the fate of ophelia

[phefics]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❝ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 ❞

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎✦ 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 | 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐬 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 ✦ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 ... closed .ᐟ

‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎© 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 ‎𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝, ‎𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐞𝐧 𝐚.𝐢. 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

[polaroidevidence]

obsession / protection, chapter 1 ✦ spencer reid

summary. romance author!reader has a stalker. the bau gets involved in her case. as spencer tries to solve the case and protect her, their feelings for one another blossom like characters in one her books. (partially inspired by s1:e18).

romance author!reader x spencer reid (criminal minds), 2.8k.

It all started with a bouquet of roses.

You had gone out for groceries one evening and came back to see the floral arrangement sitting on your front porch. Twelve red roses in a black vase, with a note attached to one thorned stem.

“I am your husband, your prince, your god. Kneel and worship me, my beloved thing.” 

It’s a quote from your latest romance novel, Reflections of Desire, which follows Prince Evander and Princess Zadie through their tumultuous arranged marriage, meant to reunite their two war-torn kingdoms.

The note wasn’t signed. A first, you’d hoped it was from your agent, Aleena, who was known to spoil her clients with little surprises. You shot her an email to thank her for them, only to be met with confusion.

You wrack your brain for anyone who would have done such a thing: Your family doesn’t read your books, by your own request. Your circle of friends is small, and they also don’t go out of their way to read your work.

You tried to write it off as a fluke, odd thing, tried to move on and ignore it.

And then, the notes didn’t stop.

You have a P.O. box for fan mail, but these letters came straight to your house, no return address or stamp. Ramblings of a stranger, someone who has read every one of your books, who seems lustfully inspired by your fantasies spilled onto the professionally published pages.

“It may sound silly, but the way you pour your heart out on these pages makes me feel like I know you. I can feel your desperation, sense how badly you want to be loved. And I can give that to you.”

 You’re not surprised when the local police do nothing. No one’s harmed you, physically, but you’re on edge all of the time now. You’re triple-checking locks, looking over your shoulder. You’ve made your Instagram private, but with your thousands of followers, there’s no telling if you’ve shut out the culprit or not.

And then, David Rossi comes to town.

His books are published by a friend of your agent, and the two of you end up at the same dinner. He’s talking about his job with the BAU, the horrors he sees.

“Do you ever deal with…stalking?” you dare to ask, gripping your glass of champagne like a lifeline.

“Occasionally,” David replies. He’s a profiler, and you can feel the way his eyes observe your every move, can practically see the cogs whirring in his head. “Why?”

The conversation among the rest of the table has moved on. Only Aleena knows what’s been going on with you, and you wonder if she invited you here on purpose, so you could speak with him. By the way she’s excitedly flashing her engagement ring to keep the attention on herself, you figure that’s exactly why you’re sitting at this table, in an uncomfortable outfit, eating overpriced food with strangers.

“I’ve been receiving letters,” you manage to spit out. “Creepy, disgusting letters from some man that has read my books. He sent flowers once, too. Last night, I found a cake. My book just became a New York Times best-seller. He said it was to celebrate.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Let me guess: Local police told you they can’t do a thing until he escalates.

You nod, feeling your throat get tight. You refuse to cry here in this fancy establishment, in front of a man you hardly know.

David pulls a business card out from his wallet and slides it over to you. “I can’t make any promises, but give me a call tomorrow. I’ll see if my team can take a look.”

Social skills have never been your strong suit, but you don’t care if it makes you look weird when you throw an arm around his shoulders and give him a brief hug. If it bothers him, he doesn’t show it.

/

Your conversation with Rossi gives you a glimmer of hope. The letters started coming two months ago, and you’ve been on edge ever since. The money from your books is technically enough for you to relocate, but you’re worried that won’t stop it. You can hardly sleep, and you’re completely unable to work on the draft for your next release.

After scanning all the letters and emailing them over to the team liaison, Jennifer Jaraeu, you sit and wait restlessly to hear back.

Rossi calls you an hour later: The team is in, and they rest of them will fly out tomorrow.

You breathe a deep sigh of relief.

Then, your doorbell rings. The sound makes you jump, heart racing. You aren’t expecting any deliveries, and the idea that it’s him…Your fingers hover over your phone screen, ready to dial 911 if needed as you creep towards the front door.

You peer through the peephole to see a coffee cup from a local café sitting there, with a note taped to the top: “Your usual” with a winky face.

And the hope flickers once again.

/

The coffee cup you left to rot outside is now being placed in an evidence bag by a local cop.

Rossi, and two other agents who were introduced to you as SSA Emily Prentiss and Dr. Spencer Reid are standing in your living room.

You feel suddenly self-conscious of your space, the brightly-colored knick-knacks and shelves and shelves of books—some classics, some non-fiction, but an over-whelming amount of them are romance. Romance as a genre is so often ridiculed, and so you rarely share your enjoyment of it, let alone your career with people you aren’t close to.

You tell all the details, everything you can remember since this started.

“So these quotes in the letters, they’re from your books?” Emily asks.

Feeling shy, you nod. “They’re full of references to them, too.”

“How do you mean?” Spencer asks.

Your face burns. “Well, I write…what people refer to as dark romance books. The plots usually revolve around… toxic relationships. The things he says about being obsessed with me, wanting to protect me, to own me…It’s rhetoric I use in my writing.”

