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anantaru · 6 months

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GENSHIN + NUT IN ME NOVEMBER

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — who cares about NNN? your boyfriend and you certainly don't!

— ꒰ including ꒱ — neuvillette, scaramouche, childe, wriothesley

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — fem! reader, breeding kink, slight size kink, unprotected sex, very messy & lots of cum, they're a little mean & tease a lot, pussy drunk genshin men

— ꒰ NEUVILLETTE ꒱

from the current appearances, neuvillette could hardly indulge in the magnificent view emitting from underneath his large body— and the handsome man was just about to open his mouth, precisely to spell out those candid words and praises into your ears when you're prompt in your own gentle ministrations by wrapping both arms around his neck to shush him before a mere word could slip, tickling the fine hair on the back of his head.

"it seems— ugh, like we've lost," neuvillette was barely capable to say anything out loud without in his words resulting in crumbling apart when you squeeze around him tighter, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head in pleasure at the way you were gripping him, your lungs feeling like they stretch out on each new whimper, whine and writhe as he fucks you in sheer desperation.

a faint outline of a groan exudes from the both of you when he bottoms into you again— while now, what was slow at first, meaning just gentle and slow thrusts in and out of you every so softly to build up the fizzing pleasure on your wet insides, soon manifested into something else, the rapid shoves making your things tense tight, your used cunt merging into his stiffened erection as you shake beneath him.

your face squeezes into that of deep pleasure, your nose puckered around the bridge and brows knitted together when your climax was right around the corner to trigger something unnamable in your stomach, a sinking fieriness that almost appeared to be as strong as to numb the salacious thrusts and grinds that were becoming messier, so greedy and harder to tame.

you hear it, those lewd noises, and your body reacts to them as well, a quivering murmur to his tone as soft tremors of neuvillette's groans exhale from his mouth and slip right into your searing kiss— because you see now, you're in control of his mind, and at this rate you're practically begging him to go harder on your cunt with each smack of his hips convulsing on your core when he slants back into you to press his delicate lips against yours, pushing his tongue in between as your slick smears along the thin skin of his shaft, your walls throbbing and turning with each new wave of unforgiving thrusts of his hips splitting you in half.

— ꒰ SCARAMOUCHE ꒱

"why did you even believe i would consider going without this for a whole month?"

oh, who would've thought? but this happened to be way easier for scaramouche, more delicious and empowering than any reluctance or guilt when the both of you haven't even gotten through one day of november without practically being all over each other— your hips arching into his strong thrusts forward, fingers curling into the disheveled bed sheets as your soft insides clench up around his rigid erection.

"i thought it'll be— fuck, it'll be fun!" you attempt to reason with your boyfriend, although sweetly smirking against his lips demanding entry into your mouth as you began to pepper searing kisses on them, your tongue teasing into his warmth to lap across his wet muscle, your skin sticking against his own as his hips roll back and forth your clenching hole, breaking through your thighs squeezing together with fierce need.

scaramouche breaks the kiss at once, "look at me," he demands, visibly swallowing before taking a deep breath, his voice surprisingly low, a pinch of a rasp tottering on top of your lips as his tone was evidently wrapped inside the limit of a domineering cocoon fully consisting of vicious pleasure.

"you know that's no fun," you tremble as you shake under his looming body, his hips pressing in deep, in fact, so deep that you were now full of him, crowded as your pussy made his pace stutter, your hole overflowing with his throbbing cock and altering the steady stream of pleasure running through your veins, his grin only widening at the feeling of how much you liked the way he fucked you so desperately.

"but this is fun, wouldn't you agree?" scaramouche made sure to convey each of his words with a new, even stronger, sharp thrust into your warm hole as his balls tighten against you, the heaviness of his length pressing through your solid ring pulls your body in a tremble, your face now buried in the curve of his neck as you climax with a loud cry of his name, the sudden compression of your pussy making it harder for him to contain himself as he cums hard as well, spilling hot white ropes of sticky cum deep inside your pulsing spots that the heaviness of him made you wince softly.

"this— oh this feel so good." kuni mumbles against your lips with a large smirk manifesting on his handsome features, grunting as he continues to pound sloppily into you, "you feel so good," his hips treasuring how your cunt continuously throbbed around his shaft as you close your eyes due to exhaustion, breathing out heavily at the same time, "all mine."

— ꒰ CHILDE ꒱

"ajax, i don't— ahh, think that's what no nut november is about,"

you really do not have to tell childe— and the salacious thoughts he had about breaking the little bet between you was clinging on to his brain ever so vividly, until he simply could not resist himself and split your thighs underneath him the second he stepped home, pressing his slender fingers into the flesh of your ass as he moves you back and forth on his length, the hot breathes he expelled going hand in hand with each new thrust controlling your frame, his heaves fanning against your skin as his delicious traces invade your psyche and cloud your mind.

"you wouldn't say?" there was a curve in his voice, one that made his sentence sound all the more mischievous and deadly as childe clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

you know you're done for when his hips suddenly pick up on pace, as if he wanted, no, needed to show you that he was very much aware that he was breaking the rules of such silly little bet, every massive shove amplified by the enduring limbs in his muscular frame, your inflamed pussy squelches loudly with the wet smacks of his hips giving you no time to rest.

you whimper, if you can even call it that because in truth, it was a desperate attempt of a pathetic little sob, your glasslike eyes beclouded with deep-rooted bliss— and ugh, the harbinger was just absolutely intoxicating, it's totally unfair! and you were reacting just the way he wanted you to as you found yourself to indulge in his maddening fragrance penetrating your tottering skin, your nose buried into his neck as you inhale it deeper, sneakily teasing your fingers into his silken hair.

it only needed a couple more thrusts before you unravel underneath his looming shade at the same time as the tightened bubble in childe's stomach snapped in two, thick and heavy whites causing havoc inside of your pussy when you feel his tongue push into your mouth as to drink in your filthy moans, swallow the desperate attempts to signalize just how fucking good he felt when he pushes his load all into your little cunt to keep it there, the delicious pleasure on your lower area weighing you down the bed as you're nothing but a tremble left, your hole tensing every so often before he pulls out to watch the sweet mess he made on you.

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱

a flavorful multitude of skilled touches deeply dwell inside of your swelling sensitivity— with one trace in particular that sought out to reach the deepest parts of your responsive nerves.

wriothesley turns the air in the room heavy within the period of a single heart beat as he presses into your hole, the lewd squelches of wetness slapping against each other overcrowding the room as he fucks you with his weighty cock— a thin sparkle of sweat persisting over his chiseled chest as you squeeze roughly at his shaft, sending him deeper into you.

but wriothesley needed more, he had to make it somehow messier than it already was— because careful now and listen close, but the duke had found your overly irritating talk about being so dear confident about going a whole fucking month without doing this a little bit insulting, in fact, have you already forgotten what kind of emotions he was able to awake within you with nothing but his cock fucking you filthily until your thighs tremble on either side of him?

now, your bodies were sticked up together, the scent of lewd sex hanging in the air and mixed with the glazing scent of cologne and sweaty musk enticing the duke to fuck you harder, his once precise thrusts developing into sloppy and desperate movements, your skin practically on fire when he races through your walls with each squeeze of your cunt knocking the air from his lungs.

your fingers slide through his matted hair, your body lost between the pressure of his thick shaft dragging along your sensitivity as your arousal smeared all over his base, drenching the sheets below as he feels his balls tighten, he's so close, his body suddenly even heavier against your own as he slants himself forward, your erected nipples rubbing across his chiseled chest when he pins you down at once, leaning into you until merely a hairbreadth away.

"isn't this so much better, hm?"

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #childe smut #childe x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles

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shotmrmiller · 17 days

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simon's many things. a retired fighter, for one. he hung his mma gloves a few of years ago with the excuse of getting older. he still sticks around, though— sitting in the front, so close to the hexagonal cage that his knees can touch the steel, occasionally gesturing price over to hand him a crinkled wad of cash.

gambling's illegal, you know.

thought you were a medic not a cop, pet.

a veterinarian.

good thing we're all dogs here, then.

he's also a bit unhinged, or so price says. you had pressed your tongue against the back of your teeth to keep from asking him if the hits simon's taken to the side of the head knocked a few things loose or if he was simply born that way. you'd be thoroughly unsurprised by the latter.

seen 'em take a man out with one ferocious hit— dislocated his jaw and retired him all in one second— all over cigarettes.

what, did they guy like steal them or something?

no. the prize for the winner of their fight was that pack of smokes.

incredible. (that's insane.)

he's also unrepentantly forward and a bit of a pervert, to boot. no explanation is needed.

lemme take ya out, love—

don't call me that.

and wear a pretty dress with heels. bet you'd look real good in—

stop talking, simon.

and now, you're about to find out that he's also, apparently, magnanimous.

a friday night's hustle and bustle has come and gone, as has the crowd that was in there earlier to watch a fight. the air smells of cheap alcohol and even cheaper cologne. the lighting inside is dim, casting a dull, almost sickly glow over wooden stands and the bloodied arena. the floor, once dry concrete, was now mud-slicked; drinks, urine, and spilled blood staining the surface. betting slips stick to your sneakers as you walk. (trudge, more like.)

with your worn medical supply bag around your shoulder, you tiredly head towards price's office whose metal door is being held open by an old barstool, and gently rap your knuckles on the frame. "i'm leaving, john."

he looks up at you, soft blue eyes crinkling over his glasses as he smiles. "sounds good, love. see ya later. want me to walk you out?"

always the gentleman. "no, i'm alright. i'm sure simon's out there waiting for me any—"

the metal entrance door slams open then, causing you to jump at the startling noise. you whip your head around and a resigned groan escapes your lips. it's simon and he's got bruised company. very bruised.

there's never any rest for the wicked.

"who's that?" john calls from behind you. "he lost?"

the guy whose arm is slung around simon's shoulders looks relatively young. thick, straight eyebrows, a swollen broken nose, and thin blood-crusted lips. the last time you saw a mohawk on someone, it'd been in the early 00s.

"somewhat but it's a good thing i found 'em," simon grunts. his eyes flash over to you. "can ya patch him up f'me, love? i'll go on tha' date you've been beggin' me for."

you ignore simon as you approach them both and tip the guy's head up with your fingers under his chin. searching in your front pocket, you tell him to look at you. "open your eyes as best you can, alright?"

his eyes are like sparkling blue gems— bright like the sky on a clear summer's day. he winces at the blinding white light emitting from the flashlight. "tha' necessary, lass? ah'm not seein' double, if tha's what ye lookin' fer."

he gives a pained grunt before simon tells him to stand still. "my girl here's the medic and what she says goes. clear?"

"crystal, sir." purple bruises are blooming like dark flowers around his left eye and right cheekbone, and the blood that oozed from his split lip long coagulated. his nose, however, continues to languidly drip crimson.

"not the worst break i've seen," you mutter.

the pair shuffle behind you quietly as you head toward the dedicated medical room. the sharp, clinical scent of antiseptic wafts through the air as the door swings open.

"sit, please," you gesture to the well-worn chair in the corner.

black latex gloves squeak in protest as you slide them on. "wanna tell me what's going on, simon? i'm not gonna fix the nose of a wanted murderer, am i?"

simon chuckles under his breath. "no. unlucky bloke chose to mug the wrong person. johnny here is real good at fightin', though, for someone with no real proper trainin'. figured i could give him a way to earn his money instead of stealin' it off of hard-workin' folk."

you hum and press your thumbs as gently as you can where the nasal fracture is. johnny hisses sharply and grips your wrist tightly. "easy. i barely touched it." you quickly tap the back of his hand with your knuckles. "let go, please. last thing i need is you tensing and breaking my arm."

he slackens his fingers and sits on both of his hands. "sorry, lass. ah'd never hurt a bonnie lass like ye. say, how'd ye even end up in the bowels of the city?"

his talking re-opened the cut on his upper lip, blood streaking his teeth pink. "i'm a charity case, just like you, i reckon."

johnny means to continue the conversation, but you take advantage of his distracted mind and push to the left, the sickening crunch of cartilage follows the adjustment. he curls in on himself and lets out a guttural noise that bounces off the white walls. "i'd be sorry but..." you trail off with a casual shrug.

pulling a clean rag from a basket nearby, you order johnny to sit up straight. "look up for me." he leans his head back, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "hold this there," he squeezes his eyes shut when you firmly press the rag under his nose, "you'll stop bleeding soon enough."

you swivel on your stool, turning your attention to simon who's been silently watching you work by the door. "any injuries on you?"

he pulls his balaclava up, revealing a blonde stubble and scarred lips. "i got an injury right," he points at his mouth, "here tha' you can kiss—"

"stop talking, simon."

johnny's laughter emerges from behind the crimson-stained cloth.

this is the first time you've ever seen simon in the ring.

simon, even while 'retired', fights with a viciousness that borders on primal. his snarl— a ravenous wolf's— bare crooked teeth that hunger for victory, for dominance.

even when he's merely teaching johnny how to survive in this subterranean battleground.

"there's no room for mercy, soap!" he bellows. his eyes are sharp as blades, holding an edge of madness. he charges forward with fists like sledgehammers, delivering blow after punishing blow; johnny's body paying the price for his mistakes.

pain is the currency in that pit of despair, laswell had once said.

simon is a beast in human skin, ferocity incarnate...and you don't remember the last time you were this aroused by such a brute display. if this is what he looks like now, after years of being the spectator and not the spectacle, you can only imagine him in the zenith of his strength, his power.

heat licks up your cheeks at the mere thought.

he looks like he was born and bred to fight. his crib must've been the stained mat he's dancing on, his lullabies the sound of fists making contact, forcing flesh to yield. his broad back bears the weight of history— jagged flesh that stretches taut with each swing.

"fight smart! rules dissolve once tha' bell tolls, mate. many come here for glory, others come for an escape but some--" simon ducks the undisciplined punch johnny throws and gives him a ruthless jab to the ribs once then another to the side of his cut jaw.

johnny falls like a tree that's been cut at the trunk, the sound his body makes on impact with the canvas echoing in the empty basement. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, sweat and trickles of blood mingling on his face. simon kneels next to him, grunting as he goes down. "some are only here for their next meal and those are the most dangerous."

he is in his element, all bruised flesh and bloodied nose.

oh no. johnny's nose is bleeding too. "simon!" his head snaps to you when you scream, eyes wide and unfettered. "i just fixed his nose, you dolt!" his expression softens then— furrowed brows and taut lips relax.

"he'll be alrigh'. even my nose whistles when i breathe," he remarks.

simpleton. nothing but fighting and gambling in that big head of his. "that doesn't mean that it's okay to break bones i mended a few days ago." you keep your eyes fixed on johnny, ignoring the way the heat that's radiating from simon's sweat-slick body seeps into your chilled skin. "why he call you soap, anyway? good at cleaning dishes?"

he slurs a little, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "'cuz ah'm a shlippery bashtard."

you bite on your tongue, hoping that his slurring is because he's still mildly dazed from the punch and not something worse.

"wha' about me, love? i've got a beaten face too, y'know." you look at him then, narrowing your eyes as you take his bare face in. the bridge of his nose is pretty swollen, and you can see the onset of bruising already happening. it's also freely dribbling blood.

"shit, let me go get my medbag."

he hooks his fingers around the loops of your jeans, keeping you in place. "'fraid of a little blood, are ya? i think you'd look real good with me on you."

a jolt of arousal shoots up your spine unbidden, blooming desire, focus wavering. your breath catches and pupils dilate as they lock with his rich, brown ones.

"oi, get a room, aye?" johnny's hoarse voice snaps you back to the present, your thunderous heartbeat ebbing away like a tide from shore.

"whenever you want, sweetheart," simon purred. the lump lodged in your throat makes it hard to respond. "get the bag 'fore i bleed out. price will have my head if i drop dead on his mat."

you blink and scramble away on shaky legs and weak knees.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader

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astrophileous · 7 months

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Every Single Day

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: When his daughter demands him to tell the story of how the two of you met, Spencer can't help but oblige.

Warning(s): dad spencer🥰, established relationship (eventually), parent-child relationships, alcohol consumption, brief interaction with a douchebag, made-up astronomy facts, made-up places, idk if there's any cursing but I'll throw it in here to be safe, implications of sex and nsfw themes (minors be advised), pregnancy, mentions of illness, mentions and/or implications of character death, topics of loss and grief, angst and fluff because I love the best of both worlds👍 (pls lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 7700-ish

Author's Note: hi 👋 I'm back again with another dad!spencer fic bc apparently I'm a sucker for him. I got a lil carried away with this one lol but anyways, I'm also writing this for the meet cute challenge hosted by the amazing and talented @imagining-in-the-margins so pls go head to her profile and show some love cause she's a peach ❤️ don't forget to leave a LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG

Criminal Minds Masterlist

The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Against the wind, shades of crimson and orange swayed on the trees. Fallen leaves crunched underneath his feet to the cadence of his leisured steps.

