#“What does that mean being a they/them”

[prettyboykatsuki]

do you see anyone other than me? (baby please) | rafayel (lnds)

✮ tags ; rafayel x fem+ afab!reader, established relationships, dom!reader, sub!rafayel, gentle femdom, oral (m!recieving + some f!recieving), anal (m!recieving), praise kink (so much), dirty talk (SO much),pegging / topping, top!reader, bottom!rafayel dry orgasms 18+

✮ wc ; 6.9k (come on man)

✮ a/n ; reader and mc do not share a personality in this. reader is intentionally meant to have like... a more serious personality. so they are mc but not at the same time if that makes sense sdkjskj.

also i know this guy but only a little bit. i was planning on binging the main story after caleb got released but got ?? caught up writing this?? this has happened twice im so scared

✮ synopsis ; making sure rafayel actually forgives you is at the top of your priorities.

When you come home  from the office, take your shoes off, and turn the corner into the living room—you know without looking that Rafayel is in a mood.  

Not a good one.  

It’s something in the air, a lingering tension that makes all movement stiff as you attempt to navigate through the unease. You find Rafayel on the couch. Soft, deep lavender waves tussled like he’s been tossing and turning - pressed into the side of the couch. All curled up small.  

Somehow, you just know what sort of attitude you’ll be met with. You know your lover well enough to know that he’ll be moody but you’ve less confidence in regards to what that mood may be.  

Taking a deep breath, you step into the wide expanse of Rafayel’s living room and studio. His head turns, bangs falling in his face as you slide your work bag off from your shoulder to set aside. Your keys, noisy as you set them down, even gently—trying to leave the air undisturbed. He’s looking at you from over his shoulder but realizes he can’t completely see you that way. Instead of standing to his feet to come greet you, he drops his head back on the arm of the couch to stare at you upside down in a tense silence.  

You give him a look. His mood is sour. Maybe more than you thought. He smiles first, then frowns unhappily before turning his attention back to what he was doing. You hear small scratching noises—he’s sketching. You wonder how long he’s been sitting there doing that, since he usually just prefers to paint without thinking too hard.  

After that, he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t greet you, either.  

“I’m home.” You say evenly. You think about being placating from the jump, but without knowing his exact reason - you worry you’ll only worsen the state of affairs.  

Rafayel hums. “Welcome home.”  

Your brain wracks through every possibility on what could be the source of this level of moodiness. Sometimes, his moody behavior is for kicks but it’s not this time. If it was, he’d lay it on thickly. Act theatrically towards you, get in your face about it. 

But he’s tense, forceful—every scratch of his pencil is too harsh like it’s rife with irritation. You tread carefully.  

“Can I sit with you?”  

“Why are you asking? Don’t you live here too? Just because I bought the couches with my money doesn’t mean—“  

“Rafayel.” You say, interrupting him. He scowls at you. “Can I?”  

As if more bothered by you being level, he huffs. It’s followed with a business smile over his shoulder. “Sure. Do whatever you want.”  

You choose to sit on the empty end of the couch where Rafayel does his sketching - fitting yourself in the gap of his space near his feet. You slide yourself in then gently lift his legs into your lap. Rafayel gives you a look when you do this, clearly debating on whether or not he should reject your act of goodwill. Ultimately he stays. 

Notably, while his pencil is still scratching on paper - you think by this point he’s not really sketching anything at all.  

“I got off of work late,” You explain. You rest your hands on his calf gently. “There was an incident near the station but it was a false alarm so I ended up being cleared.”  

“Oh? Is that so?”  

Warm, you think. You nod.  

“There’s been a lot of Metaflux increases in the residential districts close to our headquarters. It’s odd.” You explain. Rafayel is quiet, looking at his nails disinterested. You go on, not taking offense. “Strange as it is, there’s been no active threats. Still, given the location, it needs a lot of man power to be investigated.”  

Rafayel sits quietly, unreadable. You continue on. “So it’s been busy. I think we’ve cleared the level of threat, so another team will probably take over soon.”  

“Hm.” Rafayel says, a petulant edge to his voice. Warmer. “So that’s why you’ve been so late this week. I guess it’s good that nothing happened. It must’ve been difficult, so difficult if you could barely spend time with your one and only lover. But I guess it’s fine, it’s not like there’s anything you can do in that circumstances. Well, you could’ve done a lot but if it didn’t occur to you there’s nothing to be said, then again—why would it—“  

Hot. “Rafayel.”  

“What.” 

“I’m sorry for being late,” You say.  

A beat. His frown deepens.  

“And?”  

You pause before answering, smiling apologetically. “For not keeping in contact with you more.”  

Some of the life returns to him. You’ve deduced the source of his bad mood, which means the only thing left is to alleviate it. You don’t like seeing him upset. He’s quick to forgive you, always optimistic and trying to keep your relationship lighthearted.  

But there is an underlying desire in him that makes you more conscious about any minor infringements. Despite himself, Rafayel is more concerned about you liking him than he’ll ever let on in  his life. Even when he’s upset, he’ll forgive you - but the feelings linger until they explode. When he gets like that, it’s much harder to comfort him.  

It’ll fester if you don’t apologize properly. You know him well enough to know that and you love him well enough to not want to see when disaster strikes.  

(Plus, there’s something about the way he’s still pouting. He’s trying to relax, but it’s there. It’s cute to you. It makes you want to kiss it better.) 

“I’m sorry,” You offer. You reach for the hand resting in his lap and he lets you take it, though it’s limp. You press a kiss to the back of it, eyes full of affection. “I’m not used to having someone wait for me,”  

Rafayel makes another face at you, unreadable. “Not just anyone.”  

You laugh lightly. “That’s true.”  

Squeezing his hand tighter, you kiss it one more time. “Can I make it up to you…?” 

“I don’t know. Can you?”  

“I’d like to,” You offer, another kiss - just higher on back of his hand. Closer towards his wrist. “Whatever you wanted.”  

“Whatever I want is a tempting offer, Miss Bodyguard. What a talent for bargaining you have, indeed. Maybe you should try bidding a one of my auctions, just to see.” 

“I’d bid too high off the bat. I’d go bankrupt,” You tease back, a sweet lilt to your voice that makes Rafayel’s eyes shimmer, fond of your wit. “Would you be willing to keep me if I gave it all up that way, I wonder?”  

“Since it was for me, I could consider being merciful.”  

You give him sincere but small smile and Rafayel seems to warm up seeing it. He can be coy, even playful about his affection but there’s something about him today that feels more shy then it does anything else. 

“If I can ask for whatever I want,” Rafayel starts. “Maybe we could start with paying back your dues. After all you owe me your full undivided attention after your week of neglect.” 

“That’s easy.” You say, charming. Rafayel makes a face at you that makes you want to laugh. “I wanted to give you that anyway. Is that all?”  

“Are you telling me to be more demanding? You think that’s a wise choice?”  

“If it makes you happy, I’ll play the fool.”  

It’s corny, deliberately not something you’d say to anyone else or at any other time. Something that Rafayel might say to you in a different circumstance, so in a way you’ve simply beat him to the punch. He goes through several feelings, each passing over his expression. Amusement to disbelief to embarrassment even he can’t cover up too easily. 

Great risk comes with great reward. Yours is a smiling Rafayel, boyish and amused. Color returned to him, a playful air of mischief about him.  

“Well if you’re that desperate to make it up to me, then I guess I could try to forgive you. Gosh, you must be so desperate if you’re willing to act this way. You’ve totally fallen for me, haven’t you?”  

Yes, you think. Too much of that at once and he’ll get shy again. You’ll have plenty of coaxing to do later so you keep the thought to yourself. You smile at him instead. “So, you’ve anymore demands for me, my liege?”  

Rafayel hums before breaking out into a grin. “Hmm. For now, just one.” He offers you his hand. “Take me upstairs.”  

__  

Rafayel has a way about him, with you and only you, that makes you especially weak to his advances.  

Whatever those advances are, however taxing on you they may be—there’s so rarely a time where you can tell him no. He likes having that much influence over you, no matter what his particular mood is. If he’s feeling the desire to keep you under his thumb or be at your mercy. Whats central to him in each instance is that he has the full breadth of your attention, your desire, and most importantly—your lacking will to resist.  

You like it all because you like Rafayel. Like how it feels trying to hold onto him as  he slips between your fingers.  

If someone asked you what you like most, though - it’d be this.  

Not quite at your mercy but expectant of your devotion. Crystalline eyes and long, straight lashes blinking up at you with unwitting demand, crowding around you mercilessly. A gaze that weakens you, disarms you, demands your propriety.  

“What are you thinking about?”  

His words come out more annoyed than he wants them to. Your eyes come back into focus to Rafayel on top of you, in your lap as you lean against the headboard. His weight settled like he’s something that fits there perfectly and he does. Your hand reaches for his lower back, eyes tracing down the damp skin. Button shirt opened just loose enough to catch glimpse of his collarbones, with only boxers underneath. Your hands run down his sides, smooth down his bare thighs - mesmerized by cream colored skin that begs for blemishes. 

His expression bewitches you even when your mind had prepared you for it. You smile almost lazily, drawing him just a little closer to you until your noses touch. “Of you.”  

He scoffs at you. “Is that so? Not that you have no reason to think about your perfect, darling lover—it’s just that it seems like he’s the last thing on your mind these days, so you know,-“ 

You kiss him. It’s only partially to shut him up. It’s mostly because him talking makes you look at the shape of his mouth, the curve of his lips—the way he’s pouting at you. It’s almost too much. You part after a minute, careful not to deepen the kiss.  

He has something to say after the fact, dazed - hands on your shoulders trying to give himself the room to speak before you kiss him again.  

But you don’t relent. You kiss him harder, a hand around the back of his neck - slipping your tongue against his lips in the way you like. He doesn’t concede. You’re not really expecting him to. He kisses back even harder like he’s trying to prove a point - teeth digging into your lower lip. A little too sharp for human, but perfect for him.  

You pull away breathless. A hand still on the nape of his neck, sliding around enough to feel his pulse under your thumb. Thump, thump, thump—rabbit quick. You smile at him suggestively, proving him displeased.  

“Don’t interrupt me. Trying to kiss me when I’m airing out my complaints is unprofessional and rude, I’ll have you know.” 

“I’m sorry,” Your lips brush his jawbone. “It’s hard to think about talking when you’re half-naked on top of me.”  

“You can be so vulgar. It’s shocking. You’re usually all serious and about work and then sometimes you look like a dog waiting to be told it can have the treat on it’s nose,” Rafayel says airily. Fake haughty, voice colored with coyness. You look up at him. “Does it really count as making it up to me if all you’re doing is lusting after me?”  

You don’t deny him at face value. “You set the standard. You tell me. Do you feel like I’m still making it up to you or should I work  a little harder?”  

There’s something between you. A spark of electricity that fizzles and pops, tension deepening. Rafayel likes playing tug of war with you. Even though he’s expecting to be pampered - there’s nothing easy about letting him. But it works when you keep yourself even. Eager. Having your desire and lust for him out in the open gives him the power again and he likes that, even when it’s mostly pretend.  

“Work harder. You have to earn your paycheck Miss Bodyguard.” He says. You laugh a little, sitting up a little straighter.  

“Yes boss,” You reply. You lean forward, pulling his weight down as your hands slide underneath the loose, flowy button up. Your hands find his waist, holding his sides before gliding them up on the planes of his back. He’s got lean muscle, a swimmers build that feels tight to the touch.  

You kiss him on the lips again, tongue sweeping against his lower lip. Rafayel playfully rejects it when you do. You pull away one hand to cup the back of his neck and force the kiss deeper, tongue pressing the closed seam of his lips until he yield and lets you. He melts at the gesture rather  unwittingly, the softest little whimper sounding as you feel your tongues touch. It’s a wet, hot kiss. Mouth sticky with spit and saliva.  

“I’m working hard so you shouldn’t be too hard on me,” You say playfully. Rafayel rolls his hips, makes a noise for you as he huffs. “I want to make you feel good.”  

“You’re—“  

You interrupt him again. Not with a kiss on his mouth this time, but a chaste one to the very corner of of it - trailing down the soft curve of his jawline. You make the pressure on his neck featherlight. Thin skin prone to being sensitive, he melts at the soft touch. Cranes his neck up subconsciously to give you access to it. In the spirit of pampering him, you bite at the skin with a genuine hunger. Marking each bruise with a kiss first, you sink your teeth into him without remorse. Incisors scraping the delicate area before you suck hard, broken capillaries throbbing underneath your tongue when you lick them after the fact. 

 Deep, deep shades of red and purple bloom all over the column of his throat. It doesn’t feel like enough to you still.  

“My neck hurts from all your biting.” His voice comes out in wet pants, betraying the sentiment. You laugh warmly at his attempt to diverge.  

“Does it? Should I be gentler, then?” You offer. After you feel like you’ve marked his neck enough, you press another feather-light kiss right where his adams apple sits. Another on his clavicle. When it gets to his collarbone - you don’t do anything more than brush your lips.  

Rafayel whines. It’s a throaty sound that makes your whole body break out into a shiver. Such a pleasant sound on the ears that your mind pictures instantly what other sounds he might make if you just had your way with him. It uncovers a selfish part of you. You could flip him over on your bed and take him if you wanted. Fuck him until he sings as punishment maybe for being tempting like a siren drawing a lone sailor into deep waters.  

You keep the thoughts to yourself, and keep your composure. You ask again instead. “Come on. Tell me. Do you want me to touch you more gently?”  

He fusses in your lap. You grin. “What’s the point in being gentle now if you’re being so rough to begin with? The change would be just weird, you know.”  

“I guess it would,” You let yourself lick the same places you just kissed. You bite then hard enough to leave a mark and Rafayel arches himself into it. “It’s better like this then, right? If I leave marks all over you, then maybe you’ll feel less lonely when I get busy again.”  

“I should get to leave them on you too. Your memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be. A physical reminder might do you some good, yes.”  

His voice is trembling, despite himself. You pull away to look up at him, and catch sight of a fragility you sometimes forget he’s capable of. Brows drawn into a furrow, lips pulled into a pout. Like a wound reopened inside of him that he’s so desperate to cauterize but can’t. You want to kiss the lines between his brows and get on your knees for it. A proof of your affection.  

“I’m sorry for being careless,” You say, sincere. Rafayel looks ready to quiet you, concerned about the mood but you proceed anyhow. You lift his shirt up and hold it to his mouth, and he bites without your instruction. Bare chest exposed to him, you flit your gaze to his face. “I can’t do anything but try to beg your forgiveness. Still,”  

You kiss his sternum, your hands on his waist. You fingers trail down his sides, hands sliding back up to chest. His nipples are hard, damp skin cool to the touch. Your warm him with your fingers, rolling over the sensitive tips. Rafayel makes a muffled noise, his cock twitching responsively.  

