#kate writes

They're menaces to society

Mirror sex with Choso

Tags: @stqrgumi @buginthegalaxy

Cw: insecure reader, chubby reader implied, mirror sex, finishing inside(use condoms guys , don't be like Choso lmfao), sex is used to make reader feel more confident lmao, p in v

MDNI SMUT UNDER TH CUT

Who grew into this man who stands before him, grief in his eyes and exhaustion in every line of his body. He doesn’t know what he has endured, only snippets of stories shared of this spectre, this famed, dead, disgraced Commander. Most of what Garrus tells him of her doesn’t fully match what they say; he makes her sound like a person, so… human. 

When he comes to him, half of his face missing and a hollowness in his voice that makes him feel as if someone has taken a white hot blade to his keel, he sits on the same spot on the couch that he did when he was six, when he was twelve, and looks at him with the same reservation he did before he left for the Citadel. He has not stood in his family home since, and Castis thinks of the old visor he gifted him, the one he disassembled and then pieced back together; the one he wears now, a last gift from his mother. 

He can feel his son studying him, gauging his reactions, every bit the detective he was and the one he left behind.

He tells him this tale that sounds so far fetched, and he may skirt the truth but his son has never been one to outright lie. He was never any good at it, either, despite all of the times he tried to take the fall for Solana, nor has his imagination always been so wild. Reapers, he says; Collectors, he calls them, and he does not know the exact whereabouts of his son for the past few years, and as sure as Garrus is about this oncoming threat, Castis is sure he will never know the finer details.

pairing -> grayson hawthorne x reader

summary -> a powerful thunderstorm leaves Hawthorne House in darkness, while the bickering pair is forced into closed quarters.

genre -> rivals to lovers (kinda??)

Bucky Barnes x Reader [Set post TFATWS]

Word Count: 1.3k // Warnings: Flashbacks, anxiety

Part 5 // Masterlist // AO3

The party ended hours ago. The house had gone still besides the occasional creak of settling wood and the steady hum of crickets outside. The familiar sounds weren't enough to lull you to sleep.

You stared at the ceiling, tracing the faint shadows cast by the moonlight. Sleep wouldn’t come—not that you were surprised. It hadn’t come easily in a long time. You were used to restless nights spent lying awake, just waiting for the exhaustion to finally win.

Maybe it was the remnants of laughter and voices still echoing in your mind. Maybe it was the weight of the unfinished conversation between you and Bucky. Why did Sam have to say anything?

someone finally asking for my baby adrian 🥺 i was lowkey getting nervous that no one reads for him anymore (i say after spending the year writing 200k+ words for a character with 3 mins of screen time lol) but im glad you’re interested ! enjoy xx

🌧️ START OVER ── .✦ He tilts his head, innocently confused and not following what you were trying to put down. “But that is me.”

“It’s a part.” You pause, wanting to turn away, but he finds the edge of your jaw before you can try. His touch is soft, yet commanding. Just quietly firm. Something you’ve felt too many times to count.

“But it’s not all of you,” you add.

He goes quiet, only the feeble drizzle of rain and the weighted silence filling the cabin of the car that feels like it’s pressing in on you. Then his hand falls from your face, hovering just above your thigh before he moves it to the cool leather of the untouched seat bedside you.

Like it burns him to touch you now.

“You know I can’t do that,” he says— Not sharp, just solid. Ashamed of how certain it is. “Someone could go after you.”

“What if I say I don’t care,” you whisper, fingers finding purchase on his shoulder like it would make it more true. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“And I’m not,” he shoots back, shaking his head like it makes him sick with frustration to hear your plea. “Not when it comes to you.”

🌃 TIPTOES ── .✦ His smile is comically toothy— Not that you could necessarily see it, but it was easy to imagine when the fabric of his mask seemed to stretch tenfold to compensate.

“My friends call me Vig,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.

Your brows lift, intrigue twinkling in your eyes under the draping city stars piercing through the twilight. “Vig?”

He nods, melodramatically rolling his eyes with a grin like it was the coolest, most flattering thing in the world. “Vig.”

Your smile helplessly tugs, eyes narrowing just slightly as you study him. “Are you saying I’m your friend, Mr. ‘ilante?”

He huffs a laugh at that, sound honest and warm. “Yeah, duh! We’ve always been friends.”

