft and squishy, he loves joking around and calling you his teddy bear (despite any of your objections to the title- seriously he won't listen, he'll just smile and talk about how he thinks it's a cute nickname). His arms stretch completely around your waist, securing his position with a strong grip and with his face buried into your chest or tummy.
Once he's asleep, Luffy is knocked out cold. His grip doesn't falter, no amount of movement or noise can wake him up. The most you'll get from him is the pirate captain nuzzling into you deeper. Another thing you've learned about him is that Luffy's affections don't stop when his eyes are closed. Quite often he catches you off guard with small kisses to your exposed skin, a satisfied hum emits from his throat when he feels you jump in surprise. Bring it up to him once he wakes up and he just shrugs like it's nothing.
"Okay? You make a good pillow, how can I not!"
#this feels so cringe but 👁️👁️#monkey d. luffy#monkey d. luffy x reader#one piece#one piece x reader#x fat reader#x chubby reader#x plus size reader#opla luffy#opla luffy x reader#opla x reader
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A/N: I'm at a cafe and I literally can't stop thinking about fat!reader catching the eye of Gaz while ordering a drink so BEAR WITH ME OKAY
Currently picturing Gaz scoping out an area for a mission, wishing he had a dark coffee to keep him warm so he wanders into the nearest cafe. It's crowded, soft music playing from the speakers and pop art hanging from the walls and his eyes wander the throng of people - and then he sees you in the long line, layered up to your neck to keep out the cold, waiting patiently for a drink to warm your bones. He quietly slips behind you in line, unable to stop staring at the way your cheeks are reddened from the cold and how your soft stomach spills over your jeans, the way your jacket flatters your larger figure so well. He's immediately enamored, and when you give the barista at the counter your order, he orders the exact same thing so he can run up and "accidentally" grab your drink instead of his when they call them out. He pretends to be embarrassed and apologizes as your hands brush the same paper cup, and then flashes a charming smile and comments about how "you have great taste in beverages, love".
He asks for your name and if you'd like to sit down, and by the end of the hour he knows your name, your number, where you work, what you do for fun. He decides as he walks you out of the cafe, that an overwhelmingly sweet latte was a small price to pay in order to meet a gorgeous, soft thing such as yourself.
#ram writes#kyle gaz garrick#kyle gaz garrick x reader#x gn!reader#x fat reader#x chubby reader#x plus size reader#cod mw#cod mw x reader#cod mwii x reader#kyle gaz garrick fluff#kyle gaz garrick x gn!reader#x gender neutral reader
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just thinking about an "overprotective husband mode" with a chubby wife who wants him not to mind some motherfuckers but he'll just make them eat shit when she's not looking.
another concept i love is the one that she doesn't stop biting back everything he says, with a damn smart little mouth, but when other people say she doesn't snap back and damn... he'll do it for her then. in the worst possible way.
bakugou, toji, sukuna, atsumu, gojo, tsukishima, gueto, kageyama, suna
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Steel Magnolia
Ch 1| I don't mix business and pleasure
Pairing| Soap x Honey Rating| Eventual Smut Word Count| 1.4k Content/Warnings| The author is an American attempting to write a Scottish accent (I'm still dialing it in, RIP. If any of my readers are Scottish and wanna beta hmu lmao). Honey is one of those Reader/OC hybrid characters where it is established she is a southern American, plus sized nurse who is on the shorter side but has no other physical descriptors and should read as POC friendly (if I miss something, lemme know!) I have been wanting to write this for a hot minute and always was going to have the dialogue "I'm going to marry her", so seeing @glitterypirateduck have "I'm going to marry you" as one of the prompt options for Soap It Up pretty much solidified that I needed to have my first chapter for Steel Magnolia line up for the challenge!
This chapter is SFW but I am an MDNI account
Soap has an ever mounting suspicion that these blood drives are just an excuse to give the baby nurses more practice sticking people.
Like many in the military, he doesn’t consider himself a hard stick. All the time in the gym paired with a routine schedule on base, he and many other soldiers typically get nurses drooling over his veins like the weird little vampires that they are.
Lucky him- he’s got one of the FNGs, a skittish mess who seems terrified if he looks at her too long even though she’s the one with the damn 17g needle and he’s the one that’s got to sit there and take it.
A group of soldiers on the way out had been bitching and moaning about how the charge nurse was a raging cunt, and given how those soldiers were Americans, that has a bit more teeth to it than coming from someone more local.
He’s not entirely positive which one of the nurses is the alleged fire breathing dragon, but it’s fairly obvious which are the more senior nurses. Which only further reinforces his suspicions about being used as a pin cushion.
Soap’s a model patient as she scrubs his arm with the antiseptic. Even though he’s had worse happen in the line of duty, he still isn’t a fan of having a needle shoved into his arm.
He sits like a statue as she ties the tourniquet around his arm. Takes a sharp inhale and lets it out as she goes to stick him.
There’s no flashback, and the needle bites.
Fucking great.
He and the FNG both stare at the butterfly like the flashback will magically appear, Soap flexing his fingers in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort in his arm despite the logical part of his brain knowing that’s not how it works.
What the hell.
“‘S supposed to be stinging like that, nurse?” He asks, really as a prompt to make her do something to reposition the needle. He’s mindful of his tone.
The FNG blanches, like his words have dragged her back to the world of the living. She pulls the needle back before advancing forward again.
Nothing, again, but the bite from the needle stings even worse this time and he doesn’t totally manage to stifle the pained hiss that escapes.
Her nerves seem totally shot at this point, like she’s bracing for Soap to snap at her before turning in search of one of the more experienced nurses (which, in his defense, Soap does not believe he’s done anything to warrant that response). “Honey? Can I borrow you for a second?”
The nurse in question turns her head at the sound of her name and suddenly Soap is not at all concerned about the sting in his arm.
He can’t help that he’s got a type and it’s impossible to miss how she checks all the boxes appearance wise. He’s always been a sucker for a pretty face and a wide ass; given that Honey had been facing away from them, he’s got an excellent view of both when she reacts to her name being called. What can he say? He’s always had a soft spot for big soft girls
As she strides towards Soap and the FNG, he can tell by the look on her face that she’s already trying to judge the situation.
Maybe this is the nurse that got the American soldiers riled up (perhaps they had riled her up by snapping at the skittish FNG- all conjecture, but seems plausible enough to him). She’s more than welcome to give Soap that sharp eyed, cutting expression whenever.
Christ he hasn’t even said a word to her and he’s already got it bad.
“What’s up?” Honey asks and Soap thinks he hears a southern drawl but the two words aren’t entirely enough to confirm that theory. Definitely American though.
“His vein keeps rolling and I can’t get it. I don’t want to go fishing, can you get it?”
“Well I can always try,” she answers before reaching up for the station behind them for sanitizer and gloves. Definitely southern.
“Scooch,” she kindly instructs the FNG before stepping into her place beside Soap.
He knows he’s staring (there’s also a part of him keyed in to the fact that Ghost is watching from the next chair over) and he needs to act like a normal fucking person.
“I’m Honey, I’m one of the nurses. Let’s see if we can’t get this needle where it’s supposed to be, hm?” She introduces herself before feeling on his arm, the FNG hovering over her.
“Sounds like a plan tae me, bonnie,” Soap says, deciding immediately that he could happily listen to her talk for hours.
Her attention shifts to the FNG, and given how she’s got a hold of the wings of the needle he decides to let her work in peace.
“See how I've got these fingers placed like this? You wanna make sure you’ve got it anchored good so it doesn’t roll on ya,” she instructs while positioning herself.
“Then we’ll just pull back and adjust the angle real quick and-“ To her credit, he can barely feel the needle moving as she slides the bevel right where it's supposed to be, “there. Good flashback. Check it and hook him up.”
Clearly she managed to get the needle placed as his blood damn near shoots down the tubing when they let up on the twist to check it.
“Alrighty then,” she pauses, eyes flicking to where his name is on the screen before reading it out, “Sergeant MacTavish, you are ready to roll.”
He decides immediately he likes hearing her say his name and wants to hear it again.
“My friends call me Soap,” he informs her, sensing she’s likely going to wander off and wanting to continue the conversation.
The snort that escapes her is adorable. “How on earth did you end up with that as a nickname?”
It’s a question he often gets when he introduces himself. Soap is such a funny name and it’s all fun and games until he tells people “It’s cause Ah clean house.”
Of course, he’s learned to be very deliberate in how he announces that tidbit, and he’s mindful of it now. Gotta be careful when pointing out that he’s good at eliminating an obstacle. Usually giving his best smile and a disproportionately bright tone helps deflect from the implication of his answer.
Her expression quickly morphs to one of fair enough, although he’s still not quite ready to end the conversation and prompts her to keep talking.
“Assumin’ Honey’s not yer government name, how’d ye get that for a nickname?”
One of her eyebrows quirks up, and Soap finds himself holding his breath as she’s obviously assessing him. But he knows he’s a good looking fellow so naturally assumes she’s impressed with what she sees.
“Depends who you ask,” she answers cryptically. “Some will tell you it’s because I'm so sweet when the mood strikes,” Steaming Jesus he really could listen to her drawl for hours “and others will tell you it’s short for honeybadger. Depends on how I’m feeling, really.”
Welp, that’s it. He’s officially in love.
The FNG has him hooked and going as his blood drains, although Soap’s attention remains solely on Honey.
“What time does yer shift end?” He’s always dived head first for what he wants- and he is completely unashamed of how much he wants her despite not knowing she existed 15 minutes ago.
In an instant the pleasant not-quite-flirty tone disappears as her face slips into a more neutral expression, and Soap can feel the rejection coming before she opens her mouth and he just wants to know why when she was fine bantering with him a moment ago.
“Sorry soldier boy, I don’t mix business and pleasure.” She states simply before standing to leave.
Well isn’t this a shit situation for him. Given he’s tethered by the needle in his arm, it’s not like he has much choice but to watch her leave (although- if he’s being completely honest it’s not like he’s really complaining about getting to watch those hips move as she walks).
It’s not even like he’s an admit, for fuck’s sake, but Soap also isn’t a feral animal who’s going to yell across the room to get a pretty girl’s attention. He’ll get an opportunity to make his case.
“Oof, shut down,” Gaz ribs from one side, with Ghost incredulously chiming in with a “Whomp whomp,” at how Honey had so firmly brushed him off.
“Oh please. A’m going tae marry her.” Soap asserts wistfully.
“I’m no expert in women, Johnny,” Ghost starts and Soap just knows he’s not going to like what comes next, “but I’m pretty sure you need to get her to agree to drinks first.”
“Fair enough, LT.”
Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡
#Soapitup#john soap mactavish#John soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#x chubby reader#x fat reader#cod x reader#soap x honey#honey(badger)#my writing
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Incognito AU
Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader
Warnings: idk
The story doesn't mention anything about body size or type.
Summary: All you wanted was a cup of coffee from the new cafe on Main Street. You definitely didn't expect to spill coffee on the Metal Icon Eddie Munson.
*Not Proof Read*
ABC List Stranger Things Masterlist
*****
" You can go on break. "
Those are the best words I've heard all day.
A grin crawls onto my face as I make my way to the register to clock out. " Thank you! "
Steve gives me a small grunt in response, returning to his phone. Five bucks says he's on tindr.
He doesn't look up as I leave the store, little bells from above the door ringing to announce my departure.
Today's been rough. I've been screamed at by multiple angry babies and passive aggressively argued with by multiple middle aged women. Who knew working at a bakery involved so much anger.
I make my way down the street towards one of the newer shops. It was finally completed last week. I've been so excited to try the coffee. Robin says their drinks are amazing.
The street is busy, as it always is. I'm almost hit by a shiny black honda on my way across the street.
Impatient people.
I finally make it to the front of the store. A little sign with the words ' Coffee Central ' hang above the door. Everything is freshly painted and clean.
As soon as I open the door I'm met with the strong scent of coffee. The shop is pretty busy. People bustle around, their chatter creating a soft buzz in the air.
I get in line at the very back. After about eight minutes, it's finally my time to order.
" What can I get for you today? " The chirpy barista asks.
" Um..." I scan the menu board, looking for the perfect drink. " Can I get a...cappuccino please? "
I hand the girl my money and immediately another barista begins to work on it. After a few minutes the other barista produces a drink. " Have a great day! "
I turn around to leave when I immediately make contact with a firm chest. My drinks' lip pops open, spilling out of the container as a result.
The man jumps back slightly in surprise, coffee spreading across his Metallica band Tee.
" I'm so sorry! " I immediately reply. " Fuck, I had no idea you were there! " I turn to grab a few napkins from the counter behind me. I hand them to the man in front of me, my cheeks heating up from embarrassment.
The man accepts the napkins, beginning to dab his shirt. " It's alright, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going either. " He says with a small laugh.
I take a moment to observe the man. His eyes are covered by a pair of dark shades. A small dark curl hangs next to his face, the rest of his hair hidden by a black beanie. His chain rattles slightly when he steps towards the nearby trashcan to throw out the soaked napkins in his hand.
" I feel so bad. " I say, handing him some more napkins. " Is there anyway I can make it up? I can give you money for your shirt. " I gesture to his now coffee stained white tee.
The man looks up at me. " Look, if you really want to repay me...let me by you another coffee. "
This guy.
" W-what? " I ask in surprise.
" I caused you to spill your drink. If anything, I should be repaying you. "
I shake my head. " I ruined your shirt. "
" Please. " The mans' voice is sincere.
I bite my bottom lip. I was really looking forward to that drink. " Fine. " I sigh. " But I still feel bad. "
The man's face breaks out into a grin. " If you really want to repay me, just sit with me for a bit. i could use the company. "
" I can do that. "
----
" What's your favorite song of theirs? " The man asks, his attention completely on me.
" Master of Puppets of course. " I grin, taking a sip from my drink.
" No way. " The mans' voice is full of excitement. " Me too. I play it on the guitar at least once a day. "
" Really? That's awesome. I've always wanted to learn the guitar, I just never really got around to it. " I admit.
In front of the man is a notebook full of words and little drawings. His nearly dull pencil lays messily on top of it.
I glance down at my phone. " Oh shit. " I mutter. I look back up at the man. " I loved talking to you but I really have to get back to work. I'm actually supposed to be back now. My boss is going to kill me. " I hurry to gather up my stuff.
" Wait, " The man stands up with me. " Could I get your number? "
My heart begins to pound. He's asking for my number?
This is the first guy I've run into that actually likes the same shit as me. He's funny, he's sweet an an absolute gentleman.
What dream am I in and can I please stay here?
" Y-yeah! " I smile. " Here, I'll write it down for you. " I pull out a pen from my pocket. I gently write my number on his left hand. " There, now I really have to go. Bye...? " I just realized I didn't learn his name. "
" Eddie. " He answers.
" Goodbye Eddie. "
" Goodbye, coffee girl. " He teases.
I roll my eyes in amusement. " Ha ha. " With that I push past the glass door. I turn back to look in the window at the man I just saw. He finally pulls off his sunglasses, holding his phone up to his face. Face ID.
He turns slightly so he gets more light from the window and I finally recognize the face.
He's the man who's been on so many magazines lately. His band is having a concert in one of the cities nearby in two days. The man who put Hawkins Indiana on the map.
Eddie fucking Munson.
I don't have time to stand around. I continue walking back to my store. My pocket buzzes and I pull out my phone, fully expecting a text from Steve asking where I am.
Instead I'm met with a text from an unknown number.
' Hey, coffee girl. '
#fanfiction#fanfic#eddie stranger things#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x plus size reader#eddie munson#stranger things x you#stranger things#stranger things x reader#stranger things fanart#x chubby reader#x you#x y/n#x reader#x plus size reader#x fat reader#x thick reader
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minors dni - long smut
Obsessed Male x Overweight Reader
X had dated various people before of all different appearances. He's dated a 6'3 muscular woman, or a 5'5 man with tattoos, even an average height coquette girl. However, they all had one thing in common, they were all of proportionate weight. That's why he was so surprised when (reader) made his head turn with such velocity that he audibly heard his neck pop. Now he never discriminated against people who were overweight, but he just coincidentally never found himself dating one.
It started with a small fascination, then it snowballed into a full-on obsession. He loved seeing her in all of her outfits, but his favorite one was that tight black skirt she would wear. He would have to physically pry his eyes off of her legs, before taking several pictures from different angles. Grunts, groans, and needy whines were all that would leave his room later that day as he would desperately hump his pillow to said pictures, spending hours imagining fucking (reader) in that tantalizing skirt.
God, the way his eyes would roll to the back of his head at the mere thought of tasting her on his tongue. He would watch videos on eating pussy, quickly gaining the courage to practice so he could spend the whole day in between (reader)'s thighs. Don't even mention face sitting to this man because the image would be forever grained into his mind.
He was so needy for her that he even found out her favorite lipgloss, purchasing it along with a custom fleshpocket in the shape and skin tone of her lips. He would put the lipgloss on them, and spray the perfume she wore everyday on his sleeve as he fucked the fleshlight silly, dreaming of her.
He legit almost fainted when he noticed she has a tongue piercing. A million scenarios immediately started flurrying in his mind and he had to wait until the room was empty before he could rush to the restroom.
His twitter feed was now filled to the brim with nothing but porn from overweight Latina camgirls.
This man is so in love that he even started learning how to cook food from her country of origin. He would spend weeks perfecting his recipes, making sure they were divine for when he married his beloved (reader).
He would sit close to her when she was talking to her friends, recording her voice and listening to it all night, tracing hearts over his chest and pretending it was him that she was conversing with.
X would go shopping for her, giddily parading around pictures of his "girlfriend" to employees, asking what makeup and outfits would suit her the best. Of course, he would buy stuff he wanted to see her in as well. He stored all of the gifts in his closet, ready to be gifted to her whenever he finally starts dating her.
Eventually the faraway longing looks were no longer enough. He wanted to be able to touch her, and not as a stranger who would be labeled as a creep. He felt the intense urge to burrow his nose where her neck and shoulder met, inhaling her perfume instead of catching whiffs of it when she passed by him. He wanted to kiss her lips until he could remember every curve and crevice.
So he devised a plan. He had one of your friends in one of his classes. He got close to her and found out she had a boyfriend. Perfect. He thought to himself. They continued to get closer, as friends of course, and eventually (reader) started seeing more and more of X, just as he planned. Soon he was a main member of your friend group. The close proximity to you almost fried his brain.
It was finals season which meant dead days, and (reader)'s friend group had a tradition of having a sleepover, which he was now invited to. He was even more psyched once he found out it was your turn to host. The thought of being in a room that smelled like nothing but you turned his brain to sludge and he couldn't contain himself from sniffing your pillow. He found himself in eternal bliss when (reader) sat next to him after her shower. She just smelled so fucking good. His favorite memory of the night being watching (reader) sleep so peacefully in her adorable pajamas. He even managed to kiss her cheek which made him fall asleep with a huge grin on his face.
Given all that, he couldn't believe the predicament he was in now. He was breathing heavily, his throat dry, and he was slightly shaking.
"Sorry, um, could you repeat that?"
(reader)'s face flushed red and she looked down, trying to hide her flustered face. Actions that made X's heart throb.
"Would you umm... can you take my virginity. Please." (reader) whispered the last part.
X's heart leaped to his throat. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe his ears, he couldn't believe this was happening. He thickly swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Are-"
He had to stop to take a break, his voice quivering.
"Are you sure? About this?"
(reader) nodded her head, not saying a word.
X's heart was thundering in his chest, his eyes half lidded with pure unadulterated lust. His pants were tight from the moment (reader) even invited him to her apartment. X sat on the couch where he guided (reader) into sitting on his lap, her plush thighs encasing his hips. He hissed when she fully sat on him. (reader) immediately tried getting off of him but was stopped by X's hands gripping her ass cheeks. (reader) tried to get off again but was only held down more by him, the friction caused him to rut his hips upwards.
"Am I too heavy? We can stop."
"Oh god no. Put all your weight on me please."
(reader) was taken aback by his begging tone.
"Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
X's eyes practically rolled to the back of his head as he felt the clothed warmth of her pussy surrounding his groan. He had to hold himself back from dry humping her into oblivion right then and there.
His hands trailed under (reader)'s shirt and he leaned up to kiss her. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach when she reciprocated. He was pleasantly surprised when he felt (reader)'s tongue prodding at his lips and he opened with zero hesitation. He moaned when he felt her piercing touch his own tongue. His hands trailing down to her hips and back up to her waist.
(reader) broke the kiss and his lips instinctively tried reaching out for hers once again. (reader) put a hand on his chest, keeping him back. She then reached behind her and unclasped her bra, taking it off along with her shirt. X bit his lip at the sight and stared at them with utter fascination. (reader) grabbed his hands and placed them over her breasts. X immediately started groping them, flicking his fingers over her nipples, reveling at her whines. His mouth watered and he encased one of them in his mouth, sucking and lightly biting them. Tingles shot down his spine when (reader)'s hand started running through his hair, tugging at his scalp.