“All I ever really think about is you,” You say. Rafayel gives you a long, unreadable look as you toy with his chest. “I’m not the type to half-ass things so my thoughts always revolve around you. Finishing work to come home to you. If you’ve eaten or if you locked yourself in the studio to paint all day. If we should go somewhere together on my day off.”  

You lean forward and stick your tongue out, taking his nipples into your mouth. You roll the other one with your hand to increase the pleasure - content as you watch his face begin to flush. He watches you so closely, the tips of his ears burning a bright red. You suck hard, wetting them with saliva before you take them gently between your teeth and tugging.  

“I’m not good at balancing work with play. I’m also not very friendly so you’re the only person I’ve ever spent so much time dating” You hum, nuzzling his skin. “I’m sure down the line it’ll be harder. But, if it helps, it’s true that my heads always filled with you.”  

Your hands grip his waist, pushing his hips forward slightly as you suck and bite his chest again. A line of saliva connects you both as you pull away - teethmark indentations in their place.  

“I want to make you feel good,” You maneuver Rafayel until he’s underneath you. His expression reads as overwhelmed but the faint blush blooming all over his skin and the hazy look in his eyes makes you confident he’s feeling more than just uncertainty. More like restlessness. A desire to be touched as he lays on his back with you looming over him. “And to touch you everywhere.”  

You lean into him, trailing kisses down the his chest. You can feel his pulse quicken again as you touch him, spreading his legs as you put your thumb inside the waistband of his boxers.  

Like this, he looks especially enchanting. The sleeves of his shirt pulled over his palms, button-up bunched up underneath his chin, and tight gray boxer briefs snug around his hips. Your bedroom, dimly lit, casting shadow on the sinewy muscle. His chest heaves with anticipation, stomach tense as your lips trace a path down from chest to navel. Excitement wracks through his body.  

You put a hand on his stomach and look up at him. “I want to leave my mark on all of it. I want your body to remember I felt this deep inside of you and shiver. You’ll be able to think of me half as much as I think of you.”  

Rafayel heaves, eyes glossed over. “Shit, you’re so unfair. It’s like you have two personalities or something. Are you tricking me? Is it actually you in there?”  

You smile a little, pleased by his reply.  

You follow your instinct, sliding his boxers off and tossing them somewhere. Rafayel is hard. So hard it looks like it hurts. The tip of his cock is ruddy, wet with pre-cum and swollen. His dick is long. Stands up with a straight curve. You breathe on it, making Rafayel flinch with anticipation. Your eyes flicker up to his face, terrible pout betraying his feigned moodiness..  

“Don’t tease me,” He voices. Arousal strikes through you like hot iron at the whine of his voice. Almost pitiful.  

“Not today,” You promise. 

You making yourself comfortable between Rafayel’s legs, sticking your tongue out to taste him. He smells like soap and skin, but the scent is still so arousing. Your head is heavy with it, senses suffocating, hands stabilizing themselves by grabbing hold of his thighs. Rafayel looks near overwhelmed from even the slightest touch. It’s uncharacteristic for him to be so quiet. Almost meek. He must be aching for you more than he lets on.  

You let his cock rest against your face, nuzzling it with your cheek. His cock responds sweetly to the lewd act. He lets out a sigh about, subtly trying to shimmy away from the touch. Unable to win against your grip, he sinks back into the bed and takes a long breath.  

“Keep your eyes on me,”   

In the business of spoiling him, you leave your teasing to a minimum. You gather spit in your mouth and spit it onto his cock with force - relishing the his breath hitches. How his eyes widen just slightly. You stroke his shaft with a tight grip, bringing your head down suck lightly below the shaft of his cock. His head falls back again, mouth open in a silent plea.  

Rafayel keens for you when you work him with the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. You use your hands to fondle him while you shift your attention to his length. Your lips placing hot kisses up until they stop at the slit - tongue dipping into and tasting precum. Salty and warm. You wet your lips again and brush them against his cock - watching the way his expression shifts at the sensation, lightly sucking as you build yourself up having him in your mouth.  

He pitches his hips with desperation that spurs you to give him more pleasure. You open wide to take his cock into your mouth. The weight of it feels good. Arousal clouds your mind as you hollows your cheeks and stick your tongue out over your lip. He’s throbbing so hard it makes you lightheaded.  

A minute passes as you just hold him in your mouth, getting your jaw used to the sensation before you put in work in making him feel good. Like steel over your velvet, you use your tongue to lap at the sensitive skin while spitting and drooling. You’re making a mess. The room echoes with the filthy noise of you swallowing and choking on Rafayel’s cock.  

“Oh, fuck.” 

Your eyes flicker up to Rafayel, trying not to crack a smile at the state of disarray he’s in. His expression is so twisted from pleasure. All of his features reflective of it. His blush seems to creep down even further the longer you go. Your body gradually heats up, core throbbing as you take him down. Take him slowly into the narrow canal of your throat, eyes watering.  

You ease yourself down the very base - nose pressed against his navel, tongue over your lip. Rafayel’s fingers curl into the sheets underneath you trying not to buck his hips.  

“Get off of me, I’ll cum.” He says, almost panicked. “Your throat feels so good. Y-your mouth is so hot and it’s making me feel so good, can’t—I can’t. You gotta get off or—”  

His words of protest fall on deaf ears as you spread his legs even further. Wanting to make him feel better, you part them. 

 You’re greeted by pretty pink hole - already wet for you. A stream of spit follows as you pull off him. 

 Rafayel heaves in relief.  

“You got yourself ready,” You say, less than ask. Rafayel rolls his eyes.  

“So what if I did?” 

“I wanted to do it for you.” You reply, pretending to sulk. “Told you I wanted to spoil you.”  

He blushes further. “Don’t you have any sensibility? You’re doing more than enough. Being excessive, even.”  

“I don’t believe in being excessive when it comes to you,” You hum. Sitting up, you reach over the bedside table for a bottle of lube. You pour it in excess on your two fingers before coming back down between his legs. The bed creaks under your weight.  

Lube drips from your two fingers onto Rafayel’s hole, thick as you push the excess with two fingers. Both go in so smoothly it makes you smirk. He’s soft inside. It’s so easy for you to put both fingers inside of him, even easier to find his prostate - swollen from arousal. He must’ve fucked himself open like this on three fingers given how easily yours follow.  

“It’s so wet inside. You must’ve really wanted me to fuck you.”  

“So what if I—aah—did?”  

“Well, I wanted to take you apart nice and slow.” You say, slowly rubbing your fingers against his prostate, pleased by the little oh noises he makes when you. Cum spills from the tip immediately. He’s so sensitive. You divulge your plans to him as you stretch him. “First with my mouth once or twice.  I was going to save fucking you for the end  but—“ You push your fingers deeper. To the knuckle. His eyes shoot wide open before his voice breaks into a moan. “Since I’m making it up to you you, I was wondering if I should just cut the chase and make you cum on my cock over and over and over. Maybe you’d prefer that.”  

Rafayel’s eyes go wide. You feel a sense of accomplishment knowing without him telling you. He clears his throat, strangely sheepish.  

“It’s not like the other stuff feels bad or anything—“  

You make eye contact with him, sitting up on your knees. Your other hand cups the back of his neck as you press a third finger inside - fucking it in slowly. Rafayel moans unabashedly as you do. His skin is feverish as you press your forehead to his, noses brushing. The wet sound of you stretching him open makes you dizzy, shared breaths between you filling worsening your appetite for him.   

“It’s not what you want though, is it? Not today anyway.” You say, leaning close enough to kiss. You don’t follow through, your voice low on a whisper. “Tell me how you were picturing me fucking you in the shower. I’ll give you whatever you want today,”  

Rafayel seems to let go of the last threads of fight in him as you approach like this. You’re in the thick of your wanting for him. Your body and your mind hunger to make it feel so good it looks like carnage to everyone else. To be pleasured so ruthlessly he can barely move 

He’s rarely too shy but right now he’s in the depths of his desires. He moans sweetly like this. It’s not a sound you can coax out of him easily. It sounds so perfect still. Mouth fallen open, his hands finding purchase in the back of your shirt.  

“Want you to fuck me deeply,” He pants, like it’s straining to even thinking about it. “N-not too fast, but not too slow either. Want you, hngh,” Shivering, he tries to speak coherently as your eyes meet - lips barely touching but almost. “To p-praise me and—“  

You grin. “You want to pampered while I fuck this pretty little hole, right?”  

You push your fingers in harder. He whimpers. It’s loud and broken and makes grip on you tighter. He just nods. “Please. Fuck, please - need it now. In me, please.”  

It’s exactly the words you’re interested in hearing. You kiss him on the lips deeply. He sinks completely into the touch, malleable under your fingertips.  

“Shh, I know.” You hum, soothingly. Rafayel whines from the loss of contact as you pull your hand away.“You earned it. Just a little more.” 

You stand up again on your knee, stripping yourself of the remaining garments left on your body from the work day. You unhook your bra and take it off along with your tank top in one go, tossing it somewhere on the floor. 

Next come your slacks, tight from the way you’ve tucked silicone cock up against your stomach to be ready to fuck. You put it on earlier while he bathed - tucking it in your pants to keep it out of the way. Seeing you unzip your work slacks and have a heavy silicone cock fall from them evokes a reaction in Rafayel that endears you endlessly. A bitten lip while a shiver wracks through him. 

Deciding your pants will get in the way, you make quick work of wriggling out of them completely before returning between Rafayel’s legs. You spit in your hand and stroke yourself with it, wetting your cock before letting it rest against Rafayel’s own. 

“How do you want it?” You ask.  

“Like this,” He says, unmoving. He seems certain on that end but he’s hesitating. “But I want you to…” 

He looks away. You try not to grin but fail.  

“You were being so bold a second ago,”  

He rolls his eyes. “Well a second ago someone was trying to rearrange my insides so I didn’t have to think very hard,”  

“So, should I do it again, then? I think we’ll get better results that way.”  

“You’re so noisy. I don’t pay you for this,” He pauses. “I want you to hug me while we… like be close to me.” 

You pause before smiling gently. You’re so charmed by the innocence of it. It’s so unlike him. Being away from you must’ve bothered him more than he cared to admit. Softening, instantly - you lean forward and press your lips to his forehead.  

“Sure. Anything else?”  

“Ugh. Not for now. But it’s annoying. I should be running you into the ground by now but here you are,” 

“Making good on my promise?,” You finish. Rafayel doesn’t refute you. You kiss his shoulder blade. “Anything you want today. I’m yours.”  

“Say it again,”  

“All yours.”  

He wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you down. “…Hurry up and fuck me then.”  

Complying with his wishes, you sit back on your knees as you line your cock up with Rafayel’s entrance and push. He gasps as you slide the fat head of your cock in, a wicked smile on your face as you watch his hole stretch out and around you. Three fingers is more than enough prep. It makes filling him so easy.  

Still, the stretch - the feeling of being full is nothing like just fingers. You watch as Rafayel’s body adjusts to  it. Inch by inch, you rock your hips forward gently until he’s swallowed your cock up half-way. He’s trembling as you lean forward. Waiting for you to bottom out before he pulls you forward for as much skin to skin as he can have. Your chest squishes against him.  

When his hips roll for you to go deeper, you take it as a sign. With all of your strength, you hold onto his waist bury yourself inside of him in another single thrust. His nails dig into your shoulder, his voice next to your ear as you. Tightening his grip, he cries out at the sudden movement 

You can feel him shake underneath you, cock clenching hard while you hold him.  

“Fuuck,”  He goes stone stiff underneath you before starting to tremor more violently. “Fuck, oh fuck.”  

Realization dawns on you a few seconds later. “Did—did you cum just from putting it in?”  

He opens his eyes and frowns at you.  

“Shut up. I didn’t get to cum earlier.”  

You laugh. “You’ll kill me being this cute. I don’t know what to do.”  

“I could give you an idea if you’re going to just sit there,”  

His impatience amuses you.  

“Sorry. I’ve got you. Cum as much as you want.”  

You anchor yourself, pulling out slowly and internally groaning at the resistance as you do. How his hole grips onto you so tight it feels nearly hard to move despite know how stretched he is. A phantom sensation fills your waist as you feel his stomach shift as you thrust.  

Heeding earlier requests, you use your hips to set a pace to fuck Rafayel the way he wants. The ins and outs of his body come naturally to you now. Finding the right pace, the right motion, the right angle - all come easier to you than you even remember. On muscle memory, you hike Rafayel’s legs up and begin to fuck him deep. Not too fast, not too slow - but consistent in grinding against that sweet spot. Deliberately thrusting your hips up, you try to direct all the remaining focus into fucking him as good as you can.  

You know you’ve hit the right places when his grip on you gets tighter. His legs locked around your back, Rafayel is a mess underneath you even when you’ve barely begun. Like he can’t stop cumming, his body helplessly wound as your hips clap his ass.  

The moans that come out of him, broken and sweet. More angelic then pornographic but lewd enough to make you dizzy with the urge to pin him up and fuck him harder. Groaning when you fuck him just right. You can feel his cock against your stomach with how close your bodies are as you grind - twitching. Pre-cum leaking in long spurts and wetting your skin. 

You coo at him feeling it start to be easier to fuck him.  

“It’s just like a pussy, huh? You take me so good inside of you. It feels like you were made for it,” You press kisses wherever your lips can find the skin. On his face, his mouth, on his shoulders. You can barely make sense of your own filth, your mind moving on it’s own as your body chases its own arousal. Your clit is grinding against the base of your strap-on so well like this, you could easily chase the high and find your own orgasm with seconds. You’re too busy paying attention to make well on it. “I like when you act cute like this. Usually you’d put up a fight about it but you’re asking without fuss. It’s precious seeing you fall apart on my cock.”  

He moans your name like an incantation, another dribble of cum spilling. He can’t stop cumming. Just shuddering beneath you, his face in your shoulder and panting like he can’t find the words.  

“All mine, yeah? Everything, all of you. It’s all mine to tend to, so you can be as selfish as you want.” You hum, encouraged by the whimpering repetition of please in his voice. He’s being so pliant, so good. You can’t help yourself. “Take when you need. Cum when it feels good for you. I want you to feel good. Want to make you feel so good you can’t stand it. Think you can do that? Come on,”  

Rafayel moans brokenly into your neck. “I’m g-gonna cum so hard, fuck—feels like I can’t stop, please don’t stop, fuck me,” 

“Shh it’s okay. I wont stop until you tell me.” You tuck yourself against his neck, kissing it before biting his ear lobe. He gasps. “Don’t think about anything other than cumming for me.”  