“So, the unsub has definitely read all your books. That’s interesting, because men usually only make up about 15% of romance readers, and even then, it’s more likely for those men to be gay and reading about queer relationships rather than heterosexual ones,” Spencer rattles off. “Sometimes, stalkers become obsessed with the work of an artist, which leads to an obsession with the artist themselves—I wonder if the opposite may have happened here.”

“Like, he was already stalking me, and found out what I do for a living?” you ask.

 “He read your books to feel close to you,” Emily states. “You’re writing these books that center on love, and sex”—You squirm uncomfortably under her gaze—“so he thinks that the men in your books are the type of man you want.”

“It’s not,” you find yourself needing to say.

“We understand that, and we’re not trying to judge you,” David says. “We don’t mean to imply that you brought this on yourself. Stalkers, they become obsessed with the smallest, simplest things. Maybe he took your order at a restaurant, and when you tipped him well, he interpreted it as flirting. Or you held the door open for him at the store. It wasn’t your fault.”

And so, the investigation officially began.

With a list of all your known acquaintances, the spots you frequent, and the list of all your social media followers, the team set to work combing through your life.

And, to your horror, your books.

Dr. Spencer Reid could apparently read at a superhuman speed, and had not only been tasked with staying with you in your home for protection, but with reading your books to help “understand the unsub’s psyche”.

It was impossible to concentrate with him around, feeling so vulnerable and exposed: A stranger in your house, combing through your sexually-charged writings—a very attractive stranger to top it all off. The writer in you couldn’t resist the thought spirals: A hot detective, protecting the innocent victim, alone in her home. She puts on her tiniest nightgown before telling him she’d feel so much safer if he watched over her while she slept. He knows it’s wrong, but he can hardly help himself as he crawls into the bed beside her, and his fingers find their way inside her…

Although his presence was meant to reassure you, it only made you feel more on edge.

He had already finished your first novel, Demonology, about a woman who sells her soul to find true love—only to fall in love with the demon she made the deal with. In that one, the demon, Dante, is who Hazel loses her virginity to, and with a raspy laugh, he declares that she’s let a demon steal her purity, like the filthy slut she is.

Now, he’s halfway through The Stranger, about a camgirl whose new boyfriend is suspiciously similar to her number one fan. That’s the one where the male main character, Ravi, fucks Willow on a livestream, telling her to show all her fans who really owns her.

God, this poor FBI agent must think you’re a fucking pervert.

You find yourself tiptoeing around him as you make yourself dinner, wearing baggy clothes and avoiding eye contact. You try to write, but the only characterization you can come up with for a new love interest is a geeky, long-haired law enforcement agent, and so you shut your laptop in frustration.

You overhear Spencer take a phone call.

“What is it? Okay. Yeah, I’ll ask her. I’ll call you back. Bye.”

You peek your head out of the kitchen to where he’s sitting.

“Our technical analyst went through all of the accounts that follow you on various social media platforms, and there’s one account that stuck out to her—It’s a private account with no profile picture. The username is sir.drsle. Those letters, those are the first letters of the names of all the male love interests in your books, right?”

“Yeah, it is. That username rings a bell…”

“He’s commented on almost every post you’ve made on Instagram in the past few months. They’re innocent enough comments. When you posted about your latest books’ release, he commented ‘Can’t wait!’ and you replied with a heart emoji. That was the day before you received the first letter.”

A shiver went up your spine. “Can you track it?”

“My team is on it.”

“Thank you,” you said.

Spencer gave you an awkward smile.

“I mean, if you guys are getting close, I guess that means you don’t have to sit through any more of my writing,” you joked, trying to ease the tension.

He furrowed his brow. “I was actually planning to finish, just to make sure our profile is thorough. The account could be a dead end; it’s just the first lead we’ve gotten.”

“Oh.”

“That’s not to say you shouldn’t have hope, I just mean—Sorry, this is why the team doesn’t usually leave me to do the socializing,” he said, flushing pink.

You can’t help but chuckle. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not great with people, either.”

“That’s interesting. The way you write…You’re very perceptive. I mean, your characters are incredibly fleshed out.”

“Really?” you asked. “I mean, thank you, I guess…I didn’t think you were paying that much attention.”

“I have a eidetic memory. Once I read something, I don’t really forget it. Even if I were just skimming, I’d still have processed the majority of the information,” he explained.

“Well, I’m still sorry that you have to read it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s…well…”

“I’ve read decades worth of sexual fantasies from deranged serial killers. This is tame to me,” he interrupts you with a little smile.

You smile back.

By the time you go to bed, Spencer’s started your third book, The Pact, about a girl named Clementine who gets married off to a mob boss to repay her father’s debt. You set up the couch for him to sleep, but when you go back downstairs in the morning, it doesn’t seem like he’s rested at all. He’s nursing a mug of coffee, and is now nearly finished with book number four, Blood Hungry, about a vampire named Lucien and the hunter who falls in love with him, Gemma.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

Spencer shrugs. “Most of the team don’t sleep much during an active case. Time is precious in our line of work.”

“I could make you breakfast, if you want.”

“That’s okay, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Well, you already helped yourself to my coffee machine,” you tease.

Spencer looks like there’s an apology ready on his lips before he catches onto the fact that you’re joking. He nibbles at the end of the toast you made him as he begins your latest book, the one that seemingly started this all.

“Can I ask you something?” he says after his plate is cleared.

“Go ahead.”