Once (reader) had enough she softly pushed him off her breasts, pushing him back against the couch. She kissed him, hand around the back of his neck, the other on his chest. (reader) broke the kiss and started trailing kisses along his jaw to his ear. She puffed some air into his ear and slightly bit down on his earlobe, causing X to grind against her. He desperately clung to (reader)'s skirt when she started rolling her hips against his.
"Fuck." X panted.
"Fuck me." he breathlessly begged her.
(reader) started sucking and biting his neck while palming him through his pants. Her hand slithered under his waist band and he shivered when her hand encased him.
s'warm. s'soft.
X desperately thrusted up to meet her pace and (reader) guided his hand beneath her skirt.
"No underwear?"
"Too horny."
X moaned into (reader)'s lips when she kissed him and worked his hands on pleasuring his (reader). They held this position for a while but X wanted more, and so did (reader).
"I'm ready, are you?"
"Yes, oh fuck yes please."
(reader) lifted her hips, aligning herself with him. X's cock twitched as her warm wet walls touched his tip. He bit his lip and urged (reader) to go on, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside her.
X's eyes rolled to the back of his head when she fully encased him. Fuck it took everything in his being to hold himself back from cumming. (reader) whimpered at the odd feeling, giving herself some time to adjust before she started moving.
"Fuck. fuck baby."
Grunts, skin slapping, and sloppy noises filled the room. X couldn't take his eyes off the way (reader)'s tummy jiggled when she fully sat on him, the sight driving him insane. Drool escaped his mouth as he kept groping her stomach, absolutely infatuated with the feeling of her plush fat accompanied with her soft skin.
X gripped (reader)'s hips, bringing her harshly against him. He started meeting her thrusts half way, chasing the drug that was (reader).
"(reader) let me cum inside you please"
(reader) stayed silent.
"please, I want nothing more but to coat your walls white with my semen, to have it dripping down your thighs when you walk. Fuck please, let me fill your tummy."
(reader)'s skin slapped against X's harshly, their grunts and moans mixing in with each other as their lips met once again. (reader)'s thrusts started to get sloppy and X lifted her, fucking her into his cock.
"fuck im cumming baby. (reader), (reader), (reader)!" X harshly gripped at (reader)'s hips, pushing her down into him as he buried himself deep inside her.
X's eyes rolled to the back of his head, his tongue sticking out and he saw white, his body convulsing at the intense feeling.
He slumped against the couch, breathing heavily and all too aware of the warm walls still around him, as he felt his cum mixing in with his angels slick. He also noticed the way (reader)'s fingers encircled her clit, still chasing her high. X's hand gripped hers and she whined at the lost contact.
"I have a better idea...
sit on my face."
#obsessive love#obsession#x reader#x fat reader#x chubby reader#obsessed#latina#x latina reader#male x reader#smut
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adrian chase/vigilante headcanons
x civilian/anti-hero reader + x black plus-size gnc reader
sfw and nsfw tones included
has these moments of cockiness and it either pisses you off or…
with that said he likes your hand wrapped around his neck
trans
adopts your phrases really quick
sounds like an echo of you sometimes
backs you up in any argument even if you’re losing
likes to stand close to you
^^sniffing your scent and/or playing with your clothes
when you guys spar he kinda pulls punches even though you don’t. taunting him makes him loosen up
enjoys throwing your body around//picks you up randomly
“look what i just learned how to do. are you looking? i’ll wait. ok ready?”
needy lil baby.
nuzzles into you whenever he’s close
clear frustration when he can’t get your attention
naps with his head in your lap and his face in your stomach
“i can hear your insides”
stares at you when you’re asleep and it scares the hell out of you to wake up with his wide ass eyes on you
forgets to take his meds a majority of the time. def ignores reminders/alarms to finish a story or joke he was telling at the time
puffs out his chest. not even for dominance or anything that’s just his posture
he has a really good arch 🧎🏿
likes to make you laugh + hear any variation of it
uses babe/baby a lot
sings in the shower
gets you to sit in his lap as much as possible
“let’s do it with our masks on”
you know he stalks you and just consider him a guard dog at some point
^actually did catch someone following you home while he was following you home and brought them to your front step all bloodied up and gagged :3
dad jokes
has this look in his eyes when you talk that gives you butterflies
you regret taking him to the club for the first time
^he became the center of multiple dance circles and kept pointing you out to join him
when your assignments are different during a mission, he makes sure to put to use the very long list of call and response phrases he’s forced you to learn
^knows he’s annoying but every time you respond, he smiles with relief
is very soft intimacy-wise
very low whimpers and light gasps
hesitant to grip you tightly at times,,,wants to treat you as gentle as possible
rough when riled up/has pent up emotions,,more of a power bottom then
favors backshots,,always melts in your grip
makes you food for aftercare
does his lil dancey dances with only his mask and normal clothing on,,,will perform multiple songs for you
ah…🧍🏿
#adrian chase#vigilante#adrian chase headcanons#vigilante x black reader#vigilante headcanons#adrian chase x black gnc reader#x black reader#sub!adrian chase#x black plus size reader#x black gnc reader#peacemaker headcanons#x gender neutral reader#x gn reader#x black gn reader#sub!vigilante#x fat reader#i wrote stuff#peacemaker
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Double Date - Double Down
NSFW | MDNI
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader
Word count: 4.9k
Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.
A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.
“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.
Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“
“How do you know I’m free?”
“You just said you were!”
You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.
“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“
“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”
You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”
“Johnny’s friend will probably-“
“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”
“He won’t-“
“We got a deal?”
She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”
At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.
The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.
“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.
You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…
Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.
“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.
You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.
“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.
You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.
All in all, wayyyy out of your league.
He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”
You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.
“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.
Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.
He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”
“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.
“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.
“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”
Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.
You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.
“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.
She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”
In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.
“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”
He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”
“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”
His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”
You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”
“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”
You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”
He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”
Oh.
*Oh*.
You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”
He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”
Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.
“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”
“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?
“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”
You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.
“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”
“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.
He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.
“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.
“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”
“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.
Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.
“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.
He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”
“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”
“Yeah?”
“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”
“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.
The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?
“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.
“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”
Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”
“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”
“Apparently.”
His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.
Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.
“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.
“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.
You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.
His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.
“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.
Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”
“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”
He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”
“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”
“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.
“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”
“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”
“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”
“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”
“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.
“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.
How convenient.
“Okay.” You whisper.
After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.
At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.
It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”
“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.
Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.
“Simon!”
“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.
“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.
“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.
You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.
That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”
You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”
“Say it back, doll.”
“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.
“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.
You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”
Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.
“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.
His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”
Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.
Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”
“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.
“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.
“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.
He freezes, looking up at you.
“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“
Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”
All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.
“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.
“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.
“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.
“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”
The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.
“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.
Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”
Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”
“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.
You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.
“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.
“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.
Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-
“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.
Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”
“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.
Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.
For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.
“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.
You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.
“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.
You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.
“Good.”
It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.
You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.
Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.
When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.
“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.
Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”
“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.
He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.
It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.
By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.
Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”
“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.
You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”
“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.
“Are you a psycho?”
“Not generally, no.”
“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.
Simon just scoffs at you.
You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”
“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.
You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”
Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.
“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?
You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”
#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#call of duty#cod x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#ghost x reader#plus size reader#fat reader#reader insert#simon riley x you#simon x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x you#smut#cod smut#reader insert smut#one shot#Ghost with OCD is my roman empire#he’s so much more well adjusted than I usually write him but it was fun#holly writes
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Everyone loves the Boyfriend Jacket, but what about the Husband Coat?
Diluc draping his coat across your shoulders because you forgot your own? Immediately looking the other direction to hide the heat coming to his cheeks when you settle into it?
Zhongli's thinly veiled swell of pride when he sees his coat around your shoulders? Savoring the scent of your perfume as long as he can for days after you've returned it to him?
Wriothesley's little half complaints about the chill in his office after you've taken his coat? Hiding how much he actively enjoys the sight of you utterly swamped in the fur and bulk of fabric?
Neuvillette having removed his mantle and stole in order to drape his robes across your sleeping form? His inability to completely focus back on his work after he sees how immediately you curl into it with that satisfied little hum he's come to enjoy so dearly?
Just...husband coats...
#toast talks#genshin impacted#I'm just...I'm in a mood and that mood is 'give me your coat. it's mine now'#I need a warm and heavy coat on me rn so I can take a fat nappy and ignore my job LOL#alright alright visibility tags time:#genshin x reader#genshin x you#diluc x reader#zhongli x reader#wriothesley x reader#neuvillette x reader#okay now I'm done I'm gonna go be self indulgent
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the warm spot at the bottom of the stairs
Pairing: Ghost!Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!Reader
CW: Fluff, Mild Angst, Soulmate AU, reader has dreams, mentions of sex/masturbation, mentions of death, cursing, reader feels like she knows him but they've never met, let me know if I missed anything please!
Summary: After inheriting your grandfather's estate, you fall in love with the man from your dreams. He just so happens to be in your house, too.
Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but in this she's literally not described aside from the fact that she has hips, a stomach, and legs on her body.
WC: 9k (this is what happens when you let a man cook)
This fic is genuinely my baby.
I love soulmate aus with all my heart and soul and also love the dynamic of falling in love with a ghost. Enjoy this please, I tried <3
You swore the heat radiating off the sidewalk was enough to melt the soles of your shoes down to liquid. The sun was unforgivably angry today, glaring down at the world like it had a score to settle. You were less than thankful, as the death of your grandfather had stolen any desire you once held for warmth. The brutal dichotomy of the cold pit sitting in your stomach and the burning heat of the day only added to the sour taste in your mouth.
This house was fucking huge.
You had no idea how your grandfather managed to hide such an enormous investment from everyone in his life but he’d managed the task seamlessly. Nobody even knew what he was giving you at first. The reading of the will and testimony left nothing but confused relatives until they had found the address that marked the estate. Some were jealous of you, some were confused, some even asked if they could come live with you once you got settled in. You had been absolutely floored when you learned he’d given you a house. Being fresh out of university, you were moving on to grad school while simultaneously preparing yourself to live with your mother until you could afford anything besides student debt payments.
Now though, you had a castle, with no clue why a house this big was given to you of all people. You were your grandpa’s only grandchild and were by far one of the least deserving of such a generosity. Sure, you were close, but never abnormally close. You talked once a week on the phone and were glued to his side at family gatherings - but he saw your aunt everyday, and spoke with your mother much more than he ever did you. Was it pity? Maybe he saw this as the only plausible way of you escaping the fate of leeching off your mother. Hopefully he didn’t think of you so lowly.