“Fuck,” His nails dig into your biceps, coiling you around as you get close. “Fuck me. P-please—I’m cumming, I’m cu -“  

Rafayels whole body stiffens under the weight of your body. You fuck him steady, pinning him down as he cums. His cock pushes hard against your stomach, twitching helplessly as his cum spills in streams. His back curls up, gripping onto you tightly as he moans loud and unabashed, euphoria splintering through his muscles. You fuck him through it until he rides out his high - his body loosening up as soon as it passes.  

The sound of cum unsticking from your skin as you part from Rafayel makes you grin. You pull back out of slowly and get on your knees. You use your hand to wipe the cum off of your stomach and smear it against Rafayel’s hole.  

“You made a mess,” You say brightly. Rafayel pants, looking up at you. Before you can ask, his voice trembles. He weakly reaches for your hand.   

“Let me make you finish,” He says, abrupt. You blink at him owlishly. “Please.”  

“Isn’t this about you?”  

He frowns, looking at you seriously.  

“It is. And I’m telling you I want you sit on my face and cum on it. Please.”  

You give him a look before breaking out into a laugh. You stand onto your knees and undo the buckles of your harness - shimmying out of them. “I can’t refuse you if you ask like that but I don’t think it’ll be long.”  

“It’ll just be once for now,”  

“For now?”  

He nods matter-of-factly. “You still owe me after the crimes of neglect you’ve committed against me.”  

“Right.”  

“And I’ve decided I want to exercise my rights to eat pussy until sunrise.”  

“I see,” You say bemused. “And this is… revenge I take it? And not perhaps, an act of goodwill towards me.”  

“I have no reason to show you good will, do I?”  

You break out into more laughter. 

“Right. We’ll be even after today then, at least.”  

“Hurry,” Rafayel says again, after settling it. Same puppy dog look in his eyes as before, back in instant. You can’t help but be charmed by how quickly he reverts back into desiring your attention.  

Rafayel lays down as you take your strap-on off and crawl over towards him. Deciding you’re not done with him for the day - you stand on your knees just over his chest and spread your pussy apart for him to see. He’s not expecting it, evidenced by the way his eyes go wide at the sight. 

“Even without cumming, making you feel good turned me on this much. Is that what you were hoping to know?”  

Rafayel goes flush again. “I never said that.”  

“So difficult,” You hum. “Come on. Can I sit?”  

Rafayel barely masks his enthusiasm as he nods. You crawl over him further before carefully setting yourself above his face. You try to avoid letting the full weight rest on him, but Rafayels hands are on you in an instant. With the same desperate grip he had while you were fucking him, he pulls your thighs down until your pussy is in his mouth - tongue out and lapping up wetness instantly. You shiver at the desperate movement of his tongue. 

It gets your body hot all over again. Your fingers thread through the purple strands of hair for anchor as you push yourself against his willing mouth like you’re fucking his face. Your own desires hadn’t crossed your mind until now, but now that you’re aware of it - that familiar restless lust returns to you tenfold You shiver as the familiar flames of arousal stoke back up inside of you.  

Your gut honeyed, sticky lust making your limbs feel thick. You use your other hand to tweak your nipples as you rock your hips back and forth. Rafayel lies underneath you obediently, eagerly - his hands helping you move at the pace you want without complaint. He always manages to surprise you. His willingness to give to you making you feel weak in the knees.  

Already so worked up, it takes you hardly any time to reach your climax. You feel it in your waist, body going slack as the knot inside of your stomach uncoils. You let out a short cry, hands tightening in Rafayel’s hair as you cum all over his face - swearing as you do. You feel Rafayel moan against you, reverberating through you as you ride out your high and finish.  

You pull away from his sated, pulling back to see him wiping his chin before licking his fingers. The look in his eyes sends an amused sort of arousal through you.  

“You look like you’re going to eat me.” You say. Rafayel nods.  

“I mean… I’m certainly trying.”  

You laugh tiredly, swiping your thumb against his cheek with a smile.  

“After we clean up and have dinner,” You say. “I have some mandatory time off so I won’t be called in.”  

“I won’t let you sleep,” He says, clingy again - face pressed against your thigh. You grin. His many moods make you so weak to him. 

You bend down to kiss his forehead.  

“I wasn’t planning on it.”  

✮ a/n ; rafayel fans . let me know if this was okay im lacking confidence but i had writing him. i want to keep like a spoiled housecat maybe.

[pboogerswbb]

DON'T KNOW HOW

Paige Bueckers x reader In which Paige is high off a great game and wants to celebrate by fucking you in her jersey. Warnings: sexual content (SMUT, FILTHY FR BEWARNED), strap, slight humiliation, breeding kink, language, etc etc Wordcount: 4K A/C: this is my 1K followers surprise for y'all! YOU FINALLY GET STRAP ik you guys been begging for it (freaks). anyway thank you so much for all of you for supporting me and reading what i write, i appreciate it a lot more than you guys even know. never thought i'd have 1k followers on here so tysm, ily all <3 now go have some fun reading (ok especially to my moots ilysm, i am so fucking happy i met all of you i love each and every single one of you so bad and i always always always got your back, ty for being the best people in the world)

-

“And it’s good, another three for Bueckers.”

“She's on fire. Been hitting those all night and making it look effortless too.”

“Seventh three of the night wow.”

The entire evening Paige had been like a sniper, shots going in with even more ease than normal. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her blonde ponytail, the wide shoulders nearly too big for the navy Uconn jersey, glistening with sweat as the fourth quarter comes to an end. 31 points. You couldn’t be prouder to call her your girlfriend.

The crowd stands up, you jumping up and down and clapping with them, the white jersey tucked into your bra to crop it, proudly carrying your girl’s name on your back. Another victory for Uconn, as your girlfriend allows herself a small smile after the extraordinary game she just played. You wait patiently. What feels like close to an hour of the blonde shaking hands, signing jerseys and giving out interviews she finally meets your eyes from the opposite side of the court, jogging towards you.

“Babyyy!” You gleam as she wraps her strong, sticky arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Seven threes is crazy,” you praise your girlfriend.

“Yeah?” Paige asks, a smug grin on her face as she pulls back and looks at you. “Missed two cause my girl look so fine.”

An involuntary blush spreads to your face as the girl’s blue eyes scam your body up and down.

“You like?” You ask with a sly smile, twirling for her. Paige lets out a low whistle, hand coming to hold your waist.

“Fuck you look hot in that jersey,” she murmurs, eyeing the way it sits on your body. You can see it in your girlfriend’s eyes - the way they were darkening in the way they always did when she needed you. 

Feeling flustered, you decide to change the topic, knowing she shouldn’t be eyefucking you in front of these cameras and fans. “So are we still going out with the team tonight? We should celebrate your big win baby.”

Paige laughs hoarsely, in that fuckboy way she does. “We ain’t going out mama, we going straight home.”

You know exactly what she means. Exactly what would happen when you get home. The idea is already making your stomach flip.

“Paige… It was a big night for you, we sh-”

“No disrespect but you need to shut up,” she sternly silences you. “You really think you’re gon’ look like this and not be folded in half in about an hour? Baby, c’mon.”

-

 “Paige stop!” You giggle, her hands holding your waist underneath the jersey, fingertips against your bare skin squeezing as she kisses your neck hungrily. Your hands are fumbling with the key, attempting to open the door to your apartment. Something you were finding extremely hard as the blonde behind you presses her hips into yours, sucking a dark red mark on your neck.

“Open the door,” Paige pants, her voice breathy and hoarse. It’s more a command than a request. Finally, you turn the key and the girl pushes you in with urgency, closing the door behind you.

Before you can say a word, the blonde is throwing you over her shoulder, making you squeal and giggle. 

“Put me down!”

“No ma’am,” she laughs, long strides heading towards the bedroom fast. With a grunt your girlfriend lowers you onto the bed, landing you on the soft mattress. Both of you are giggling as she eyes you on the bed, licking her lower lip.

“Wait here baby,” she coos, disappearing into the walk-in wardrobe. Once she returns, there’s an apparent bulge underneath the grey basketball shorts. Your imagination begins to go wild, heat growing between your thighs at the idea of what she had strapped on underneath. Paige had done it before, coming up behind you, the strap poking into your ass under her sweats to let you know what she was in the mood for. It drove you completely wild each time.

“Take your clothes off,” the blonde commands from the doorway, pulling her hoodie off and throwing it on the floor. You know what happens when Paige wants something and doesn’t get it, so you kick off the boots and denim skirt you’re wearing. Your girlfriend follows every move with watchful eyes, tutting once your fingers begin to tuck the jersey off.

“Leave that shit on,” Paige says, walking over to you on the bed. You lie on your back, watching up at her in the sheer white panties and white jersey and an unbearable ache between your thighs.

Paige’s shoulders look broad and filled out in the black sports bra she’s wearing, lower lip trapped between her teeth as her fingertips brush against the soft skin of your thigh.

“Look so fucking sexy,” she murmurs, her voice low and raspy. You needed her, badly. So you bring your hand to her core and just as you expected, feel the thick, purple strap underneath the fabric. Wrapping your fingers around the bulge, you rub it as if it’s her actual dick, just like the blonde liked to imagine.

Paige lets out a low groan, squeezing the skin on your thigh. 

“You want it?” She asks. It’s not a genuine question, she knows the answer. She can tell by the way you’re squirming, rubbing your thighs together. The way your brows are furrowed in desperation.

“I do,” you whimper, biting your lip and blinking up at the girl with round eyes in the way that drove her crazy. Works every time, and this is no exception, your girlfriend letting out a breathy sigh and throwing her head back.

“Yeah? How bad ma?” She asks, hand slowly inching closer to the edge of your panties, fingertips nearly sliding underneath.

“So bad baby,” you whine, arching your back, hand still working the strap through her shorts. “Just feel,” with a whimper, you grab the blonde’s hand teasing you and slide it inside your panties.

Both of you moan, your wetness covering her fingers the second she feels you.

“Fuck, you this wet just for me?”

“All for you baby,” you whimper. “Love watching you play.”

Paige grins, rubbing gentle circles on your clit already growing puffy and sensitive from how bad your body aches for her, the idea of her strap buried deep inside you making you eager, the wait nearly unbearable.

A sigh spills from your lips as the blonde pulls her hand away, her fingers coming to your mouth and slipping past your lips making you taste yourself. Your eyes flutter shut, lips wrapping around her long digits. Paige hisses, watching closely.

“That shit ain’t fair, I need to taste you too.”

With that, Paige is pulling you to the edge of the bed by your legs, kneeling on the floor face to face with your core. With a swift movement, the blonde’s fingers hook onto your panties and pulls them down.

“Holy shit baby I ain’t even fuck you yet, why you this wet?” Paige groans at the way your cunt glistens in the light, her arms wrapping around your thighs to hold you still for her. You could feel just how wet you were, your slick spilling out of you right under your girlfriend’s gaze.

“Couldn’t help it,” you whimper, attempting to buck your hips but for nothing. You weren’t going to be touched until Paige decided so.

“Yeah couldn’t help it cause you’re such a slut huh?”

The blonde’s lips roam your inner thighs, nibbling and sucking on the skin leaving behind little red marks as a reminder of the night for later. 

“Answer me,” she demands, but it barely registers, her hot breath on your core forcing goosebumps to form all over your skin. It’s driving you wild, every inch of your body on fire for her.

Suddenly a hand reaches to your jaw and firmly grabs it, Paige tilting your face towards her.

“Answer me.”

Suddenly even more flustered, your face turns red, needing her even more. “Only for you Paige.”

“Good girl, now lie down.”

The girl lets go of your jaw and suddenly her mouth is on you, tongue everywhere in your folds, licking you up like she’s been starved for life. A loud moan escapes your mouth, hands immediately flying to the blonde, soft hair of your girlfriend. 

She’s hungry for it, the victorious game leaving her starving. Her lips wrap around your clit and suck harshly, making you gasp and yank on her hair. But she won’t quit, hands coming to spread you further apart, trying to find a way to get closer in a moment of desperation.

“Oh… fuck baby,” you whimper, legs already shaking as she eats you, tongue swirling in your folds, moving from side to side. Paige hums against you, the sound vibrating against your cunt. She has you leaking like a faucet, not wasting a single drop as she kisses her way down, circling your entrance before her tongue slides in.

“P-paige,” you cry out, overwhelmed by the pace she was moving at, not giving your body time to adjust, leaving you breathless. But she couldn’t care less about your protest, eyes rolling back as she presses closer to you, the bridge of her nose pressing against your clit.

You’re squirming, legs shaking and eyes rolling back as you tug on her hair, whimpers quickly turning more high pitched.

“Perfect pussy,” she groans, practically just to herself. Her tongue presses flat against you in long licks along your slit. Biting your lower lip you look down at the blonde girl kneeled on the floor between your legs and for a moment your eyes meet hers.

With an arrogant smirk Paige brings her tongue flat onto your clit and shakes her head back and forth skillfully, knowing it drives you crazy each time. The glimmer in her eye doesn’t help, making your back arch and head tilt back against the mattress.

“Gonna fuck this pussy,” the girl murmurs against you, the tip of her tongue speeding up on your clit, flicking it back and forth. She’s determined to make you cum. And when Paige was determined, there was nothing that could stop her.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes and your entire body’s writhing under Paige’s mercy. She’s desperately eating you up, taking turns working you with her tongue and mouth, sucking and licking everywhere. It’s overwhelming, too much and not enough at the same time. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, right there,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as her tongue circles your clit.

“You gonna cum ma?”

“Yes, yes, fuck baby.”

Your hands are tugging on her hair hard, but the blonde doesn’t mind. The moans spilling from her mouth reveal quite the opposite. The familiar pit somewhere deep in your gut begins to burn, forcing your back to arch off the bed. The jersey on your body hikes up, Paige’s hand scratching on your lower stomach as she keeps working tirelessly, like the strain in her jaw wasn’t there.

“Paige I’m go-”

“Cum for me mama.”

And that’s enough, the coil in your stomach snapping the moment her words register in your hazy mind. The heat from your core spreads all over your body, waves of pleasure washing over you. The room is filled with the sounds of your high pitched moans, and the satisfied hums of the blonde between your legs sucking on your clit. Sweat drips down the back of her neck but it doesn’t matter. She’s not even close to done. 

Paige stands up from the floor, leaving you trembling before her, still getting over your orgasm.