“What is it about…these topics that seem to draw you in? Or, I suppose, the people that read it? I really don’t mean to judge, but as someone who works in the criminal field, I understand the psychology of why women fall for toxic men—daddy issues, thinking they can fix him—all those tropes. But you don’t play into those. Your female characters are usually just as toxic as the men. Take Clementine, for example: She knows that her husband is involved in organized crime, but she doesn’t ever try to talk him out of it or bring him into the light. She loses herself in his world to prove to him that’s intelligent and indispensable to him, and…”

He notices the amused curl of your lips and stops rambling. “Sorry. Uh, I guess my question still stands, though.”

“I think, for me at least…When you grow up as the girl that nobody seems to notice, when you don’t stand out in a crowd, you don’t get asked out…You develop this fantasy about how it feels to be wanted. And there’s something alluring about the idea of a guy who is willing to break social norms for you, to break laws to be with you. When most guys don’t offer you a second glance, you start to crave the other end of the spectrum: obsession. And obviously, I know it isn’t healthy—I wouldn’t want a relationship like any of the ones in these things I write. But there’s something enticing about the taboo of it all.”

Spencer nods. “I think I understand what you mean.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You? I’m sure women give you their phone number wherever you go.”

He flushes. “Definitely not.”

There’s a thick, awkward silence that lingers for a second, before Spencer’s phone rings.

He steps out of the kitchen to take it, and although you want to follow, you wait. You can hear his muffled voice through the wall, but can’t make out any words.

He comes back a few moments later and asks, “Our analyst, Penelope, was able to track the account—Does the name Justin Carpenter mean anything to you?”

You let out a small gasp. “Justin? Yeah, we used to work together. Just after my first book got published, I was working at a grocery store a few towns over. I cut my hours since I was getting some money from my contract, and they hired Justin to fill my spot—I trained him a little bit.”

“Was there anything about him back then that gave you a bad vibe?”

You frowned. “A lot of the people that worked there weren’t very nice to him. He didn’t have very good hygiene, and he wasn’t a fast learner. I felt bad for him, I thought he was clearly struggling and I…I tried to be as friendly to him as I could. He was a little shy around women in general, but I didn’t take it as a red flag.”

“Did you ever exchange phone numbers, hang out outside of work? Did he know about your book?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, he might have overheard a conversation between me and a friend of mine who worked there, about the book, but I definitely never hung out with him or gave him my personal details.”

“Okay, well if he has tried to leave you a note in the past day or so, he would have likely noticed the police presence and been scared off. Right now, all our evidence is circumstantial—I hate to say this, but now all we can do is wait.”

“For what?”

“For him to try and contact you again. And this time, we’ll be ready for him.”

[joshualino]

MIKE AND JOSH REUNION ! !!!!!!!!!!!!

[amorgasmic]

꣖ ✶ ꣓ : 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 .

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ✉️ྀི ⋮ sfw. fem!reader. fluff. 346 words.

you can feel his eyes on you, watching you as you lay across his bed on your tummy, flipping through the book in your hands. he'd been staring at you for mintutes now, not saying a word, just watching you as your eyes skim over the black inked letters on the pages.

it was getting to the point where his staring was started to distract you, and he'd start to let out little tiny sighs. you couldn't take it anymore.

"what's the matter?" you say, closing the book but keeping your hand between the pages to keep from losing your spot.

he immedately begins to shake his head, tousled curls bouncing back and forth, "nothing."

he was lying, that much was obvious, but you couldn't be bothered diving into it right now. not when you were on a deadline to finish the book you held, and especially not when you only had a couple of chapters left.

narrowing your eyes, you contineu reading - or at least you try to - but eddie's stare only gets increasingly harder to ignore. his big brown, doe eyes staring at you from across the bed.

"okay, munson. seriously, what do you want?" you flip your book over on the bed now out of frustration and move to sit up on your knees.

"what, am i not allowed to look at you?" he retorts, eyes narrowed, but there's no true malice behind his tone, just pure sarcasm.

this was typical eddie behaviour, all fun and games, and the worst part was that the longer you stared at him and his stupid, big, brown eyes, you could feel your tension resolve. he might've been a pain in the ass, but, was he your pain in the ass.

"no, it's distracting me!" you grab one of his pillows and hit him with it, earning yourself an exaggerated 'ow' in return.

eddie lets out a huff before looking back at you with that cheeky smile you oh so loved, "i'm sorry. i can't help it… you're just too darn pretty."

©𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐂 ⋆˚࿔ 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. ✩ mature content. mdni. do not steal, plagiarise, repost or take inspo from my work.

𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 .ᐣ masterlist : taglist : blog rules

[morguesiren]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ PAIRING ♥︎ spencer x lovely wife!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ SUMMARY ♥︎ after spencer comes back from another case, you think you’re finally going to get to have some alone time, but a monster in your daughter’s closet decides otherwise.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ CONTENT TAGS ♥︎ fluff! a tiny bit smut. MDNI! ꒰ 𝟏𝐤 ꒱

⊹ ࣪ ˖. AUTHOR'S NOTE ♥︎ i got this request a month ago, i’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get to it! i haven’t written for cm since june so i’m admittedly a bit rusty.

LOVELY WIFE જ⁀➴ ♥︎ SPENCER REID ⊹ ࣪ ˖

the moment you heard the key turn in your front door's lock, penny's eyes widened as she sat at the dining table with a bowl of lucky charms in front of her and the little girl scrambled out of her chair and sprinted towards the front door, all thoughts about her breakfast flying out of the window, a fond chuckle leaving your lips as you rinsed a plate.