You mentally cursed at the dull ache in your legs that persisted even after stretching. You had been driving all day with a car packed full of stuff that needed to be hauled into the house, and only yourself to move said stuff. You said a short plea in your head to not let the pain hinder your speed and began walking into the house to view the inside. The estate was isolated, huge fences of greenery surrounded the place, adding to the pleasant sight of budding flowers throughout the front yard. Even without the towering hedges, though, the nearest neighbor was miles away. Great, you thought. Any concerns of your car being robbed while you were gone were extinguished as quick as they came, but you locked the car regardless. Force of habit.
The heat was only lessened slightly when you reached the interior. You made a mental note to get the A.C. turned on, no way a temperature like this was a liveable one. You’re sure the numerous floor-to-ceiling windows were the culprit. They were excessive. Beautiful - of course - and you were thrilled at the amount of light they let in, but you could basically see the heatwaves permeating through the stained glass. Your eyes caught on the odd choice. The slightly colored glass making the mansion feel mildly like a church, the thought coming to you quickly and stripping any of the minimal comfort you held moments prior. That’s weird, you thought. Your grandpa had never been particularly religious. He was a man of faith - said grace before dinner and thanked Jesus for every day he lived, but never to this extent. He was rather progressive for a man his age.
The kitchen could have easily fit a team of 12 and you wondered if there had been staff at one point. There was no sign of any employees, and you prayed there weren’t any left working. The last thing you wanted was more responsibility in your life. You took your time walking the house, marveling at every painting and polished chandelier that was now an asset of yours. The house was gorgeous, you’d give at least that much to the old man. The centerpiece, of course, was the large spiral staircase leading to the second floor. As large as the house was, it held only two stories. Getting it’s square footage from length, rather than width. It was equally as glamorous as the house it resided in, however it filled you with a certain devastation you couldn’t place. As though your most primal self rejected the idea of it. That’s silly, you thought. You wanted to go upstairs, you were definitely not avoiding half of your house because a couple of your neck hairs stood at attention. The only real peculiarity was the heat pooling at the very bottom of the staircase. The kind of heat that seemed to thread itself into you, intertwine itself with your very being. The rest of the house was cold and accusatory, if your grandfather ever did live here, any of his warmth was flushed out by his death. This was the only spot in the whole house you felt calm, cared for. You could bask in it, weirdly fascinated with the little pocket of humanity that sat there.
It was more difficult than you’d expected to pull yourself out of it, and you could have sworn you felt arms trying to pull you back in. Ten minutes into your new life and you were already on edge. Negative feelings didn’t seem to penetrate the spot at the bottom of the stairs, so you physically felt the wave of unease when it struck you upon exiting. The upstairs was creepy. The abundance of windows was apparently only a trend on the first floor, as the second floor held dark, dim hallways. The whole thing, it seemed, was lit up by ancient lamps that lined the walls. It reminded you of the Shining, and you wondered briefly if maybe your mother would let you move back in. There was a bedroom right near the staircase, and you decided it would be yours. It could have been the smallest one for all you knew, the only thing you cared about was a quick escape if such a thing was needed. Something about the house put thoughts like that at the front of your mind.
You don’t recall ever being a paranoid person, nor a believer in the supernatural, but this house was watching you. The feeling of eyes on you was simply too strong to write off. What a warm welcome.
—
It had been a week, but the nights so far had been sleepless ones. The people you called on day one were just now getting around to starting the A.C. so you were hoping for a decent rest tonight. The fridge was stocked, your things mainly unpacked, and the house started feeling a little more like you with each day. Although, your friends were more or less convinced there was a ghost living with you. You spoke of the feelings you had, plus the fact it was an old and mildly creepy house, and they were off and running with theories. One of the tamer ones consisted of the house being an old church - given the windows - and that the eyes you were feeling were perhaps an old priest who died here. You were less than fond of that idea, but you would take it any day to the other propositions of old mental hospitals and certain death. You made a mental note to never again let your friends speculate on situations you couldn’t get out of.
You argued that a malevolent spirit wouldn’t invoke such a comforting sense within you. You felt watched - yes - but it wasn’t as though you felt stalked. It was much worse, actually, you felt lonely. Loneliness was never a battle you fought very hard in. You had hobbies, and you had friends. The desire for a romantic companion usually took the back burner if it was even a thought at all. People questioned the topic - you were pretty, smart, capable - what more could somebody want? They asked if you were insecure, if you liked girls, told you that you were wasting your “prime years” and needed to find someone - but it was never that simple. You just didn’t get it. The feelings others spoke of were unfamiliar ones to you. You held your breath for a long time before realizing that it probably just wasn’t for you, that you were built a little differently.
Needless to say, you were uncomfortable with the sudden sensation. It felt like seeing the moon in a glass jar - something unfathomably beautiful but something you were unable to hold. Lord knows it wasn’t from a lack of desire, though. You’re sure you reeked of longing, able to suppress the lot of it but unable to stop some from slipping through the cracks of your fingers. And with no obvious direction to cast it, it just clung to you and seeped back into your skin.
–
“No, dude, I’m telling you shit’s fucking weird.” You shoveled popcorn into your mouth as you spoke with your friend. This was the third call since you moved in. “Every night I wake up at like two in the morning and just for a split second I feel it. It’s like I'm lying on someone’s shoulder or something. And - oh my god - the amount of times I get stuck in that fucking warm spot on the stairs is gonna drive me crazy.”
You could hear her laughing at your frustration on the other end. “What do you mean you get stuck? Y/n I'm getting worried about your mental state.”
“No I’m telling you, I walk in this one - like - warm spot and I enter some kind of trance. Like I want to leave but I can’t - Jesus!”
“Are you alright?” Your friend was quick to ask, hearing you cut yourself off mid sentence.
“No! This shit is haunted I swear. My kitchen lights just turned off for no reason. If I die here I’m blaming you and Kelly for not getting me out.” You were being dramatic, you knew that, but it was starting to feel justified. You don’t remember a time in the last week you felt truly by yourself.
“Hey don’t blame us for your own choi-” She started speaking, but you lost her.
“Hello? You there?” You tried calling her again but the usual buzz of the dial tone was dead silent, the lamps that were illuminating the house followed soon after. Phone lines were the first to go in a power outing. No fucking way the power just went out. You felt around in the dark for the drawer of the end table. There had been a flashlight on the counter when you’d first arrived. You threw it in the end table because you had no clue why it was there - you were thanking God you’d done so while also praying the thing had batteries in it. You wrapped your hand around the object and said one more plea to the stars you wouldn’t have to be without light until tomorrow. Somebody must have been listening, as the room lit up when you hit the ‘on’ switch of the flashlight.
You’d seen the fuse box towards the south end of the upstairs hallway, sitting between a Da Vinci replica and a mirror taken straight from a movie star's wet dream. I’m gonna die was the only thing you could think at a moment like this. You were for sure going to see glowing red eyes at the end of the hall and die a horrific and bloody death. Thanks grandpa. The warm spot was a welcome refuge from your journey to certain death, and you embraced the sense of peace it brought you at a time when your heart was surely beating too fast. You held the light in front of you as you ventured up the stairs. The top of them seemed cartoonishly haunting, you thought momentarily that you would fit perfectly into a Scooby Doo episode. It was vast and dark, having multiple pathways you could walk down, but you set your sights on the south hall and did your best to disable your peripheral vision. It was right there. You just had to reset the power and you’d have your precious light back. Who puts a fucking mirror above a fuse box?
You held the flashlight between your teeth as you focused on your task. Open and reset. Open and reset. It was truly as simple as that and then you could be done. Go watch a midnight rerun on TV and pray that the spirits would leave you alone. Open and reset. The switches were flipped off - you didn’t think that was normal but what did you know - so you flipped them back on and heard the hum of life returning to the house. Thank God. Your nerves dissipated almost immediately. You were alright, no ghost had it out for you. It’s an old house, and would probably experience things like this a lot. You could do that again if you had to. You looked up, though, and ate your words. There was definitely a man behind you. If you had been trying to look at him, you would have seen he was young, tall. You probably would have thought he was attractive, but you had no time for that. You whirled around, yelping at the sight of him and mentally preparing to defend your life. It proved futile though, he was gone as quickly as he came. There was nowhere he could have gone that fast, so as much as you were certain he was there, you settled for him being imaginary. It was dark upstairs, and you were scared out of your mind. Surely your eyes were overcompensating for the paranoia that was racing through you. You walked back to the couch on guard and decided to call your friend back tomorrow. It was nearly twelve, and you knew she had work tomorrow. You could cope using TV and proper lighting to comfort you until sunrise. What’s one more sleepless night?
“You boys let me know if you need anything.” You heard the words in your own voice as if listening to a stranger.
“Sure thing, doll.” All the men were in uniform. Gray fabric covered their bodies, adorned with hats of the same color. Soldiers.
You walked back behind the front counter as the bell above the door continuously chimed at the arrival of new guests. Orders were being shouted to the cooks. You stared at the bold letters painted on the large graffiti piece decorating the wall, “Cathy’s Cooking.” A greasy apron covered the light blue dress beneath it - waitress attire. The smell of fried eggs clashed hard with the scent of sanitizer you were using to wipe down the counter. Bells rang to signal orders were ready to be taken out to guests, and you discarded the rag you used to mop up spilled coffee.
“Thanks, Benny.” You nodded to the chef as you took the food plates to table two. He nodded back at you before returning to flipping bacon.
“L/N!” Your manager barked at you. “Take your break. Be back in thirty.” He was a friendly man, though he got a bit hostile under pressure.
You couldn’t be more thankful for the break. It was hour 6 of your shift and you were beginning to think he might never let you off. You removed the apron as quick as possible and excused yourself out the back entrance to cool off in the alley way. It got hot as hell during rush hour, so the way the slight breeze nipped your cheeks felt like heaven.
“Tough shift?”
“Jesus!”
He started laughing as you startled, turning to face him. “‘Fraid it’s just me, honey.” He walked towards you as you grinned at him.
“You scared me, Spence.”
He shook his head, mocking you. “I’m so sorry.” Drama queen. “How ever will I make it up to you?”
You giggled at that, and wrapped your arms around his neck as he got closer. He put his hands on your hips, leaning you against the brick wall of the alley. You could feel your lungs open up when he kissed you, always feeling like you could breathe better when his lips were on yours. He was your God given destresser. He still donned his uniform but had opted for taking the hat off, he knew you hated when his hair was hidden.
“That’s not very nice, Reid. I thought you were a gentleman. What would your boys think of you being so mean to a lady?”
He smiled a bit at that. “You like when I’m a little mean, Y/N.”
Fuck. He had you there.
You looked to the side for a second to snuff out some of the tension. “How long are you here for?”