“Cmere,” Paige says, licking her lips hungrily and sliding her hand into her shorts to stroke the strap as if an extension of herself. Body still recovering, you do as you’re told knowing the blonde didn’t like waiting. Kneeling on the bed, your eyes flicker from the bulge under the fabric to her blue eyes looking down at you. They’re heavy and dark, her jaw prominent and chest heaving with need.

“Take em off,” she demands, your hands wasting no time finding the band of her shorts and pulling them to her ankles, revealing the purple strap underneath. Paige’s hands wrap around it and stroke, tapping the tip all over your face. Without much thought your mouth parts, eyes locked onto your girlfriend’s. 

“Push your tongue out, be a good girl,” Paige groans, brows in a deep frown as she tries to catch her breath but it seems impossible with the way your big eyes stare up at her with your mouth open. She’s dizzy with want.

The moment your tongue slips out of your mouth, Paige is slapping the tip on it and moaning as if she could feel it herself - your warm mouth wrapping around her cock.

“That’s it, fuck ma,” Paige hisses, watching your tongue circling the length of the strap. “Get it wet for me.”

Bopping your head forward carefully, you take more of the strap into your mouth, saliva quickly building up and dripping down the corners of your mouth. 

“Look so pretty baby,” the blonde coos, gathering your hair into her fist and holding it back for you. “You like sucking my cock?”

With a slight smile you nod with the strap still filling your mouth. The sight is enough to make your girlfriend moan, and her grip in your hair tightens as she forces the strap down your throat, making every inch disappear into your mouth. 

“Mmph,” you whine, tears quickly welling up in your eyes. The sound of you gagging mingle with Paige’s low grunts, your nails digging into her muscular thighs. Paige can’t look away, you look too pretty to look away. Finally pulling on your hair, she allows you a second to gasp for air before returning and guiding your mouth on her cock, never breaking eye contact until your eyes roll back. Surely the strap was wet enough already, spit spilling from your mouth all over its length. But Paige is enjoying this too much to stop.

“You wanna get that pussy fucked huh?” The blonde grunts, pulling your head back with a string of saliva dripping down onto your chest.

“Please,” you whimper, your cunt throbbing, begging to feel the plastic inside you.

“Think you deserve it? Think you deserve my cock?”

“Baby need it,” you cry out, letting Paige rub the soaked tip against your lips and face, messing up your makeup. She always thought this was the best you looked, desperate, eyes red and glossy, mascara flaking underneath your eyes and begging for her. She couldn’t resist any longer.

“Turn around,” she murmurs and you do as she says, facing the other way on your hands and knees.

“Should I take the jersey off?” 

“Keep that shit on ma,” Paige says sternly, hissing as she rubs the tip of the purple strap against your soaked folds. Already whimpering, you grip the soft sheets tightly, feeling the blonde’s hands caressing your ass and waist, lifting the jersey just enough to see your lower back. “Fuuuckkk baby,” she praises, watching as the strap begins to glisten just from the sheer wetness spilling out of you. “She crying for me huh?”

“Yes,” is all you can muster to say, stomach flipping as the tip teases your entrance, everything you wanted so close yet so far. Your slick is already dripping on the plastic, Paige letting out a shaky moan behind you at the sight. 

“Shit, this pussy loves me,” she groans, gripping your hips and at last sliding the length inside you. A loud gasp escapes your body, the stretch so intense and powerful. 

“Oh shiiiit,” Paige hisses, watching the way your cunt stretches around the strap, swallowing her up. The trembling of your body is immediate, the blonde leaning down and kissing over your shoulders and neck. “Feel good mama?”

“Y-yeah baby,” you’re still breathless, body slowly adjusting to the size. 

“You tryna get fucked?”

“Mhm,” you hum, needy for your girlfriend to begin moving behind you. But she remains still.

Her big hand grips your ass harshly, slapping the skin leaving you with a slight burn. “Work for it mama, show me how bad you want it.”

You immediately know what she wants, craving to have you whimpering and pleading before she’ll give you what you crave. Paige always had to tease you just a little further than you could handle.

So you begin to move forward and back again, slowly pressing your ass against her. The strap slips in and out easily, but the size keeps you overwhelmed, slick dripping onto the sheets as you throw it back for your girlfriend, arching your back just right.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, legs already feeling weak, hands balled into fists as your girlfriend’s hand slaps your ass again, the sound echoing around the room.

“Look at that,” she praises, letting out a shaky low moan as the vibrator against her clit buzzes. But you can barely hear, mind spinning and not a single coherent thought in your head anymore. “Such a fuckin’ slut.”

The nickname makes you whine, craning your neck to see the blonde behind you, eyes locked onto where your body is swallowing her strap up. Her mouth is wide open and cheeks burning red, she wants it just as bad as you do.

Her blue eyes travel up your spine to the jersey, grabbing a handful of your hair to hold up. To allow her to admire the way the jersey fits your body. Her name, her number on you as she fucks you. It’s enough to get her bewildered.

Meeting your eyes the blonde smirks, chest heaving with need. “You like that? When I call you that?”

You nod, maintaining eye contact as you grind your hips back into her.

Paige shakes her head in disbelief, hissing again as the vibrator angles against her just right. 

“Course you do, fuckin’ slut.”

Your upper body crashes against the bed, too tired to hold it up, ass remaining in the air.

“Paigeee,” you whine, begging for her to take control, legs too shaky to continue.

“What’s wrong mama?”

It’s almost sadistic, her tone. She knows exactly what’s wrong. But it wasn’t enough, Paige had to hear you say it, getting off on humiliating you just a little longer.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You whine again in frustration, wiggling your ass in the air. But Paige remains stern.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, making the blonde smirk and lick her lower lip.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

You nod in desperation, letting her pull your face up from the sheets by your hair, other hand coming to hold your hip.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” she leans down and groans into your ear. “Gon’ fuck you until you cry.”

With that, her hips slam into you, the intrusion so intense you can’t help the way your eyes roll back. You gasp, Paige letting go of your hair and standing back up behind you, both hands on gripping your waist, fucking her hips into you at such a pace it’s making you see stars.

“Ohhh shit,” the blonde grunts, watching the way your ass jiggles as her hips slam against you. The sound of skin clapping and the squelching of the strap deep inside you fills the room, only thing cutting through are your joint moans.

“Baby fuck-” you cry out, part of you wanting to push her away from how crushing her thrusts are, the strap buried deep inside your soaked pussy.

“Look at you takin it, fuck baby,” Paige groans, right hand smoothing over her last name on the jersey. Over the number she wears each game.  “Takin’ my dick while wearing my name. So fucking good f’me.”

Your cunt is throbbing, squeezing the strap making it hard to think clearly. You wanted more, wanted less, you weren’t sure. But you could feel your eyes growing wet against the sheets. Paige’s hand travels all the way up to your hair, grabbing it harshly and shoving your face into the mattress.

“You take it like a slut huh?” 

You moan, feeling your slick dripping down your thighs, surely covering Paige’s legs now as well.

“Your slut baby,” you whimper, upper body pressed snug against the soft cotton as the blonde pounds her strap into you.

“Aww fuck- good girl,” Paige gasps, the vibrations having her legs shaking. With a swift movement, the blonde manhandles you onto your back, placing your legs onto her shoulders, sliding the purple strap back inside you.

“Need to see your face,” she groans, eyelids so heavy they’re barely open as she keeps fucking you. “Need to see you cum on my cock.”

“Baby, so big,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the blonde kneels on the bed and leans forward, folding you over with ease.

“Take it so well tho,” Paige coos, bringing her face to yours, hand wrapping around your neck as she keeps slamming her hips into you. That athlete’s stamina could have her going like this for an hour. “Gonna cum inside this pussy.”

Her words leave you a moaning mess, your hands scratching at her shoulders leaving red marks behind. “Fuck,” you whimper, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fucking you so hard you’re gon’ have my kids.”

The squelching becomes louder, wetness dripping out of you as Paige’s strap hits deeper than before, making you gasp and scratch her soft skin harder.

“Aw- fuc- shit, ma that’s it. So deep in your guts,” she rambles, eyes beginning to roll back, trying to hold back on her orgasm. She brings her fingers between your legs, thumb beginning to rub lazy circles on your clit as the strap slips in and out of you, fucking into you at a rapid pace.

“P-Paige feel so good,” you cry out, gushing around the plastic desperately. Paige’s head lulls back and forth, fighting her orgasm. 

“Mama I need to cum inside you, needa fill you with my cum,” the blonde whimpers, voice growing more high pitched as she nears the edge, fucking her hips into you with such force you think you might black out. The familiar burn ignites at her words, pussy throbbing around the plastic, muscles beginning to coil in your stomach.

“Shi- baby I need you to cum on my cock,” she gasps, eyes squeezing shut, grip around your neck tightening enough to make you lightheaded.

“Paige I-” You cry out, Paige’s thumb pressing into your clit and the tip of the strap hitting the perfect spot with each stroke. 

“C’mon ma, lemme fill you up,” she whimpers desperately, legs shaking but never easing the pace. You can’t hold it anymore, letting go and allowing the fire to take over your body.

“Paige I’mma cum,” you gasp, the blonde letting out a moan of relief.

“Gonna cum inside you,” Paige grunts into your neck, as you lie underneath, helpless. Your back begins to arch off the bed, the blonde squeezing the sides of your neck and pinning you down, hips slamming into you. “Gonna fill this pussy aw- up- fuck.”

With that you’re both gasping, rolling over the edge as your climax takes over, pussy squeezing the strap tightly and gushing around it, all over the sheets and Paige on top of you.

“Oh shit-” Paige gasps, breath hot in your ear as she finishes, your mind blank as the ecstasy takes over your body, leaving you trembling underneath the girl, eyes shut tight.

“Holy shit,” the blonde murmurs, trying to catch her breath. Your chest is heaving and your face flushed. As your eyes flutter open, they’re met with the blue of Paige’s irises. She scooches both of you up the bed, crashing on top of you, the plastic still inside you, almost soothing. You wince as she pulls it out carefully, leaving you with an uncomfortable emptiness.

“You’re so great baby,” Paige sighs, resting her head in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms and legs around your girlfriend, pressing a gentle kiss onto her forehead. “My number one girl.”

“You really like this jersey huh?” You chuckle as her pink lips kiss your collarbone, neck, jawline and finally your lips.

“Let’s everyone know you mine,” she coos, nuzzling her nose into you and rubbing the skin on your midriff where the fabric has hiked up.

“All yours baby,” you hum, body worn and tired but heart fluttering with love.

“All mine ma.”

-

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[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason who’d make sure you ate and drink throughout the day but does it in the most nonchalant way, as though he had been doing it for ages, whether it’d be a greasy bag of junk food or something he made from scratch, all he’s going to leave you is with the stern command of ‘eat.’

He’s making sure you’re not skipping any important meals, and if you were then he was more likely to scold you while making you something to eat and drink. He’s confusing but he’s caring at the same time and had a unique way of showing it as you’d find from Roy.

‘He just wants you to be okay, he’s just rough with how he shows it but he means well.’ He’d say to you and from then on you’d watch as Jason’s eyes went from stern to concerned and how his posture completely changed into one that was eager to help you before it was too late, almost as though he was on a timer.

Even his stiff pats on your shoulder were oddly comforting and sweet coming from a man who didn’t think he was that hopeful and bright young man anymore, but he was, he very much was but he was just drastically altered to adapt to his new life.

Dick who will sit by you in silence when you least expect it, almost as though he knew you’d needed some comfort but not the talking aspect of it.

He’d stay close enough where you could feel his warmth, but keep a distance so you didn’t feel as though you were being suffocated by his presence.

He’s more then willing to listen to you speak about what you’ve been finding hard as of late and let you air out all your frustrations, not once offer any advice unless you asked for it and when you do it’s the most meaningful piece of advice you’ve ever been given. He’s been though a lot himself so he’s more then equipped to help you and would even offer you to a friendly spar to get the access aggression out.

Damian who’d secretly have a sketchbook dedicated to you that is filled to the brim with you doing the most mundane things possible, but he highlights you in such a way that it almost seemed as though he was romanticising your actions.

He never shows you it, not until you voice how you didn’t feel valued or loved or appreciated in the slightest and suddenly he’s expecting the most normal thing in his entire life; embarrassment incase you’d find him weird for having so many sketches of you.

He smiles when you smile and finds himself wanting to be more open with his emotions but only if it’s with you.

Bruce who’d always tends to your every injury himself, even if it was a tiny paper cut he’s treating it as though your finger was hanging on by a thread.

He’s had his fair share of injuries but they’re often more severe then the ones you get, but he treats them with the same level of seriousness, that you couldn’t help but smile at his furrowed brows as he tended to the small bruise on your upper arm.

He’s tender and calloused hands worked swiftly to preach you up and he would even give your plastered wound a healing kiss, claiming it would help speed up the healing process. He was sweet and doting with you and your minor injuries that he’s covering the corners of every countertop and table within your vicinity, and or helping you up from under things incase you’d hit your head.

[gffa]

When it comes to Jedi discourse I think a lot depends on the amount of sympathy behind a statement there is. For example, "The Jedi have been corrupted by this war." is something Lucas has said, but it's in the context of how they were drawn into a trap, they were forced into roles that they were never meant to be, there's sympathy there for how the only choices here are shitty ones. "Do they compromise their morals (to fight in this war) or does everyone die and it's pointless anyway?" is basically what he said. I agree with that! But I have seen many people say, "The Jedi became corrupted by the war." and they mean it as the Jedi no longer cared about people, only themselves, they were only looking out for themselves, they were making selfish choices. There's no sympathy for the rock-and-a-hard-place situation the Jedi were in, and I disagree with that and I think that's what a lot of people are arguing back against. "They allied themselves with a corrupt government!" is another one--like, yeah, the Republic government wasn't great! But, when I say that the Separatists were worse, it's not because I'm refusing to admit the Republic had any fault, I'm saying it because that's basically the choice laid out in front of them--either you help the Republic or you let the Separatists take over, who were committing war crimes on screen. I do think the Jedi were hamstrung by their connection to the Republic! I just also think the alternative was worse, that the whole structure of Star Wars as a story was designed to hem them into this impossible choice (in as much as Star Wars is about the Jedi, when they're very much not the core of the story), that they couldn't find better options because the story wasn't set up to allow that. Could the Jedi have handled Anakin better? Ehhh, I think that's hard to say because the story itself doesn't present that, so making hard proclamations about what they did/didn't do wrong is reading into something the story didn't address. The story is about Anakin refusing to emotionally accept Jedi teachings--can we read beyond that and say there were ways the Jedi failed him? I think you can and some of them are fair (and some of them aren't), that it's a fun conversation to have, but that it's not what the narrative intention is, if we're talking about actual narrative intention. The narrative intention is that Anakin, though very human in his failings and Lucas clearly has so much affection for his Blorbo, failed to learn what he needed to learn. But there, too, I think a lot depends so much on how much sympathy comes across for the choices being made. I don't think we're meant to see Anakin as someone we can't relate to, Lucas even says that Anakin is a victim in TPM (of the Hutts and Watto, to be clear), I don't think criticism of Anakin can come without that he was trying, that he did genuinely love people. The ending of ROTJ doesn't work without us wanting for Anakin to find the good in himself! That we knew had to be there all along. So much comes down to how much sympathy there is in the criticism, how much sympathy there is for the reasons why any given character chooses the paths they do, and that's where a lot of disconnect comes from. So much Jedi criticism is done in the vein of saying, "They failed." and meaning it as an accusation of how a better choice was super obvious. But if you say, "They failed." in the sense that there was no way out of the trap that they could have possibly forseen, given the circumstances, that they did their best and they shouldn't have to be perfect to be good, then I'm all the way onboard! It's about how much sympathy there is for the context around a given character's choices and what the story allowed for them. I have no issue with saying the Jedi failed in the war, that they became corrupted by it, that their connection to the Republic led to their genocide, because I don't think the Jedi were bad for it, I think they made the best choices they could in the worst situation.