"daddy!" you heard the girl exclaiming as soon as the door closed, "peanut!" your husband responded.

turning off the faucet, you wiped your hands on a rag and turned to see spencer walking into the kitchen, penny in his arms, clinging to him like a koala.

"i got attacked as soon as i walked in through the door." spencer said with a smile as he walked towards you. "i can see that. she forgot all about her breakfast, too."

"you did?" spencer gasped, turning to penny, who looked away with a bashful smile, "you gotta finish your breakfast, peanut. you know what we say about it."

"it's the most important meal of the day..." penny grumbled as spencer set her down and ruffled her hair, sulkily sitting back down in front of her cereal.

spencer pressed a kiss on your lips, your voice lowering, "how'd it go?" you asked in whisper, looking at the dark bags under your husband's eyes. "as usual." spencer mumbled, and you pulled him into your embrace.

the rest of the day went as usual; spencer spent as much time as possible sitting on the living room floor, playing with your daughter, watching in awe as penny showed off all the drawings she made while he was gone, sitting on the couch with a book in your hand and a small smile on your lips.

once you'd heard him let out a long yawn, urging him to lay down, and only moments later, spencer was asleep on the couch, penny sitting with legs crossed, watching cartoons on the floor, right next to her father as if she was making sure he wouldn't disappear.

after dinner, penny made sure spencer was with her throughout her entire night routine, made sure she'd brushed her teeth properly, putting her to bed, reading her a bedtime story until the girl's little eyelids fluttered shut and her breath steadied.

you were in the shower, warm water hitting your face, when you heard the bathroom door open and close, turning to see spencer standing there, starting to undress himself.

your husband stepped into the shower, the man pulling you into his embrace from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as spencer's arms wrapped around you. "i missed you." he mumbled, pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

"i missed you too..."

right after you'd showered, spencer brought you to your bed, not even giving you time to dry your body up.

even before you gave birth to your daughter, it was hard to find intimate moments with your husband, with how much he traveled due to his job, but afterwards, it became even more difficult.

you were under spencer, his fingers intertwined with yours as your husband's lips trailed from your lips, down your neck, hands skimming over your abdomen, causing shivers to run down your spine.

spencer's lips trailed down your chest, your back lifting off the bed slightly at the sensation as his lips moved to one of your nipples, slightly sucking it into his mouth.

"i love you..." spencer mumbled against the hardened bud, his lips starting to trail towards your other nipple.

that was when there was a soft knock at your bedroom door.

"mama? daddy?" a soft voice called out from behind the door, your husband pulling back from you with a surprise. you and spencer quickly got out of bed, both of you pulling on your night clothes as your daughter attempted to turn the locked door.

when you were both decent, you went to the door, unlocking the door and pulling it open to see penny standing there, clutching onto her stuffed bunny like it was a lifeline, eyes glimmering with tears.

you crouched down, pushing a strand of hair away from her face that had stuck to her cheek from her tears, "what's wrong, peanut?" you asked, your forehead scrunching with worry.

"i had a bad dream..." penny sniffled, her lips pouting as she hid half her face into her bunny. "there was a monster in my closet. it wanted to eat me."

"oh, sweetheart..." spencer cupped the little girl's cheek, stroking the plush skin with his thumb, "do you want to sleep next to us? mama and daddy will make sure the monster won't get you, and tomorrow we'll make sure there's no monster in your closet."

penny nodded her little head, spencer picking the girl up into his arms with ease. you stood upstraight, following the two to the bed, settling down on your side of the bed as spencer set penny down between you, giving her one of his pillows to rest her head on, before lying down on his own side of the bed.

"no monster can get you, penny." you stroke her hair, the girl looking to you with pleading eyes as you leaned to press a kiss on her forehead, "i promise."

you started humming the song you always used to sing to the little girl when she was a baby, penny snuggling up between you and spencer, holding onto her bunny tightly as her eyes started to flutter shut once again.

you and spencer looked to one another with fond smiles, connecting your hands as you pressed your own eyes closed.

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join the taglist!

[h-isforhome]

would you ever date a tumblr mutual? (for the purposes of this poll, anyone who was an irl BEFORE tumblr mutualism does NOT count as a mutual.)

did that & if i had the chance to do it again, i would

did that & i would NEVER do it again

never done it but would be open to it ONLY if we were compatible&lived close-ish

never done it but would be open to it if compatible (regardless of distance)

i would not do it

Voting ended onFeb 11

[morninglesss]

Some of us are still here.

[musingsofheaven]

thank god im alive to see this

[phefics]

#1, 6, and 9! x

simple asks to help bolster ask culture again

#1: what's your blog title from? the song "the fate of ophelia" off of taylor swift's new album!

#6: what's your hair routine like? anything special? nothing special at all—i have very fine, straight hair that gets oily easily, so it doesn't really hold styling very well, and up-dos don't look good on me. i wash it about every 3 days, and i brush it while it's wet and wrap it up in t-shirt for a bit before letting it finish air-drying. if i'm feeling fancy, i'll use one of those round-brush hair dryers, mostly to fluff my bangs up.

#9: favorite time of day and why? i'm definitely more of a night owl! pretty much whatever time i get home from work to the time i go to bed is my favorite, just getting to relax in bed in my pajamas with a candle and my puter :)

[sesamie]

simple asks to help bolster ask culture again

What's your blog title from?

What movie have you watched most recently? What did you think of it?

what are you looking forward to right now?

if you could do anything at all today, what would it be?