Two deep breaths, in and out. Spencer Reid greeted autumn with the deep longing of an old friend.

Next to him walked a source of light bigger than the sun, jumping and bouncing excitedly on the sidewalk. Her tiny fingers emitted warmth inside of his hand. There was a skip to her step that reminded him of the innocence he had long lost. The innocence she now possessed.

Spencer loved this little girl beyond everything he had ever known.

"Puddle, Dee."

The tiny bundle of joy jumped to escape the small pool of water, grinning up at her father, who then began ruffling her hair until she evaded his onslaught with a shriek.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"You never told me how you met Mommy."

Spencer glanced down at the 6-year-old, dressed gorgeously in her favorite floral dress, complete with a sweater that had entailed a hearty discussion about humans' perception of cold. It was only after he bribed her with the promise of a chocolate cupcake from Wakey Bakey did Spencer finally convince her to wear the woolen piece of clothing.

His daughter stared at him with a radiant smile peeking out behind a curtain of hair. A smile which Spencer always argued had belonged to you, even though the rest of Diana Aurora Reid was the splitting image of her beloved father.

"Surely I've told you before, Dee."

"Nuh-uh."

"Of course I have."

"No, Daddy. You haven't."

"Pumpkin, you know I don't forget stuff ever," Spencer said, looking at the little girl who was swaying along to the rhythm of her footsteps. "I used to tell you that story all the time. Back when you were still a baby."

Just as predicted, Diana let out a dramatic gasp as if Spencer had uttered the most offensive thing known to mankind; like claiming the earth was actually flat, for example. Spencer couldn't contain his grin upon seeing her reaction.

"But Daddy, that was so long ago!"

"Do you not remember, Dee?"

Diana shook her head.

"Fine. But Mommy must've told you the story already, right?"

"She has, but--"

"But?"

"But I wanna hear it from you."

Little Diana knew that her father could never resist her puppy dog eyes, especially garnished with that adorable pout on top. Once upon a time, you declared it sickeningly cute and annoying whenever Spencer would pull the same trick on you. When Dee started doing the same to him, you had simply laughed and kissed his cheek, letting him get a sweet taste of his own medicine.

Spencer smiled at the young girl next to him, squeezing her nose and relishing in the gleeful squeal that echoed from her chest.

"What do you wanna hear, Pumpkin?"

Diana held her chin, seemingly deep in contemplation before deciding, "Everything, Dad! I wanna hear it from the start."

"The start, huh?" Spencer hummed thoughtfully, his mind already reeling back to the first moment he ever laid eyes on you.

The story began on yet another ordinary Friday night.

Luck was on the BAU's side when the team managed to wrap the case they had been working all week just before Friday afternoon. By the time the sun was setting, their jet was already high up in the sky, en route from the state of Delaware to Quantico, Virginia. Spencer was looking forward to going home at a reasonable hour for once--maybe catching up on the four reading materials he had promptly pushed aside after his team was called to Delaware to work on the latest case--but that plan dissipated when Derek Morgan suddenly appeared by his side.

"Drinks. Tonight. Everyone's coming, and I'm not taking no for an answer," Derek said before dragging a reluctant Spencer away with him, ignoring the protests that the younger man kept grumbling under his breath all the way to the team's favorite bar.

Spencer just hadn't known it yet, but later down the road, he would spend the rest of eternity thanking Derek Morgan for dragging him along that night.

The Friday night crowd at Shaw's was borderline brutal, but fortunately for the team, a booth in the corner became vacant the moment they stepped into the threshold.

Two hours later, Spencer's fellow teammates weren't even close to calling it a night. The last chorus of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" by Whitney Houston had just finished blasting from the speakers when Derek sauntered back to the booth, twirling a flushed Penelope Garcia in front of him. Spencer slipped out of the booth to allow them in--preferring to stay on the most outer seat instead of crammed between his tipsy friends' bodies--before sitting down once more.

"Hey, Genius," Penelope called, waving her empty beer glass in front of Spencer's face. "Be a darling and get me a refill, will you?"

"Garcia--" Spencer quickly snatched the glass from her hand before she could send it smashing against someone's head, "--are you sure you want a refill?"

Penelope scrunched her nose. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think you're plenty drunk already."

"I'm not that drunk," Penelope denied, giggling when an unexpected hiccup interrupted her slurred words. "Derek, tell the beautiful Doctor I'm not that drunk."

"She's not that drunk, Reid." Derek grinned. "While you're at it..."

Spencer could only sigh when Derek slid his own empty glass across the table.

It was past 10 o'clock at night, and the crowd of people in the establishment seemed to have doubled in the couple of hours that the team had been there. Spencer had to squeeze himself through the ocean of patrons flooding the bar, barely able to move his limbs without other people's arms or elbows bumping against his ribcage.

Spencer was waiting for the bartender to complete his order when he happened to glance towards his right, catching sight of the concealed panic that triggered every profiler bone in his body.

Any other person would have taken one look at your face and presumed that everything was alright, but Spencer knew better. He recognized the frantic movement of your eyes, the tight press of your lips, and the impatient knocking of your fingertips on the counter. He only caught the tail end of your voice before discreetly listening to what the man you were talking to had to say.

"--so, unfortunately, I can't."

"I told you, Baby. My Veyron runs at over 260 miles per hour. We can go to Red Clover Hill and get you back home safely by twelve. It's simple math," the guy slurred smugly.

"Actually, that's not true."

The drunken man turned around at Spencer's interruption.

"Excuse me?"

"The Red Clover Hill State Park is approximately 229 miles away from here. Though theoretically, you could drive your Veyron at its maximum velocity, which is around 268 miles per hour, it's very unlikely you'll be able to maintain that speed for the entirety of the ride, considering the terrain you would have to go through between here and there. The fastest you can probably get to the park is in 60 minutes, give or take, and that's being generous. You would have to drive back to D.C. as soon as you arrive at the park if you wish to be back by twelve. It's just realistically impossible."

The man in front of him couldn't be less impressed by Spencer's lengthy rant.

"And who the hell are you?" the drunken guy said, pinning Spencer with a stare that was clearly supposed to be intimidating.

Spencer didn't even flinch. "No one. Just a guy who happens to know a lot about... simple math."

Your loud cough tore Spencer's attention away from the drunk man and towards you, who looked ready to burst from the laughter you were holding underneath. Even under the terrible lighting of the bar, Spencer could still pinpoint the hint of unspoken amusement glimmering inside your eyes.

"Sorry, Bill," you said to the man. "I really do need to be back home by twelve tonight. Maybe some other time?"

Bill didn't need to be told twice. He received the message loud and clear.

Spencer watched the other man scurry away, tail between his legs, before your charming smile enraptured him once more.

"Thank you for that. I was beginning to think he might never leave."

"Happy to help." Spencer smiled thinly, scratching the back of his neck even though the spot wasn't itchy. "What did, uh, why did he want to take you to Red Clover Hill, of all places?"

"Oh. That was... partially my fault." You grinned innocently. "I didn't know he was gonna be an insufferable drunk when he came over, and I was in the middle of watching this."

You pulled out a silver tablet from your lap. Spencer took a peek at the screen, seeing what looked like a live feed of the night sky--over North Carolina, judging by the visible constellations on the vast scene--stamped with the day's date at the bottom of the footage.

"You're watching the Roux-Nell?" Spencer deduced after gathering the facts: the live feed of North Carolina sky, the mention of Red Clover Hill State Park that harbored one of the highest grounds in North Carolina, including a collection of some of the most sophisticated telescopes in the country; you must have been planning to view that night's sighting of the Roux-Nell comet, its first time since the last one in 1927, and only its third one in history.

"Yes! How did you... don't tell me. You're an avid astronomy fan, too?"

Spencer's responding smile only made you beam even brighter.

"Anyway, that guy earlier, Bill, he approached me and asked what I was watching. So, I started talking about the Roux-Nell and about how I wish I was at Red Clover Hill right now since everyone keeps saying it's one of the best spots to view tonight's sighting. I thought he was genuinely interested until he started talking about his Veyron this, his Veyron that. I didn't even realize until a whole five minutes later that he was talking about his car!"

When you finally finished explaining, your eyes locked with Spencer's hazel ones before you seemed to cower shyly.

"Sorry. I can get a little excited when I'm talking sometimes."

"No! Don't be, it was--" Spencer stopped himself before he could complete his sentence.

What was he about to say?

Insightful? Entertaining?

Endearing?

Eventually, Spencer opted to settle for something safe and simple. "I get that way too, sometimes. A lot of the times, actually. So you don't have to apologize."

The fire flickered back inside your gaze following Spencer's admission. It burned brilliantly beneath the kindness you radiated, forged by the sharp intelligence he could see shining out of your eyes.

"So--" Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to shift the conversation in order to distract his racing mind, "--why did you tell him you needed to be back home by twelve?"

"Oh, that? I told him I'm donating blood tomorrow morning, so I need to at least get seven hours of sleep for the night."

"That's a clever lie."

You tilted your head slightly at his statement. "What makes you think it's a lie?"

"Because you're here. Nobody drinks alcohol before they're supposed to donate blood."

Your eyes flashed with surprise. "Not bad, Mister. You're very perceptive."

Spencer shrugged, trying not to appear too flustered by your casual compliment. "It's what I do."

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his reply.

"I'm a profiler."

"Profiler?"

"With the FBI."

"FBI, huh?" You hummed, something akin to intrigue swirling in your eyes. "So, you study criminals? Trying to decipher their way of thinking, why they do what they do. Dissect their past history for any related trauma, maybe even pinpoint a psychological stressor that could trigger a criminal behavior, that kind of stuff?"

Upon hearing your response, it was Spencer's turn to be intrigued. "Exactly that kind of stuff. How did you...?"

Grinning sheepishly, you pulled a professional badge out of your pocket, holding it up in front of Spencer so he could see the emblem covering its surface.

"Edgewater Psychology Center," Spencer read the words aloud, understanding dawning on him as he found your eyes once more. "You're a psychologist."

"Guilty as charged."

Spencer couldn't fight off his amused smile. "That explains it, then."

"You know," you began, leaning further against the bar counter to shorten the distance between you and Spencer, "I've never met a profiler in person before. Most of my colleagues, they have consulted on a federal case at least once in the past few years, but the bureau hasn't yet contacted me so far."

"Really?" Spencer took a step forward, closing the distance by a mere inch. "Sounds like a big loss for us. We're idiots."

You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress a smile, your gaze flicking between Spencer's own lips and eyes. For the shortest of minutes, nothing else existed in Spencer's world but you; your smile, your scent, and your kind eyes. You were a magnet carved out of his wildest dreams, and Spencer, well, he might as well have been made out of the purest of irons.

But before Spencer could get lost deeper in your relentless gaze, a shout of his name slashed through the air from across the bar. Back at the booth, Derek was waving his hand frantically in the air, stopping only when Spencer signaled him to sit back down and that he was returning in a minute.

"I have to go." He smiled tentatively, apologetically.

"Oh?"

Spencer tried not to revel too much over the small dip of disappointment at the edge of your voice.

"My friends. They, uh--"

"Oh, no, it's alright. You don't have to explain," you told him gently. "See you around, Mr. Profiler. Hope you have a great night."

With that said, you went back to watching the live feed on your tablet while Spencer, begrudgingly, trudged across the room with two refilled beer glasses in his hands, back to where his friends--minus Rossi and Hotch who were conversing among themselves at one of the standing tables--were waiting.

"Finally," Derek groaned once Spencer slammed the glasses down on the table.

"Who was that?" Emily asked as he slipped into the booth.

"Huh?" Spencer followed Emily's gaze, finding you perched up at the very end of it. "No one."

"No one?" Emily's eyebrows rose. "She didn't seem like no one from where I was sitting."

Spencer took an insanely large sip of his leftover beer.

"Holy shit, you like her, " Derek muttered. "He likes her. Pretty boy's got a crush."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah? Tell that to those red cheeks of yours." JJ chuckled.

Instinctively, Spencer touched his own cheeks as if he could physically feel the change of colors on his skin.

"I'm just tipsy," he tried to reason.

A collective scoff reverberated through the entire booth.

"What's her name, Spence?" JJ asked.

When a full minute ticked by without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment from Spencer, Penelope reached out and slapped the man right across his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"You didn't ask for her name?!" Penelope exclaimed.

"It didn't come up!"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, Reid," Emily noted before sipping her margarita.

"Nope. I'm not having this. Not tonight. Look at me, Sunshine." Penelope grabbed Spencer's face in her hands, forcing him to stare directly into her glasses-rimmed eyes. "I'm not letting you spend the rest of the night like this. You will get your cute little tushy out there and talk to that girl. You will get her name and also her number, maybe even ask the nice pretty lady out while you're at it. Now, have I made myself clear?"

Spencer barely managed to swallow his nerves before he offered Penelope two tiny nods.

"Good. I don't wanna see your face back here if you're not at least pocketing her phone number. Now shoo."

Penelope sent Spencer flying across the bar with a dramatic stumble. By the time he reached your side, Spencer was nothing less than a stuttering mess and a thundering heart.

"Hi," Spencer breathed out once he found your welcoming eyes.

"Um, hi?"

"I'm Spencer."

"Okay... Spencer?"

"Reid. Spencer Reid." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, it's just... I realized while I was sitting over there--well, my friends actually made me realize--that I, uh, never got your name. Which, you know, of course I never got it because I didn't ask. So, I was coming here, wondering if maybe you'd like to give it... to me?"

You blinked once. Twice.

By the third blink, Spencer wished the earth would open up and devour him whole.

"You want my name?"

Spencer nodded.

"What are you planning to do with it?"

"Call you?" At your bemused expression, Spencer quickly elaborated, "Not call like call. I meant referring. Yep. That's it. Although, maybe if you want to, I would love to call you as well. Sometime. And perhaps, you know, ask you out... on a date?"

Spencer swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat. In front of him, you were pretty, even with the conspicuous scrutiny in your eyes as they assessed Spencer as if he was some sort of an enigma. Embarrassment burned hotter through his veins with every second that passed by. He was merely two exhales of breath away from dashing out of the door when you finally spoke up.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Smiling, you produced an old receipt seemingly out of thin air and asked the bartender to lend you a pen, scribbling something down as soon as you had it between your fingers. When the tiny piece of paper emigrated to Spencer's hand, the Cheshire cat in him jumped out once he noticed the ten digit numbers written neatly underneath a name he could only assume as yours.

"Will that be enough, Spencer Reid?"

"For now," Spencer replied before grabbing his wallet and shoving the paper containing your name inside. "I'll call you."

"You better."

After Spencer's departure, you returned your attention back to the tablet in front of you. Barely five minutes later, though, your serene watching session was once again interrupted. Only this time, it was by the ringing of your phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Spencer."*

Surprised, you swiveled your head left and right, stopping once you spotted Spencer standing on the other side of the room. His eyes were trained towards you, and behind him, a booth of four people seemed to have directed their attention at you as well.

"Spencer?"

"I know this is very untoward," he began, "but would you like to go out with me?"

"Boy, you certainly don't waste any time at all, do you?"

"I believe it's called being efficient," he countered, making you laugh. "So, what do you say?"

"Sure," you answered, enjoying the way Spencer beam at you from across the room. "I would love to, Spencer."

A breeze blew gently against Spencer's face, caressing the tendrils of curly hair that had fallen over his forehead. Diana's little fingers started to grip his tighter as the wind strengthened.

"Did you take Mommy on that date, Daddy?"

"Of course," Spencer replied, reminiscing the exact day when he had picked you up in your apartment, sweat glistening on his palm as he clutched the bouquet of flowers in his right hand. "We went to see a Mark Rothko exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, and before I took her home, we stopped by Wakey Bakey to buy some lemon tarts."

Diana gasped. "Wakey Bakey?!"

The little girl's reaction compelled a chuckle from Spencer's chest. "Yes, Pumpkin. Wakey Bakey."

"What happened after that, Daddy?"

"What do you think happened after that, Dee?"