[jasper-ontheoffbeat]

I’M UP HATING POP PSYCHOLOGY. MEMEME

to be more serious: i have empathy for the urge to compartmentalize like this. genuinely, i do— for some, processing trauma feels easier when there are ready-made labels for the things/people that hurt them. i so deeply understand the urge to file away overwhelming chaos; to make sense of the cruel and senseless; to be comforted by pop psych “gotcha” moments and cling to categorizations. i know what it feels like to try to neatly reorganize broken self-concepts and horrifying histories. i’ve dealt with this exact issue myself.

that being said… unfortunately, it just. doesn’t. work.

automatically slapping warning labels on ASPD, NPD, BPD, etc is simply not fair nor accurate. the nuances shouldn’t be ignored: does the concept that mental health matters come with conditions? does furthering the stigma really empower victims, or does it drive offenders away from self-awareness and recovery? does it really help to boil human behavior down to lists and labels, or does it just skew our perceptions of ourselves and others even further? is it productive to focus on condensing things, or should we ultimately focus on understanding the complexities that make generalization ultimately impossible?

this is NOT to say that ANYONE has to entertain or forgive abusive people. not at ALL. i’m also not saying those who don’t care to improve should be forgiven and/or granted the opportunity to keep treating others poorly. there is a stark a difference between acknowledging nuance and normalizing/excusing abuse— you can express pain without making harmful blanket statements. in fact, it’s straight up ignorant to disregard those who are working their asses off in recovery. these disorders can be uniquely challenging to live with, and stigma makes everything 10x worse, especially when trauma, defensiveness, and self-hatred are inseparable from disordered beliefs/behaviors. you have EVERY right to cut off shitty individuals and despise them and feel rage and do whatever you need to do to heal— at the same time, people who present in malignant ways won’t get any better if they’re universally met with hostility. after all, 99% of the time, recovery seems like a far better outcome than total shunning. wouldn’t it be so much better if these people had safe spaces in which they could to learn to never abuse other humans again, and to develop healthier self-concepts?

(i say this as someone who’s been abused horribly countless times by people who present like this, developed BPD as a result, and gone through wild amounts of intensive therapy. i no longer meet the criteria for BPD.)

(of course, there are some acts that are UNFORGIVABLE. those require a… unique approach. i don’t feel qualified to go into that territory because personal experiences have left me way too biased; just know that i don’t mean to erase that line.)

also, re: MBTI/love language/brain development/brain gendering/dark empathy/blah blah blah: the same principle applies. individuals’ psychological makeups and backgrounds are too complex to accurately box in. that is the nature of the human condition, and even though it gets overwhelming, at the end of the day, it’s beautiful! there is no linear pathway for anything, and that is a GOOD thing! at best, all of those words can provide useful loose blueprints for furthering introspection; at worst, they create interpersonal divides that are either based on faulty assumptions or entirely non-existent.

we don’t have to fit into boxes to find community. it’s fine to use things like MBTI and love languages as cute, unweighted bonding tools, BUT in order to truly understand each other’s wants, needs, traits, and issues, we simply need to COMMUNICATE. no matter how isolated we feel in our struggles, WE ARE NOT ALONE. we are all mosaics of the experiences that have shaped us, and we each deserve to be understood as works of art, not as sums of our most basic parts.

tl;dr pop psychology egregiously simplifies human behavior and it is Not helpful as it seems

who up hating pop psychology

[hooniehon]

⭑ ﹒LIL STEPSIS ⎯ LHS x SJY

✤ pairings. heeseung jake x fem!reader . 18+

warnings. ✤ stepcest noncon 3some degradation slapping double vaginal penetration praise clit stimulation mean dom!heeseung soft (??) dom!jake lmk if i forgot smth!

don’t like it don’t read it.

WORD COUNT ˳ 2k

the one were you couldn’t wait but have a night out with the date you found online to finally have a day alone without your creep perverted step brothers, but of course it didn’t go well.

⭑

“where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” heeseung questions, pausing whatever he and jake were watching on the television ⎯ heeseung has an annoyed expression on his face cause who are you trying to impress wearing such a sexy dress? whereas jake just scans your whole body with no shame, biting down on his plump lips.

your step brothers became 10x more annoying then they already were since your parents went to this 1 whole month cruise ship trip. that meant that you were going to be stuck with those two, you honestly didn’t think it would be that bad but oh brother were you wrong.. ⎯ all you ever felt was them staring you down like perverted creeps, you didn’t even feel comfortable to wear normal pyjama shorts in your own house it was that bad, cause all they would just do is stare at your exposed legs and have their teeth biting down their lips.

wanting to not deal with that anymore you decide to go on a little date with the guy you recently met on this dating app. wanting nothing more but have a nice day without those two perverts staring you down like you’re some piece of meat. ⎯ to go out of course you had to come up with your best outfit, wearing a tight short black dress a pair of black heels and some cute accessories. ⎯ you didn’t have time for their bullshit trying to walk as fast as you can to go to the door but of course it was too late.

“what do you mean can’t i go out anymore or what?” you say scrunching your eyebrows from the annoying question he asked. ⎯ “you know your mom asked us to take care of you while they’re gone right? i have every right to ask you a simple question don’t i?..” he says slowly making his way to the door to face you. ⎯

jake can’t help but follow his brothers steps just to accompany him.

“i’m just going outside to hangout.” you argue back, rolling your eyes from annoyance. he’s not even your real brother why is he acting so possessive over you like he owns you? you can’t help but feel icky whenever he does that ⎯ “with who?” jake jumps in out of curiosity. “that’s none of you guys business i’m a grown woman i don’t need to tell anything to you guys!” ⎯ heeseung cant help but feel more annoyed from your bitchy attitude, slowly losing his patience.

“just answer the fucking question its not that hard.” he growls out from pure annoyance. you flinch at the sudden attitude he gives you. ⎯ “like i said it’s none of your business now leave me the fuck alone for fucks sake!” you yell out and that was heeseung’s last straw.

he grabs you by your wrist nearly bruising you with his grip and drags you all the way back to the living room pushing you down on the couch. jake quickly follows after the older one, making his way to stand next to heeseung to look at your dress that started to bunch up your hips ⎯ revealing your white lace panties. he already felt his cock hardening at the delicious sight.

“l-let go of me you bastard!” you try to fight back by trying to push hands off of you but of course you got overpowered. ⎯ heeseung being long annoyed by your irritating attitude he gives your cheek a hard slap, trying to shut you up for once. “ouch!” you cry out from the harsh stinging feeling. ⎯ “first you want to go out dressing like a cheap slut and now you want to fight me off? if you want to be treated like a bitch i’ll treat you like one.” he spits out.

the older signals jake to sit on the couch next to where you were thrown so he could put you on his lap. ⎯ jake quickly gets ahold of your arms and presses his lips to your ear. “don’t try to fight back cause you know it’s not going to bring you anywhere sweetie.” he whispers and gives kisses to your earlobe, lowering down to do the same on your neck. ⎯ heeseung goes back between your legs and takes off your heels to take ahold of your legs that were trying to push him off of you. ⎯ he then bunches your dress up more to your waist and eyes your soaked white lace panties. ⎯ “are you sure you’re not enjoying this mhm? look at how fucking wet you are.” he says with a satisfied smirk. giving your pussy harsh slaps ⎯ you yelp at the pain, trying to push your hips away from him but all that did was make more friction between your ass and jake’s cock.

you can already feel his hard cock pulsing on your ass and can’t help but feel utterly disgusted by it. your stepbrothers taking advantage of you. ⎯ jake begins to press his lips against your ears to whisper something again for the second time. “just be a good girl for us and take whatever we give you okay?” ⎯ you push your head away from him to face the other side and he grabs your jaw roughly to make you look up at him again.

“like i said, be a good girl and just take it.” he announces again, his face giving you a warning. he begins to then pull down the straps of your dress bunching it to your waist, fast forward he also gets rid of your bra and begins pinching your nipples. ⎯ you try to suppress your whimpers by biting your lips harshly, nearly drawing out blood. ⎯ while all that happened heeseung took off your panties and began to unbuckle his belt.

“pl-please no, don’t do this to me” you sob out, tears daring to drop from your waterline, jake and heeseung give each other a look and both let out a laugh from how helpless you sound. ⎯ “if you just participate with us it’ll not hurt baby.” heeseung tries to reassure you, bringing his hands to pinch your cheek.

“hee let me fuck her first pleaseee.” jake basically whines from horniness, getting tired of having to rub his dick all over your ass the whole time. ⎯ “fuck no just wait till i’m done” heeseung says rubbing his thumb over his tip to smear his precum all over his dick, slowly pumping it. jake groans out in frustration and throws his head back.

you on the other hand just feel small between them arguing over whoever gets to be in you first. “you know what lets just both fuck her at the same time.” heeseung announces with a grin and you felt like your heart sunk down to your ass from what he said. ⎯ “w-what no! i didn’t agree on that!?” you scream out trying to fight them off again but as you do that you can only hear them chuckle at you again. you’re stupid for thinking you can really fight them off. “well we don’t give a fuck about what you think so just shut the fuck up and take it like the whore you are.” the older warns you. ⎯ jake slowly lifts you up from his lap so he can take of his sweatpants and underwear at the same time and your jaw dropped from how big they both are. jake noticed the expression on your face and leaves out a chuckle. ⎯ “don’t worry baby we’ll fit in just perfectly.” the younger says while stroking his dick up and down with a groan

you then can feel jake’s hands going up & down your waist while heeseung’s are on your face bringing yours to his to kiss you. ⎯ you don’t even bother to return the kiss, just scrunching your face from how rough he was kissing your plump lips. ⎯ he bites your lip signaling you to open your mouth so he can dive more in your wet cavern. ⎯ he begins to explore your mouth, sucking your tongue roughly.

while that was happening jake slowly got ahold of your hips to lower yourself on his hard cock, your tight wet hole making contact with his red tip. jake hisses at the contact of feeling your warm pussy on him and begins to lower you on his dick. heeseung follows you, still exploring your mouth with his tongue. you squeal at the sudden intrusion, jake can’t help but moan out loud, feeling you clench so hard on him.

“woah f-fuuuck sweetie calm down, your clenching so hard on me.” ⎯ heeseung finally leaves your mouth alone and beams at the sight of you making an uncomfortable expression. “h-hyung she’s practically squeezing me i don’t think we’ll both fit in her..” the younger moans out again. ⎯ “we’ll make it fit.” is the last thing heeseung said before he went on his knees to stimulate your clit, rubbing quick circles on it, you let out a moan from the amazing feeling making them both smirk. ⎯ “shit, hyung if you don’t get in her now i’m going to fuck her all by myself.” jake whimpers, and that was all it took for heeseung to slightly get up and push himself in you too. ⎯ you could feel both of their cocks throbbing between your gushing walls and gasped from how full you felt.

“a-aghh fuck!” you scream from the painful stretch, throwing your head back at jake’s shoulder. ⎯ jake slowly pulls out and slams right back in again with full force, making you let out a high pitched moan. ⎯ “of course she’s enjoying it like the cockslut she is.” heeseung grits. ⎯ you felt so overwhelmed by their sweaty bodies rubbing against you.

they then both began plunging in you, thrusting roughly in your tight wet pussy. ⎯ all you could hear around you were their moans and groans from how good you felt around them. “fuuuckk this pussy’s so good” heeseung moaned out from pleasure, throwing his head back while his hand makes way to your face giving light taps on your cheeks. ⎯ all you could do is whimper, being tired of having to suppress them from shame.

“baby loves being full of her 2 stepbrothers doesn’t she mhm?” jake remarks while having a awfully annoying smirk on his face. you shake your head fast not wanting to feed in their delusions. “oh stop trying to lie you know damn well you love this.” jake says, his hand making way to your clit, rubbing it harshly which makes you let out another moan. “see?”

“shit i’m so f-fucking close.” heeseung let’s out while thrusting much more roughly. his hand going to your throat to choke you “gonna cum all over you.” he states, tightening his grip around your throat. “a-agh!” you whimpered from how close you were.

they could both feel how close you were and that gave their ego a boost, thrusting in you like their lives depended on it. “fuck yeah be a good bitch and come on our cocks.” heeseung says.

you don’t even like being called names like that but that was all it took for you to cum on both their dicks. covering your hand to your mouth to make it look like you just didn’t moan so hard. “y-you did so well for us.” jake praises you while his hands are still bruising your hips from the grip he leaves on them. he grabs your hips tighter, signaling how close he is but heeseung grabs you off him and manhandles you on your knees before him grabbing the back of your hair for leverage. you and jake both hiss from the loss of contact and jake huffs an annoying groan, but decides to keep his mouth shut. “f-fuck agh, gonna cum all over this pretty face.” he announces as white ropes spurt all across your face. you couldn’t even process everything from how fast he made you go on your knees. you then get turned around by jake, still being on your knees as he jerks his cock off to leave his release on your face too. “mhphhh!” jake whimpers out as his release spurts on your face too.

heeseung grabs you by the hair again to make your wobbly legs stand up and gives your lips a peck.