What's your drink of choice? (Coffee/tea order, alcohol of choice, pop, etc)

What's your hair routine like? Anything special?

what's your favorite way to travel? Is there a mode of travel you haven't done that you want to experience?

favorite month of the year and why?

favorite time of day and why?

do you play or follow any sports? & elaborate on that?

what kind of music is stuck in your head a lot lately?

dishes or laundry?

what's something you learned recently?

if you could give a TED talk on anything, what would you talk about?

What's a piece of advice you find yourself giving a lot?

what's a piece of advice you would give to yourself five years ago?

do you believe in luck and superstition? Do you carry any lucky items or follow any lucky rules?

Are you musical? Play any instruments or sing? Would you ever perform for an audience?

Write, type, or speak?

what do you wish someone would ask you?

[thisfeebleheart]

Hudson Williams and Connor Storrie for GQ (x)

[hrgifs]

local bisexual has one (1) move

[phefics]

hiii! :) may i request headcanons for adrian x wife!reader? adrian’s wife does a v important presentation on wildlife conservation and adrian feels all mushy & in love watching her in the crowd <3 he rewards her later that night with lots of kisses and his face between her thighs <3

adrian would absolutely love being with someone passionate who is passionate about wildlife/who works with animals!!

adrian is a very passionate person, so having a partner who is also extremely into what they do is a must for him! watching you succeed and thrive in your career or even just hobbies brings him so much joy

he'd love to hear about your job and all the inner workings of it, and he'll ask you very detailed questions about the wildlife you deal with, statistics about how things are improving, etc.

if you're nervous about your presentation, he'll let you practice with him and give you honest feedback—sometimes, he's a little too honest about where your speech drags, because he's got a pretty short attention span, lol

he would attend all your presentations and work events, beaming proudly, proclaiming that he's your husband, and probably cheering/clapping at inappropriate times during your speech

afterwards, he'd take you home and give you multiple orgasms to celebrate your success, the taste of you on his tongue and so much pride in his heart

[chaigradh]

welcome to chaigradh, where the kettle’s always on and stories are served warm!

this event will run from (today) 16 jan until 22 jan.

you can request from anyone on my 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐔𝚰𝐃𝐄 and you can send in as many asks as you would like!

flip back to my navvie or masterlist

𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝚰 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑?

꩜ 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑰 ... send me an ask with a chosen character and one thing from these fluff prompts or these ones!

꩜ 𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑳 𝑮𝑹𝑬𝒀 𝑻𝑬𝑨 ... send me an ask with a chosen character and one thing from these angst prompts!

꩜ 𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑪𝑯𝑨 ... let me know about yourself (hobbies, likes etc.) with a chosen fandom and i will ship you with a character from that fandom. (tell me gender preferences)

꩜ 𝑯𝑶𝑻 𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬 ... let me know about yourself (hobbies, likes etc.) and i will match you to a book of my choice!

꩜ 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝑻𝑬𝑨 ... a canon divergent! you can ask me questions prompted like what would've happened if X didn't happen...?

꩜ 𝑰𝑪𝑬𝑫 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑬 ... meet cute! send me a chosen character and a prompt if you'd like and i'll write how they would meet reader.

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐔.ᐟ

꩜ 𝑩𝑼𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑹 ... send me your house + a harry potter character and i will headcanon what they would be like dating someone from your house.

tagging some gorgeous moots ily all ... @amorgasmic @spiderfunkz @lovings4turn @phefics @cherieverse @bruisedboys

chaigradh © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[djo]

JOE KEERY The Making of Stranger Things 5

[bruisedboys]

sucker punch ⭑ mike wheeler

despite his jealousy, your best friend mike agrees to help you pick an outfit (and teach you how to kiss) before your first date

notes — inexperienced!reader, jealous!mike, mike is aged up a bit (early 20s ish), mike and reader are both in college! fluff, mutual pining, kissing, best friends to lovers

college!mike wheeler x fem!reader, 3.4k words

Mike tries his hardest not to look like he’d rather be anywhere else but in your dorm right now. He doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend time with you. He does. He always wants to be with you. It’s just…it’s a bit of a bleak occasion for him. One of the boys in your class, Nate, has asked you out on a date tonight. Mike’s trying to be happy about it, because you’re his best friend, but he’s quite miserable. 

He sort of hates himself for it. 

“Mike?” you call from the bathroom. Your voice squeezes through the one inch gap you’ve left between the door and its frame. 

Mike clears his throat, swallowing the lump of jealousy that’s been lodged there since you told him about your date. “Yeah?” 

“Do you think a dress is too much? Should I just wear jeans, or would that, like, make me look really lazy?” 

Mike has no idea. He thinks you’d look pretty in anything. 

“Um,” he says stupidly. “I don’t know.” 

You groan miserably. “I feel like the dress looks stupid,” you bemoan. 

Mike can picture you tugging at your skirt unhappily and frowning at your reflection. Trying his best to sound casual, he asks, 

“Can I see it?” 

You go quiet for a moment. Then, “I don’t know, Mike. It looks sort of silly.” 

“I’m sure it doesn’t. Will you just show me? Isn’t that what you made me come over here for?” 

He hears you sigh, but you don’t argue back. You asked him to come to your dorm to help pick out an outfit. You share a dorm with Max, and normally Mike figures you’d just ask her, but lucky for him, she and Lucas have gone to the movies. 

Mike still hasn’t decided if agreeing to help you was a good decision. Maybe he should’ve pretended to be sick so he didn’t have to face the fact that he’s insanely jealous about your date.

It might’ve been easier to ignore the jealousy if he wasn’t staring it directly in the face. 