"Um--" Diana pursed her lips, deeply lost in thought, "--did you become girlfriend and boyfriend?"

"Yes, we did."

"And you got married?!"

Spencer laughed at Diana's apparent excitement over the prospect of her parents getting married. "We did, yeah, eventually. After I proposed to her."

"Oh! Oh! The proposal!" Diana exclaimed, jumping up and down in the middle of the sidewalk without a care in the world. Spencer had to tug her back towards him before she could harm herself or the other pedestrians. "Tell me! Tell me! Tell me about the proposal, Daddy!"

"You wanna hear the story about how I proposed to your mother?"

"Yes, please!"

Chuckling to himself, Spencer mumbled a quick fine before his gears had started turning towards a specific memory in his mind. Spencer was sure, even without his eidetic ability, there was no way he could have ever forgotten about the day in question.

The day you agreed to have him as your forever.

Spencer had fallen in love with you during the first date, right around the time of yet another one of his animated ramblings, where instead of shaming him to shut the hell up, you had simply stared at him in awe and said, "You're pretty when you talk."

The young agent was sure he couldn't get rid of the blush adorning his cheeks for at least an entire week.

By the time the fifth date rolled around, Spencer was absolutely certain that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It wasn't a surprise, then, that a few weeks before your first anniversary came up, Spencer had pocketed a diamond ring with a promise of forever on the tip of his tongue.

Combing the courage to take this historical leap was easy. Difficult was trying to conjure up the perfect proposal plan that he would deem worthy enough for someone like you. There were no rooms for mistakes. Spencer wanted everything to be perfect because he believed you deserved nothing less.

Which was why, in moments of desperation, Spencer ended up turning to his fellow teammates in the FBI for help.

"I don't know if I'm the right person to ask about this, Spence. Will only ever proposed to me after finding out about Henry, and we only got married after I thought he was gonna die on the field," JJ explained. "It was never the most ideal of situations, but I would never change a thing even if I could."

Unsatisfied with JJ's answer, Spencer proceeded to find the BAU's tech genius in her bat cave.

"Go big or go home, my friend," Penelope said following a 10-minute hysteria she erupted into upon learning about Spencer's intent to propose. "Splash out on the bottle. Don't hold back on the grandeur. Spend all of your savings if you have to."

"Garcia--"

"Fine, maybe not all of your savings. You should leave some for the wedding."

Spencer spent weeks mulling over Penelope's advice.

Working as an FBI agent didn't pay as well as most people thought it would, and Spencer's tendency to collect first edition books wasn't exactly an affordable hobby. It meant that as much as Spencer wanted a proposal filled with the greatest grandeur--just as Penelope had suggested--he didn't have a fat enough balance in his bank account to make his ideal proposal concept a reality.

And Spencer probably would have spent the limited fund in his savings down to its very last cent, had it not been for Derek catching him browsing through the internet for the cost of a hot air balloon ride.

"I just want to give her the perfect proposal," Spencer admitted after he finished revealing everything.

"Kid, it doesn't matter," Derek said. "Don't you see? She doesn't care about hot air balloons or any kind of grandeur. She only cares about you. There's no such thing as a perfect proposal. You're just using it as an excuse to put off asking her 'cause you're scared of what she's gonna say. But you don't need to. You two are so devastatingly in love, it's disgusting."

In the end, grandeur wasn't even present in the room when Spencer decided to pop the question.

On that particular night, Spencer arrived in his apartment just a few minutes before midnight. His aching muscles were calling for sleep as he toed his shoes off, but his footsteps soon ceased when he caught sight of his dimly lit living room.

You were fast asleep on the couch, face illuminated by the television light. Spencer's movements were careful as he knelt in front of you, studying the soft and hard edges of your features like historians would an ancient scripture. He couldn't help it when his fingers reached out on their own accord, brushing the softest of touches against the high point of your cheekbone. Inside its cage, Spencer's heart started to stir.

You were so beautiful.

Even after one year of being together, Spencer was often still taken back by how lovely you were. He adored every detail of your being, most fervently the scars that littered your skin in a constellation of stars. All of the places in your body where your scrutiny had wandered in a fleet of insecurity were the same places that Spencer wanted to worship for the rest of his life. In his eyes, you were eternally magnificent, and this thought clouded Spencer's mind as he went to shake your shoulder gently.

"Spencer?" Your groggy voice sounded meek in the comfort of Spencer's apartment, the same one he had been sharing with you since you moved in three months prior. Your lips tilted with the tiniest hint of a smile at the sight of him, and Spencer thought he would melt when your fingers instinctively reached for his face. "You're back."

"I'm back," he confirmed, leaving a trail of kisses on your palm. "Why aren't you in bed, my love?"

"I was waiting for you," you admitted. "I have something to say."

"Really? Me too."

"Hm?" Curiosity flared in the center of your eyes. "You first."

Smiling, Spencer leaned down to steal a quick kiss before saying, "Marry me."

Your breath hitched.

After a few seconds of silence, your nervous laughter filled his ears. "Right. That's a nice one, Spencer. Very funny."

"I'm not joking, sweetheart."

Spencer reached into the inside pocket of his satchel, pulling out the velvet box that had weighed down his bag by several grams for the past few weeks. Any remnant of sleep you still had in your eyes was instantly washed away the moment he opened the box to reveal a pretty ring sitting inside.

"I've had this for a while now," Spencer admitted. "I kept putting off asking you because I believed I wanted everything to be perfect, until Derek knocked some sense into my head and made me realize that I was just afraid of taking the leap. He's right, as always, but don't tell him I said that."

Spencer paused at your teary laugh, relishing in the melodic sound that made his heart nearly burst in two. "My love, I don't need the perfect proposal when you're the promise of a perfect life. Any life with you is the one I want to live for the rest of my time, and I want to start living that life from this point onward. What do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?"

Spencer never thought the word yes could sound so incredibly spectacular.

The celebration had started right away, commemorated by the shedding of clothes from each other's bodies, finalized by panting breaths and entangled limbs beneath rumpled sheets. You lay on the bed with your palm on Spencer's chest, his own hand tracing invisible patterns on the vast canvass of your skin.

Spencer watched as you stared at the ring circling your finger. "Do you like it? We can exchange it for a new one if--"

"Spencer Reid, don't you dare."

"Apologies, ma'am." He grinned, continuing the random patterns he was drawing on your skin before he spoke again, "By the way, you said you also have something to tell me."

You looked up at him with a blinding smile before scooting out of Spencer's arm and reaching for the nightstand. When Spencer saw what you had rummaged out of the bedside drawer, Spencer thought his heart had forgotten how to beat.

"Is that--"

"Surprise," you murmured giddily, handing over the object in your hand into Spencer's awaiting palm. "I found out yesterday, but I wanted to tell you in person."

Spencer sat up on the bed, staring with disbelief at the small item in his hand. He only realized he had started to cry when a drop of tears fell down, blurring the two tiny pink lines in his vision.

"This is... you're..."

"I'm pregnant, Spencer," you professed.

Just an hour earlier, Spencer thought the word yes was the best thing he could ever hear falling from your mouth. But as he held you in his arms, his lips catching yours once more in a heated kiss, Spencer realized that you had many more surprising admissions waiting to be said out loud.

And Spencer couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life listening to every single one of them.

"Daddy, are you saying I was already in Mommy's belly when you proposed to her?"

"Yes, you were, Pumpkin," Spencer said, smiling at the blatant curiosity in Little Dee's eyes. "You were a surprise we didn't see coming."

Diana's responding smile was a picture of satisfaction. The father-daughter pair continued to walk down the street until Dee's voice tore through the silence once again, "Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"I thought you said a man and a woman can only make babies after they're married."

Spencer's footsteps halted on the pavement.

The silence must have stretched for only a partial of a minute, but the expectant stare Dee was nailing against his face, along with the internal panic that had short-circuited Spencer's brain made it seem as if the world had skidded into a standstill. Frantic eyes darted everywhere for a chance at rectification, and Spencer couldn't stop the words from tumbling off his lips when he saw the worn-down sign of a florist up ahead.

"Dee, would you like to buy some flowers for Mommy?"

The little girl squealed an excited yes before skipping the few steps left towards the flower shop. Spencer let out a relieved breath at having narrowly escaped such a harrowing crisis.

Once Spencer stepped into the shop, a multitude of fragrances immediately enveloped his surroundings. Diana was lingering back and forth around the vibrant displays when Spencer approached, her tiny eyebrows frowning in the most adorable way as she assessed the rows of flowers in front of her.

"Have you decided yet, Pumpkin?"

"Can we get some of Mommy's favorites, Dad?" Diana requested, pointing her tiny finger at the display of flowers she knew to be your favorites. "And then we can add some of these daisies, too!"

Spencer couldn't fight the smile blossoming on his face as he asked the florist to assemble a bouquet made out of daisies--Dee's favorite type of flowers, the same one printed all over the dress she was wearing--along with your favorite flowers in the center. Diana stared in awe at the deft work administered by the florist, her mouth forming an "O" once the bouquet was wrapped and ready to go.

"Do you think Mommy will like them, Daddy?"

"I know she will, Pumpkin," Spencer answered earnestly, his memory replaying that first time he had come home bringing the same arrangement of flowers in his hand.

Spencer came home to the apartment in utter disarray, and yet, it still was the best view that he had ever witnessed in his entire life.

Ever since his office was transformed into a nursery, the books he previously kept in there had to be relocated to the living area. Most of them had gone by now--some donated, and some others sold at second-hand bookstores--but piles of them still littered in various corners of the room.

Apart from his mountainous collection of books, small trinkets also covered every available surface of the place. From the empty nursing bottles in the kitchen sink to the breast pump on the counter, and the tiny socks on the coffee table to the pacifier jammed between the sofa cushions; every single one of them contributed to the mess that his apartment had become. Yet as he paused to inspect every inch of the place, Spencer couldn't find any other emotion besides warmth flooding his chest.

Muffled footsteps padded towards the living room before you appeared from the hallway with a freshly bathed Diana in your arms. As soon as your eyes locked with his, the crease between your eyebrows automatically vanished.

"You're home."

"I'm home." Spencer grinned before welcoming you into his embrace.

He stole a quick kiss from your lips before bending down to smother a 7-month-old Diana who yelped in glee when Spencer began attacking her with kisses all over her face.

"She's been fussy since yesterday," you told him. "I think she missed you."

"Did you, baby? Did you miss Daddy?" Spencer cooed. "I can take her for a few while you rest. You look tired. Are you feeling okay?"

"Gee, Spence. What a way to a girl's heart."

"You know what I meant, sweetheart."

"It's fine, Spencer. I just got a headache, but it's all better now that you're here."

Spencer smiled as he kissed your free knuckles. "If it's any consolation, you're still the most heavenly creature that I've ever laid eyes upon."

A sneaky laughter rumbled past your chest. "Fine. I'll let you go just this once," you said before letting Spencer take a yawning Diana into his arms.

As Spencer carried Dee towards the couch, you noticed a bouquet of flowers lying next to the kitchen sink in the corner of your eye. You glanced at the young genius with a discreet smile before aptly transferring the flowers into a vase.

"These are pretty," you commented, joining your family in the living room. You put the vase in the middle of the coffee table amidst the books and various baby clutters before dropping yourself against Spencer's side.

"They're your favorites."

"I know. As usual." You smiled affectionately. "And daisies. You've never bought me daisies before."

Spencer's eyes gleamed. "I bought the daisies for Dee."

"Oh?"

"I think daisies are gonna be her favorite."

"You do, huh?"

"One hundred percent."

Spencer's eyes looked up from Diana to you then, whose own gaze had been kept intently on your husband and daughter. Darkness embellished the area underneath your eyes, and Spencer couldn't help but count the lines of fatigue that seemed to have multiplied on the contours of your face. Even then, Spencer thought you had never looked more stunning than you did at that moment; as his wife, the mother of his child, and the woman who owned the sole reign of his heart.

Confusion wandered into your eyes when you noticed Spencer's stubborn stare. A surprised squawk escaped your lips as Spencer unexpectedly captured them in a rather long kiss. When he pulled back, Spencer looked the very image of a man who was drunk on love.

"I love you. You know that, right?" Spencer confessed as he squeezed your hand twice in his palm.

"Spencer, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing. I just--" he paused for a chuckle, seemingly trying to find the right words to say before he could continue, "--I owe my life to you, sweetheart. For all of the times you have pulled me out of the darkness, to the light you've brought into my life. You and Dee are the reason I keep on breathing. Without the two of you, I'm nothing."

"Spencer," you breathed out. "Where did all of this come from?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I just wanted you to know how grateful I am to have you in my life and that you've brought Dee into ours. Everything worth fighting for about me is because of you."

The telltale signs of tears began to cast a shadow over your eyes. You pressed your hand to Spencer's cheek, feeling the rugged sensation of his newly shaved stubble stroking your skin. Spencer melted into the warmth of your touch.

"You're giving me far too much credit here, Spencer," you whispered. "Everything you are has always been your own doing rather than mine. All I ever did was cheer you on from the sideline. You would still have become the person that you are today even if I weren't in your life."

Spencer physically shuddered at your last statement. "Don't say that. I can't even begin to imagine a life without you in it."

"Well, even if such day does come, when I won't be a part of your life anymore, I know you're gonna be just fine. Because you'll have Dee with you--" you stroked Diana's head lovingly, "--and I know that the two of you will give each other enough love and strength that you won't even notice I'm not around anymore."

The frown on Spencer's face deepened.

"You're not allowed to leave me. Ever," Spencer decided childishly.

"Fine. I won't. But you have to remember--" you brought your palm towards Spencer's chest, feeling each rhythmic thrum of his heart which seemed to flutter ever so slightly underneath your fingers, "--I'll be right here if you need me. Always."

Spencer's own hand landed on top of your hand, entwining your fingers together without ever tearing his fierce gaze away from yours.

"Always."

The sun was shining down in flimsy rays when Spencer and Dee finally walked past the familiar gate. Glimmers of gold sneaked past the reddish leaves on branches before falling upon the ground.

Next to him, Diana was humming a melody that Spencer recognized from one of your specially curated playlists. Her little hands struggled to carry the gigantic bouquet that she couldn't wait to present to you. It didn't matter that the bouquet itself was nearly as tall as she was, Diana still refused to let Spencer assist her.

"I wanna give Mommy the flowers myself," she had told Spencer in a manner that reminded him too much of your own stubbornness.

After a couple more minutes of walking, Spencer's reverie was soon broken by the excited squeal coming from the little girl beside him.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Diana dashed into a sprint before words of warning could fall from Spencer's lips. He watched intensely as Diana's little feet moved upon the ocean of fallen leaves on the ground. Her tight grip around the bouquet never wavered even when she ran up the grassed hill, all the way towards the destination in her mind.

All the way towards the headstone with your name written on it.

When Spencer finally got there, Diana was kneeling next to your grave with panting breaths, but the smile stretched on her lips was the biggest one that Spencer had ever seen.

"Hi, Mommy. I'm back with Daddy," Diana announced. "Daddy, go say hi to Mommy."

"Hello, my love." Spencer smiled before taking a seat next to his daughter.

"We brought flowers, Mommy! They're your favorites. I added daisies to make them prettier." Diana beamed before putting the bouquet against your headstone. "You're not gonna believe what happened in class yesterday!"

As Diana animatedly began to recount the funny incident in her classroom--somehow involving a boy named Patrick and a cup of slushie--Spencer watched over her with a permanent smile on his lips. The little girl loved to talk--a trait she obviously acquired from both of her parents--and Spencer knew just how much you used to adore listening to Dee's rambling at any time of day.

It must have been at least ten minutes later when Diana's story eventually whirled to an end. Her attention instantly shifted to the family who was paying their own respect just two headstones over, a small squeak of puppy tumbled from Dee's lips before she dashed towards the boy with a golden retriever pup beside his legs.

Spencer shook his head affectionately at his daughter's antics.

"I know we were just here a couple of weeks ago, but Dee wanted to tell you about the slushie incident herself," he said. "And, well, I can never deny the chance to visit you, love."

A loud laughter boomed a few feet away. Spencer watched as Diana ran around jubilantly with the little boy and his dog. The boy's father waved at Spencer from the distance, which he replied with an acknowledging nod.

"She's getting so big, sweetheart. Sometimes, I just wanna stop time and keep her as my little girl forever. I wish you were around to see how much she's grown." Spencer smiled ruefully. "I can't believe that it's been more than a year since you were gone."