“We’re in town for two weeks. Gotta catch a boat up to base 14 on the 20th. Supposedly they’re preparing for a big fight.”
You frowned as you made eye contact with him.“I get so worried about you. About all of you. I don’t know what I’d do if - you know if something happened.” He’d been a soldier for a little while now, joining when he turned 18. He’d kept his hands on your hips, and you started to run your hands through his hair, a nervous habit you picked up when the two of you first got together.
“I know, honey. But by the time it’s done I’ll be off my leash. I do this and we can run away together.”
You looked at him the way you always did - with such admiration and love that he often had to look away before it went to his head. He swore he looked at you the same, but you knew deep down nobody could love anyone as much as you loved him. You laughed a bit at the elation you got from just his presence.
“I got lucky with you, Reid.”
He just shook his head. “Give yourself more credit, L/n.”
Your consciousness hit you like a truck and you realized before long that sun was shining through the windows. You’d fallen asleep sometime between ultimate terror and fleeting hope of your survival. And that dream - dear lord what the fuck was that dream. It was more vivid than you thought possible. You always forget most of your dreams when you wake up, but this time it felt like forgetting would be a betrayal. You could recall word for word every single thing about that dream. It was as though you saw a movie of your own life. A feeling so familiar you could taste it but just far enough to escape your grasp - and boy were you reaching. Not to mention the man. You didn’t know if this was some sort of coping mechanism you were inventing in your head but that was definitely the same man from the mirror last night. An imaginary friend. You had an imaginary friend as a grown woman. Terrific.
–
“You’re never going to attract a suiter with such a tragic expression, my dear.” This had to be the third time your mother had roused this point in the past hour.
“These dances are dreadful, idiotic nights of captivity that do nothing but mock the existence of genuine companionship.” The irony of you saying this while patting your cheeks with rose pigment was not lost on you. “Let me scrub myself raw and willingly restrain myself in hopes a man will see me and fall in love.” You spat out the last word with enough vitriol to hopefully drown yourself in. “Maybe he’ll like me so much he’ll lay claim and I can live on to be his housewife and half a person. How I've always dreamed of letting a man decide how much value I have.” You were flustered by the end of your spiel, looking at your mother through the large vanity with the tentative hope of a child asking for sweets.
“You read too much, darling. Those little romance books of yours are nothing but nonsense.” She was a professional at writing you off by now. “You know plenty of women who are perfectly satisfied with their lives. This is how we do things, Y/n. I don’t understand why you insist on fighting it so intently.”
She was never truly angry at your defiance, only tired. You could never tell if she was tired of you complaining or if she, like you, was tired of living this way. Your mother had married young - even for the times - and you knew your father left much to be desired in her life. They were basically repulsed by each other, only joining in union to produce a child. Your mother had been thrilled to have a daughter. Your father would trade you if he could, but he made do. The ultimate lack of affection between the two of them made you ill. You weren’t much older than your mother had been, you could very well end up trapped and child-bound in a loveless marriage.
“I would rather die alone than end up with my father.” You spoke, she sighed.
“I know.”
You stared at her through the mirror for a moment longer, then you rose from your chair. Your makeup was done, your look now complete. You noticed your mother’s eyes start to well up at the sight of you and she started to walk closer.
“My beautiful girl.” She smiled, forbidding the tears to venture down her cheeks, and held your shoulders. “You deserve a man who will worship you. Your future husband will be the luckiest man on planet Earth.” A gentle prompt, but a prompt nonetheless. You knew she loved you, but she carried more shame as you got older. Having only a daughter was something frowned upon, but having only a daughter hellbent on avoiding marriage was something that weighed on her.
“I’ll see you in the carriage.” Then she was gone, kissing your cheek and taking her exit to go talk with the director of the communal ride. Carriage was being generous, it was more like a one-way wagon to the local suiter’s ball. You watched her leave with a sense of grief so intense it nearly toppled you. She deserved a man like that too.
-
This was your third ball of the month. The pool of potential partners diminished with each one. People would often take whatever they could get, meaning less and less people even needed these nights anymore. You walked in with your mother, hand resting gently in the crook of her extended elbow. Your father stopped attending with the two of you a while ago. You believed he’d given up hope of a man ever choosing you - Lord knows he wouldn’t. Scanning the crowd, you saw little to look forward to. The music was pleasant, you would dance with a couple men who seemed bearable at best and criminal at worst, indulge in some of the enticing pastries and teas, and then you would leave. Back home until your mother dragged you out the following week for another one. With your current rate, you assumed you would end up marrying the vagabond that perused your neighboring streets. Taking another look around, you thought you might prefer that.
You made your temporary home in a corner chair, letting your mother excitedly drag prospects up to you and watch dejectedly as they ruled you out as an option. You felt bad for her, considered caving in and finding a man to give you a child, but you remember swiftly how long the years take to pass when you’re miserable. The chair gave you a good view of the room, you could see the entrance and the dancefloor filled with enticing women waiting for men to notice them. You could feel the sweat start slicking your skin beneath the corset you wore. It was too hot in here.
If you hadn’t been so determined to ignore the occasional advances of bored men, you would have missed the small group entering the area. Two women and two men, you wondered briefly if it was two couples, but discarded that thought. This wasn’t a place for couples. You felt your heart physically lurch at the sight of the last man in the row of four, as though your heart was running to greet an old friend. Had you seen him before? Surely you would have remembered such a visceral reaction. You averted your eyes before he could notice you. You don’t remember ever wanting to be noticed by a man - especially not this badly. You allowed yourself the escape of your own thoughts, getting lost in your head to pass the time and focus on anything other than what was probably the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?”
You looked up, he was standing above you. The chair next to you had been taken all night, the same woman had been sulking in her seat, and you found comfort in the fact someone else was unhappy to be here. She was gone now. Someone was definitely messing with you.
“Not at all.”
Your mouth was drier than it had ever been. You wondered if your lips remained stained from the color you applied earlier. You’d done nothing but sit all night and yet you were praying nothing had happened to your makeup.
“Why are you alone in a corner?”
“Men tend to be repulsed by my pessimism. I also happen to hate it here. Serves for a less than desirable combination.” You refused to let your sudden attraction diminish your stubbornness. You hated the self-consciousness racing through you, no man had the right to take your assurance in yourself.
“Why do you hate it here?” He wasn’t being mocking. He seemed - genuinely - a little sad at the thought of you being unhappy.
“Well, sir, I am of the belief that these dances are nothing but congregations of people settling for lives that won’t make them happy. They trade excitement for safety as though the presence of security has to mean the presence of misery. I don’t think anyone can know the true meaning of love in our current state as a society.” You didn’t look at him as you spoke, instead staring out at the people dancing. “I hold no desire to settle. I am capable of making happiness on my own. Most men don’t like the thought of me not needing them.”
You were almost positive you lost him. You were betting on him not being there when you looked, preparing yourself to bite the bullet and cope with tonight’s losses. Maybe your mother would agree to leave early.
You heard him chuckle softly. “Sir.” He repeated your words, finding humor in the formality. “My name’s Spencer.” He added. “And I also happen to hate the purpose of these events. I’ve never actually been to one before, but I’m new to the city, and something about tonight was begging me to come out.”
You were absolutely bewitched by him. “I’m Y/n.”
“Fitting.” He smiled, a smile directed at his own thoughts, as though something in his mind had clicked. “Will you dance with me?”
The music had slowed severely. You scoffed at his proposal, but you were taking his hand as if you’d been waiting on this. Maybe you had been. You were grateful for the ballad that was playing, never having been one for upbeat dancing. He led you gracefully, and for once you felt yourself relinquish power. With a mind like yours, a man’s company was almost never wanted. With this one, though, you laid your heart at his feet as if you’d done so a dozen times before. The heat of his hands was seeping through your dress, and his eyes were locked with yours.
“I feel like I know you.” A confession. He had an effect like that.
“Maybe you do.”
–
Two in the morning. Everyday you’d woken up at two in the morning from a different dream involving the mysterious ‘Spencer Reid’. You friends had kindly dubbed him the “Man of your dreams” following the stories you told them. You’d been a housewife, trying to welcome him home from work before he laid you down and made an altar of your dining table.You’d been the daughter of a king, at one point, falling in love with his favored knight. Shamefully, that one haunted you. Reappearing in your mind during intimate times when you needed a spark. You’d never been one for desire either. When your friends started preaching the wonders of sex to you during your highschool days, you felt no pull towards the act. Just another it you didn’t understand. Now, though, this house served as an aphrodisiac. You lost count of your streak by day 13, and were now just begging whoever put this apparition in your home for the strength to keep your hand out of your pants.
Spencer had become more like a roommate rather than an unwanted guest. You saw him in most reflective surfaces around the house. You felt him everywhere. He sat at the table with you, watched TV with you, he would wait by the door when you got home from work. Sometimes, your hand or your shoulder would run hot. Physically hot, like he was putting his hands on you. You wondered if he was around during those times, but if he was there he made sure you didn’t know it. You were gaining a sort of intuition for him. The thought Spencer would like that struck you numerous times when you were window shopping or when you tried on an outfit. You were starting to think maybe you were just crazy. Perhaps a ghost who seemed to be your soulmate and made you incredibly horny was how all psychotic breaks started.
Weirdly, through your bizarre dreams and inconsistent sleeping patterns, this was the most well rested you’d felt in a while. Waking up at two am was routine now, sometimes you managed to fall back asleep afterwards but most times you were up dwelling on the images your mind had shown you that night. You thought maybe your body was just adjusting - surely it was nothing supernatural giving you energy - just the adaptivity of the human brain. One persistent thing you couldn’t adapt to, though, was how much you missed him. The increasing number of times you woke up to being the only occupant of your bed was starting to wear you down. You feel like you’d spent lifetimes with this man and yet he was someone you never knew. You'd seen the two of you fall in love countless different ways except the one that actually counted - the present.
“I genuinely don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Another phone call, another conversation about your rapidly declining mental state. “I have fallen in love with a figment of my own imagination. Surely this is some demented form of narcissism.”
“I don’t think it works like that, Y/n.” Your friend was terrible at comforting people. It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t been fully honest with her about the severity of your situation. From where she was standing, you had learned to lucid dream and now that was bleeding mildly into your real life. Not the biggest deal, maybe you were just lonely.
“It’s a ghost, dude, I’m fucking telling you. There’s no way I’m imaginative enough to conjure all this shit up.”
“You know his name right? Go down to the library and look him up. If he’s a ghost then surely there’ll be something to find.”