“Okay,” you finally say. The door creaks open and you stick your head out, hiding the rest of your body behind the door. “But promise you won’t laugh.” 

Mike rolls his eyes. “Alright. I promise.” 

You step out from behind the door and into the room. Mike’s jaw drops open. 

You look beautiful. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look so pretty before — he didn’t think it was possible. Your dress fits you perfectly, the soft fabric hugging you in all the right places. The colour of it is perfect against your skin tone and the neckline teases him with your exposed collarbone and upper chest, your hair pushed back over your shoulders. 

Mike’s eyes get caught on the gentle slope of your shoulder, the dip of your waist and the curve of your legs. 

You’re gorgeous. He forgets how to speak. 

“What?” You ask unsurely, after a long stretch of silence. “Is it bad?” 

Mike blinks. His mouth doesn’t seem to know how to work anymore. He wants to tell you that you look beautiful. He wants to say how much he doesn’t want you to go on your date tonight. He wants to ask you to hang out with him instead. 

He says nothing of the sort. 

“You— um. It looks great,” Mike manages awkwardly. 

Your brow furrows. Your lips curve into a frown. “Are you sure? I feel like it’s…maybe too much.” 

You tug at the hem of your dress unhappily. Mike stands up. 

“No!” He says, too fast. “I mean, um. No.” He clears his throat. “It’s…it’s not too much. It’s perfect. You look pretty.” 

You stop fussing with your skirt and look up at him. Mike’s heart races. Your eyes soften and Mike tries not to melt under your gaze. 

“Really?” You ask. 

Mike nods. “Yeah,” he tries to say, but the word gets lodged in his throat. He tries again, “Yes. It looks really good.” 

You smile at him and Mike goes a bit blind. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

“‘Course,” Mike utters, voice strained. “I’m sure Nate will like it,” he adds pathetically. 

He can’t help it. He’s been sick with jealousy all afternoon and it just slips out before he can stop it. He’s expecting you to laugh at him, to scold him for teasing you and maybe shove his shoulder, too gentle for what he deserves. 

But you stay quiet. Your smile falters and you drop your gaze. 

“Right,” you say quietly. “Yeah. Thanks, Mike.” 

Mike frowns. He thought you were excited about your date. You sure seemed excited when you told him. You don’t get asked out much, though you’re certainly pretty enough for boys to be all over you. The truth is, it’s almost definitely Mike’s fault that you’ve not been asked out before — he keeps you at an arms length at all times, almost never leaving your side except when necessary, and he supposes it’s led a lot of people to think you’re dating. 

Selfishly, he hasn’t done anything to make them think otherwise. 

“What’s wrong?” Mike asks you. He moves forward, wanting to hug you but his hands hover near your shoulders instead. Oddly, he’s scared to touch you when you’re dressed up like this. It would be too intimate. It would make his feelings for you too real. 

You shake your head. “Nothing. I’m fine.” 

But Mike knows you. He’s known you for years, practically his whole life, and he knows when you’re lying. You’re terrible at it, especially when it comes to him. 

“Y/N,” he says. He squashes down his stomach-twisting jealousy and decides to just be your best friend. Gently, he chucks you under the chin, encouraging you to look at him. “What is it? Are you nervous?” 

You meet his eyes, gnawing at your bottom lip. “I don’t know.” 

Mike frowns. Unable to stop himself, he takes your chin in his thumb and finger. Softly, he tugs at the skin beneath your bottom lip until you release your poor abused lip from between your teeth. 

“Don’t bite your lip,” he murmurs. “You’ll make it bleed.” 

“Sorry.” You let out a shaky breath. Your eyes flicker between both of his. “I guess I am kinda nervous,” you admit. 

Mike drops his hand. His fingers tingle, already missing the warmth of your skin. 

“You don’t need to be,” he tells you. “You look great.” 

“It’s…it’s not that, Mike.” 

Mike frowns. “What is it, then?” 

“I’ve never really done this before,” you say sheepishly, dropping your gaze to fiddle with your hands. “I’ve never even…kissed anyone.” 

Mike’s heart stutters. “You— what?” 

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you repeat, and there’s a hint of desperation to your voice now. Your eyes meet his again and they’re laced with panic. “And— and I guess I’m just scared that Nate will want to kiss me, and I won’t know what to do. I don’t know how.” 

The thought of Nate kissing you makes Mike want to punch something. He clenches his fist and unclenches it, feeling an odd mixture of jealousy over Nate and fondness for you. The intensity of both feelings makes him feel instantly nauseous. 

“You don’t have to kiss him, if you don’t want to,” Mike says abruptly. And then, because he’s supposed to be your best friend, he adds, “I mean, if you’re not ready.” 

“But I want to know how,” you say miserably. “In case I do want to.” 

“Do you want to?” Mike asks, trying and failing to sound normal about this whole ordeal. 

“I don’t know!” 

Thankfully, you’re too distraught to notice Mike’s admittedly odd behaviour. He’s feeling a lot of big and conflicting feelings right now. For one, he had no idea you’ve never been kissed before. He assumed you probably kissed some boys in high school and just never told him. Then again, you tell each other everything. Surely you’d have told him if you’d been kissed, right? 

“You’ve really never been kissed?” He asks after a long pause. 

You glare at him. “No!” You say hotly. “Don’t make fun, Mike.” 

Mike backtracks, “No, I’m not— I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean…” 

He trails off lamely. He just means…what? That you’re too lovely and too pretty a girl to have never been kissed before, that’s what. It makes him mad, really, that no one’s ever made you feel special like that.