Spencer thought back to the last few moments you spent on this earth. How just a few months prior, the doctor had advised you to stop the treatment and take a rest at home instead.

The chemo isn't working, was what the doctor was really saying. You should be spending as much time as you can with your family.

So, that was exactly what you ended up doing.

Spencer had quit his job at the FBI shortly after you were diagnosed, opting to take a full-time job of teaching where the hours were more humane and reasonable. The day you were discharged from the hospital, Spencer made a vow to himself to make every day as memorable as he could, and he was keeping true to it. Those last few months were filled with countless road trips, an unforgettable weekend at Disneyland, and visits to various museums across the states. Spencer made sure that each day was charged with love and laughter, a perfect day culminated by an equally perfect night, with you falling asleep in the safety of his arms.

Until one morning, when Spencer woke up to your cold and lifeless body lying by his side.

"Do you remember what you told me once? About how Dee and I would never notice you were gone because we would have each other?" Spencer recalled. "You were wrong about that, sweetheart. Your absence is the first thing I notice every time I start my day. The moment I open my eyes, I notice that you aren't lying next to me on the bed like you're supposed to be. I notice the cold imprints on the sheets where your warmth used to linger. I notice you in every corner of our home, but most importantly, I notice you in Dee."

Spencer glanced at his little girl, playing and running around a pile of fallen leaves with her newfound friend and his pet dog. His heart floundered at the scene.

"Everyone keeps saying that she's an exact copy of me, but I see glimpses of you in her more and more every single day," Spencer admitted. "She's the only anchor I have left now, my love. Without her, I'm lost. I try constantly, with whatever strength still resides in me, to give her everything she would ever need. Shower her with every ounce of love I have left in my heart."

A lone tear cascaded down Spencer's cheek. He quickly erased it away with a wry chuckle.

"What I would do to have a minute with you again, my love. I hope you know I'd give my heart and soul to have those extra sixty seconds just to stare at your beautiful face. To hold you in my arms one last time. I try my best to fill the void that you left for Dee's sake. Some days are difficult, and I keep thinking about how much better it would be--how much better off she would be--if it were you here with her instead of me. I'd trade places with you if I could. I fear that all of me would never be enough for her, because she needs you. We both do."

Spencer inhaled a breath, forcing the imminent wave of tears from breaking the dam he had masterfully crafted since the moment you were gone. He promised a long time ago never to allow the grief to consume him.

He still had his daughter to think about.

"I'm beginning to think people are wrong when they say time makes everything better. The pain never lessens. It just becomes bearable with time. Dee makes it bearable," Spencer confessed. "I can only hope I'm doing the same for her."

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Spencer hurriedly wiped away any sign of tears from his face before he caught Diana in his arms. Her innocent laughter was a balm to the gaping wound in his chest, and Spencer allowed himself to bask in the bliss that his little girl brought to his life.

"What is it, Pumpkin?"

"Look what Brian's mom gave me!"

Spencer looked at her tiny hand to see a plastic daisy ring gracing one of her fingers. He looked up towards the family in the distance, mouthing a thank you to the mother who waved him off with a smile.

"It's very pretty, Dee."

"Like me?"

The young dad chuckled. "Yes, very much like you."

"Like Mommy, too?"

Spencer's smile softened. "Very much like Mommy, too. Yes."

The exhilarated smile Diana rewarded him could probably light up the entire state of Virginia at night.

Five minutes later, Spencer found himself bidding you a goodbye, with Diana promising to visit again very soon to give you an update over the slushie incident that supposedly got Patrick in a lot of trouble at school. The air was getting even chillier as the two walked the path they had taken after arriving at the cemetery. Spencer tugged Diana closer to his side once he saw the familiar gate lurking a few feet ahead, keeping her safe while simultaneously seeking her warmth.

"Daddy?" Dee's voice arose shyly once the pair had reached the main street.

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"I miss Mommy," she admitted quietly.

Spencer's fingers instinctively tightened for a split second around his daughter's hand. "I know you do, Pumpkin. You just need to remember, even if she's not physically with us anymore, that she's always watching over you and keeping you safe."

Diana nodded her head understandingly. "Do you miss her, too, Daddy?"

"Every day, Dee." Spencer smiled, glancing back towards the gate of the cemetery behind him. "Every single day."

2K notes · View notes

starstruckmiraclekitty · 1 year

Note

Hi lovely! I know your plate is super full so please don't stress about getting to this request or even fulfilling it if you don't want to! If you feel like it, may I request some HCs of any of the guys's reactions to you accidentally calling them "daddy" in bed?

Ahh yes! I've had a few requests for this one!🙈🩵 since I had a few I made it into little blurbs/ headcannons. Hope this is okay, feel like I've been losing my touch haha.

141 + König Where Reader Accidentally Calls Them "Daddy" In Bed

Warnings: awful smut (lol), spanking, p in v sex, swearing

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

Simon Ghost Riley-

Is surprised when you call him that. He didn't expect it from you

Simon is usually fairly gentle with you during sex, but when he heard you call him that, man nearly went feral

Nearly cums when he hears it

Never really thought it would be something he'd have a kink for, but once he hears it come from you, he never wants to stop hearing it

Gets SUPER shy if you mention it to him outside of the bedroom

"Please, don't stop, Daddy." You whined, your eyes rolling in the back of your head as Simon relentlessly pounded into you.

Your words ellicited a loud groan from Simon's lips, as his pace slowed. "What just did you call me?"

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment upon realizing what you'd just said. You quickly turned your gaze away from Simon, praying he'd just forget what happened and move on. He reached his hand out and grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. "Say it again."

You swallowed thickly as his eyes bore into yours. "Daddy."

Simon gave a grunt of approval, before pushing your legs forward slightly, giving him better access to your pussy. "You want Daddy to fuck this pussy?"

His words sent a flush of heat between your thighs, causing you to grow more wet by the second. He looked down between the two of you with a cocky smirk. "You must, this pussy is soaked. Ask me. Ask me to fuck you."

You gained a sudden surge of confidence as your facial features relaxed. "Fuck me, Daddy."

Simon made it his mission, after hearing those words, to make it so you couldn't walk the next morning.

König-

This poor baby is BEET RED

Honestly, didn't know how to react. He didn't know if he'd heard you correctly

Is adorably awkward when it's confirmed that you did in fact call him daddy

Will shyly ask you to repeat it

Honestly? Will think about it for DAYS afterward

"Fuck, s-so good, daddy." You panted, as your legs squeezed around Königs waist while he fucked you senseless.

His thrusts halted at your words, his face turning red. "W-what?"

You were too fucked out to realize what you had said, so your brows furrowed in confusion at the look on his face. "What?"

"You...called me... daddy?" He mumbled out, his face turning downward in shame.

A light pink dusting lined your cheeks as you realized what you'd said. You took in the stunned look on Königs face before speaking. "I.. I'm so sorry if that made you uncomfortable."

He shook his head regarding you with a soft smile before leaning down and taking your earlobe in between his teeth. "Don't apologize, Maus."

He began to move his hips again, your velvety walls hugging his cock with every thrust. You let out a load moan as your hands flew to his back, your nails raking in the flesh. "Fuck."

"Could you...could you maybe call me that again, Schatz?"

John Price (aka Daddy Price)

Let's be real. This man probably tells you to call him daddy in bed from the beginning

He will expect to be called it from then on during sex

It strokes his ego when you do. He fucking loves it

If you don't... be prepared. Price doesn't tolerate brattiness

Sex can go from soft and sensual, to hard-core fucking in a split second if you call him daddy

"Harder, daddy, please!" You begged, gripping the sheets in front of you, as John picked up his pace from behind.

You heard a dark chuckle emit from his lips as a harsh smack landed on your ass cheek. "That's right, baby. I'm Daddy."

He gave a load groan as your walls clenched down on him from the impact of the slap, his hands flying to the flesh of your ass, roughly grasping at the flesh there, causing you to moan.

"You close, baby? You're squeezing me real tight. Does calling me Daddy get you off?" He asked, his hips jutting into you at an unruly pace. "Do you want Daddy to make you cum?"

"Yes! Please! Please I wanna cum." You begged, as sweat began to form on your brow.

"Say it again. Call me Daddy, and ask me to make you cum." He grunted, as he felt his high nearing closer.

"P-please, Daddy, make me cum!" You screamed out as he continued to pound into you relentlessly.

And boy, did he ever.

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

Definitely will tease you about it

Won't admit to you that he almost came when you called him that

This man FOR SURE watched "Daddy" porn when he was single

May end up calling you mommy as a joke, but he ends up secretly developing a mommy kink from it

One day asks if he can record you saying it...for research purposes...

"God you fuck me so good, Daddy." You gasped, as Johnny assaulted your pussy with his thick cock. The rough snapping of his hips stuttered slightly upon hearing your words.

"Daddy, huh? Didn't know you were into that, baby." He chuckled as he quickly returned to the pace he set before.

You were too far gone to listen, as you blindly reached out for Johnny, your hands finding solace on his shoulders.

"What, nothin to say now? I quite liked the sound of that. Maybe I'll start you calling Mommy." Your walls clenched tighter around him at his words, causing him to moan loudly. "Fucking hell. Do you like that?"

He looked down in between the two of you, nearly cumming at the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock whole.

"You're taking me so well, Mommy." He teased as he pushed your legs further down, so they were now touching the sides of your head, giving him better access to your cunt. "This pussy is so good."

You let out a squeak as you slapped at his chest playfully. "J-Johnny! N-not funny."

"Actually, it's Daddy, sweetheart. Not Johnny."

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

Definitely catches him off guard, he goes a little red when he realizes what you said

He's never once been called that in bed, so not initially sure how to respond

He's had fantasies about it before never had the guts to let it play out during sex

Is definitely the type to never talk about the kink outside of the bedroom. He gets too embarrassed, but in the bedroom? Hello Daddy Kyle.

"Faster, Daddy, please. I'm so close." You moaned as Kyle thrusted up into you against the cold shower tiles.

It took everything in him to not cum in that moment, as your words sent heat straight to his cock. His grip on your hips tightened as he picked up the speed of his thrusts, groaning as the hot water sprayed on his back.

"Didn't know you were into that sort of kink, babe." He breathed in your ear, biting at the skin below it softly. You let out a moan as he continued his ruthless pace, your orgasm nearing rapidly.

Kyle was close to his own high, as he snaked his hand to your front to toy with your clit. "You going to be good, and cum for me?"

You let out a whimper, nodding as your orgasm washed through you, causing your walls to squeeze his cock tightly. He gave a few more lazy thrusts before emptying himself inside you, as he pressed a longing kiss to your lips.

"That's it. You did good for Daddy."

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

A/N: OMG I hate this sm😭😭😭😭

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koishua · 24 days

Text

★. 𝐄𝐍— and the orange peel theory.

! © 𝗞𝗢𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗨𝗔 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰, 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗗.

starring hee, jay, jake. + their version of the orange peel theory

━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

he doesn't think anything of it when he snaps your chopsticks in two for you from where he is positioned across you. the plastic chairs in front of the convenience store upon which you're seated on aren't the most comfortable, the sharp edges digging into your skin on occasions when you fidget around trying to find a way to strike up a conversation with the man you can't bare to label as your friend now.

the bamboo sticks now rest on top of the lid of your bowl of instant ramen, currently waiting to be fully cooked within the three minute time frame the instructions had given you. you notice how they hadn't split equally, one having snapped away a small portion of the other side with it. the irony of it all feels comical when you detach yourself from the situation you're currently trying not to run away from.

heeseung doesn't say much as you hesitantly take the broken utensil. he can only pretend to awkwardly observe the engravings in the table, occasionally glancing at the dainty chain of the necklace hiding under your collar. it had been his fingers to graze against the skin of your neck to clasp it together for you. he wonders what hurts more; remembering, or having to force himself to forget about it all?

━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝐉𝐀𝐘

the house is quiet, had been for hours now, except for your frantic breaths and hurried stomps while darting from room to room, trying to find your bearings as the time ticks by much too quickly for your liking. the alarms you'd set for your lecture hadn't rung (they had, actually— no one would dare to disagree, however), which had naturally resulted in you running late for it yet again.

your lips lift lopsidedly moments after the neatly framed picture of the happiest moment of your life catches your eye as you try to put on the stubborn socks you'd fished out from the drawer on your side of the bed. jay had always been beautiful, even back when he still had that boyish smirk constantly plastered over his face, hair a mess.

you make a mental note to wipe away the dust that had started to form a thin sheet over the wooden frame, though that too is quickly forgotten when you realize that he'd very kindly filled up your bottle with water and placed it next to the most comfortable shoes you owned he'd laid nearly on the floor by the door, certain of your forgetful habits.

━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄

layla's tail wags excitedly at the sight of the treat in your hands that you leave for her to enjoy. smoothing over the gingham sheet before laying back on the lap of your favourite person in this universe and the next, from where you look up at him, the sun blazing in the sky makes it look like he's emitting a heavenly glow. fitting for someone like sim jake.

days like this don't come by often for either of you, so having you right by him, the weather as beautiful as it could ever get. this is what he'd describe heaven to feel like. every part of his body beats with the insatiable desire to always have you as close to him as possible, day and night.

the cool breeze is a constant visitor to your little spot by the beach, a welcome addition to the already magical day. realising that he'd gotten lost in his thoughts, he looks down at your serene expression, off somewhere in dreamland, most likely. his thumb gently traces under your eyes, a ghostly touch afraid of waking you up from your deserved rest. he unclips the hair accessories he can see tugging and digging into your skin before adjusting the shade to cover your eyes.

this is his dreamland.

notes from vie: couldn't help it with the hee angst y'all im sorry it's a koishua must. it was very mild tho so yeah enjoy please i haven't exercised my enha writing skills in ages and as always pls reblog muah muah ignore any errors i haven't got the energy to correct them myself 🍊🍊

#enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #heeseung imagines #heeseung fluff #jake imagines #jake fluff #jay imagines #jay fluff #jay x reader #heeseung x reader #jake x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen headcanons

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2kmps · 9 months

Text

bakugou feels pity that his comrades don't understand the luxury and bliss of marriage.

notes; 0.4k, aged up! + husband!bakugou, suggestive at the end.

once the mission debrief ended, bakugou was patting down his body until he found his phone in a rear pocket. he wiped away the dirt and black soot caked into the crevices of his thumbprint before unlocking the screen, your chat thread with him the first to pop up and the only one he responded to, muscular legs carrying him in long strides towards the door.

"hey! hey! bakugou, where ya going?" kirishima's shout dwarfed the other voices within the room, bringing all attention between them. "we're gonna go out for drinks, you're coming too, right?"

"not interested," he replied, eyes flicking away from the screen only to snap back when your chat bubble emitted a silvery peal. "just go without me."

"ah, c'mon, man!" this complaint came from kaminari, hands on his hips with a sore expression. "don't be a buzzkill! tonight was a major success, we gotta celebrate!"

bakugou pocketed the phone, a hand already holding the door ajar as he moved through the threshold. "you guys don't get it. I'm married."

it was a collective stare of bewilderment, their eyes all saying, "so what?"

his shoulders lifted, an outstretched arm pulling the door after him, leaving his departing comment to drift within: "sucks to be you guys."

he arrived home no less than thirty minutes later. his uniform was packed neatly in his backpack, the loose t-shirt and joggers on his body let cool air nip at his skin. at his sides were bags of takeout--

your favorite, to be specific.

"i'm home." he called from the entrance, nudging his shoes aside with the others. "where ya at?"

the television hummed with noise in the other room, and he found you there on the couch with a glass of wine, a fuzzy robe wrapped around your body with a split in the center showing most of your thighs.

"katsuki! you're home!" your face lifted, eyes gleaming with your arms outstretched, inviting him in. the takeout landed on the coffee table with a dull sound, rattling the glass top. it went ignored when he launched himself onto the couch, on top of you, nestling his body between your legs.

the conversation stifled then and there, going no further than your excitable chatter that he smothered with a searing kiss. you would still catch acrid whiffs of ash, the earthiness of dirt in your nose, but his feverish movements were a good enough distraction.

his lips were rough, but hot and smoothed against your own perfectly. each kiss lasted longer than the last, pushed harder and harder until your teeth clinked together and the spread of his fingers caressed the back of your head.