“such a good lil stepsis for us.”

it’s finally outtt!!! 🥹

[missarchive]

american jesus⁴ ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; In the final chapter, the dynamic between Spencer and the reader has evolved into something quieter, less fraught with complications. There’s a sense of ease in their connection now, a comfort in simply being in each other’s presence. While the future remains uncertain, they both seem to find a certain peace in the current moment, no longer overanalysing what comes next. The chapter closes on an unspoken understanding, leaving the path forward open, undefined, but somehow, still shared.

cw; +18 minors dni, SMUTTTT, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, inexperienced reader, pleasure dom spencer, fingering, dirty talk, munch!spencer, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, reader calls spencer "sir", idk guys this one's super fucking filthy, spencer cums inside, angst, fluff, praise, cum eating/swapping, spencer grovels for forgiveness, slight love-bombing, spit swallowing, slight overstimulation, spencer's a total perv, lmk if i've missed anything <3

an; the final part!!! thank you for sticking with me through this, this is the longest fic i've written to date at about 12k! P.s. this is written with jesus reid in mind <3 xoxo

It’s been weeks since that argument, yet the memory of Spencer’s words still lingers like a wound you can’t help but poke. Immature. Reckless. You’ve played them over and over in your head, dissecting the way his voice cracked on the harsher syllables, the fear and frustration behind his outburst.

But none of that matters now. He made it clear where he stands…or doesn’t. And you’ve resolved to move on, even if it means pretending your chest doesn’t ache every time you see him.

He walks in, hair slightly disheveled, a stack of papers clutched to his chest. His fingers twitch against the edges, knuckles white. His eyes skim the room, carefully avoiding yours, but you still feel the weight of his presence. He’s ignoring you, and it shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

“As we discussed last time, the concept of memory consolidation…”

His voice, usually a source of comfort, now feels like a barrier. You watch him intently, your hand resting lightly on your notebook, waiting for the moment when you can contribute something meaningful to the discussion.

When the opportunity arises, you raise your hand, heart thudding in your chest. His eyes flicker in your direction for a split second before skimming past you. He calls on someone else.

You blink, lowering your hand slowly. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck, and you fight to keep your face neutral. Maybe he didn’t see you.

But Spencer did see you.

In fact, he saw you the moment you walked into the room, your head held high even though he knows—God, he knows how much he must’ve hurt you. Every second he spends pretending you don’t exist is another stab to his chest, another reminder of how he pushed you away with words too sharp to take back.

Spencer knows he should’ve handled things differently. He shouldn’t have yelled. He shouldn’t have called you immature, reckless, or whatever else his panicked mind had thrown out in an effort to create distance. But the fear—the crushing fear—of losing everything, of losing you, had twisted into something ugly and defensive.

Ignoring you feels like punishment, like standing in the wreckage of something he helped destroy. And yet, he convinces himself it’s the right thing to do. For his job. For your reputation. For the tiny shred of professionalism he has left.

He hears your voice rise again, another eager attempt to participate, and for a moment, his resolve cracks. His gaze lifts, just for a second, but he forces it back down, pretending to sift through his notes. He picks someone else, his voice coming out tighter than before. He can’t let himself soften. Not now.

By the end of the lecture, you feel like you’re being crushed under the weight of his indifference.

As the other students begin to pack up, you linger in your seat, pretending to adjust your notes. Spencer busies himself at the podium, organising his materials with too much precision. Every fiber of him wants to speak to you, to say something, but he remains silent.

When you finally leave, without so much as a glance in his direction, his shoulders sag. The door clicks shut behind you, and he exhales shakily, gripping the edge of the podium to steady himself.

He knows he messed up.

And he’s starting to realize that letting you go was the biggest mistake of all.

Spencer stares at the empty lecture hall long after you’ve left, his fingers absently tracing the worn edge of his notes. The silence around him is deafening, amplifying the thoughts that have been circling his mind since the moment he pushed you away.

He shouldn’t have said those things.

The memory of your expression—hurt, betrayed, yet still defiant plays on a loop in his head. He’s analyzed it a thousand times, picking apart the exact moment he saw the light in your eyes dim. It was right after he called you immature, right after his voice wavered with something dangerously close to regret, but he’d pressed on anyway, too caught up in his fear to stop himself.

He thought cutting you off would make things easier. That ignoring you would put some much-needed distance between you both. But every time he sees you in class, looking straight at him with that quiet determination, he feels like the world is shifting beneath his feet.

Tonight, he doesn’t go home right away. Instead, he finds himself at the local bookstore, pacing the aisles aimlessly, running his hands over book spines as if the answers might be hidden somewhere in their pages. His thoughts are a mess, apologies, regrets, the gnawing ache of missing you, all tangled together in a knot he doesn’t know how to undo.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he stops in front of a small display of classic literature. A collection of short stories catches his eye, your favorite author. He remembers how passionately you spoke about them, how you’d once challenged him to find deeper meaning in the prose when he’d claimed it was too sentimental.

Before he can second-guess himself, he buys the book.

The next morning, he’s in the lecture hall early, long before anyone else arrives. His hands tremble slightly as he pulls the book from his bag and places it carefully on your desk, tucking a small note inside the front cover:

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I miss talking to you.

He hesitates for a long moment, staring down at the message, before quickly retreating to his usual spot at the podium. His heart hammers in his chest as the first students trickle in, and when you finally walk through the door, he forces himself to look away.

You pause at your seat, your brow furrowing at the book resting neatly on your desk. Your fingers brush over the cover, and for a split second, Spencer allows himself to glance up, searching your face for any reaction. But you don’t look at him. Instead, you slide the book into your bag without a word and take your seat as if nothing happened.

Spencer swallows hard, disappointment settling in his chest. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

But he’s not giving up.

Not yet.

You haven’t acknowledged the gesture—not in class, not after, not in the fleeting moments when your eyes almost meet across the room. You carry the book with you now, tucked safely in your bag, but you haven’t said a word about it. Not even a glance in his direction.

And it’s driving him insane.

Spencer isn’t used to feeling this way, this gnawing guilt, this helplessness. He’s spent his life solving complex puzzles, breaking down human behavior into patterns and probabilities. But you? You’ve always been the one thing he couldn’t quite calculate.

So, he tries again.

The next morning, when you walk into class, there’s something small and unassuming on your desk, a cassette tape, carefully placed where only you would notice.

Your fingers hover over it for a moment before you pick it up, inspecting the label scrawled in Spencer’s familiar handwriting:

Songs that remind me of you.

You stare at it, expression unreadable. For a moment, Spencer wonders if you’ll just leave it there, push it aside like it means nothing. But then you slip it into your bag without a word, and his chest tightens with something halfway between relief and frustration.

Still, you don’t speak to him.

But that doesn’t stop him.

A few days later, there’s a cup of your favorite coffee sitting on your desk before you even arrive, the heat still lingering in the cup. The note attached is short, almost tentative:

Thought you might need this.

You hesitate again, fingers tracing the rim of the cup as you glance around the room, like you’re trying to catch him in the act. But Spencer is already at the podium, pretending to review his lecture notes, though his ears burn with anticipation.

You take a sip.

And though you don’t say anything, Spencer catches the tiniest flicker of something soft in your expression before you steel yourself again.

It’s not much. But it’s enough to make him keep trying.

The next week, small gifts keep appearing—your favorite pen when yours mysteriously runs out of ink, a folded paper crane sitting in the middle of your notebook, even a neatly written study guide with helpful annotations in the margins.

Each time, you pretend not to notice. Each time, Spencer wonders if you’ll ever forgive him.

He knows he messed up. He knows words alone won’t fix this. But he hopes, God, he hopes, that maybe persistence will.

At first, you think the book was a fluke.

Maybe he left it there by accident, a leftover impulse from the time when things between you were different—when he would listen to you ramble about your favorite stories and pretend not to be impressed by how much you cared.

But then the cassette tape appeared.

You remember sitting in class, holding it in your hands, staring at the neat, careful handwriting on the label: Songs that remind me of you. A lump had formed in your throat, and for a second, just a second, you thought about confronting him. Asking him what exactly he thought he was doing, why he felt the need to dangle these little reminders of what you used to be in front of you.

But you didn’t. Instead, you shoved the tape into your bag, ignoring the way your hands shook slightly.

Then came the coffee. The stupid cup of coffee sitting on your desk like it belonged there, warm and familiar and him. You almost didn’t drink it out of sheer stubbornness, but the note: Thought you might need this, sat there staring at you, and somehow, it felt worse to let it go to waste.

So you took a sip.

And the worst part? It tasted exactly the way you liked it. Because of course he remembered.

The next time it was your favorite pen, smooth and easy in your grip just like the one you always used—until yours ran out of ink at the worst possible moment. You’d stared at it for too long before finally picking it up and using it, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite name.

And now, as you sit in class, your fingers trace over the paper crane he left on your desk this morning. It’s small and delicate, made with precision that you know took time, and something about that unsettles you more than you’d like to admit.

He’s trying.

And you hate that it’s working.

You keep telling yourself that you should stay mad. That you should hold onto the anger from that night—the words he flung at you like knives, the way he made you feel so small. You remind yourself of the humiliation, of the ache that settled deep in your chest when he turned away and left you standing there alone.

But still… he remembers. The coffee, the songs, the little things that no one else would ever notice. And that’s what makes it harder to push him away completely.

You glance toward the front of the room, where Spencer is hunched over his notes, pretending to be absorbed in them. But you know better. The tension in his shoulders, the way he hasn’t called on you in weeks, the flickers of his gaze when he thinks you’re not looking—it’s all there, plain as day.

He’s waiting.

And you hate that a tiny part of you is waiting, too.

The gifts keep coming.

At first, you think they’ll stop after a few days, that he’ll get tired of the silent treatment you’ve been giving him. But Spencer Reid is nothing if not persistent.

Today, it’s a folded piece of paper tucked inside your notebook, carefully slipped in sometime before you arrived. Your chest tightens the moment you see it, and despite your better judgment, you unfold it with a quiet curiosity.

It’s a handwritten list.

Books you might like.

Your eyes skim the titles, some you’ve mentioned in passing, others completely new but eerily fitting your taste. You swallow hard, your fingertips lingering over his handwriting, neat and deliberate, as if he put real thought into each selection. Because he did.

You hate how well he knows you.

Sliding the paper into your bag, you pretend not to notice the way Spencer's shoulders shift slightly at the podium, like he’s waiting for some sign that you’ve seen it. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

You should be angry. You are angry. But underneath it, something else festers—something warm and unsteady that you’re not ready to face.

The next morning, there’s something different waiting on your desk. A small, almost inconspicuous flower, nestled between the pages of your textbook. Pressed and delicate, like it’s been saved for a long time.

You pause, staring at it longer than you should, before carefully closing the book around it and moving on as if nothing happened. But your heart betrays you, thudding hard against your ribs as you struggle to keep your expression neutral.

Spencer, standing at the front of the room, doesn’t look at you once. But you can feel the weight of his presence like gravity pulling at you.

This silent game you’re playing, it’s exhausting.

He’s trying.

And it’s getting harder to ignore.

By the end of class, you find yourself lingering, watching him from the corner of your eye as he pretends to organise his papers. Your fingers brush the edge of the book in your bag, where the flower is safely tucked away, and for a brief moment, you consider saying something—anything.

But then you remember how easily he walked away last time.

So instead, you leave without a word, ignoring the way your heart feels just a little heavier with every step you take.

The gifts stop.

You don’t notice it right away. It’s only after a few days of arriving to an empty desk, no thoughtful notes, no carefully placed trinkets, that it finally sinks in. At first, you feel relieved. No more gentle reminders of what you lost. No more soft apologies tucked between pages and beneath coffee cups.

But then why does it feel so… disappointing?

You shake the thought away as you sit through another lecture, taking notes with the pen he gave you. The small reminders are still there, whether you like it or not.

And that’s when he changes his strategy.

“Y/N.”

His voice stops you cold, just as you’re packing up your things. It’s the first time he’s said your name in weeks, and it sounds almost foreign on his lips, careful and unsure.

You look up slowly, wary, your heart hammering in your chest. “Yes, Dr. Reid?”

His mouth presses into a thin line, and for a second, you swear he looks almost hurt. His fingers fidget with the strap of his bag, and there’s something in his eyes, something regretful, something desperate.

“I—” He hesitates, glancing around at the few lingering students still shuffling out of the room. “Can I talk to you?”

You stiffen, forcing yourself to stay neutral. “About?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, and you can practically feel the weight of all the unsaid things hanging between you. “About… the class,” he says finally, but the hesitation in his voice betrays him. “Your last paper. I had some thoughts.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. And for a moment, you almost believe him—almost fall back into that easy rhythm of long discussions and shared ideas. But you catch yourself, steeling your expression.

“I think I’m managing fine,” you say, slipping your bag onto your shoulder. “Thanks, though.”

You turn to leave, but he steps closer, too close, and you have to fight the urge to back away.

“Y/N, please.”

The crack in his voice is almost enough to make you stop. Almost.

But instead, you keep walking, ignoring the way his presence lingers behind you like a shadow.

The next lecture, it happens again.

And the one after that.

Every time, he waits. Every time, he calls your name, softer, more insistent. He tries to start conversations, little ones, harmless ones, asking about assignments, books, anything to get you to talk to him. And every time, you walk away, pretending you don’t notice the way his voice trembles just slightly when you turn your back on him.

But you notice.

It’s almost routine now.

Class ends, you gather your things, and before you can make it to the door, Spencer is there—waiting, watching, always just close enough that you can’t ignore him entirely.

“Y/N, wait—”

You don’t. You keep walking, pretending not to hear the quiet desperation in his voice. But he’s not deterred.

The next class, he tries again.

“I wanted to talk to you about—”

“I have to go.”

And again.

“I—uh, I found this article I thought you might find interesting—”

“I’m busy.”

Each time, his voice gets a little softer, his eyes a little more tired. But he doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s getting bolder.

One afternoon, you’re halfway out the door when he catches up to you, falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You know,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “there was this study done on avoidance behaviour. It found that people who actively avoid situations tend to experience heightened stress and—”

“Seriously, Spencer?” you snap, stopping in your tracks. You whip around to face him, and for a second, he looks almost startled to hear you say his name. His first name.

His mouth opens, then closes again, as if he doesn’t know what to do now that he has your attention. His fingers fidget nervously with the strap of his bag, and his eyes—those ridiculous, stupidly expressive eyes—are wide and earnest.

“I just…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. “I miss talking to you.”

You inhale sharply, that familiar ache creeping into your chest. “You don’t get to do this, Spencer.” Your voice is quieter now, but firm. “You don’t get to push me away and then decide you want me back when it’s convenient.”

His face falls, and for a moment, you almost regret saying it. But then he nods slowly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”

You hold his gaze for a beat too long before shaking your head and walking away.

But this time, it doesn’t feel like a victory.

You start seeing him everywhere.

At first, you think it’s just bad luck—running into him outside the library, at the campus coffee shop, even near the quiet corner of the park where you like to study. But after the third time in one week, it’s obvious that it’s not a coincidence.