His jealousy ebbs away and melds instead into an aching sort of fondness for you. 

“What?” You ask quietly. 

Mike’s not sure what to say. He’s gone and dug himself into a hole. He can’t lie to you, because that would mean telling you he doesn’t think it’s absolutely ridiculous that you’ve never had anyone to kiss before. He can’t exactly tell you the truth either, because that would mean opening a whole new can of worms about his life-ending feelings for you. 

“Sorry,” Mike says, finally. “I didn’t…do you want me to help you practice?” 

What? Mike thinks furiously. Why would he say that? What is wrong with him? In what world would you want to— 

“Would you?” You ask, interrupting his self deprecating chain of thought. 

Mike blinks. Then swallows hard.  “Would you want me to?” He asks slowly. 

You rub the back of your neck. “Only if you wouldn’t mind…I’d— I’d like to know how, just in case.” 

Right, Mike thinks. That makes perfect sense. He wouldn’t say he’s an expert, not by a long shot, but he knows how to kiss. He had a lot of practice with El, back when he was a kid and found you much more annoying and much less life-ruiningly beautiful. 

If you’re going to be kissing Nate tonight, Mike decides he would rather you know what you were doing, to keep you from being too embarrassed. He swears it’s got nothing to do with the fact that he wants to kiss you so bad it makes his chest burn.  

“Okay,” Mike hears himself say. His heartbeat rushes in his ears. “Only if you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure.” 

Mike’s heart almost rips right out of his chest. “Alright. Let’s, um. Let’s sit down, okay?” 

He takes your wrist in his hand and guides you over to your bed. He’s got no idea where this weird bout of confidence is coming from, but he doesn’t dare question it now. You both sit down on the mattress, your knees knocking his. Your dress rides up your thighs a bit and Mike tries not to look. 

 “What’s the time?” He asks you, suddenly afraid it’ll almost be time for Nate to pick you up, and Mike will miss his chance before it’s even begun. 

You check your watch. “Only four.” 

“He’s coming at five?” 

You nod. Mike is torn between kissing you as soon as possible and stalling for as long as he can, his nerves threatening to get the better of him. He shuffles closer to you, one of his knees slotting between yours. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t know if I—“ 

“Mike.” You reach out and press your palm to his burning cheek. Your touch is achingly soft. “Will you please just kiss me?” 

Mike blinks rapidly, his breath stuttering in his throat. He tries to see this for what it is. It’s normal, he tells himself. He’s only helping you to practice, so you’re prepared for your date. Your date with a guy who isn’t Mike. It makes complete sense. It’s totally, completely rational. 

Well, he supposes it would be, if only he wasn’t hopelessly in love with you. 

“Sorry,” Mike stutters. “Okay. Sorry. Um…close your eyes?” 

You drop your hand from his face and let your eyes fall shut. Mike’s nerves feel electric and alive, his limbs thrumming with nervous energy as he leans closer. 

“I have to hold your face,” he says in a faraway voice. “Is that okay?” 

You nod. Mike takes your face in his hand. You fit perfectly, like you were made to be held by him. Mike stares at your lips. He watches you breathe, soft, long breaths pushing through the small gap in your parted lips. The steady rise and fall of your chest is entrancing to watch. 

Mike, his heart going berserk in his chest, steels his nerves and then kisses you, slamming his eyes shut on the way in. He’s soft as he presses his lips to yours, scared that if he kisses you too hard you’ll slip away, and he’ll wake up in his own dorm and find this was all some cruel dream. 

But you don’t slip away. Mike kisses you and you make a sound from the back of your throat, a sort of soft hum mixed with a sigh, and you lean closer. Mike, panicking, holds you tighter, pressing his thumb to your cheekbone, unable to stop himself from kissing you with a bit more force as a result of the lovely sounds you’re making. 

You sigh again and it only spurs Mike on. He drags his hand down the curve of your neck and wraps his fingers around the back of your neck. His kissing grows deeper still.

You shudder, your hand moving to squeeze his forearm as you kiss him back clumsily. Your thumb digs into the inside of his wrist and your warm lips start to move ever so slightly against his and Mike almost fucking dies. 

The kiss turns clumsy after that. Mike gets too eager, and forgets that this is the first time you’ve ever kissed anyone. He pushes forward and you don’t move quick enough and he accidentally grazes your bottom lip with his teeth. 

You draw in a sharp breath, pulling away quickly. 

“Sorry!” Mike rushes to apologise, pulling his hand away from your face like he’s been branded. “I’m sorry, are you okay? Did that hurt?” 

Mike searches your face for any sign of hurt or discomfort, but he can’t for the life of him read your expression. There’s something in your eyes he doesn’t understand. 

“No,” you say quietly. “No, I’m okay. Just surprised me, s’all.” 

“Oh,” Mike says, but his heart clenches up anyway. Has he ruined it? Will you kick him out and tell him you never want to see him again? 

“Mike…” You won’t meet his eyes, instead fiddling with the hem of your dress, fingers scrunched in the soft fabric. “Do you think you could kiss me again?” 

Mike blinks. “You want more practice?” 

You shake your head. “No,” you say softly. You look up and meet his eyes, your gaze impossibly earnest, your lips soft and a bit kiss-bitten. Swollen and pink, damp and shiny with Mike’s kiss. A lock of hair falls from behind your ear. You’re fucking beautiful. “I just want you to kiss me again.” 