Holy shit. She was a genius. “Oh my God you’re so smart. I love you. You just saved my life. You’re God’s gift to the planet. Who would I be witho-”
“Jesus Christ will you just go? Stop kissing my ass and start driving. I want details when you get back.”
You don’t know if you’ve ever been so eager to get to the library of all places. If you could snag a computer spot then you could put an end to all of this. He wasn’t real, realistically you knew that, but you had a fool-proof way to check. If he was real you were going to have to come to terms with the fact you could see dead people. Well, a dead person. You had never seen any before Spencer. You’d never seen Spencer either, not before the house at least. They say you can’t make up faces, that if you see someone in a dream then you’ve seen them in real life but you were incredibly doubtful of that by now.
Spencer Reid. Thankfully the man didn’t have a particularly common name. You hoped there would be limited matches, less to look through. Pretty soon you could accept your own mental insanity and maybe ask your mother to spot you for some therapy. Well, moment of truth. You watched each letter be typed in with baited breath until his full name was in the search bar. Even just looking at his name brought that sense of calm. You were hopeless. Until, apparently, you weren’t.
Brilliant Dr. Reid dead at 26
Former FBI agent Spencer Reid found dead in his home
Spencer Reid co-workers speak out on his legacy. Where to go from here?
You scoured every article you could find, analyzing every pixel of every image available. This was your guy. Same Spencer Reid from your dreams. Same Spencer Reid that stands behind you in every mirror of the house. Holy shit who was this guy? He was a little older than you, died last year in the summertime. Each article painted a brutal picture of his death, speculating on how the doctor died but never comfirming anything. Only that he was dead when paramedics got there, the sight of his covered body being extracted from his home was one that would stick with you. His home. It was the same house you were living in. It’s possible your grandfather was renting it out. That’s probably why nobody ever knew about it - he wasn’t living there. You didn’t know when water started pooling in your eyes, you only realized them as they started falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know him. You didn’t even know him but you felt like someone just sucker punched you and were about 60% sure your lunch was coming back up. Jesus.
There was no way you could tell your friends about this. The majority of your brain was pleading with you to rationalize this. Maybe you’d seen one of the articles before. Maybe your grandpa talked about him. Holy shit he had known your grandpa. Every individual thought you had was identifiable and that was far too overwhelming for your brain to handle. You signed out of the computer and went to go sit in your car. Could you even drive like this? Your hands were shaking so bad there was a good chance you’d crash the car before you got home. It’s twenty minutes, you thought. You had to go back. Staying away from the house any longer felt like a punishment. You can make it twenty minutes.
–
“No, no. Like I said it was just some old guy who wrote a book. No sign of my Spencer.” You were lying straight through your teeth. You figured it didn’t truly matter. If you sat here and told the entire story of finding exactly who you were looking for online, you think she’d have checked you into a facility.
“Maybe if you believe hard enough you can manifest him.”
“Wow you’re hilarious. Remind me again how I ever lived my life without such a humorous presence.”
“I question that same thing everyday, Y/n.” You could hear the smile embedded in her words.
“I’ll let you go. I know Dylan is probably waiting on you. Thanks for checking up on the Spencer chronicles.” You felt slightly bad. She was on her honeymoon currently, and instead of spending time with her new husband, she was listening to your stories of fraternizing with a ghost.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m sure it’s weird as hell. Call me up if you need to, yeah? Hotel has unlimited calls so I can talk all night if you need to.” She was an angel in this world.
“Thanks, same goes here. If you get sick of your husband you know where to find me. Remember to use protection.”
“Alright, nevermind. You may suffer by yourself for all I care.” She laughed while she threatened you.
“Bye, honey. Love you.” You should have felt alone, but you never did. He was most likely here with you.
The exhaustion had well and truly crept up on you. You planned on getting home and calling your friend immediately, but you ended up needing a good few hours to cry and pace around the house. You weren’t scared - it was essentially the opposite. The complete lack of fear bred so much confusion that you didn’t know how to cope with the amount of frustration on your shoulders. You paced the house hoping to find him. You wanted to be near him. You harbored the immature hope that knowing who he was would grant you the ability to see him. Did you even know who he was? He was a doctor, an agent, but who was he to you? Is that what you needed to know in order to see him?
Now, sitting on your bed, you felt like you’d been through the ringer. The mental gymnastics of the day weighing heavily on your body. You needed to go to sleep. You wanted to go to sleep. In the last week or so you’d noticed a certain excitement regarding the promise of another tale, another dream. They were so extravagant, not even in the details of them, just in the consistency of pure emotion. You could have been fighting dragons or sitting on the porch in rocking chairs. If he was by your side, there was always this certain euphoria surrounding the two of you. A feeling reserved just for you and him. God you missed him.
–
You woke up slowly to a familiar bed beneath you, this was your house. The window was open, curtains blowing cautiously as the mild chill of the Fall breeze wafted in and dusted over your collarbones. It wasn’t this cold last night. You felt the breeze again on your whole body, and realized you were lying naked on top of the ruffled comforter. Had he pulled the blanket off you?
“Are you cold? I didn’t think to shut the window when I got up. I was kind of rushing to get my stuff.” You noticed then that he was sat behind a canvas, angled so he could glance between you and the task at hand with ease. He noticed you furrow your eyebrows, and even managed to catch the minuscule tense of your muscles as you prepared to sit up.
“Stay still for me, honey. I’m almost done.” He was adding feather-light brushstrokes to the piece, a finishing touch of his you now recognized from watching him paint so much.
“This isn’t a very good pose, Spence. You know I’m not the most photogenic.” You referred to the fact you had been sleeping as he painted, limbs not organized and environment chaotic. Notoriously unfavored things by the man. Maybe he was hoping to capture a candid version of you.
He exhaled a laugh. “How rich coming from you.” His lips quirked upward as he continued adding touch-ups to his art. “Something about you this morning…I don’t know.” He shook his head like he was talking to himself rather than you. “You just looked…mesmerizing.” He shrugged, brushing off the sentiment. “Felt wrong to just look at you.”
Dumbfounded was the only word you could think to describe yourself. He’d painted you before, mainly from the neck up for practice with faces, but this was different terrain. You were nervous to see the piece. You thought of your hips, your stomach, your legs. A silhouette he’d sworn time and time again was worthy of worship. One he wanted to treasure. You hoped you’d see a glimpse of yourself through his lens, hoped all that adoration would show on the canvas. Once he was finished with it, he turned it so you could see. It was breathtaking. His talent never failed to leave you speechless.
“I feel like I should be paying for this.” You joked, but still felt as though something should be given in return. He stood from his stool and joined you on the bed.
“I assure you, I’m well compensated.” Your face ran hot. “Can I hang it?”
“Spence, I’m naked-”
“Not downstairs, Y/n.” He chuckled. “I’d put it there.” He nodded to a vacant wall space on the right side of the room, entirely visible from his side of the bed.
“You want me watching you sleep, Reid?”
He grinned at you, shaking his head slightly at your remark. “Just wanna be able to see you.” He held your eyes. “I’m hoping looking at you before I go to sleep will give me good dreams.” You hummed in sarcastic agreement, your gaze falling soft a moment later.
“You can if you want to.” He looked relieved.
“Thanks, honey.” He looked stunning in the morning light. The sun hadn’t risen too long ago, and he was only covered partially by a pair of joggers. He was practically luminous, the bare skin of his chest looking golden in the sunlight. You stuck your hands out to feel him, and you felt as though you were trying to touch heaven itself. He leaned down to be closer to you, he always said you felt magnetic.
“You should let me paint you like this more often.”
“Is that right?”
“Mhm”
And, just like before, you could breathe again when he kissed you. Truly breathe. It was times like these when he felt like your oxygen, like pulling away should be sin. Lord knows you would suffer any version of Hell for him.
–
Your frustration seemed to have doubled in your sleep. Two am. You were gonna find that fucking painting. It wasn’t in the spot he left it - you would have noticed a giant painting of yourself naked on the walls, but you double checked to be sure. You threw up every light switch you came across and started scavenging through the upstairs. There was a certain tug in your body - when you didn’t find it in a room, you knew it wasn’t there, something internal telling you to look elsewhere. It was only when you were halfway done with the downstairs raid that you remembered the storage room. You’d found it when you first moved in, a room full of dust and white tarps covering furniture and other indecipherable shapes. It had to be in there.
You wrecked havoc on the tiny room. Tearing off layers of fabric quickly, leaving little thought to where you were throwing them, completely tunnel visioned on finding the painting. You came across a covered square the same size as the canvas had been. It was coated in so much dust that the covering looked ancient, and you were begging any conceivable being to be merciful, to let you have at least this if you couldn’t have him. You unveiled the shape to find the same vibrant pigments you’d seen just hours before. It was you, draped over the comforter and basking in the hue of the morning. This was it, you thought. Holy shit this is real. You had no grounds to deny this anymore. Spencer was a real guy, clearly he’d died in this house and clearly the two of you had lived enough lives together to fill months of sleepless nights with.
What did this mean for you? Were you a clone? Were you and Spencer both clones? Were you living in a simulated reality and all of this was actually a ruse calculated to induce reactions in the brain that could then be studied? Oh my god - were you a ghost too? Had you died and were now stuck in some form of purgatory?
You felt sick with it. You didn’t know you were capable of bearing such intense metaphorical weight. You needed to see him. Maybe if you went to sleep, you would realize you were having a dream and could figure some things out. That’s so stupid. You mentally scolded yourself for even thinking of such a dumb idea. You needed to speak with him. You needed him to tell you what was going on. Of course him and everyone in your life who could have known him were six feet deep. A seance, maybe? Perhaps just buy a ouija board and wing it. You’d seen the most of him when you were asleep, that had to be the key to figuring this out. Please dear god let it be the key to figuring this out. You took the painting and headed back upstairs. Maybe it could serve as a medium, you thought. That’s a thing, right?
You don’t think your bed had ever seemed so uninviting. You remember how grateful you’d been to finally sleep on your first day here. It was a pain in the ass hauling a mattress up a spiral staircase and the moment you realized you were done was a relief to say the least. Now you stared at it and your mouth ran dry. What if this didn’t work? What did you even want to happen? Were you going to rummage through your dreams and play detective to piece together what might have happened in your past? No degree of mental antagonizing could push you off course by now. He was real. You know he’d been a real man, and surely the painting of you meant you’d known him as something other than a ghost. You were simply praying this would work out how you wanted. You needed a semblance of closure, even just a small one.
–
The room was dark, making you double check if you opened your eyes in the first place. You hadn’t had a dream. This was the first time in months you had fallen asleep and woken up without having lived a different life. You felt tears forming in your eyes. The disappointment you felt was so immeasurable that your brain practically short circuited trying to find a way to process it. You knew it was a long shot for everything to be fixed overnight, but you’d expected something. Like he was reading your mind, the bed dipped down, him now occupying the space next to you in bed.