Fuck, why did he say that?

You smile, unbothered and unaware of both the implications and his internal panic suddenly spiraling into the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah…” you hum, melting inside the words. “We have, haven’t we?”

You just don’t know how right you really were.

📃 KNOW YOU NAKED ── .✦ A smile works its way to your lips as you hand the paper over, watching his eyes rake over it in record time. They shift left, then right.

Once. Twice.

“Good for five free pencils…” he says carefully, brows pinching together, glasses slipping down his nose. He pushes them up with vigor, gentle mouth slipping open to question it when you lean over.

He freezes, breath caught in his throat. You’re right in his space. You smell so good. You look prettier up close, if that’s even possible.

His vision blurs, trying to focus. He’s a lost cause. His gaze snags on the way your fingers curl into your sleeve, holding the pen close to your palm, soft and pretty and man he wishes he could hold your hand. They wander over the loose strands of hair from your neck-laden bun under the harsh buzz of fluorescent lights that suddenly feel like the sun. He’s hot. It was so hot in here.

You smell like that bubblemint gum you always silently share in World History, like that perfume vial you keep zipped on the inside of your bag. Like that familiar, intoxicating sting of punchy blue ink.

He wants to take it from you hand and drag it all over you, doodle aimlessly on your skin until he knows nothing else. He wants to write his name on your collarbone. He wants to kiss the ink off, wants to smear it with his tongue, wants to lose himself in your warmth and skin and—

Woah, he needs to calm down.

God, he likes being this close to you.

more tiptoes x

Pairing: Eventual Remmick x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 3,064

Summary: As an avid fan of Dancing with the Stars, you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that the closest you’ll ever get to that ballroom floor is the line dancing during Country Music Night at your favorite bar. One night, your best friend points out the man watching you dance and convinces you to chat with him. Unfortunately, you find out too late just how bad of an idea that might’ve been. But once you dance with the Devil, it’s kinda hard to stop.

Author Notes: This is gonna be a helluva slow burn, y’all. I just wanted to give you a heads up. Also, there is certainly dubcon, but while there is some spice, there is no smut. The dubcon is more about the psychological manipulation, because I believe Remmick can be a manipulative bastard (and I love him for it).

————————————————————————

You tap your foot to the beat as you wait for Angelina to return with the next round of drinks. She’s disappeared into the crowd, leaving you with the rest of the group. You see Kelci and Jayne chatting, Jayne’s silver sequined cowboy hat glittering rainbow in the pulsing lights. Tag is bopping his shoulder to the beat, but neither he nor the girls at his side show any desire to get up and actually dance. Which is disappointing, to say the least. You know they would rather sing and chat up other people and have a running tally of who’s gotten the most free drinks, but you don’t come here with them for the booze. Not that you dislike it—a little extra enthusiasm and a little less self-control never hurt anyone, right? Lubricates the limbs, even if your body aches the next morning.

You recognize the song as soon as it starts: “Copperhead Road”. You’ve been practicing this one lately, so you hop up. “Hey, y’all, I’m gonna go—,” you gesture at the dance floor, already filled with bedazzled shorts and sequined hats and the clacks of boots.

Kelci and Tag both give a wave of dismissal, and you know they’ll let Angelina know where you are when she gets back.

You dart to the floor. You’re not in boots, no, but your tennis shoes are functional when it comes to sliding on the floor. The song continues, and you let the muscle memory take over, grinning the whole damn time. Are you the best dancer in the world? Hell no. But do you love it? Hell to the yeah! It transitions right into “Footloose”, so you stay on the floor and whoop along with everyone else, tapping your feet and adding in a few claps with the crowd as you move around. God, this is fun! There’s a rush that fills your bones with energy, making the spins and taps and steps almost automatic.

You stay on the floor for three more songs despite how out of breath you are, only stopping when an unfamiliar song begins. You decide this is the best moment for a water break and saunter back to the table. Angelina has taken your stool, which is mildly annoying but whatever. Once you get hydrated and do another shot, you’re going right back out there to try and pick up this new dance.

“Havin’ fun?” Angelina says, not quite shouting. You nod. She pushes a water and a pink shot towards you. “You look like it!” She’s swaying to the beat. Out of everyone in the group, she’s the most likely to dance with you, but some nights she just wants to sit and chill.