Mike forgets how to think. Forgets how to breathe. He doesn’t remember telling his hand to reach for you, but before he knows it his hand is on your face again, tucking your hair behind your ear carefully. His fingers graze your neck, then land on your pulse point. 

Your heart is a riot. Mike’s own heart gallops at twice the speed. 

When Mike doesn’t move, frozen to his spot, you lean closer. 

“Please?” You whisper. 

Mike doesn’t need much more convincing. With another sudden burst of confidence he moves forward, capturing your lips with his. His hand drags over the slope of your shoulder and back up again, lean fingers getting caught under the strap of your dress. 

Your lips are impossibly warm and ridiculously soft. They mould perfectly with Mike’s own, and he finds himself tilting his head a little to kiss you properly, your mouth parting under his kissing. 

As you kiss him back, albeit a little unsurely, Mike can’t help but decide you’re a natural at this. Either that, or he’s so in love with you that even if you are a terrible kisser, Mike doesn’t notice. Whatever it is, it’s electrifying. 

Your hand drifts upwards to Mike’s hair. He feels your palm on his neck, his skin heating like a furnace under your touch, and then, tentatively, you push your fingers into his curls. 

Mike loses his mind. 

He sighs audibly into your mouth and tugs you closer with more force than he means to, his lean fingers curving round your neck and pulling you in. His knee slides further between your parted legs as he shuffles closer to you. His other hand creeps towards your hip, hovering, hesitating, wondering if he should touch you.

Then your hip bumps the side of his hand and he forgoes restraint, fitting his palm to the curve of your waist. You’re warm through the soft fabric of your dress, perfectly moulded to his hands. 

Mike deepens the kiss, angling his head a little to the side, and you make this quiet, barely discernible sound that has his mind reeling. He forgets his jealousy. He forgets about your date. Right now, he only knows you. Your soft lips on his, your hand in his hair and the lovely, intoxicating taste of you, sweet as honey. 

When you pull away, he blinks his eyes open languidly. He feels dazed, like he’s woken from a very very good dream. 

Your lips are swollen. Your chest rises and falls and you look at Mike like he’s made of starlight. 

“Sorry,” you say. Your hand is still in his hair. Mike’s thumb rubs small circles into your waist on its own accord. “Need a break. Can’t breathe.” 

Mike stares at you for a long moment. You’re so pretty it makes him want to shout. He’s loved you for years now. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to kiss you like this and then let you go on your date like nothing's happened. He can’t let it happen. He just can’t. 

“Don’t go on your date tonight,” he blurts. 

You blink once slowly. “What?” 

Mike curses his inability to keep his mouth shut. “Sorry. I just…I don’t want you to go.” 

Silence hangs heavy between the two of you. Mike waits for you to say something, anything, and then finds that same look in your eyes from before, a warmth, an understanding of sorts. It’s written all over your face now.

“Why not?” You utter softly. 

Mike can see now in your eyes, in the way your mouth quirks ever so slightly, that you know exactly why. Like you, he’s never been good at hiding things from his best friend. He supposes the cat’s halfway out of the bag already. Might as well bite the bullet. 

“Because,” he says, his heart pounding in his ears, threatening to drown him out. “Because I like you.”

Your pretty lips curve into a small smile. You’re dead silent for a few long and torturous seconds. Mike’s heart thuds in the silence so loud he’s sure you can hear it.

“Okay,” you whisper. 

Mike balks. “Okay?” He repeats back. 

You nod. “Okay. I won’t go. I’ll tell him I got food poisoning, or something. I like you too, Mike.” 

Mike wants to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. Instead, he focuses on the pressure of your hand in his hair and tells himself that no, he can’t be dreaming. His wildest imaginations could never be as good as this. 

“You like me?” He echoes. 

You nod. “Of course I do.” 

A sucker punch to Mike’s chest. A sharp shot of sunlight struck right through his heart. 

“Why’d you say yes to Nick, then?” He asks, dazed.

You giggle. “His name is Nate,” you correct. “And I said yes because I was getting sick of waiting for you.” 

Mike’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “You were waiting for me?” 

You huff a laugh and roll your eyes, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Oh my god, Mike, yes. For years.” 

Mike lets this new information sink in. He feels simultaneously stupid and over the moon. Stupid for not realising sooner, over the moon because he finally knows.

When the realisation hits, a bright hot blush creeps up his neck and eats away at the bottom of his ears. Any more of this and Mike will melt into a puddle at your feet. 

He drops his gaze, unable to look you in the eye. His face is burning hot. 

“So…you’re not going tonight?” He asks your knees lamely. 

“Not a chance,” you say. 

Mike’s never felt so in love with you as he does right now. He tilts his head back up to look at you. 

His heart gallops in his chest but he ignores it. 

“What are you gonna do instead?” He asks. Feeling brave, he reaches for you and takes your jaw in his palm. Just like before, you fit perfectly.

You grin around his hand. 

“Hmm,” you hum, faking thoughtfulness. You shuffle closer to him on the mattress, your knees knocking against his thighs. You get close, so close Mike could count your eyelashes. You place your hands on his shoulders. 

“I can think of a few things,” you say. “What about you?” 

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 💌

[phefics]

What was your favorite song off of TLOAS?

how did i lose this in my inbox. Anyway. here's my tier list...

✦ favorites ... father figure, wood, honey

✦ love ... tfoo, opalite, actually romantic, tloas

✦ like ... elizabeth taylor, ruin the friendship, wi$h li$t

✦ skips ... eldest daughter, cancelled!