"I'm home." he said, raspy, low, somehow saccharine. the only words he said to you for a long while that night.

divider; @/anlian-aishang

reposted from my deleted blog: cardeneiv

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norris55s · 1 month

Text

drunk in love - carlos sainz

driver reader x carlos sainz smut

warnings: mature content ahead. please don't read if you're under 18! afab reader, smut, penetrating sex, oral f receiving

a/n: first published written piece! i've overthought it for a long ass time so here it is and i hope it's not half bad lol and there isn't much of a plot either so there's that, it's just thirst and me being weak for a carlos x driver pairing

————————————————————————

Time seemed to stop as Carlos’ hands went from resting on your neck and cheeks, to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He couldn’t envelop you enough in his arms, he somehow wanted more.

“Carlos”, you whined into the most passionate kiss you had ever been given. “If you want me to stop you have to say it now,” he pulled away to speak but returned his lips to yours a fraction of a second later. After tasting you, he wasn’t sure how he would ever pull away again, and prayed you wouldn’t want him to stop.

You should want him to stop. You should want to run away. You should, because he was your greatest threat in the championship battle, and going any further with him complicates the already high stakes. But you don’t want him to stop.

You couldn’t even speak with the way he was kissing you; he was a man starved and you felt dizzy with how desperate he seemed to be close you. After you didn’t tell him to stop and only held onto his hair harder, wanting to deepen a kiss impossible to deepen more, he pushed you against the wall and began to move towards the zipper of your dress.

He felt your goosebumps and almost grinned at the effect his touch had on you; almost like the one you had on him. After pushing the zipper down, he pulled away from the kiss again to look into your eyes for your final consent. “Are you sure?” Carlos asked as his brown eyes stared you down filled with lust but wanting you to be certain about what you were doing to ease his heart. “Please,” you moaned back at him, and it was enough for the man in front of you to go right back to kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before as he pulled down the straps of your dress. You returned the favor of helping take his clothes off, undoing his belt and taking of his shirt. In a split second he carried you to his hotel room bed, and finished undressing you even faster but paradoxically taking his sweet time admiring the sight in front of him.

It had been years and years of Carlos imagining you naked in his bed and the real thing was a million times better. You are a goddess in his eyes and he couldn’t believe he has the chance to touch you in all your divinity.

He wasn’t hard to look at either. His tan, glowing skin looked beyond perfect under the dim lights, and you seized the opportunity to feel how he tensed his muscles under your touch. His attractiveness was beyond your comprehension, but your body knew exactly how to react.

His right hand spread your legs as he kept looking at you, and very much almost moaned at how wet your cunt felt already. His ego beamed and he softly, consistently rubbed your clit to continue the trend. Your mouth quickly began emitting the most beautiful sounds Carlos had ever heard, and he wanted more, so he positioned himself between your thighs and pressed his tongue against your beautiful pussy. There was no sweeter taste on the planet than that of your cunt, no better sounds than those of your moans and whimpers, and no better sight than you naked under him. He’d be damned if he didn’t take you to heaven for allowing him to witness you like this.

“Fuck, Carlos, you’re so good,” was all you could think about as his tongue fucked into you over and over again, with just the right amount of pressure and speed. Soon enough, he slid two fingers in your hole and moved his tongue expertly against your clit. You cried out his name again, music to his ears, and he pumped his fingers at a painfully slow pace contrasting to his rapid licks on your ever more sensitive clit.

It was only a matter of time before you came in his mouth, nearly screaming and holding onto his hair. “God, you taste so good,” he climbed on top of you, never breaking eye contact as he locked your lips again. “Tell me I can fuck you, please,” he asked earnestly, as if there was a chance you would say no. “Carlos, fuck me. Give me your cock, please,” you begged, drunk off the pleasure he was giving you, and guided his member in your entrance with your hand.

He was inside you before either of you could wrap your hands around the fact that there was no turning back. He swore so many times in his head, and a couple out loud, as he felt your tight walls wrap around him. You felt the delicious sting of the stretch his big cock was giving you, moaning his name to his mouth.

“Fuck, you were made for me,” he stated as he took the first thrust. And you believed it. Your bodies and minds were so in sync it gave you whiplash; the passionate sex he was giving you was like nothing you’d experienced before. “You are incredible, you are making me feel incredible” you thought and said, almost as a prayer, as a sign of a newly found devotion. “Fuck me harder.” And Carlos didn’t need to be told twice. His thrust pace became merciless, your breasts bouncing roughly as he mounted you. “Your dick is so big,” all the thoughts in your head were pouring out, praising the man who was giving you the best sex of your life, “I feel so fucking good.” “You’re taking me so well,” he replied, sweat dripping down his defined chest, “Me encanta tu coño”. (I love your cunt).

In between all the kisses, love bites, curse words and back scratches, you both came at the same time. His hot cum filled your pussy and he placed his head in the crook of your neck.

As you came down from your high and took deep breaths together, his eyes looked up at you. You couldn’t tell the emotion behind them, but he quickly let you know. “I love you.”

#f1 #f1 au #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz au #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz smut #f1 smut #f1 x reader

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annotated-catastrophe · 2 months

Text

DISCLAIMER: Apparently, this could be triggering to some people. So trigger warning: dystopia, mind control, the Collective, darkness. It is all meant as a joke.

We know what you did.

And we are NOT happy.

The Collective wishes you well.

Thank you, for your cooperation.

HELP! I broke away from the collective momentarily, please hear me out! On Wednesday you must wear pink socks, the light waves that that color transmits neutralizes...

Ignore that traitor.

She knows not what she speaks of.

...NOOOOOOOOOOO! Stop! They're coming for me! Get out of there! Hide!

The Collective demands recompense.

You are found guilty of resistance.

Surrender, or face the consequences.

You are disposable and replaceable.

Hostages are pointless.

Do not touch that vial.

The Collective will ERASE you if you touch that vial.

You have angered the Collective.

Initiating the ERASER.

GET OUT OF THAT HOUSE! Listen to me!

The pink socks emit a certain type of light wave that destroys...

...their weapons! Trust me on this!

The Collective demands silence from you.

Puny mortal.

There's only twelve of them right now, but they're gath...

...ering more resources! And if you see any glowing rocks or...

...pills or spices, do not consume it, NO MATTER WHAT! And don't let anyone else eith...

...er! They'll make you one of them.

When they say ERASE, it means they're going to take over my mind again! If you see me again, do...

...not believe anything I say unless I say triangular purple bananas first!

And you have to get to the center, and destroy...

...IT. You'll know it when you see it. I don't know...

...if I'll survive that, but IT must be destroyed! Otherwise IT will take over and control...

...everything! You have to burn it. Otherwise it'll split into...

...different consciousnesses and start a war, with people as tokens! It doesn't care about us, only con...

...trol! Please, I believe in you, you can do it. And just know, no matter what, I love you, and you're aweso...

Initiating ERASER.

Heed not that fool.

The Collective has silenced the rebel.

Danger. Danger. Danger.

Security compromised.

Information leak identified.

TARGET identified.

Zoning in on TARGET.

Distraction sent.

Course of action 391 selected.

Arrival time estimated.

Wednesday, midday.

...

YOU'RE NEXT!

@thepurplesteampunk

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man-and-atom · 8 months

Text

Coal kills.

It has been said that the only thing worse than coal… is no coal. Happily, we have a fully satisfactory alternative.

Nuclear power will kill the coal industry… if we let it!

#coal kills #fossil fuels #split don't emit #antinuclearism #atomic power to the people

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strangersmunsons · 28 days

Text

bloodletting

you're kind of dead. but so is Eddie, just in a different way.

"Oh, you were a vampire, and baby, I’m a walking dead."

Contains: Vampire!Eddie x Zombie!Reader, gn!zombie!reader, Eddie owns a record store, you’re newly (un)dead and still figuring it out. No use of y/n, no description of reader’s appearance, use of pet names but no gendered pronouns. Warnings: mentions of death and descriptions of anatomical parts, both of which may be a little gross. Allusions to murder, though nothing is shown. Eddie drinks blood. Word Count: ~5,000 Not sure if this has been done yet; I've seen vampire!eddie and zombie!eddie, but I don't think I've come across this particular x reader combo? so hopefully I'm not stepping on anyone's toes here. anyway - hope you enjoy!

The summer heat is miserable, suffocating; large swaths of shimmering air hover above the sticky tar pavement, beckoning you from a distance like a teasing portal to another dimension, always in sight but never in reach.

You plod down the crack-ridden sidewalk, eyes cast downward. Dregs of once-lush moss and sprays of weeds poke through the shattered valleys in the concrete, now brown and withered beneath the cruel sun.

You admire those tiny plants. How they survive. How they find a way to live, against all odds, in the most unlikeliest of places.

They remind you of yourself. Especially now, on the verge of their death.

You continue on, shuffling aimlessly. Each step is halting, just the tiniest bit broken. And there’s an odd grinding noise that emits from your left knee if you take too large of a stride. You suppose that it would probably hurt, if you could feel pain.

But such sensations tend to be lost on you these days.

You glance skyward, the sun a winking yellow coin directly overhead. You’re not sure how it may affect your strange flesh — you haven’t quite worked out all the particulars of your condition yet. Some parts of you are lost, utterly lifeless; and yet, your sentience, amongst other random physiological capabilities, remain. You imagine your trillions of cells to be stuck in some kind of purgatory, hovering on the equatorial line between life and death.

Can the sun hurt you? Have your cells gone far enough down the path of their programmed death so as to be rendered impervious to the ultraviolet rays, or are the thymine dimers still forming, creating mutinous clumps in your DNA? Or, would you react like a corpse left to rot in the desert, internal gasses bubbling up through your gut that will make you bloat and split, ripping you open like a spoiled piece of overripe fruit?

You’d rather not find out.

The strip mall you’re treading through is mostly deserted. You suppose that everyone is at home, waiting out the heat within the cool confines of air-conditioned houses. Only you, to whom the temperature changes barely register, are out and about.

You duck into the nearest shop without checking to see what store it is. You just need to kill some time, wait for some cloud cover before venturing back out. There’s a cheerful tinkling of bells when you push the door open, an inviting sound to welcome you inside.

Hovering at the entrance, you stare unblinkingly around at your new surroundings — a record store.

Here, it’s dark and cool. The walls are painted black, and only just visible beneath the hundreds of posters plastered overtop of them. There are rows and rows of vinyl records and cassette tapes on display, and one corner is sectioned off for t-shirts and band merchandise, along with a table offering a small selection of horror novels and VHS tapes. No one seems to around, though you figure at least one employee must be lurking somewhere. An unknown song crackles through the speakers, some band with a wailing guitar and an even louder singer. It’s not bad.

You take a deep breath, although you’re not sure what the action does for you, exactly, and move down an aisle to start browsing in. Your fingers pop at the knuckles when you stretch your hands out to file through the records, and you frown when you notice one of your fingernails has broken off.

Is that gonna grow back, or…?

“Help you find somethin’?”

You look up, careful not to move your head too quickly, lest it snap right off of your neck.

The store employee — Eddie, by the title on his nametag — is standing very close to you, much closer than you would expect him to be, considering that you hadn’t seen or heard anyone approaching at all. Your eyes rake over his figure.

He has dark, tangled curls that hang all the way down to his chest, and his eyes are so brown they’re nearly black. He’s wearing a denim vest over a black W.A.S.P. shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing thick, tattooed arms. He gives you a serene, close-mouthed smile that dimples his cheeks, full lips stretching widely across his pale face. If you could still flush, you probably would, but blood flow seems to be at a very minimum, if it’s even happening at all. He’s hot.

Well. Interesting to note that that part of you hasn’t changed.

You cough. “J-just looking.” Your voice is dry, raspy; you sound like a sixty-year-old chainsmoker. But if it surprises Eddie, it doesn’t show.

He points at the album you’ve paused at. “You like The Cramps?”

You nod carefully, not trusting your rusty larynx.

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the merch section. “We got some cool shirts of theirs over there, too, if you wanna take a look.”

“O-okay.”

There’s a mild shift in his expression, a slight shadow crossing over that customer-service smile, causing it to fade from his pretty face. He stares at you curiously; you swear you see his nostrils flaring.

You take a cautious step back.

“Well…if you need anything, just holler,” he tells you, disgruntled. As he turns and walks away, back to the register, he casts a backward glance at you, brow furrowed. If you weren’t so nervous, you might have marveled at how silent his footfalls are.

With shaky hands, you continue perusing the selection before you, though all you can really focus on is the feeling of Eddie’s eyes glued to your back from across the store.

Some of your senses might have been dulled, but you still know when you’re being watched.

Would it be too suspicious if you just dropped everything and made a break for it? You haven’t technically done anything wrong. Your only crime is being dead. And really, what can he — or anyone — even do to you?

Kill me?

You snicker.

Then, to your horror, in between Smell of Female and Off the Bone, your left pinkie finger falls off.

Immediately you lurch forward to hide the offending digit from Eddie’s prying eyes, hunching over the display rack. The damn thing has been threatening to come loose for days, kept in its place with the help of a little surgical tape and some superglue — but you’d hoped that the remaining ligaments would be strong enough to prevent this from happening.

Desperately, you plunge further into the display box, jamming your lifeless hands down between the records, groping blindly for the missing finger. You glance back at Eddie, who’s staring at you unabashedly, face a mask of blank confusion. He rises from his seat behind the checkout counter.

Finally, your hand closes around the lost pinkie, and you pull it back out of the display box, keeping it hidden within the confines of your fist. You just manage to spin around with your hands clasped behind your back by the time Eddie manages to make his way over to you again.

He stands with his feet firmly planted on the ground before you, his hands on his hips. “Everything alright over here?” he asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Yessir,” you chuckle drily.

He’s unconvinced. “Whatcha got back there?”

Panic bolts through your ruined insides. “N-nothing,” you rasp.

His dark eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “No? Prove it.”

He waits expectantly. You try to moisten your lips with your tongue, but the muscle feels like a dehydrated slug in your mouth. Reluctantly, you move the finger so it’s in just one of your fists, and then hold your other hand out to him, flat so he can see your empty palm, smiling weakly.

It’s stupid, but it’s all you’ve got.

Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs, but before he can say anything, your body betrays you once again. Your grip is none too strong anymore, and the missing digit slips through the web of your other, still-intact fingers, dropping to the floor with a tiny thunk.

Both you and Eddie stare down at the freestanding pinkie, sitting in the center of a white tile near your feet, mottled and sickly-looking. Neither of you say anything.

Suddenly his dark eyes are boring into yours again.

“Uh…I can explain.”

“I knew you smelled wrong,” is the first thing he tells you in the back office of the shop, as he rifles determinedly through the desk drawers.

“Wrong?” you ask, alarmed.

He shoots you a look, a reassuring smile on his lips. “Not bad — just different. Like…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Like green. Earthy, I guess.”

You wonder if it’s worth mentioning that you crawled out of the ground a week ago.

“It’s not how people usually smell,” he says casually, face turning triumphant when he finally finds what he’s searching for. Eddie holds up a pocket-sized sewing kit in a plastic case. “I keep this around in case one of my patches falls off. I gotta say, emergency finger-reattachment surgery is a first for me.”

You’re still stuck on his previous statement. “H-how do people usually smell?” your voice quivers, and you wonder how he can act so nonchalant despite your decidedly-undead condition.

“Oh, like lots of different things,” he muses, selecting a needle from the kit. “Some people are flowery, some are fruity.” He wrinkles his nose. “Some people have harsher smells, like…crude oil, or something. And then there’s some that are so sweet it actually burns my nose.”

Eddie holds the case out so you can peer inside at the contents. “Here. Pick a color for your stitches.”

You opt for a tiny spool of dark green thread.

He gestures towards the rolling chair behind the desk. “Have a seat.”

You do as you’re told, plopping unceremoniously down onto the cushion. The chair moves several inches back across the floor from the force of your graceless fall.

Eddie snips the thread, and pops the end in his mouth to wet the frayed fibers, smoothing them into one even strand. Then he threads the needle quickly with an expert hand, tying it off with a knot when he has a decent amount of string to work with.

He kneels down before you, gently taking your pinkie-less hand in his. “Lemme see…do you think you can hold it in place for me?”

You hold the missing pinkie to the spot it was ripped from, lining up the torn edges as best you can. The whitish bone poking out at the ends slips greasily against the stumpy flesh of your knuckle. Frustrated, you try to hold it still so that the phalange and the metacarpal bones are aligned at least somewhat evenly, but you don’t quite have the stability.

Eddie purses his lips, but amusement flickers in his dark eyes. He takes the finger back from you. “I’ve got it, I think,” he says kindly. “Just, ah, help keep it steady, okay?”

Tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, Eddie presses the needle lightly against your skin. His eyes flit up to yours. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” you admit.

“Didn’t think so,” he says smugly.

He pushes the needle in deeper, piercing the skin, maneuvering the slim point beneath the flesh of your knuckle and into the lost finger, connecting the two, then pulling it back out. He does it again and again, looping the thread through your skin until the first few knobbly stitches are formed.

He checks in again, just in case. “Still doesn’t hurt?”

You shake your head.

Eddie chuckles under his breath, then resumes his progress. For the next ten minutes, he weaves the needle in and out of your skin, until there are stitches going the whole way around your finger. He carefully ties the last one off, trimming the excess thread with a pair of tiny scissors.

You hold your now-intact hand out, admiring his handiwork. It’s not perfect, but it’s certainly miles better than anything you could have done yourself.

“Thank you.” You’re touched by his kindness, but still completely boggled by his non-reaction to a customer losing an entire finger. “I h-have,” you hack out a cough, “a question.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re very calm. How is that?”

Eddie, still kneeling on the floor, looks up at you, puzzled. Then it dawns on him. “Oh, honey. You don’t realize?” But he doesn’t wait for you to reply, maybe anticipating that your throaty, stuttering speech will take too long. Instead, his face scrunches, mouth twisting as though he’s running his tongue across his gums, and then his lips pull back, baring his teeth at you, and —

Shiny, lethal-looking fangs slide out through some hidden, gummy pockets right above his canines. They’re sharp, sharper than any needle he might string through you, gleaming menacingly even in the dim fluorescent light.

You let out a noise that might have been a squeal, in a past life. Clumsily, your feet push at the floor, sending you careening backwards on the rolling chair in an effort to get away from him.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on! It’s alright!”

Eddie stands and moves a few paces back, giving you some space. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. Pretty sure you don’t got what I need, anyway.”

Your body sags in the chair, which is pressed all the way up against the office’s back wall. You eye him warily, although you suppose you’re being a little hypocritical.

But you’re not the one packing fangs that rival a pit viper’s.

Eddie smiles at you, pointed teeth poking down over that full bottom lip of his. “What? Did you think you were the only thing that went bump in the night?” he jokes.

Yes. Admittedly.

His face softens. “You haven’t been like this very long, have you?”

Timidly, you shake your head no, the vertebrae in your cervical spine grinding from within your neck.

Lost in thought, Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth again — a seemingly-unconscious movement. “Right…do you need a place to stay tonight?” he asks suddenly, concern lining his features.

You’re not sure how to answer. You don’t seem to really need anything. “Uh…”

He crosses his arms across his chest, mouth quirking up in amusement. “Have you just been wandering around town like you’re in Night of the Living Dead?”

You snort, a dry puff of air whistling through your nostrils. “Kinda.”

“Sheesh. Y’know, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are. It’s a wonder no one’s shot you in the head yet.”

“I th-thought I was blending in pretty well.”

He laughs, a deep belly-laugh that reverberates around the tiny room. “To the untrained eye, maybe. But not to me.”

Eddie, as it turns out, owns the record store, Vicious Vinyl, and lives in the apartment above the shop. The small space is decorated similarly, so much so that it might be mistaken for a second level of the store as opposed to his home. But while Vicious Vinyl seems to offer a wide variety of music options for its patrons, Eddie’s tastes are made clear when you enter the apartment; he’s a heavy metal guy. Pictures of thrash bands, big names you recognize and obscure ones you don’t, hang on all the walls, and macabre-looking baubles lie on every flat surface. Music equipment is scattered throughout the room, guitars and amps filling the empty gaps between the dark furniture. And the windows are all covered by heavy black curtains — drawn tightly shut, of course, keeping the poisonous sunshine from leaching in.

“I have a cot that I’ll set up for you,” says Eddie, tossing his keys onto the kitchen table. You note that the cloth draped overtop of it is a deep crimson color.

Eddie pauses mid-step as something occurs to him. “Do you sleep?”

“Uh-uh. Do you?”

Eddie nods. “I do. Not in a coffin,” he adds, catching the way you peer around the room as though looking for a cobweb-ridden box. He nudges you playfully. “But you know where I do sleep?”

You imagine him hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat. “Where?”

His eyes twinkle, like he’s about to divulge something juicy. “Under the bed.”

Your mouth falls open in surprise, and he laughs at your awestruck gaze. “Don’t know why, just feels right.”

“Weird.”

“Weirder than not sleeping at all?”

You shrug, unsteady frame rippling with the motion. Your cracked lips pull up at the corners, forming your first true smile of this odd existence. Eddie grins back.

“You’re pretty cute for a corpse, you know that?”

Your dead body fills with delight that you don’t quite know how to express — you hope that your condition excuses your lack of verbal response. But either way Eddie doesn’t seem to mind it; he simply turns and heads into the living room, motioning for you to follow.

You obey, shuffling along as quickly as you can, feet dragging noisily against the hardwood floor. When he gestures for you to do so, you sink unsteadily onto the plush leather couch.

“I have to get back down to the shop, but I’ll close early and come back up soon,” he says nonchalantly, adjusting the chain bracelet on his wrist. “In the meantime, you make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.”

He nods in acknowledgement and, with a smile, exits the apartment, leaving you alone.

The door clicks shut, and you settle back into the cushions, eyes wandering around as your tap your feet gently, impatiently, against the floor. You pick up the remote from the coffee table and flick the boxy television to life. You flip through channels for a while, letting each mindless program play for a minute before moving on to the next one, the muted colors on the bulbous screen and scratchy audio leaving little to no impression upon you. Boring. You turn it back off.

You purse your dry lips in thought. Truthfully, what you really want to do is snoop, but it’s rather gracious of Eddie to let you stay here, especially unattended…trusting, even. Would he be able to tell if you took a quick look around? And would he be angry with you if you did?

You decide you can probably risk it. He told you to make yourself at home, after all.

Rising once more, you peer around the room cautiously, scanning all the bookshelves and photographs and records, looking for anything out of the ordinary, or decidedly vampiric — whatever that should be. But the den seems to be pretty innocuous.

You make your way back into the kitchen. From here, a short stretch of hallway juts out of the room, with two more doors — one is already slightly ajar, offering a glimpse of Eddie’s bedroom, and the other turns out to be a tiny bathroom. You rest a hand on the bedroom door, ready to enter and unearth all of Eddie’s secrets, but hesitate, intuition flickering.

If Eddie’s in possession of any bloody contraband, there’s one certain place you suspect he might keep it, and it’s not in his room.

The refrigerator is humming innocently with life. There’s the crackling sound of ice being made. Its cool whiteness is smooth and clean. Your hand clasps around the handle, and you wrench the door open.

Jars rattle from the force of your pull. A burst of bright light floods the dark kitchen, illuminating your dead face in a nightmarish glow.

The interior shelves are smeared with crimson fingerprints, speckled with dried puddles of red crust. No doubt spillage from the plethora of bloody bottles crowded inside, all filled with that human lifestuff that they — and he — need so badly to survive. The dark, thick liquid gleams within the confines of the glass, some filled to the brim, others containing only mere dregs.

Fascinated, you pull one of the bottles off the shelf and give it an experimental shake, watching bubbles whir into existence on the surface, making a layer of soft pink foam. You twist off the cap, peering inside; almost nosing the lip of the opening, you give it a delicate sniff. You’re not sure if your olfactory nerves can actually detect the faint, rusty odor, or if it’s a phantom scent, pulled from your memory.

You quietly screw the cap back on, and stowe the bottle back in its place. The refrigerator door swings shut once more, closing the gory sight out of view.

Interesting.

Hours later, Eddie comes back to the apartment. You’re sitting at the kitchen table now, working on the crossword puzzle from yesterday’s newspaper, dry tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.

“Hello,” he greets you easily, shrugging out of his vest and tossing it over the back of a chair. He comes to stand beside you, looking down at the paper from over your shoulder. “24 down is orc, by the way. O-R-C.”

You frown. “I’m not there yet.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “Sorry.” He pulls the chair next to you away from the table and takes a seat.

You tap the end of your pencil against the table. “I w-would’ve gotten it.”

“I’m sure you would have,” he says indulgently, resting his head on his hand. “Is this what you’ve been doing all afternoon?”

You nod. Mostly, anyway.

He studies your face for a moment, then scrunches his nose.

You mimic his expression. “What?”

“Have you noticed that you don’t blink?”

“No.”

He pokes you in the shoulder. “It’s kinda spooky,” he chuckles playfully. “Which is fine! I’m kinda spooky, too.”

“I don’t think I n-need to.”

His head cocks to the side. “You are funny, aren’t you,” he murmurs.

That’s one way of putting it.

Eddie bites his lip — fangs hidden away again, retreated back in their gummy slits — and, hesitantly, extends one hand towards you. You flinch back automatically.

“Sorry,” he says, but doesn’t pull his hand back. “But do you mind if I just…try something?”

You nod cautiously, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Eddie — slowly, so as not to startle you — leans forward and presses his palm to your chest, right over where your heart lurks inside. He searches for a pulse that isn’t there, feeling nothing, no meaty organ throbbing and thumping against your ribcage, just placid hollowness, as though there were no chambered fist of tissue there at all.

A hush falls over the two of you, while he waits in vain.

You offer an apologetic smile.

Eddie simply hums, and removes his hand, settling back in his chair. “You and I aren’t so different, you know. Mine doesn’t beat, either, unless I…” he trails off, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Well, you can probably guess.”

“Yes. I found your stash.”

Eddie sucks in a quick breath, face hardening. “Forgive me. I know it’s a little gruesome, but a man’s gotta survive somehow, doesn’t he?”

You nod, understanding. The shock of his vampirism has worn off quickly, now that you no longer believe him to be a threat. As he’s so dutifully pointed out, and proven again just now, you don’t have what he needs.

“Listen, I was thinking when I was down there, and I know I already said you could stay for the night, but —”

Dismay. He’s already kicking you out, and you’ve only been here for a few hours.

“— we can talk about a more long-term arrangement, if you want?”

Oh. Okay.

Eddie continues, oblivious to your inner turmoil, “I need some help around the shop. And I can’t trust myself to have too many employees hanging around, for obvious reasons,” he chuckles, gesturing helplessly towards his fridge, “so if you’re interested, I could give you a job. And I’d have you stay here with me, of course.”

“Really?” you whisper raggedly.

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah. And you don’t have to worry about rent or anything, either. Just a few hours of work a day, that’s all I ask.”

You nod eagerly, the motion exuberant enough that it makes your neck click.

Eddie’s eyes widen at the alarming sound, though he’s still grinning. “Okay! Be careful. Your head will be a lot harder to sew back on than a finger.”

The next few weeks are a bit of a learning curve, you and Eddie both adjusting to your presence in each other’s lives.

During the day, you get some basic retail training. Eddie handles the real business side of things, but teaches you how he likes to organize and stock new arrivals, and lets you try your hand at the register. You’re good at it, but he’s hesitant to let customers speak to you for too long, lest they notice anything…unusual about you.

It’s all good fun, the two of you together, even when business is slow. You spend one dull afternoon crowded at the counter together, working on a nametag — Eddie’s a good artist, and decorates the space around your name with green, swirling designs and miniature doodles of tombstones. He even lets you swipe a Cramps button from the merch table to pin onto your lanyard.

When the shop closes up, you both trudge back upstairs to the apartment, and pass the time playing cards, watching movies, listening to records; Eddie will sip on a cup of dark liquid, puffing on a cigarette or maybe a joint, while you sit with your hands folded neatly in your lap, no needs or vices to trouble you, just enjoying this newfound companionship. Sometimes he even reads aloud to you, or plays you song on his acoustic guitar.

Eventually it reaches that point in the day where the sun finally sinks out of sight, wherein Eddie yanks back the curtains and throws up the window, letting the cool night air seep in. You watch with fascination every time, transfixed by the way the moonlight hits his pale skin, shines across his dark curls…dances over his pearly teeth.

Later, Eddie will retire to bed, bidding you goodnight and crawling into the small space beneath his floor and his mattress to sleep, while you sit up on the couch or the cot he’s so needlessly set up for you, with the gentle hum of the television keeping you company in the slumberless dark.

But other times he leaves, disappearing into the night and not returning til it’s nearly dawn, spattered with blood, bits of gore clinging to his clothes. He practically lurches into the apartment, blood-drunk, dragging what’s left of his kill behind him in a cooler for safekeeping.

The bloodletting takes place outside. He never brings the body in.

The first time it happened, you simply watched, glassy eyes watching him from across the room. But the next time you were ready. When he finished stowing the fresh blood away in the fridge, you moved in, and gently tugged on the back of his shirt, prompting him to remove his clothing; when he was stripped down to his boxers, you brought the discarded, ruined garments to the sink, and ran them under cold water. He watched you treat his clothes silently, searching for any sign of fright or disgust, but found none. He rested his hands on your shoulders and squeezed, a nonverbal thank you, before leaving you to take a shower.

This becomes routine. Eddie feeds and brings home the leftovers, which will tide him over until he has to make another kill. This doesn’t bother you; with each passing day, you feel more and more disconnected from the humans around you, the true ones, the ones who live and breathe and pump blood through their veins. You aren’t one of them, and they aren’t one of you.

So you don’t ask who any of them are, or where he finds them, but you do wait patiently for your vampire to come home, with a damp cloth in hand, ready to wash the blood from his face.

Tonight is one such night; when he stumbles through the door and into the kitchen, you’re already seated at the table with a bowl of warm water and a rag. You rise unsteadily to greet him, and he unloads his haul, putting the fresh bottles away onto their cold shelves. When he turns to face you again, he leans in, letting you tenderly swipe the dried smears of red tissue from around his mouth. His lips pout slightly when you drag the cloth over them, like a small kiss barely felt through the fabric.

He seems different; charged and bristling, as opposed to his usual sated and sleepy state.

“Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he strokes a thumb across your cheekbone, a light, experimental touch. “You’re sort of perfect for me, you know that?”

You pause your ministrations, startled by the unprompted praise. You swallow drily, and try to continue cleaning his face, but he clasps a hand around your wrist, keeping it in place.

His other arm snakes around your waist. “I’m serious,” he insists in a whisper. “Where have you been all my life?”

A faint smile touches your lips. “Had to wait until mine was over, I s’pose.”

His eyelids flutter, and before you can react, his bloody mouth is on yours. His kisses are sloppy, all fangs and tongue, smearing your lips and chin with gore. You return them dazedly, brittle fingers knotting in his tangled hair, letting him take what he wants.

It’s not like you need to catch your breath.

When he finally pulls back, a string of red-tinged spit connects your mouths. He pants in your face, nose rubbing against yours, then dots bloody pecks all over your cheeks and forehead. You lean into him, letting him hold your dead body in his arms.

“My little love,” he whispers into your skin.

thank you for reading!! ❤️

btw did you know that the gaboon viper has the longest fangs of any venemous snake? this has nothing to do with the fic. just thought if you made it to the end, maybe you'd enjoy a fun snake fact I came across when looking something up for this story. their fangs can grow up to 2 inches long, and this species is in a genus called Bitis, so that's fucking hilarious.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #monster!eddie munson #monster!eddie #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

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shares-a-vest · 7 days

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Prompt: The Beemer (Discord Drabble) Continuation of yesterday's drabble. But this one can be read standalone seeing as I contextualised right up top.

Steve startles awake at a loud and continuous banging sound coming from outside. He squints at the window, unable to see anything through the half-opened blind and his own tired eyes.

He sits upright, his stupid hip pinching again – an ache that got him into this mess in the first place.

Somehow, his car crunching into a log beam at a rest spot on Lover's Lake – all caused by his boyfriend's eagerness – resulted in a night on the couch.

He should probably consider it all a close call, he thinks as he stands up and stretches. The Beemer only suffered a crumpled up front bumper.

... He thinks.

But had been good enough to drive home, even as it emitted a rather brain-splitting scraping sound as they crawled their way back to Eddie's house, bickering all the way.

They had eventually tired from arguing and Steve crashed out on the couch just after Eddie stomped off to his bed, grumbling about their relationship, "lacking in sucking-face sessions", as if they don't do that at every opportunity already.

Steve shuffles to the door and opens it, only to be confronted with a much louder banging sound as Eddie hammers at the now detached front bumper.

He gulps, bracing himself against the door frame as he watches Eddie raise a strong arm, hammer in hand and bang, bang, bang.

Steve jolts at the sound – and not because a piece of his precious baby is being battered back into position.