“Getting kinda tired, though,” you admit.

“Yeah, right!” The music covers up the laugh, but you see how her mouth opens and her shoulders lift and drop. “You’ll outdance the best of ‘em!”

“Clearly not—I don’t know this one.”

She flashes a sloppy wink at you. “You’ve probably already memorized the chorus so you can look it up later and figure it out before next week.”

She wasn’t wrong. And that’s why she was your bestie. You nod as you take a long sip of the room-temperature water.

“You’ve got an admirer,” she adds when the music dampens.

You nearly choke on the water. “W-what?”

She uses her shoulder to point diagonally across from where you’re sitting. “Look!”

You do. Right away, you clock who she’s referring to because this dude is very clearly staring at you, his head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. From this distance, his eyes look like they’re glowing red, but it’s probably just the lighting. His eyes lock on yours, and you spot his lips curve into a semi-smirk.

“He’s cuuuuuute,” Angelina drawls.

You take the time to notice the rest of him as best as you can—square jawline, eyebrows that give his eyes a bit of a puppy-dog look, messy dark hair. He’s wearing a plain button-up and what appears to be dark pants. You can’t make out his shoes, nor can you really make out his physique from this angle, but he’s attractive enough.

And he’s still staring at you. He’s watching you evaluate him, and his lips have curved even more.

“You should go talk to him!” Angelina exclaims.

“Uh, I think the fuck not.” You don’t do strangers, you don’t do random hookups. You wanna get to know the guy first; there are far too many creeps in the world these days.

Angelina rolls her eyes at you, the gold shimmering red in the lights. “You’re not marrying him, for Chrissakes! You’re allowed to flirt a little.” She gives you a little shove. “So go, have fun. Flirt!”

You look away from the man and to her. “Girl, you’re a little drunk right now.”

She nods. “I sure am. Go flirt with him. We’re not going home until you say hi.” She crosses her arms over her chest and arches a dramatic eyebrow at you. Well, to her it’s probably dramatic. It comes across as ridiculous. She is incapable of appearing formidable. But she is stubborn, and if she’s saying that she won’t let you go home until you talk to this dude, then she means it.

“Fiiiiiiiiiine,” you huff.

She breaks out in a wide grin. “Yay!”

You grab the pink shot and slam it, then grab the matching pink shot in front of her and slam it, too. She pouts, but there’s a twinkle in her eyes that lets you know she doesn’t actually care.

The drink—vanilla vodka and something else?—warms your stomach pleasantly as you step around the people to get to this mysterious man. Someone brushes up against your ass, and you’re not sure if it was accidental or intentional. You ignore it because it doesn’t actually matter that much in the long run.

He’s sitting alone, pretending he’s not watching you. He sees you, though, because he shifts in his stool, his arm brushing against the wall. You sidle right on up to him and boldly take a seat on the stool opposite him. Your legs are relieved to be getting a break. “Howdy,” you say, then wince internally. You’ve been spending too much time here on Country Nights.

He grins. “Howdy,” he replies, and he has a true twang to his tone.

You smile back at him. “My friend says you’ve been watching me. Like some kinda creeper.” Okay, so this is probably not what Angelina meant by ‘flirt’, but might as well be upfront, right? “So are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Some kinda creeper.”

His grin only grows wider as he looks away. It’s kinda cute, actually. “No saer. At least, I don’t aim to be.” His eyes flick back to your face.

“You were staring.”

He chuckles at your bluntness. “I was indeed. You looked like you were havin’ a fantastic time out there.” He inclines his head towards the dance floor. “Brings me real joy to see someone who loves dancing like that.”

“I’m not the only one dancing tonight.”

He cocks his head in consideration. “No, but you’re the one who cares the most. Everyone else here—,” he spreads his arms out to encompass the rest of the bar, “—everyone else here has different priorities. They’re here for sex, for drinkin’, for attention. But you…” he pauses and blinks, a slow, intentional blink. “You’re here for the joy of the dance.”

Well, that was a fuckin’ weird thing for him to say, but he wasn’t…entirely wrong. You only came out here on Thursday nights because it was Country Night, and they always did the line dancing songs, which you loved ever since being forced to learn them in middle school.