You were worried your head might fall off your neck with how quickly you turned to look at him. The moonlight came beaming in through the window, like she was your secret ally, giving you enough light to finish your battle. It lit him up, practically shining through him like it would a crystal. He was ethereal. You stared into the same brown eyes you’d been looking into for months and felt your resolve give way from within you. You could have looked at him forever, you wanted to look at him forever, but you crashed hard into him. You would have fused your soul to his at that very moment if you were able to. Nobody had ever drawn out such a reaction - you needed to feel him. It was the proof you had been begging for, he was here, he was tangible. You could finally know what it all meant.
You felt his chest jolt as he chuckled at you. “I missed you.” You could hear the smile in his words.
Choking on a sob, you spoke your response so quietly you could barely hear yourself. “What the fuck is going on?” You knew tears were probably soaking through his shirt but he just held you against him. “Please tell me you know what’s happening.” You were muttering your words quickly, sharply inhaling between your sentences as air refused to stay in your lungs.
He ran his hand up and down the length of your forearm, a motion so familiar and so comforting you’re sure your knees would have buckled if you weren’t lying down. “Just relax, honey. I can explain everything, ok? I just need you to breathe right now.”
It was hard to maintain your oxygen through the sobs begging to get out of your chest but you were nothing if not stubborn. You needed an explanation. If that was his condition then so be it. You took a deep breath, regaining your ability to inhale and exhale at a regular pace. You could see the room better now having been awake in the dark for a while, so you tried to focus on anything that might help. The painting. You stared holes into that thing and forced your breathing to even out.
“I was really proud of that one.” His words held an instinctual twinge of fondness, still smiling as he spoke. Like now that he had you, he could describe any horror of the world and still be happy with you in his arms. He looked back at you, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “You seem to get prettier with every lifetime.”
Even as the overwhelming confusion wrecked your brain, your body was completely in tune with him. Warmth seemed to spring to life in your stomach, his words bypassing any guards you had to root themselves within you. He regarded the situation so lightly, so casually. He wasn’t worried about slipping away, or running out of time. He would have given you a decade to calm down if you needed it. He seemed content with just calling you pretty, as though he’d waited a century to touch you again.
“My dreams, were they -” You paused. You didn’t even know what to ask him. “What were my dreams?” Were they real?
He took a moment to just stare at you. The smallest, knowing smile on his face and a look of pure adoration in his eyes. He knew what you were asking. “They were us.” Fucking obviously. If you were any more on the edge of your seat you would fall off. “All the lives we’ve lived together.” Jesus.
“How long ago-”
“Two thousand years, 5 months, 27 days, and-” he leaned up slightly to check the clock “14 hours.” Giving you the cutest tight-lipped smile when he finished talking like he didn’t just say you’d been in love for two millennia.
“So we’re soul mates?”
“Essentially.” He nodded. ‘Soulmates’ was close enough.
“But - is everyone like this, then?” Did all your friends have this too? Everyone in the world? “Everyone has a soulmate?” Your friend’s on her honeymoon right now.
He laughed a little and shook his head. “No, no. It’s just us.” What was so special about the two of you? “For all I know of at least. Your uh…your husband-” He hesitated for just a second, fingers digging into your skin just a fraction harder. “He found out about us. Had his mother cast a spell. He thought he was punishing us, I think. Figured we’d get sick of it after a while. Poor guy, all he did was condemn us to eternity together.” He held no genuine pity for the guy, more amusement at the thought of his plan actually succeeding.
“How long have you been here?” You hadn’t bothered to check when the articles were from, too busy trying to keep your head on straight to look for the publication date.
“A year.” A year of him alone in this house. God, you couldn’t even imagine. “I started having dreams of you. Everyday I just felt, like, something pulling me away from where I was. I knew your grandfather from an old case I worked and everything just seemed to happen.” He reminisced fondly, like the memory didn’t hurt him. “I don’t even really know how I died. I just remember having a party one night, and how the hallway looked from the bottom of the stairs.” Oh my God the warm spot.
“When you moved in I was thrilled but - fuck, honey, it was torture.” He delivered the line like it was a joke but his eyes were watering. “I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t help you - I couldn’t fucking touch you and it was unbearable.” His hands hadn’t left you since you woke up. Making up for lost time, you guessed. There was one question you were brutally aware of, something that persisted in your head even as you tried to enjoy the moment.
“Why can I see you now, then?”
He sighed, so full of devastation that it was clear he’d been preparing for this. “You can’t.”
“What?”
“You’ve seen all our lives, Y/n. This is the only one left.” He was so delicate in his explanations. His palms soothing over your face as if trying to physically soothe the sting of his words.
“Wait what does that-” What was he talking about? “I don’t understand.”
“To be honest, I don’t really understand it either.” He exhaled at his own ignorance, the words unfamiliar in his mouth. “For the first time, I don’t know what’s gonna happen when you wake up.”
“Wake up? What do you mean wake up - Spence I’m awake.” You held onto his wrist that was near your face for emphasis, his hand still caressing your face. “I’m awake.”
His eyes were definitely watering. “No, Y/n, you’re not.”
“Spencer.” You’d never said it so sadly before. Tears were in your eyes for the second time that night. You would have done anything to carve this moment into stone. Sit here in his arms until time forced you into your next life.
“It’s ok, honey.” He was always reassuring, always safe. “We’ve done this for two thousand years, Y/n. You’re bound to get a little unlucky sometimes.” His optimism in the face of such a crushing development almost made you sick. Some things never change. “I finally have you back, alright? Just lay with me for a while. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. We’ve got plenty more lives to live.”
You halted the tears in your eyes, sniffling once to reign yourself in. “Ok.” You laughed, a little tearfully, and kissed him with all the love you had to give.
Plenty more lives to live.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#soulmate au#spencer reid x chubby reader#spencer reid x fat reader#spencer reid x plus size reader#chubby reader#reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#fat reader#plus size reader#fluff#angst#suggestive#x reader#x chubby reader#x fat reader#x plus size reader#i spent so long on this#this is my baby#brb crying#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#comet: SR
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Unfit (OPLA! Klahadore/Kuro x Fat! Reader)
While Kaya offered up her expansive collection of clothes, Reader can't find something that fits them.
Self indulgent fic time babey!! It's been rough lately, I've really been wanting to write something like this.
Warnings: Insecure reader, lil bit of angst and out of character comfort from Klahadore<3
Standing alone in front of a mirror, you frowned. You're sure Kaya had good intentions in providing you and your crew nicer clothes. Her wardrobe is so big that you can't blame her when she insisted that you'd find something. Yet, her kind words didn't stop the growing pile of pants you couldn't button all the way next to you. Taking a deep, but shakey breath, you took off the piece of clothing and added it to the neatly folded stack that hid behind a privacy screen. The evening was supposed to be fun, easy. All you had to do was be on your best behavior until Luffy and Usopp secured the ship. Even Nami and Zoro were able to let loose with some drinks and a fashion show. Instead, you're curling in on yourself, in your underwear, and trying not to lose it over a pair of pants.
Though, left on your lonesome, negative thoughts spiral quickly. Mumbling reassurance evolved into scolding. "You're supposed to be a pirate. Pirates don't care about shit like this. They don't care about pants..." You felt your face burn in embarrassment. Seeing everyone grab all the clothes they wanted and it'd fit like a glove made you feel delusional, stupid.
A gentle knock on the wall made the neck on your hair stand straight. "Hello? Y/n?" A smooth voice called out. You froze in place, eyes wide at the realization: It's Klahadore. Swiftly wiping away at your eyes, you took a deep breath and responded from behind a privacy screen. "I'm here." "Dinner starts in 5 minutes, everyone is expecting you to join us. You're not plotting something, are you?" Jolting, you reach out and try to put on the shorts you walked into the mansion with. Though in your panic, you tripped over a pant leg and knocked over both the tower of clothes you laid out before and the privacy screen that hid you from the butler's view.
A small gasp emitted from Klahadore as he peered down at you on the floor, your pants barely hanging onto your hips. "My word.. are you alright?" You laid there frozen in terror, hesitant to take the hand he reached out. Your gaze was glued to the ground, the embarrassment was just too much. You wanted to sink into the walls of dresses and jackets and suffocate beneath the satin. A gloved hand traced the outline of your face until it held a firm grip on your chin. Tilting your face upwards until your eyes met his, Klahadore spoke up. "I asked if you're alright. If I'm not mistaken, I told you to dress nice too and you're in the same clothes you came in here with. What's taking you so long?" His questions felt like demands, as if you're being interrogated. His voice sent shivers down your spine, everything he says is tactful. Like he wants you to shake under his gaze. Swallowing the lump in your throat and your pride, you speak up. "I couldn't find anything to wear... nothing fit." Your voice grew dim towards the latter half of your admission, but that's what all it took for Klahadore to smile, to be pleased with you answering back.
As he withdrew your hand, your face burned bright. With any luck, you'd faint and no longer have to talk to him. "I was worried of that happening. Unfortunately, Miss Kaya shot down the idea of giving you extra clothing from the servant quarters." He tilted his head to get a better look at your puffy eyes and flushed face. "Is there anything else I should know about?" "Nothing.." "I don't like liars, Y/n. Tell me what's on your mind." His tone, while commanding, felt softer. It's like he's butler first, human later. He's only being kind after getting what he wanted after you.
"I'm just tired of not fitting into things...no matter what I try, I'll always be too big for stuff." You scowled. "I just..I just want to look nice. I want to look and feel good like Zoro or Nami. I don't want servant clothes, Kaya promised we'd look our best and I want to actually feel like it." You felt your nose sting and your eyes water. Klahadore watched you intently, hearing your voice increase in anger and intensity. Taking out a handkerchief, the ex pirate captain wiped away the tears that highlighted your chubby cheeks.
"While I don't have the means to provide you with what you want specifically, I want you to stay here. I'll be back in a minute." He sat you down on the ottoman that sat in the middle of the room and vanished into the dark hallway. However, Klahadore was a man of his word. Within seconds he returned with a folded outfit in hand: black dress pants and a white button up shirt. On top of the outfit though, were a couple of jewelry boxes. Inside revealed a golden necklace with the silhouette of a cat and a matching ring with a similar insignia. "Consider it a gift. It's something I've held onto before Miss Kaya's parents took me in, I think it's time for me to let it go." His smile was small, genuine.