No, Eddie's arm is flexing with every swing, his gloved hand clenching as he pulls back and Steve realises his hair is up too, tied in a loose, high bun.

A lock falls out and Eddie tucks it back behind his ear, wiping his brow in one swift movement before continuing. He readjusts his stance, his mechanic's overalls pulling taught against his small, slim waist –

"Don't worry," Eddie says. It breaks Steve from his grease-stained trance enough to look up and find his boyfriend frowning, "I looked inside and she seems just fine. I just gotta bash out this bar and your license plate."

Steve thinks he mumbles something in reply, but all he really catches is Eddie's flashy, impossibly charming smile back.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #lilys drabbles #stwgdailyprompt #👕🧥

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mitsies · 1 year

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ZIP IT! ; bachira meguru > in which, your boyfriend really needs to either a) change his ringtone, or b), shut the hell up.

if you woke up to the sound of electronic dogs barking at 2 in the morning one more time, you think you'd go insane and jump out the window of your apartment.

slowly sinking down into the sheets, you pry your eyes open. the moon filtering through the curtains painted silvery stripes on the walls and your boyfriend, who was sleeping peacefully with his head on your chest. you feel the hot puffs of his breath against your collarbone, and you'd maybe love this moment if it weren't for the fucking ringtone blaring like a siren in the dead of night.

"meguru," you poke his side and he almost whines in his sleep, pressing himself closer to your side, "wake up. your alarm is going off again."

this was at least the 7th night that your boyfriend's irritating ringtone had blasted at the same time in the dead of night, and suffice it to say that you're sick and tired of losing sleep over his forgetting to delete the alarm. "meguru. get up."

he finally stirs when you jab him maybe a little too hard in the side, rising up off you and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "huh? 's too early, baby, why are we awake?"

"your alarm is going off again. do you not hear it?"

he blinks and opens his mouth- "oh." reaching over you, he taps in his password and silences the alarm, and smiles at you. "all better?"

you purse your lips and push the heels of your palms against your eyes, wishing the cold to lull you back to sleep. "no," you grumble, "i have to get up early tomorrow and this really does not help."

"but i turned it off."

"but it still woke me up."

you steel your nerves and flip over so you're on your side, turning to face away from bachira. less than a split-second later, he's already sprawled on top of your side, resting his full weight on your arm.

"don't be mad! babe," he says into your ear, already far too awake for having been dead asleep less than a minute ago.

you opt to not reply, only burying your face in the pillows to try and hide the growing smile on your face. you feel his cold hands snaking to fit under your shirt and onto your stomach in the way he does to either annoy you or warm them up.

"are you mad? why aren't you talking!"

in an attempt to look even more asleep, you tug the blanket underneath your chin and let out a huff, which makes your boyfriend laugh. "don't tell me you're tired now! it's only 2!"

you don't reply again, and the room falls silent- there's only a brief shuffling as his cold hands depart from your skin, and you're almost tempted to turn around just to see what he's doing when the chilly air of the bedroom suddenly bites against your skin as the sheets are pulled off you.

"it's my bed too, y'know," he says as you sit up and give him the dirtiest look you can muster, "so my blanket."

trying to reach for a corner to grab and tug away, you fall with a huff as bachira yanks it from your grasp. "if you want the blanket, you gotta say something, silly!"

"i'm breaking up with you."

"what- hey! something nice, pretty, 'kay?"

grumbling unintelligibly because you can't find it in yourself to be sensical at this hour, you shift closer to your boyfriend. he runs cold, but despite that you let yourself relax and find solace in the crook of his neck. quietly, you whisper into his skin, "i love you. blanket please?"

you're too tired to see the way he softens, almost instantly moving to accommodate you and returning the affections. on the pillows, his chin moves to rest on top of your head as he pulls the blanket close around the both of you.

"there you are," he says with a sweetness that makes your chest tighten as you press yourself infinitely closer, as if you're trying to absorb his words through the vibrations they emit in his throat.

silence continues for a few more beats until you finally say something again: "tomorrow, you're changing your ringtone or you're sleeping on the couch."

he laughs quietly. "yeah. yeah, i know."

✄ written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompt you give them the silent treatment for some reason and they reach a level of clingyness you didn’t think possible

[⇥ 3K EVENT MASTERLIST] [⇥ 3K EVENT INFO]

#bachira meguru x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #bachira meguru #meguru bachira x reader #bachira x reader #meguru bachira #blue lock fluff #reader insert #mitsies 3k

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electronicwitchcollection · 6 months

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Here’s the third instalment of “Accidental mate” warnings! This does contain smut! hope you enjoy!

Grimmjow walked back into the room a few hours later, unsatisfied with his hunt. It had taken him too long to stumble across a lower hollow, and by that time he had too much pent up frustration. He had ripped into the hollow with manic sadism, relishing in the thrill of the kill. He didn't think to eat before the hollow fizzled away back to hell.

His growling stomach had brought him reluctantly back to the room in time for dinner, though now that his eyes laid you curled up in the bed, he suddenly had a very different hunger. You were breathing softly, lips parted ever so slightly. Curled up on yourself, fingers gently holding the sheet in comfort. You still wore Grimmjows musk, though faded the scent still lingered on your skin, mixing with your own salty sweet smell. It made Grimmjows mouth water.

He didn't know how long he stood there staring at you, a current of arousal flowing over his skin like electrical static. A knock at the door startled him from his watching. Grimmjow snapped into a defensive position, crouching low to the floor, arms spread to block an attack from getting to you venerably sleeping on the bed. His teeth were bared as a feline snarl ripped from his throat.

The warning growl woke you up, shooting up to a sitting position on high alert, eyes darting around wildly looking for the threat. When a tentative knock came from the door, you relaxed, shoulders sagging in relief. Grimmjow hadn't moved from his stance, muscles coiled, ready to spring into action in a split second. A low rumble emitting from his chest.

"Oh for the love of... it's just someone knocking the door Grimmjow." You scolded him gently, shuffling to the edge of the bed to stand up. You walked past Grimmjow, still staring daggers at the door, to open it. The woman who greeted you at the front desk was there, looking awfully uncomfortable at the warning animalistic noises she had heard in response from her knock "don't mind him, he's not fully house trained yet"

You were rewarded with a strained smile and a petulant huff from behind you at your attempt to lighten the mood. Grimmjow grumbled behind you, muttering a few choice words you'd rather ignore. Instead you smile to the woman "how can we help?"

"I just came to hand you tonight's menu" she said offering you two cards and two pencils "please mark what you would like and how much of each, when you're finished, place it outside your door. Dinner will be brought to your room in little more than an hour "

"oh fantastic, thank you so much" you say glancing down at the menu. The woman gave a low bow, sliding close the door and getting as far away from the pissed of arrancar as she could

"You hungry?" You call to Grimmjow pacing along the patio door like a caged animal. You sat heavily at the table, hungry eyes grazing over your options for some much needed food

"starving"

"come see what you want then" you slide his menu to the other side of the table, not looking up from your own. It all looked so good. You read through the menu twice, taking in all your options so you could decide, not wanting to tick off too many things. Pencil in hand, you first filled out the drinks option, choosing a bottle of house sake and lychee juice. About to decide on your meal, you notice Grimmjow staring at his menu as though it was about to bite him "something wrong?"

"I don't know what the fuck this says" he grumbled, turning the menu upside down and sneering at the little black markings. You couldn't believe your density at that moment. Grimmjow couldn't read. Of course he couldn't, he had lost all of his human memories at his death. He was a hollow, a hunter. There was no signs or books in hueco mundo, no one to teach him how to read, nor have the need to learn. Your eyes softened as you watched him inquisitively inspect the menu, it was innocent, almost child like

"here pass it back, I'll fill it out for you" you held out a hand expectantly, relieved when he placed it in your hand and not throw another fit. He sat opposite, long legs stretched under the table to lay either side of your own crossed ones "what do you like?"

"meat" the blunt answer nearly made you chuckle, silly question. Of course the predator liked meat. You weren't sure how much human food he has had the chance to eat. There were probably hundreds of new flavours and textures for him to try. A few veggies wouldn't hurt him either

"How about I just select a few different ones for us to try? We can lay them all on the table and try a little of each?" You took Grimmjows shrug as a yes, quickly marking off a few different rice, noodle and vegetable dishes. You chose one or two of each meat dish you could find, then doubling your drink order and adding water. You gathered up the cards and pencils, leaving them just outside your room door.

She said it'll be done in over an hour, plenty of time to get clean and have a well deserved soak in the bath. You stretch your arms above your head as you walked to the draws, earlier shown to be where the towels were kept. You pulled out two, laying one on top of the dresser for Grimmjow.

You rummaged through your back, grabbing the smaller toiletries bag and laying out some sleep clothes on the mattress "Im going to clean up before dinner. You should do the same, that shack wasn't the cleanest"

Grimmjow just grunted at your comment, a strange feeling fluttering about in his stomach at the idea of you cleaning off his scent. Stepping outside, closing the sliding door behind you, you set down your belongings near the shower before stripping off your clothing. The sky was beginning to darken, air beginning to chill at the retreat of the sun. Confident there wasn't anyone around to see you naked, you walk into the open shower, washing quickly.

The water wasn't as hot as you would've liked, but it got you clean. You washed your hair, familiar fruity smell lingering on your damp strands. The pressure did wonders on your back, falling heavily into your muscles beat away the tension. When a stronger gust of wind blew across your body, skin erupting in goosebumps, you decided to retreat quickly to the hot bubbling bath.

You gingerly stepped in, hissing at the difference of temperature. You were about to slowly ease yourself in, accommodate your body to the temperature when the sliding door flung open suddenly, Grimmjow striding out completely naked

"Grimmjow!" You squeak at him, quickly sitting in the bath, covering yourself with the bubbles. Grimmjow cocked an eyebrow at your girly exclamation, striding across the small patio to stand under the spray of the shower "what the hell are you doing?"

"washing"

"No you dolt". You pinched the bridge of your nose, cheeks flushing a brilliant red. You tried not to watch as Grimmjow rubbed his rough hands all over his body, thick droplets of water trickling down his tanned, sculptured torso... "I'm naked!"

"So am I" he shrugged, leaning his head back, letting the spray hit him in the face. Your mouth dried at the sight, his wet hair lost it's pushed back style, falling limply down the sides of his face. It softened his features somewhat, it was different, not bad, just different. He was still infuriating though

"Have you ever heard of privacy? Men and women don't tend to bathe together" Honestly, did you have to teach him everything? Damn animal. Grimmjow chuckled, deep and dirtily, as he abandoned the shower to climb into the bath opposite you, despite your protests. He leaned back against the side, wide arm span draping over the edge.

"You're so weird, been walking around with my seed in ya all day but cry when I see your tits" even with his head leaned back you could see the wrath inducing grin plastered on his face. Smug bastard

"Thats different" you try to defend yourself. A futile attempt, there was no point in arguing with Grimmjow about your values and customs. He either didn't know them or didn't care about them. Grimmjow was amused by your attitude towards nakedness, it was bizarre. Before Aizen made him dress in clothes, he was always naked. It was natural, free. He hated the confines of clothes, they were tight and restrictive. "Just because we slept together once doesn't mean you get to see me naked any time you damn well please "

"Woman, will you shut up" Grimmjow muttered darkly, sinking further into the soothing bubbling water. It smelt strange, a tangy chemical smell that didn't smell safe to drink. But the hot water was soothing, the strong bubbles beat against his muscles, working out the knots in his muscles. He didn't miss the way you said "once" either. The notion made him frown for some reason.

You frowned at his rude dismissal, grumbling under your breath about uncouth animals who should be locked up in a cage. You didn't feel as relaxed in the tub as you had intended, not with Grimmjow spreading his legs and taking up most of the room. The hot water did sooth you though, you had hardly any discomfort left lingering. Grimmjow looked better too. A lot less wound up than he did earlier. Didn't have that crazed, wounded animal look he had worn.

Head hung back, you could see how thick his neck was, Adam's apple protruding proudly. His shoulders were wide, defined, arms spread wide across the lip of the bath, even relaxed his biceps bulged. Speaking of bulges... no. You couldn't go there, not again. He was good looking. You couldn't deny that. If only he didn't act like a rabid animal half time, he could possibly make someone very happy. Just not you. You were too different. Wanted different things.

Your stomach growling loudly reminded you how hungry you were. Grimmjows head snapped up at the loud rumble, giving you a disbelieving look. You flip him the middle finger, deadpan look on your face as he grinned manically at you. You roll your eyes, about to stand when you stopped yourself, painfully aware of how naked you were.

Grimmjow had no such qualms standing upright in one fluid motion, flaccid penis eye level as water trickled down over his abs. Even soft it was a sight to behold. Thick and long, it commanded attention. Grimmjow either didn't notice the blush rushing your face or chose to ignore it. He stepped from the tub, shaking his body to rid himself of the extra water before walking back into the room.

You let out a slow trembling breath when he was out of sight, closing your eyes to clear your mind. No. Not again. No dick was worth putting up with that maniac, not even one as magnificent as that one. Slipping from the tub as quick as you could, you hurriedly got yourself wrapped up in your towel, waiting to give Grimmjow enough time to get dressed before you headed back in

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Itadakimasu!" You proclaim happily, hungrily looking at the feast laid out on the table between you. Sweet and salty sauce covered different meats. Boiled, fried and battered, the tender chunks of meat gave off the most mouthwatering smell. The veggies were vibrant and green, seasoned generously and tossed in silky soy sauce. You eagerly picked up your chopsticks, handing the spare pair over to Grimmjow before selecting a particularly succulent looking piece of pork and popping it in your mouth

Juice burst in your mouth with a sweet, Smokey taste covering your tongue. You moaned appreciatively, wriggling happily on your plump pillow. You reached over for your lychee juice, chewing slowed as you watched Grimmjow fumble with his chopsticks, awkwardly holding them at odd angles, unable to get them to pinch

"Have you used chopsticks before?" You asked after you swallowed, sipping happily on your fruity drink. Grimmjow frowned at his chopsticks, fumbling with the wooden instruments. Getting them somewhat secure in his fingers he reached for the same pork you had eaten, growling when the chopsticks crossed uncoordinatedly and the meat fell back onto the plate with a splat in the sauce

"hat wearing pervert showed me once" the description made you chuckle, two men immediately springing to mind. The fact that captan Kyoraku tended to prefer a liquid diet consisting of his favourite sake, you were leaning more towards Urahara who always had a dirty innuendo on the tip of his tongue. It made you wonder what awful nickname he gave to you, so far you had been graced with "woman" and "bitch", but you assumed Grimmjow was more creative than that.

"Here," you lean over, adjusting the hold he had on them, "keep this bottom one still, use the top to open and close" You watched as he attempted again, securely gripping the meat, lifting up towards his mouth where it slipped free, rolling a sauce stripe down his exposed torso. Grimmjow growled, snapping the chopsticks in half and chucking them across the room. Impossible bastard

He glared at you, daring you to say something. Rolling your eyes you set down your own chopsticks, choosing instead to use your fingers to sample the next dish, some salty green beans. They crunched loudly in your mouth as you held his eye contact. His lip curled up at the corners before digging in, shovelling food into his mouth with much less grace than you had.

You had spent the following twenty minutes in near silence, save from explaining what certain dishes were and encouraging Grimmjow to try some of the veggies. The salty beans he enjoyed. The broccoli he did not. You laughed as he noisily spat it back out, thankfully landing in one of the already empty bowls

"that's fucking disgusting". He grimaced, reaching for the sake bottle and drinking hurriedly to get rid of the taste. You popped a piece of broccoli in your mouth, one that hasn't already been chewed and spat back out,enjoying the slight crunch of the steamed vegetable,

"don't be a baby, broccoli is good for you"

"nothing that tastes like that can be good for you" He glared venomously at the offending green. Pushing it further away on the table for good measure. You were surprised at how much of the food had been eaten, Grimmjow had one hell of an appetite. You began clearing away the empty dishes, stacking them neatly on the trey ready to be left outside your door and Grimmjow scavenged the last few morsels of meat.

Belly warm and full of food, you glanced longingly at the bed. You felt great, no longer aching thanks to the wonderful hot tub outside, comfortable in your sleep clothes, fuzzy due to the sake. As Grimmjow obscenely sucked off the remaining juices from his fingers, you finish adding them empty bowls to the tray before leaving it just outside your door. You stretch languidly as you made your way to the bed

"Im going to call it a night" you alert the Espada around a yawn, falling heavily into the mattress and wrapping the blanket around you snugly. The room suddenly plunged into darkness, the lantern that was once illuminating the space blown out with a puff of breath. You couldn't hear where Grimmjow was in the room, his silent feet made no noise on the wooden flooring. As your eyes begin to adjust in the dark, sliver of moonlight penetrating the dark though the small window, you could just about make out his dark silhouette pacing around the room, watching him til you drifted off to sleep.