He’s not done. The man leans back, putting his full weight against the wall, but he’s still watching you with some intensity. “Watching someone dance like that and enjoy it, well, to me, that’s beautiful.” He flashes you a lopsided grin, and you find yourself blushing at his compliment.

“Do you love dancing, too?” you ask, leaning your elbows on the tiny little table between you two.

“I sure do,” he replies, not quite mirroring you. He sets his forearms down. The distance from one elbow to the other is almost the entire span of the table.

The music changes—a popular line dance that you know by heart. “Prove it!” you giggle, the alcohol kicking in a bit more. You grab his hand—it’s surprisingly cool given how warm it is in here—and pull him to his feet. “Dance with me!”

You get the sense that he’s allowing you to drag him over to the dance floor because though he’s kinda on the smaller side compared to the guys here (who all seem to be ranging a 6’ average, for some reason), he feels strong somehow. He feels like he could pick you up and carry you bridal-style easily. Yet here he is, letting a random-ass person tug him along to join in the square of cowboys and cowgals and everyone in between that’s forming up.

Surprisingly, he picks up the dance almost immediately. He doesn’t quite look like a country-county boy, but he moves with fluidity, his feet in sync with the best of the dancers. He’s even clapping on the beat, and he looks like he’s enjoying himself. You’re flushed with shots and sweat but you’re having the time of your life, dancing with this stranger. You give him a wide smile every time you catch a glimpse of his face, one that he returns with just as much enthusiasm.

He’s a little odd, sure, but he sure is cute when he smiles like that.

The song ends, replaced with a bump-and-grind song. Half of the country people leave, the others couple up. You spot Kelci with some other dude. Jayne has also found himself a guy to dance with. It looks like Tag and Angelina are also paired up, which is typical of them. Not for the first time, you wonder when they’ll finally admit that they like each other and start officially dating.

Strange Guy takes your hand and leads you back to the table which, miraculously, has remained empty. “Want anything?” he asks.

Angelina would say yes. She’d let this man buy her as many drinks as she wanted. So would Kelci and the others. You, however, were more cautious. “Bottled water would be great,” you reply. He nods and vanishes into the crowd.

It’s nice that they offer bottled water here. Like they know that people wanna make sure no one is slipping anything into their drinks. As long as Strange Guy doesn’t open the water for you, you’ll drink it. Call it a test, sorta.

He comes back in no time at all, two bottles in hand. Neither of them have been opened, so he’s passed the first test.

You take the proffered drink and twist the cap until the seal breaks, then you chug a good third of it in one go. God, you’re thirsty. You haven’t been hydrating as well as you should’ve. The man chuckles as he watches you, but he doesn’t open his own water. In fact, he pushes it towards you. “Thanks,” you mutter, right before you take another long swig.

He tilts his head as if to say, ‘No problem’.

“And thanks for dancing with me,” you add once you finish the first bottle. “I know we don’t really know each other, and it’s a little weird, but I had fun doing that.”

“I did, too,” he agrees. “Been a while since I tried somethin’ like that.”

“I thought you said you love to dance?”

He nods, places his forearms on the table again. “I did say that, and I meant it.” His twang has softened into something a little less familiar, but it’s still there. “I suppose you could say that isn’t my, uh, typical style?”

“Then what is?”

“Well, I could tell you…” he pauses dramatically, “or I could show ya.” His eyebrows lift, giving him that puppy-dog look of hope again. “Maybe next week?”

You squeeze the empty waterbottle. You don’t hear the crinkle, but you feel it in your fingers as the plastic gives way. “Are—are you asking me out on a date or something?”

“I might be,” he replies, and there’s that odd light in his eyes again, making them look almost red. But the rest of the bar is also red. Your eyes probably look similar. “If you’re up for it.”

You flash a nervous glance towards your friends, who haven’t even noticed that you’re on the verge of saying yes to a total stranger. “Uh. I mean. I don’t even know you, and we just met, and—,” Your words trip over each other in their haste to extricate yourself. Sure, he’s cute, and you’d like to say yes, but-but—

But what? Maybe you didn’t normally do this. Maybe you were more of the type to look up a guy online before you said yes to a first date. But maybe…maybe it couldn’t hurt? Angelina was always pushing you to try new things, and…he did seem to like dancing, which was something none of the people you’ve dated in the past have enjoyed in the same way…

“I could tell you my name if it helps,” he says, and between that and the puppy eyes, you give in.