He’s trying. Again.

You spot him before he sees you this time, sitting on a bench near your usual spot, a book in his hands but his gaze flickering up every few seconds, like he’s waiting, hoping you’ll notice him.

You consider turning around, walking the other way, but something inside you tightens at the thought. You’re tired of running. Tired of pretending his presence doesn’t affect you.

So, you sit. Not next to him, but close enough that he knows you’ve seen him. Close enough that you can feel the tension humming between you, thick and heavy.

A few minutes pass before he speaks. “I didn’t know you liked this place.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “I doubt that.”

His lips twitch, the ghost of a smile, but there’s something almost sad in it. “Okay,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I might have… remembered you mentioning it once.”

You exhale, shaking your head. “Spencer—”

“I know,” he interrupts, voice quiet but insistent. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I just—” He hesitates, fingers gripping the edges of his book like it’s the only thing grounding him. “I wanted to see you.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes your heart stutter. Like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

You look down at your notebook, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into your chest. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “But I’m going to anyway.”

You don’t know whether to be annoyed or touched.

After a moment, you sigh, flipping open your notes and pointedly ignoring him. But you don’t get up to leave.

And Spencer, for once, seems content just sitting there. Close enough, but not too close.

The days that follow feel like a delicate balance, each encounter with Spencer nudging at the edges of your resolve. At first, you tell yourself it’s nothing, he’s persistent, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s breaking through. You’re still in control. You remind yourself of all the reasons you keep him at arm’s length, the walls you’ve built around yourself, stronger than ever after everything.

But as the days stretch on, those walls start to feel more fragile.

You see him again, this time outside a classroom. He’s standing near the door, arms crossed, looking uncharacteristically uncertain as he scans the crowd for you. When his eyes find yours, it’s like he’s finally breathing. Like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.

“Hi,” he says, voice slightly hesitant, but his smile, that familiar, soft smile, makes your chest tighten. “I—uh—I’ve been meaning to ask, if you’re not too busy... Would you like to grab coffee after class?”

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes. He’s persistent, you can’t deny that. But there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes you hesitate.

“I don’t know, Spencer,” you reply, voice a little firmer than you intend. “You don’t have to keep trying.”

His smile falters, but he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he steps forward, just a little, and you notice how his fingers flex against the strap of his bag, the quiet anxiety there. It makes your heart twist, but you push it away.

“I know. But I want to,” he says simply, with that same quiet intensity. “I miss talking to you. It doesn’t feel right not... having you around.”

Something in his words catches you off guard. You feel a flicker of something inside you—something you’ve been trying to ignore for too long. His presence has become like a ghost in the back of your mind, never quite leaving, always lurking. And for the first time in what feels like ages, you wonder if maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

You glance at him, letting your guard down just a little, before you let out a sigh.

“Alright,” you say, almost reluctantly, “But just coffee. No more… no more trying, okay?”

He looks at you like you’ve given him the world, and something inside you cracks just a little bit more. “Okay. Just coffee.”

It’s a small step. But it’s a step forward. And somehow, that feels like the beginning of something you’ve been trying so hard to avoid.

Spencer’s already sitting at a table in the corner, a book in front of him, but the second the door opens, his gaze snaps to you. He doesn’t even look surprised—just relieved.

“Hey,” he says, standing up quickly, his voice just shy of uncertain, but his smile genuine. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

You glance around, taking in the space, trying to ignore the way your heart starts to race just seeing him there. “This place is... different.”

Spencer gives a small shrug, eyes flicking to the side. “I thought it might be nicer—less busy. You know, somewhere we can actually talk without having to yell over the noise.”

You stare at him for a beat, almost surprised by how considerate he sounds. “I didn’t think you’d know the first thing about quiet spots.”

His lips curl into a sheepish grin. “I guess I’m full of surprises,” he says, his tone light but a bit uncertain.

You can’t help but chuckle, feeling the tension between you start to ease. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s nice.”

Spencer looks relieved, but his gaze softens a little. “I’m glad you think so. I wanted this to be… better. For us.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. For a second, the air feels heavier. He’s not just here because he wants something from you. He’s here because he wants to be with you, in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider before.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he leans back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly on the table. “I know I’ve probably been too pushy lately. I get it. But I just… I miss you. And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just want to be here. If you’ll let me.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his words. You feel a twinge in your chest, something you haven’t let yourself feel in a long time. “Spencer…”

“I know,” he interrupts, voice softer now. “I know. I’ve been trying to figure it out, how to give you space. But I don’t want to let go either. I want to be around. Even if it’s just this—just coffee and talking. No more... no more rushing things.”

You take a breath, your gaze drifting to the table. His words are simple, but there’s something in them that makes it hard to push him away.

“I’m not saying I’m ready for everything to just… go back to normal,” you admit, your voice quieter. “But I don’t want to keep avoiding this, either.”

Spencer’s eyes brighten at that, and he leans forward just slightly, his gaze intense but warm. “No pressure. I’m not going anywhere.”

You can’t help but nod, the corners of your mouth turning up a little. “Okay. Just coffee, for now.”

His smile is soft and real, like it’s been a while since he’s had a reason to show it. And in that moment, you think maybe—just maybe—you’re beginning to let him in.

You tell yourself it’s still nothing. Just coffee. Just familiar habits that are hard to break. But when you find yourself walking into that same quiet café again—when your eyes immediately search for him—you know you’re lying.

Spencer’s already there, his usual spot by the window, fingers wrapped around a cup that’s probably gone cold by now. He’s staring out at the street, lost in thought, and for a brief moment, you consider walking past, pretending you didn’t see him. But then, as if sensing you, his head turns, and his eyes meet yours.

This time, there’s no nervous startle. Just a slow, tentative smile.

You sigh, stepping forward before you can talk yourself out of it. He stands when you reach the table—always the gentleman—and you wave a hand at him, rolling your eyes. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know,” he says easily, but the way his fingers twitch at his sides tells you he’s still figuring out how to act around you.

You sit, and before you can even glance at the menu, there’s already a cup in front of you. Your usual, just like last time. You arch an eyebrow at him, but he only shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

You could argue—tell him not to make assumptions—but the warmth of the cup in your hands feels... nice. Familiar. So instead, you take a sip and let the silence stretch between you.

Spencer fidgets with his sleeve, then glances up through his lashes. “How’s your week been?”

It’s such a simple question, but for some reason, it catches you off guard. You hesitate before answering, “Fine. Busy.”

He nods like he’s cataloging the information, filing it away for later. “I, um... I was reading something that reminded me of you.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a book, sliding it across the table. “I thought you might like it.”

You stare at the book, your fingers hovering over the worn cover. It’s thoughtful, maybe too thoughtful, and for a second, you feel the familiar urge to pull away, to remind him of the distance you put between you.

“Spencer...”

“I know,” he says quickly, leaning back. “No expectations. Just... I saw it and thought of you. That’s all.”

You hate how easily he reads you, how effortlessly he disarms the excuses you’ve been holding onto. With a quiet sigh, you pick up the book, flipping through the pages absentmindedly.

“Thanks,” you murmur, and when you glance up, his eyes are soft, hopeful but not pushing.

For the rest of the coffee, you let the conversation flow in slow, careful steps—nothing too personal, nothing too deep. But the walls you’ve built aren’t as solid as they used to be.

And when you leave, the book is still in your hands.

It starts creeping in when you least expect it.

Little things—quiet moments that used to be yours alone—are suddenly filled with the weight of his absence. The inside jokes that no one else would understand, the random facts he’d blurt out when he got nervous, the way he’d always—always—remember the smallest things about you.

You catch yourself thinking about him more than you’d like to admit. Wondering what book he’s reading now, if he’s still showing up at that café, if he’s sitting by the window hoping you’ll walk through the door again. And it’s infuriating—how much space he takes up in your head despite all your efforts to keep him out.

But it’s not just in your head anymore. It’s in your chest, a dull ache that lingers whenever you pass by the places you used to see him. And slowly, inevitably, your resolve starts to slip.

The first time you slip, it’s barely anything. Just a text.

Did you ever finish that book you were telling me about?

You stare at the message for longer than you should before hitting send. And when the reply comes almost instantly—Yeah. It made me think of you.—you realise just how much you’ve missed the way he always ties things back to you, like you’re still a constant in his world.

You tell yourself it’s harmless, just a conversation. But one text turns into another, and another, and soon enough, you’re back to talking late into the night, the glow of your phone illuminating your pillow as his words make you laugh—really laugh—for the first time in a while.

The second time you slip, it’s worse.

You go to the café, fully intending to sit alone, to prove to yourself that you don’t need him there. But the moment you step inside and see him, already sitting in the corner with a book he’s barely paying attention to, it’s like something inside you cracks.

His eyes widen when he notices you, surprised but hopeful. He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches as you walk over and slide into the seat across from him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t know what to say at first, but then Spencer offers you that small, tentative smile—the one that always used to break through your walls—and suddenly, you don’t feel like fighting it anymore.

"Hey," you say softly.

His eyes soften. "Hey."

And just like that, you're back in that quiet space between friendship and something more.

The third time you slip, it’s undeniable.

You find yourself reaching for him, metaphorically at first, sending texts when your day feels off, calling when you can’t sleep. But then it becomes literal. A touch here, a lingering glance there.

You miss him. More than you want to admit. And Spencer, being Spencer, doesn’t push. He just waits, patient and steady, like he’s always been.

And maybe... maybe you’re finally starting to realise that you don’t want him to wait anymore.

It’s late when you hear the knock at your door. Too late for anyone to be stopping by without a reason. You hesitate, staring at the door like it might answer for you, your heart already picking up speed in your chest.

A part of you already knows who it is before you even look through the peephole.

Spencer stands on the other side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, his hair a little messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it too much. There’s something in his posture, an uncertainty, a restlessness, that makes your stomach twist.

You consider not answering. Pretending you’re not home. But deep down, you know it wouldn’t change anything. So, with a slow breath, you unlock the door and pull it open.

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The hallway is too quiet, the air between you thick with words left unsaid.

“I can’t stay away anymore.”

The words come out in a rush, his voice low but desperate, like he’s been holding them in for too long. His eyes search yours, pleading, hopeful. “I tried, I really did, but I—” He swallows hard, shifting on his feet. “We need to talk.”

You should say no. You should tell him it’s too late for this—too late for him to show up at your door like this, looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him together. But instead, you step aside, letting the door swing open a little wider.

Spencer hesitates, his breath hitching, before stepping inside. He stands awkwardly in your living room, looking around like he’s trying to remember how it felt to belong here.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the door. “Spencer, what are you doing here?”

He lets out a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I just... I couldn’t do it anymore. Pretending like we’re okay with things being like this.”

Your throat tightens, and you hate how much his words affect you. “We were doing fine,” you say, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

“No, we weren’t,” he counters, his voice soft but certain. “I miss you. And I know I messed things up before, but I—” He pauses, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t care. Like I don’t need you.”

You swallow, looking away. “Spencer... it’s complicated.”

“I know,” he says quickly, stepping closer. “But I don’t care how complicated it is. I don’t care if you need time, or space, or if you’re not ready to figure this out yet. I just—” He exhales sharply. “I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I never was.”

Your resolve, the one you’ve been holding onto so tightly, wavers under the weight of his words. The way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing that makes sense in his world, makes your chest ache.

After a long pause, you sigh, running a hand over your face. “Spencer... you’re impossible, you know that?”

He smiles—small, but real. “I’ve been told.”

You shake your head, but there’s no real fight left in you. “Fine. Talk.”

His shoulders relax, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, and as he sits down on your couch, you realise something terrifying.

You missed him too.

Maybe more than you were willing to admit.

Spencer sits on your couch, his fingers laced tightly together like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching out. His knee bounces slightly, nervous energy spilling out in little ways, but his eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering. Determined.

“I don’t care about my job,” he says, and it’s so sudden, so absolute, that it takes you a moment to process it.

You blink at him. “Spencer, what are you—”

“I don’t care,” he repeats, leaning forward, his voice low but insistent. “If it’s my job that’s keeping us apart, I’ll leave. I’ll get a position at a different school, another department—hell, I’ll move out of the city if that’s what it takes.” His words come in a rush, desperate and unfiltered, like he’s been holding them in for too long. “I just... I don’t want to lose you over this.”

Your chest tightens, a sharp ache settling deep inside you. “Spencer, you’ve worked so hard to get where you are. You love what you do.”

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “No. I love you.” His voice cracks, just slightly, but he presses on. “The job, the school... none of it matters if I don’t have you.”

You stare at him, words caught in your throat. This is Spencer—logical, pragmatic Spencer—offering to throw away everything he’s built because of you. Because he wants you back. And it’s terrifying.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” you murmur, shaking your head. “This... this isn’t something you can just throw away.”

“I have thought about it,” he insists, his eyes pleading with you to believe him. “I’ve thought about nothing but this. Every day. Every night.” He exhales, his hands gripping the fabric of his pants like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “I can’t keep pretending that work is enough to fill the space you left.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. The weight of what he’s saying, what he’s offering, hangs heavy in the air between you.

After a long pause, you shake your head again, weaker this time. “You don’t have to do that, Spencer.”

His eyes soften, and for the first time tonight, his voice is gentle. “But I want to. I want to do whatever it takes to fix this. To be with you.”

Your throat feels tight, emotions bubbling up to the surface faster than you can push them down. “Spencer...”

He leans forward just a little, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Just tell me what you want. If you tell me there’s still a chance, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

You feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece, under the weight of his sincerity. The way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered—makes it so much harder to hold onto the walls you’ve built.

You take a shaky breath, searching his face for some kind of answer. And for the first time in a long time, you realise that maybe... maybe you don’t want to fight this anymore.

Your eyes search his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The doubts, the fear, the stubborn voice in your head telling you to keep your distance. None of it matters.

Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

You don’t think. You just move.

One second, you’re sitting there, caught in the gravity of him, and the next, your lips are on his, soft and searching, your hands curling into the front of his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go.

Spencer freezes, just for a beat, and then he’s kissing you back, his hands hovering over your sides, hesitant—like he can’t quite believe this is real. But you feel it in the way he exhales against your mouth, in the way his fingers finally find their place on your waist, holding you like he’s afraid he might be dreaming.

It’s not slow, but it’s not desperate either. It’s something in between—familiar and new all at once, a collision of everything you’ve both been holding back for too long.

You pull back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Your heart is pounding, and you can feel his racing just as fast beneath your hands.

“Tell me this isn’t a mistake,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

You shake your head, eyes fluttering closed. “It’s not.”