Klahadore waiting outside patiently as you tried on the clothes he's given you. From outside the screens, he could hear a rollercoaster of emotions: fear, disbelief, enjoyment. "Did I choose right for you?" He asked, to which you strutted out to answer his question. Your shirt was tucked in, though largely unbuttoned to show off your chest and most importantly, the necklace. "How does it fit?" You spun around and Klahadore drank in the view. You never hid your curvy figure, only accentuated it. While he holds himself to a high standard, he can't admit that it didn't drive him mad.
He walked up and smoothed down the wrinkles on your shirt, his touch lingering on your shoulders and soft waist. "Fits like a glove." He stood tall wants more and linked his arm with yours. "Now, it's almost time for dinner. It'd be a shame to keep Miss Kaya waiting."
#klahadore#Klahadore x reader#one piece klahadore#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece live action#captain kuro#Captain kuro x reader#x fat reader#plus size reader#x chubby reader
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Listen. Listen to me.
Simon "Ghost" Riley loves fat girls.
Just imagine with me for a minute:
Simon freshly home from a deployment in some frozen wasteland. But all the snow and ice is long forgotten now that he's got your soft body in his arms, curled up beneath a blanket and sharing your body heat.
Simon who can't get enough of those dips and curves, because they're the antithesis of all the sharp, jagged edges he lives with while he's on an op.
Simon who looks at you and has something primal stirred in him. Who sees you and feels a swell of pride cause you're provided for. Cared for. Safe, warm, fed. Who looks at you and sees evidence of why you feel so much like home to him.
Simon who can't get enough of the plush thighs, the soft stomach, the big upper arms. Who loves the round cheeks and wide hips. Who is constantly using you as a pillow, constantly squeezing you in his embrace.
Simon Riley loves fat girls and I will die on this hill 💖
#where my fellow fat girls at!?#ghost scribbles#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader
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Hello, beautiful, delicious, smelling, fluffy and delicious, chubby readers!
I have a <BIG> indication of bakugou fanfic currently with 16/46 chapters.
it's ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ without blinking!
I'm falling in love with each chapter and I hope you are too!
wattpad link
Ao3 link
#chubby reader#x chubby reader#fat reader#x fat reader#plus size reader#x plus size reader#bakugou x chubby reader#bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo x reader#indicativo
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you hate getting sick, who doesn't? but a part of you loves it at the same time. why? because your boyfriend always treats you so good.
he'll dote on you hand and foot. you want tea? he knows just the one. you want noddles? steaming bowl in front of you. you're too hot or cold? thermostat adjusted to the perfect temperature for you, forget him.
you wanna be close to him, be held and cuddled? anything for his sweetheart. but...what about when you're horny? when this cold/ fever takes you over right in the middle of your ovulation? it's anything for his baby, and that includes slowly torturing himself while you cock warm him under the covers. you're body basically burning up, hot to the touch against his cool skin. moans and whimpers escaping you from the aches and pains in your body but also from the feeling of his cock filling you so good.
you're so weak and tired, basically in and out of consciousness but your dripping all over him and squeezing him so tight.
when he catches that your awake again he rubs your back slowly, "baby," he breathes "can i move? please? you just- fuck-- you feel so good i can't take it."
you muster up a weak chuckle and nod your head, wrapping your arms around him tighter. slowly he switches your position, moving you onto your chest and places a pillow under your hips. the loss of him and the blanket made you whine but when he pushed back into you, you melted into the bed.
it felt like every touch to your body was heightened. your fingers gripped the sheets weakly as you arched further into the soft bed. you heard your lover moan but you were too focused on your own body, every drag of his dick along your walls felt like heaven. when he reached down to rub on your clit a jolt ran through you.
before long you were seeing stars, tired body even more tired as you gasped and whimpered into the sheets, a drool pool forming by your mouth.
your boyfriend, oh so loving, restrained every muscle in his body to keep at this pace. the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. but you felt like heaven, warm walls wrapped around him so tight, your noises, the look of pleasure and daze on your face.
he gripped your ass and leaned down to nip at your ear, "i'm sorry sweetheart but i have to go fast-" he was cut off by your quick nod, reaching a hand back to grip his wrist. just that action made him twitch.
he gripped you tighter and angled his hips upward, speeding up his pace just a bit but increased the force of this thrusts by a lot. your ass shock in waves every time his pelvis met you. like energy was being pushed into you your moans got louder, more urgent, the cord in your belly tightening.
you both came almost exactly at the same time, heavy breathing filling the room. you were out, sprawled onto the bed, barely awake. your lover chuckled at the scene and leaned down to kiss your temple.
"you want a bath my love? i'll make the water extra hot for you." he called while walking to the bathroom. you hummed a response and curled into yourself, drifting off. the warm cum running down your thigh barely registering in your mind.
FAT GUM, aizawa, DEKU, kirishima, sanji, corazon, connie, gojo, CHOSO, geto, SUGAWARA + whoever else you think
#[moon's mind]#x reader#reader insert#x reader smut#jjk smut#afab reader#mha smut#haikyuu smut#aot smut#connie springer x reader#connie smut#fat gum x reader#fat gum smut#mha x reader#izuku midoryia smut#izuku x reader#deku smut#aizawa shota smut#aizawa x reader#choso smut#choso x reader#fluffy smut#sugawara x reader#sugawara smut#one piece#one piece smut#corazon smut#corazon one piece#gojo smut#geto smut
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"I told you not to cum...Didn't I, schatz?"
just a random smut splurge that was on my mind ALL day
(konig x fem reader!)
NSFW !!! MDNI
WC: 1.1k
Fem anatomy used
Your hips spasm against his mouth, your thighs shaking violently as he pumped and curled a thick finger into your sopping pussy, sucking and flicking your clit relentlessly with his tongue. You let yourself in this predicament, sacrificing yourself just for a few seconds of pleasure, letting your orgasm overtake your body when he had specifically ordered you not to. Rookie mistake.
"Was it worth it, du kleine Schlampe?" (you little slut). He lifts from between the lips of your cunt, his lips and jaw soaked with your juices. He'd been down there for an hour and counting, just torturing you. Holding your hips down with his strong arm, the ropes of muscles under his skin flexing every time you moved. He'd quickly slap your clit with an open palm every time you pushed his head away, sending a jolt of electricity through your every nerve and paralyzing you, rendering your fights useless. The stubble on his jaw had rubbed your inner thighs raw, causing the skin to redden and puff with irritation. He looked up at you, eyes gleaming with dominance and power over you. He was loving this. And it sickened you. The thought of having another orgasm made you want to puke, cry, scream, pass out. Your body was spent, sweating heavily and feeling the muscles in your thighs and core burn with overexertion.
"Are you ready to apologize, meine liebe?" He asks, rising to your breasts. His searing breath graze your nipples. They were sore and raw, from him reaching his hand up and pinching the little buds between his fingers while he licked your slit relentlessly. In that moment, your brain was fuzzy, swirling from the multiple orgasms that rattled your soul. "B-but I couldn't hold i-ah!" You yelped as he slammed two of his thick fingers into you, resulting in a stomach-turning squelch that was music to his ears.
"Oh, schatz. Wrong answer. You wanted to cum so bad before, hm? Now I will make you cum until you can't fucking see straight" He grunted, his anger coming from the deep parts of his soul. He began slapping at your clit with an open palm, over and over, the pain causing a distinctive warmth to bubble in your core as your hips jerked with every slap. Tears ran down your cheeks, leaving a stain in their wakes as you fight the oncoming orgasm. You yell out in delicious pain as he pushes his cock into you, not giving you a second to adjust before pounding straight into your cervix. You see red when your eyes flutter closed, slurring and murmuring words from your lips.
"Scheiße, mein lieber, you feel so good. So swollen and wet, milking my fucking cum right out of me." (shit, my dear). He breathes, a throaty chuckle searing the skin of your ear. He grabs your knees, pushing them against your breasts as he pumps deeper into you, your walls swollen and tighter from his viscous, barbarian cock rubbing against them on and off for an hour and some time now. You hated that it felt good. You were on the brink of unconsciousness, but couldn't let go of the feeling of his swollen, throbbing dick meeting resistance against your bulgy, enticing walls. You let out a lazy moan, the sounds coming from you not recognizable to your usual timid whimpers and groans. You gripped the sheets beside you, Konig's hips not letting up as you came close to another orgasm. Your mouth hung open in silence, your voice too raspy and broken to moan anymore. He pressed his forehead against yours, slowing his pace and dragging the throbbing veins on his dick against every single nerve in your cunt. Your core contracts and spasms, another orgasm overtaking your very soul. You whimper quietly, not being able to make a noise as he presses his weight into your thighs, smushing your knees against your tits.
"Verdammter, schatz. Feels so good when your sweet little hole flutters around me like that, yes?" He says, a gentler tone in his voice giving you the pretense that he'll let up on you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your lashes fluttering closed and open as you lay limply under him. You had no strength to even grip the sheets anymore, fighting to keep your eyes open as he began to cum himself. "Not gonna ask you again, love. Apologize." He slows his pace, looking down at you as you part your lips to speak.
" 'm sorry daddy. didn't mean 't cum when you..." You sigh heavily, your breath struggling to catch up with your heart. You didn't know if your body was capable of handling another orgasm, and you didn't want to find out. Konig was a big man, and he didn't even look close to tired as he hovered over you, a smug look on his handsome face.
"told me not to. 'm so sorry daddy." You cry, the tears falling down your face, onto the pillow below you. He leans down to your lips, planting a soft kiss on them. He peels the hair from your forehead, slick with sweat. "Such a good girl, schatz." He whispers, pulling out from you, the pressure in your core leaving as you lie there, your head spinning, thighs shaking. He leans between your thighs, pressing a soft kiss onto your swollen clit.
He stands up, smiling down at you as you sniffle. "Let me run my pretty girl a warm bath, yeah?" You nod your head lazily, feeling his thumb over your soft, swollen lips, puffy from crying.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
You sit between Konig's legs in the bath, your back to his chest as he scrubs your skin with your loofah. "I'm sorry, my darling. Look at you, can barely stay awake." You smile lazily, your eyes fluttering closed as the warmth of the bath and his skin caress your naked form. He wraps his arms around you, kissing your neck softly. You rest your head on his chest, looking up at him through your lashes, half lidded with fatigue, and pure, raw love for the man who had just brutalized your very soul.
"I told you not to cum. Didn't I, schatz?"
#konig#fanfic#konig x reader#cod mw#konig x you#konig call of duty#konig fic#konig headcanons#konig cod#konig smut#konig x y/n#konig x female reader#konig modern warfare#konig fanfiction#dom konig#call of dooty#smut#aftercare#konig mw2#konig has a fat pp
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