“Alright. What’s your name?”

His entire body seems to light up with glee, with satisfaction. “Remmick!” he says, almost too enthusiastically. “My name’s Remmick.”

“I’m (Y/N),” you tell him. No last names. He doesn’t seem to mind. And the expression on his face is a little unnerving, like he’s trying too hard, but again, he danced with you, and it’s hard to not want to know more. “So. Uhm. What exactly did you have in mind?”

“D’you know O’Malley’s?”

“The Irish pub?”

He snaps. “That’s the one.”

You’ve passed by it on occasion. It’s not super far from this place, actually, just a block or so away. But your friends never seemed interested in going. They didn’t want to listen to Irish music; they wanted hip-hop, country rock, EDM. “Yeah. I know of it. Never been to it, though.”

Remmick (that’s kinda a weird name but okay) beams. “Next Friday? Maybe around 7?”

You can’t help but be a liiiiiittle cheesy. “AM or PM?” you tease.

He chuckles. At least your dumb joke isn’t scaring him away. “Evening, naturally.”

“Naturally,” you agree. You feel your own lips twitching into a smile. “Alright. I’ll be there.”

“It’s a date!” he says, almost to himself.

“It’s a date,” you repeat.

Just then, they start playing another song you recognize. This time, you spot Angelina on the dance floor, frantically waving you over with wide eyes. “Oh. I, uh, gotta go. Best friend’s calling me.”

Remmick doesn’t seem too bothered. “Fine by me. Long as I get to see you next week.”

“O’Malley’s, 7 pm.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Yep.”

You’re not sure what to do now. Do you offer a hand? A cell phone? God, it’s been a while since you’ve done this. You settle for an awkward wave. “So. Uhm. See you then.” You snatch the other waterbottle as you leave.

You sense the weight of Remmick’s gaze on your back as you slink through the crowd, back to Angelina. It’s a little unnerving, but you shrug it off. He really doesn’t seem like a psychopath, just like maybe he doesn’t know social norms that well. Maybe this is his first night out in a long time.

“Okay so Tag hooked up with someone and Kelci is pissed about it because he was supposed to be her ride home and she has work tomorrow, so she was practically begging me to take her home soon, and I think I’m finally sober enough but I’m not sure but you’ve only had, like, three drinks and two of them were shots so I wanted to know if you think you’re good to drive?” Angelina looks desperate. You sigh then grab her and drag her off the stage.

“Girl, you can’t stand there if you’re not dancing.”

“Sor-ryyy,” she mumbled.

You shake your head. “Yeah, I can drive. I’m basically sober at this point.” You’re still a little buzzed, but more of that is due to your sudden date with Remmick than any remaining booze. The water had helped.

You dare to glance back at the table. He’s no longer there. Your eyes dart around the bar, but there’s no sign of him. He’s gone, a ghost in the wind. Which is weird, but also a little bit…fascinating?

“Sooooo how’d it go with the hot guy?” Angelina asks as you lead her over to table, where a visibly pissed Kelci waits, glaring out at the crowd.

“I’ll tell you later,” you promise. “Let’s go ahead and go home.”

You wave a hand to get Kelci’s attention. “Hey. I’m driving you home. Let’s go.”

She gives a short, terse nod, then rises. Wobbles a little bit, but for the most part, she’s steady. Honestly, any of you probably could be fit to drive, but you appreciate the self-awareness.

“Did you at least get a naaaaame?” God, Angelina is kinda annoying right now. You love her but she can be a lot.

“Yep,” you reply, strangely unwilling to share Remmick’s name with her.

“Aaaaaand?”

“I’ll tell you later,” you repeat, this time more emphatically.

Angelina finally seems to get the message and stops nagging you about it. You exit the bar and make your way to the car. She tosses you the keys and you get in.

It’s weird, but you swear you felt someone watching you as you walked to the car. You shake off the feeling and turn on the engine. “Alright. Kelci, I’m pretty sure I remember where you live, but I might need some assistance here.”

“Got it,” she says, still sounding pissed.

If you’d had known what meeting Remmick meant for you in the next few months, you never would’ve listened to Angelina. Never would’ve danced with him that first time, never would’ve agreed to date him, let alone see him again.

But once you dance with the Devil, it’s kinda hard to stop.