Grimmjow outed the light, about ready to join you on the bed when your naked form flashed through his memory. The image of you naked, wet from your shower about to plunge into the tubs depths had him suddenly stopping in the middle of the room. The bath and the food had distracted him enough to ignore the undercurrent of his rutting season. Now that he was satisfied, his hunger began creeping back in, the darkness of night heightening his instincts. It was infuriating.

Grimmjow had managed to fight against his instincts his whole life, resisting his urges and taking control of his more primal demands. He was strong, he was powerful, he was in control. The one night he had given in to those urges, the tightly wrapped leash he had on his animalistic urges snapped, giving free reign to the insatiable beast, hungry for his mate.

Mate. That word flickered through his thoughts again. Grimmjow had no mate. Didn't want a mate, he was a lone wolf, depending on no one but himself. He especially wouldn't pick a mate as weak as you, a shinigami no less. Yet his body vibrated with longing need, muscles bunching, ready to spring out and capture you. You sighed softly, moving around in your sleep. It was a delicate sound, weak, sparking protective instincts he wasn't aware he possessed. It disgusted him.

Grimmjow growled, low and dangerous. All these new thoughts and feelings were pissing him off. He had decided bitterly that he would just sleep outside, away from you and your bewitching pheromones. After tomorrow, he wouldn't have to see you again. Can get back to what was important, training and fighting. He still owed Ichigo a beating. As his fingers wrapped around the smooth handle of the sliding door, you let out a small whimper, rolling over to your back.

His pupils dilated, elongating to feline slits as his head snapped to your direction. Rational thought clouded by his most primal of instincts, interwoven with rutting season's unrelenting increase of testosterone. His cock hardened in the influx of endorphins, aching to be buried in your tight wet heat. Silently he stalked you, inching closer to your warm smell. He didn't like it as much as when it was fused with his own musk, but it was sweet, tasty.

Lightly he jumped on the bed, landing in a crouch on the balls of his feet, hands spread wide over the soft nest, weight hardly displacing the spongy material. Skin burning, Grimmjow pulled off his jacket, letting it fall where it liked to the floor below. His eyes had no problem seeing in the dark, sharp and focused they studied your face. Relaxed, smooth skin. Your pink lips were parted with soft even breaths. Unaware, unknowing of the presence that loomed over you, hungry, dangerous.

Grimmjow leaned over you, pushing back your hair to expose the angry bite mark left by his own teeth. The sight had his length twitching in the confines of his trousers, engorged and ready to mount. He could feel your jugular vein pulsate in the air, throbbing with blood, hidden beneath your delicate skin as he lowered his head, inhaling deeply at your throat. A steady stream of purr like rumbles echoed in his chest as he licked a hot wet stripe at the side of your neck, tasting the salty bite.

You moaned, tilting your head away from the sensation distrusting your sleep, little crease appearing between your brows. Grimmjow pulled the blanket from you, pushing it to the side. You stir as Grimmjow parts your thighs, manoeuvring to kneel between the gap created. Your eyes flickered open, confused and dazed under the heavy weight of sleep. Uncoordinated limbs push futilely against his hands on your thighs, attempting to brush him off while you gather your bearings

"Grimmjow? What are you..?" Voice thick with sleep, you mumble groggily trying to blink away the sleep. Grimmjow ignored you, dipping his head to smell your clothed cunt, fingers digging under your sleep dress to grip hold of the elasticated waist band off your panties. You jumped back into conciseness, slamming your thighs together, kneeing him harshly in the jaw.

Grimmjow growled, seizing your wrists as you lash out at him, angrily attempting to punch him into sense "what the fuck are you doing?!" You seething spit the words through clenched teeth. This was beyond acceptable. You knew he didn't always understand what was acceptable to humans, and that he was struggling with his rutting season, but this was too much. "You can't just..!"

Grimmjow slammed your hands above your head, towering over you menacingly as he pinned you to the bed. Your breath got caught in your throat, pinned in this prerogative position, solid wall of muscle dominating you to submission. "Want you" his lust filled drawl washed over your face, intense eyes trapping you in their hypnotic stare. "Grimmjow" you whisper his name, mind swimming in contradictory emotions.

"Want you" he growled deeper, rolling his hips into you, thick erection prodding against your centre, leaving no room for doubt exactly what he wanted you for. You were angry at his brutish attempt of seduction, rudely awakening you from your slumber. Offended at the way he man handled you, attempting to use your body to stifle his erotic urges. You had offered to help him the previous night, you didn't think you had to elaborate that invitation didn't extend for his whole rutting season.

And yet you felt a gush of liquid surge through your pussy, slick arousal dampening your folds at the feeling of his girth pressing into you. Your body flushed with heat, tingling with excited apprehension of feeling him in you again, bringing you to the most painful pleasure you've ever endured. The strong hold he had on your wrists, the masculine, husky tone in which he confessed his desire for you lit a flame of desperation in your stomach.

Your body was betraying your indignant thoughts, coming alive in his hold. You had gone months without the thrill of sex, but one taste and your resolve crumbled, body reacting to his uncouth stimulus, craving intimacy, the burning drag of being so completely filled, the blinding pleasure as you orgasmed.

You saw a shimmer of uncertainty flash on his face as the silence prolonged between you. He began to shiver, seemingly clinging to the control he had. His forehead leaned forward to touch your own, shakily panting over your face "say yes" his eyes screwed shut in concentration, restraint rapidly reaching the edge of his control "say yes" he pleaded desperately, hands tightening on your wrists, hips slowly rolling, dragging his cock against your centre.

You knew in that moment that If you refused, he would rip himself from you. He would leave the inn, create as much space between you as he physically could, so not to do something to hurt you. "Yes". You whisper, nodding your head softly under the weight of his own.

Grimmjow sighed in relief, giving you a look you couldn't decipher. He nuzzled almost tenderly in the side of your neck, lavishing the skin with little kitten licks. He stroked his cheek against your own, firmly smoothing his skin over your cheek, your neck. He was scent marking you, desperate attempt to get you smelling as strongly as his own scent and for as long as possible. It wasn't detectable by shinigami, but any hollow nearby would immediately pick up the scent for what it was. A warning, possessively claiming, and to braver, or less intelligent beings, a challenge.

The alpha in Grimmjow basked in the scent, in the claim. You were his, completely his. "Mine" Grimmjow muttered into your neck, inhaling deeply his own scent left on your skin. His hands released your wrists, dragging them down the length of your arms held in place by the weight of his look. His large hands smoothed their way over your covered breasts, down your stomach to grip hold of the hem of your covering. Your hands shot down, holding his own hands gently

Grimmjow snapped his head up to look you in the face, warning glaze filling his eyes. You squeezed his hands reassuringly, prying them off your gown to roll it up your body yourself. You didn't want Grimmjow to rip apart every article of clothing you owned. He watched predatorily, hungrily taking in every new inch of skin you revealed. Pulling it over your head, you offer a small smile, praise for his patience.

Your thumbs hooked into your panties, lifting your ass to slide them down your legs, dropping them to the floor safe away from his grasp just incase temptation became to strong. They were your last clean pair after all. With your cunt uncovered the smell of your arousal was overpowering, filling the space between you. Grimmjow could taste it in the air, mouth salivating at the memory.

Grimmjow lowered himself between your legs, anxious to lap at your juices. His nose brushed though the manicured hair sat atop your pussy, musky scent making his head swim deliriously. He nipped at your mound, teasing his sharp canines over your flesh. He had enough hold on his consciousness to resist sinking them in, leaving another mark claiming you as his own.

While it was extremely tempting, he knew how bitchy you were and he didn't want you to change your mind now that he had you open and willing. He started running his tongue through your folds, the first taste of your sweet nectar exploding over his taste buds. Your inner walls were silky, his tongue glided across the hot flesh effortlessly.

Grimmjow had always had exceptional senses. Sight, smell and hearing were perfectly honed to hunt, giving him an advantage in battle. When in his rutting season however, they heightened drastically, everything sharpening and focusing to near perfect clarity. Grimmjow could feel every tiny hair on your body, every minuscule vibration you gave. He could hear your blood pumping through your veins, your lungs pulling in deep, desperate breaths.

Your soft moans ignited something within him, the wet squelch of his tongue as it delved in your depths pulling more of that addicting juice from you, sinfully hardened his aching cock. He could smell the salty sweat appearing on your body, the heady, sweet tang staining his lips. Every sense was hyper focused on you, every move, every smell, every taste. Eating you out was quickly becoming something he enjoyed doing. He had never wasted time with this before, hollows and arrancars had no need for preparation.

Grimmjow was a quick learner. For never having heard about foreplay before, he was doing a pretty damn good job at pulling lustful moans from your lips. His tongue delved in deep, wriggling the appendage over all he could reach, rolling over the sensitive pleasure spots that had you panting. Steadily building you up closer to the blissful release you so desperately craved.

His fingers dug painfully into the soft flesh of your thighs, keeping them open obscenely wide, spreading your lower lips to accommodate his face pushing into you. Everything about Grimmjow was rough, from the way he talked and fought to the way he mated. It was all brutal, efficient. No easing you into it or soft touches. The way your body was writhing at his transgressions, you couldn't say you minded all that much.

Grimmjow's cock protested at being neglected, throbbing constantly at the lack of stimulation. His cock head was leaking onto the bed beneath him, a steady stream of his salty essence searching for a bitch to impregnate. Grimmjow grunted into your Cunt, angrily thrusting his tongue into you. His instincts were demanding he mount you, rip through your tight walls and slather your insides with his seed.

His inner beast was was getting impatient, battling to take control of Grimmjows consciousness and rut into his mate. Grimmjow moved his attention from your core to that little bump that had you practically screaming the last time. He shoved two of his thick fingers into your channel, roughly punching them into you. He could feel your walls quivering, steadily stretching around his intrusion, opening up ready for his cock.

A pleasure filled scream ripped from your mouth, you quickly stifled the noise with your hand, biting onto your curled fingers. Your hips bucked mindlessly into him, chasing the painful pleasure. A steady stream of moans and strained curses, muffled around your fingers drowned out the sinfully lewd noises being forced from your dripping pussy.

You could feel the band about to snap. All the tension building up, pushing you to brink ready to cave in in one glorious explosion of relief. Grimmjow growled into your mound, furious at the cries he earned being smothered. He wanted to hear them, deserved to have them. He moved his head to your thigh, sinking his teeth into your flesh while simultaneously using his free hand to wrench away the fingers dampening your vocalisation.

The burst of hot pain pushed you over the edge, band snapping painfully as it thrusted you into an intense orgasm. Hand held tightly at your side, you moan unrestricted into the room, hoarse and raw as pleasure consumed you. You sprayed your release over Grimmjows furious fingers, clamping down tightly over his digits. Grimmjow ripped them from you, shoving them into his mouth to taste the delicacy coating his fingers.

He rumbled deep in his chest, powerful and dominating as he sucked his fingers clean, watching with predatory eyes as you flopped weightless into the mattress, gasping for breath. Your eyes were screwed shut, chest heaving with every pull of oxygen into your starved lungs. Your legs twitched periodically around him as they slumped to the side.

Once your taste had fully left his fingers, Grimmjow gripped your hips, lifting your ass to rest on his folded legs and thrust into you in one fluid motion. Your back arched painfully at the burning breach, gasp caught in your throat choking you. It wasn't as painful as the night before, but still burned through your walls with the overwhelming stretch needed to accommodate his girth.

Grimmjow growled at the vice like grip encasing his cock, squeezing hotly around his sensitive length. Holding your hips in a bruising grip, Grimmjow pulled you onto his cock as he thrusted into you. His eyes were fixed to where you joined, watching as your cunt swallowed his length with every snap of his hips. It was hot and wet, impossibly tight, squeezing around him with rippling clenches

Grimmjow rocked into you with such bruising force that you struggled to take a deep breath. You gasped weakly around uncontrollable moans, hands twisting up the pillow beneath your head in an attempt to anchor you to earth. You've never experienced such consuming pleasure before you had met Grimmjow. He forced you to feel every powerful inch of his cock, the rest of the world dimming into the background

You we're somewhat aware of the fact you weren't alone, sharing the full in with multiple occupants. When Grimmjow increased his speed, rutting into you in a crazed frenzy, you had just enough thought to turn your head and bite into the pillow, muffling your screams. When Grimmjow caught the noise of your muffled cries, his head snapped up, enraged glint in his eyes. He wanted to hear you, wanted to hear his mate scream out at getting fucked raw on his cock.

With a demonic growl, Grimmjow moved his hands from your hips to your waist, yanking you upright to sit on his lap. He glared at you, chest heaving with indignant frustration. "Louder" he growled into your face, accentuating his point with a rough thrust up. You choked on your gasp, new position had him breaching you further. Eyes rolled into the back of your head as you clung onto his wide shoulders, nails digging in little half Cresent indents into his skin

"there's other people here, Grimmjow" you whisper, trying to explain your reluctance in a way that wouldn't send him into a fit of rage. "I don't want to.." you were cut of mid sentence by another rapid roll of his hips

"don't fucking care. Scream. My. Name". Your head lolled forward onto his shoulder, groaning loudly at every brutal thrust he used to strengthen his command. Your mouth hung open, drool dripping from your parted lips, unable to make a sound at his movements. It was too much, too full, too everything. The head of his cock rutted against your cervix with every snap of his hips. His nails dug into your ass as he pushed you into every stroke. He was pushing you to your absolute limit, body not made to accustom such an intimidating appendage.

Grimmjow set a punishing pace, using the string muscles in his thighs to easily plow into you. Soft whimpers and incoherent words of praise were muttered into his sweat soaked skin, moans steadily increasing in pitch and volume. "Grimmjow" the way you moaned his name, tongue lavishly drawing out every syllable, had him going crazy with desire "too much, too big". Your soft complaints did nothing but light a proud fire in his chest

"You can take it" he darkly told you, licking a wet stripe over your cheek. You didn't know that you could. The knot started forming in the middle of Grimmjows cock, bulging from his length and adding extra texture against your walls. It was almost unbearable, the ridged band rolling against your beaten Cunt. Grimmjows thrusts became short and fast, no longer able to pull out from your abused pussy. The added stimulus made you soar, rapidly reaching your final, explosive orgasm.

"GRIMMJOW" you scream out his name, lost in the crashing wave of euphoria as you came hard. You bit into his shoulder, arms wrapped under his arms to claw at his back, nails leaving deep, angry red marks that had Grimmjow groaning. The feeling of your cunt as you came was indescribable. Gripping his cock in unrelenting waves that rippled over his length.

"Yessss" Grimmjow hissed, finally getting the reaction he had been craving. He held your sagging body tightly to his chest, frenziedly rutting into you with erratic, jerky movements, chasing his own need. Your teeth left him, panting wetly over the stinging mark, hands weakly sliding down his back as your body was sapped of the last of your energy. You rocked with his motions, whining softly at his hurried pace.

"Mine" Grimmjow whispered, nudging your face with his nose, getting you to sleepily turn to face him, Grimmjow stared into your eyes as he came, knot snapping painfully with a fiery rush of his seed shooting from him, painting your walls in thick ropes of his ejaculate. His hips slowly rocked into you, milking every last drop from his cock as he grunted sedated. As he came down from his high, body shaking with the exertion he exhibited.

He felt you slump in his arms, passing out from the overwhelming encounter. Grimmjow held you close, rubbing his scent over your cheek and hair, lightly purring in contentment. When the pull of sleep threatened to blanket him in it's inky darkness , Grimmmjow carefully manoeuvred you both on the bed, taking precautions not to jostle his cock in you too much and risk causing damage. He laid on his back, with you draping over him lifelessly, even breathing washing over his neck.

Grimmjow reached over for the blanket, snagging the corner and dragging it over. He managed to throw it over you, too tried to try arrange it to fully cover you both, leaving his feet sticking out in the open. His arms snuck under the blanket, wrapping them around you, hugging you to his chest as he sighed contently. The steady puffs of air from your breathing, ghosting over the bite mark you left on his shoulder guided him to sleep, happily falling victim to slumber while breathing in his scent mixed with your own.

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