His grip on you tightens, and the relief in his expression is enough to make your chest ache. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he murmurs, and there’s something so raw in the way he says it, like it’s the only thing that’s mattered all along.

You tilt his chin up gently, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Then don't.”

A low groan escapes Spencer’s chest, and in an instant, he’s pulling you into his arms with a desperation you didn’t know he had in him. His lips crash against yours, hot and urgent, as if he can’t get close enough. The kiss is deep, raw, and hungry—neither of you holding back any longer.

You lose track of who’s moving who, but suddenly you’re pressed against the wall, Spencer’s body firm against yours, his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. His lips part yours as his tongue makes its way inside, a sigh slipping from your mouth at the intensity of the kiss. You tug at his hair, hard enough that he groans, but neither of you pulls away. Instead, he presses into you, every inch of him consumed with the desire he’s been hiding—just as much as you’ve been hiding yours.

His cock digs into your hip as you press yourself up against him, a flutter low in your belly. God, how you want him so badly. 

He tears his mouth away from yours, panting. “I’ve wanted this,” he mutters against your lips. “I’ve needed this for so fucking long, y/n.”

He nips at your chin, at your neck, anywhere he can, moving lower. Your head falls back against the wall as he trails open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips. You can feel the pressure building inside of you, a wild, uncontrollable fire.

“Spencer,” you gasp. “Please...”

His lips ghost over your clothed nipple, then his teeth are tugging on your bra, pulling the cup down. He licks over your skin, his breath hot against your flesh. Then he’s sucking you into his mouth, his tongue swirling over you, dark brown eyes gazing up at you. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh there as you squirm against him.

He moans, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. His fingers trail down your stomach, palms pushing your skirt up around your waist when you feel his fingers graze your underwear.

He slips his fingers beneath the fabric, his thumb slowly rubbing at your clit. A whimper tears its way out of your throat.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his teeth tugging at your nipple. “Gonna make you cum over n over. Gonna make you beg for it.”

You’re already there, but you don’t tell him that.

Instead, you push back against him as his fingers start to thrust inside of you. Your underwear is still in the way, but it doesn’t matter. 

“I want this,” you tell him. “I want everything you can give me.”

He makes a noise against your skin, and you know that he’s giving in. That he’s letting go of his fears of crossing the line, of being inappropriate with a student. Of the ethics, of the potential consequences.

As he keeps kissing your neck, his fingers slipping inside of you harder and faster, you realise that you want this for more than just the moment. You want to explore these feelings between the two of you, to see where they take you. If they can take you somewhere special.

He groans again, and you hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper. You feel him press against you, his cock hard and thick through his underwear. He’s still wearing his trousers, but his cock is free, rubbing up and down over your clit.

“Gonna cum, Spence,” you tell him, the words coming out of your mouth in a rush. Your legs are shaking, your knees weak. Your orgasm is building, breathing growing heavy, just threatening to spill over. “Fuck, please, I need to—”

He grunts, his hips moving faster, pressing you back harder against the wall. You can feel him, feel his cock throbbing and hot against your sensitive flesh..

“Look at me,” he orders, pulling away from you.

You force your eyes open, staring up at him as your orgasm rips through you. It’s blinding, overwhelming, making your vision blur. He leans forward and kisses you, swallowing your moan whole. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is dizzying.

Spencer breaks the kiss first, pulling his fingers out of you as your orgasm recedes. You blink up at him, dizzy, as he lifts the fingers to his lips and licks them clean.

“Taste,” he whispers, pretty eyes flitting to your lips as he brings his mouth back to yours. You can feel rough stubble rasping against your skin, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when you're finally getting what you want.

You press into the kiss hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue, letting out a soft noise of need as his tongue explores your mouth.

He turns you around, his hand on your chest pushing you into the wall as he leans over you. His breath is hot against your neck, your shoulder. “Bend over for me,” he whispers, his voice deep and raspy. “I’m not going to fuck you just yet. First, you’re going to cum on my tongue.”

“Spencer,” you groan. He’s going to tease you, to torture you until you can’t think anymore.

You’re dripping with need, your pussy clenching as you feel him slide his fingers inside of you again. He works his way up your back, then down to the curve of your ass. He rubs a circle over the flesh there, teasing. You know what he’s doing.

His mouth is on you suddenly, and all you can do is gasp for air. His tongue is hot and slick against your clit. He presses inside, his lips and tongue rubbing over your sensitive flesh.

You groan, your hips twitching as he keeps licking into you, pleasure so strong that it’s almost painful. Your pussy aches, clenching with the need to be filled.

“Please,” you pant. “Fuck...”

Spencer makes a sound in the back of his throat, then his fingers are back, thrusting deep inside of you, rubbing over your g-spot with his fingertips.

“Fuck, angel… taste so good, always knew you would,” he grunts into your weeping cunt, voice muffled against your flesh.

You can barely breathe.

Spencer is relentless, using his tongue to make you feel things you never have before. He’s got your clit trapped between his teeth, his fingers curled inside of you.

The pressure building inside of you again, climbing higher and higher.

Your legs give out and you feel Spencer hold you up. Finally, he pulls away and you’re sagging back into his arms, breath coming in gasps and pants.

Spencer holds you upright as he drags your skirt back down over your hips. Then he’s turning you around, pulling you close as you tremble in his arms.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers. “I can’t believe I waited this long to touch you.”

He kisses you again, the taste of your pussy still on his tongue. You moan against him, your head spinning.

“Please, don't make me wait,” you gasp, pushing back against him, feeling his cock throb in response.

“You want my cock, angel?” he rasps.

“Yes,” you pant. “Please, fuck me.”

And then he’s kissing you again, tongue parting your lips and slipping inside your mouth. You feel him walking you backwards, towards the couch in his living room. 

He sits on the couch and pulls you onto his lap, moving to straddle him as you kiss him, his cock throbbing against your inner thigh.

“Wanna sit on this cock, pretty girl?,” he growls, breaking the kiss. “Show me how much you need it?”

Your lips are swollen from his kisses, your skin hot all over. He helps you up as you move to straddle his cock, gripping your waist to keep you balanced as you sink down, feeling him nudge against your pussy before finally pushing inside.

Your head falls back as you cry out, feeling your pussy stretch around him. You’re so wet that it’s easy, but he’s still big, bigger than you’d ever taken.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “It feels...”

Spencer swallows hard as he stares up at you. “Yeah, angel?” he murmurs, his hands skating over your thighs to your hips. “Tell me how it feels.”

You start to move your hips, grinding yourself down onto him. It’s a slow, sweet torture. Every time you clench your pussy around him, his eyes flicker closed for a moment before he opens them again. His gaze is fixed on yours, dark with need.

“Spencer,” you moan, leaning forward to kiss him.

He groans into the kiss as you start to ride him, picking up the pace. Your hips roll against him over and over, making the couch creak and groan beneath you. “I said tell me how it feels.” 

“Fuck! Feels so so good, sir,” you babble as you break the kiss. You’re close again, cunt pulsing as you take him in his entirety. His hands knead at your ass, guiding you up and down.

“I’ve got you,” he pants, his lips moving over your neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He groans and then you feel him start to move beneath you. His hips thrusting up into you as you grind down, the sensation so overwhelming that it makes your vision blur.

Feeling your pussy clench around him again, you hear him make a noise in the back of his throat, then you’re cumming again, your body trembling above him as the pleasure spills over inside of you. Spencer holds you close, his arms wrapping around your back as his hips thrust up into you again.

“Spencer,” you cry, your head falling back. He’s still thrusting into you, still fucking you as he groans in pleasure.

He cock spilling inside of you, pulsing as he buries himself deep. His arms tighten around your back, holding you close to him. Your body shudders against his as he groans and pants, his breath hot against the bare skin of your neck. You feel his lips on your skin, soft and sweet.

You stay like that for a long moment, Spencer buried deep inside of you as you catch your breath. You blink down at him in surprise, feeling his cock fill you up again.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s eyes open, his pupils wide with need. He swallows. “Shh, angel. Just take it,” he tells you, his voice hoarse with need. “You're a good girl, aren't you? Gonna take what I give you?”

You feel him start to move again, his hips flexing up and down. You’re still sore from the last time, but the sensation of his cock rubbing against your sensitive walls makes your eyes flutter closed.

“Oh God,” you gasp. He’s picking up the pace now, fucking you with a hunger and desperation that makes your head spin. His cock somehow feels even bigger as he thrusts into you again and again, his hands holding onto your hips, keeping you in place. 

His lips are soft and gentle against your own, tongue moving into your mouth.

Crying out into the kiss, your orgasm comes fast, overwhelming you so quickly that you can’t even process it. You feel his thick cock pulse inside of you, the wet sound of him filling you up again making your head spin.

You’re both gasping for air as you come, your bodies trembling against each other.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you collapse on him or lean back. Instead, he keeps moving, his hips thrusting up and down in a rhythm that makes your head swirl.

“Spencer—”

“Not yet,” he gasps. His eyes are wild, his pupils so dark and wide that they make you feel dizzy. “Not yet, y/n.”

You can feel him filling you again, his cock rubbing over your sensitive walls. Your pussy clenches around him again, even though you’ve already cum. He groans, his voice so loud in your ears that it makes your body shudder.

“Sir- fuck… Spencer,” you whimper.

He presses his lips to your throat, licking at your skin. His hands are still holding onto you, keeping you upright even as your legs threaten to collapse beneath you. You feel like a puppet, your strings being manipulated by the movements of his cock.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp. Your vision is blurring now, breathing coming in short gasps. His cock is relentless as he thrusts in and out of you, making your cunt clench around him again.

Your orgasm tears through you, wild and uncontrollable, pussy milking his cock as he keeps pumping into you.

Spencer grunts as you cum, his breathing heavy as he buries himself inside of you. His cock pulses inside of you, hard and deep. 

You collapse into his arms, barely conscious.

He holds you there as his cock starts to soften, still buried deep inside of your throbbing pussy. Your limbs feel heavy, your head lolling against him as you struggle to catch your breath.

“Fuck,” he whispers in your ear.

Your pussy clenches again at his voice, his lips moving over your skin, kissing and licking you, murmuring words against your skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of you,” he whispers.

You let out a soft whimper of response, your body feeling overstimulated. Every movement of his mouth over your skin makes your pussy clench.

“Too much, Spencer, it’s too much.” You whisper, making no move to push him away.

He groans softly in response, his hand sliding between your legs and down to your pussy. You try to squirm away from the touch, but it’s no use. His finger is rubbing at your clit as his tongue moves inside your mouth, making your head spin.

“Spencer,” you gasp. “Fuck.”

He growls something deep in his throat, his finger moving faster. “You can do it, baby. You can give me another.” Your eyes are rolled back, your head pressed against the couch behind him.

You shatter apart in his arms, his mouth swallowing you whole. 

He holds you close for a long moment before he leans forward to kiss you softly. He murmurs words against your lips, words that are sweet and gentle and loving, then you feel him shift your body so that he can pull out of your pussy.

You make a soft whimpering sound as his cock slides out of you, feeling the cum drip down your thighs. He reaches between your legs to cup your pussy, feeling the wetness drip out of you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Look at that. So fucking full of my cum.”

He pulls his hand away and holds it out towards you. He looks up at you with dark eyes as he moves his fingers to your mouth. You watch as the cum drips off them and down your chin as you lean forward and lick them clean, swirling your tongue around his digits, collecting your mixed release.

Spencer groans, cock twitching against your thigh, still half-hard. He pulls his hand back, rubbing the cum over your pussy.

“Stay like that for me,” he rasps, his voice full of need. “So fuckin’ pretty, such a messy girl.”

“Anything, Spencer,” you whisper back.

You watch as he strokes himself again, groaning as his cock hardens again. You feel empty without him inside of you, like a part of you is missing.

It’s not long before you feel his lips on yours again, his tongue moving into your mouth.

“I have to taste you,” he growls against your lips. “I need to taste you, need to taste us.”

He breaks the kiss and presses your head to the side. You watch in a daze as he moves down your body, lifting your skirt up over your hips and leaning forward. His hands press your thighs apart as he stares at your cum-drenched pussy.

“I think you can cum again for me,” he murmurs.

You whimper in response.

Spencer presses his thumb to your clit. You cry out as he rubs at you, feeling your body tremble again. You’re barely able to hold yourself up at this point, your muscles so overstimulated that you’re trembling all over.

“Please—”

He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Please what, angel?”

You whine in response.

“Please what?” he growls again. “Ask me nicely.”

Your eyes flutter closed. You feel his thumb rub at your clit again, and your pussy clenches.

“Please,” you gasp. “Spencer. Please, just need you.”

He kisses your thigh again before moving up towards your mouth. Lips move against yours as you tremble against him, his kiss hungry and deep. You feel your head spin as you try to return it.

He breaks the kiss and looks up at you, his gaze hungry. “Open your mouth for me,” he growls.

You do as he asks, parting your lips as he moves towards your mouth, then he’s spitting inside of it, his saliva dripping down your chin.

He rubs his spit into your skin with his hand, leaving it there, watching it glisten over your lips and chin. His hand moves back to your pussy, rubbing his cum into you again. He keeps going until you’re dripping with it, until the cum is running down your inner thighs.

“Look at you,” he rasps, leaning forward to kiss your lips again. “Look at what you did.”

Then you feel him lean forward and lick up his cum, his tongue rubbing against your sensitive clit. You make a noise deep in your throat and try to arch into him, his hands holding you down.

“No,” he rasps. “Stay still.”

“But—”

He leans forward, licking at you again. You can’t take your eyes off the sight of his tongue moving over you, can’t help the way your body shudders in response.

Spencer looks up at you as he licks at you. His eyes are dark with hunger, his mouth dripping with his cum. “Stay just like that,” he growls. “Such a good girl, my pretty little angel.”

His tongue making you shudder as your orgasm builds again. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking against him, your clit so sensitive that you’re almost sobbing, cunt clenching so hard that you feel like you might explode.

You cum hard against his mouth, his tongue licking at your release even as you clench around it. His tongue never stops, even as you whimper and thrash out against him. He holds you down and licks you until you’re a trembling, shuddering mess against him.

Then finally he pulls back, looking up at you with hungry eyes.

You look up at him dazedly, your body still quivering. Your legs are still draped over his shoulders, your pussy open to him. Cum is still dripping down your thighs.

Your eyes widen as you watch him stroke himself, his hand moving fast. His eyes are fixed on your pussy as his cock stiffens, as his breathing comes faster and faster.

Then he’s leaning down, kissing your pussy one last time.

You can’t help yourself from arching against him, even though he makes no move to touch your clit this time. Your body is too overstimulated, too sensitive to his touch. 

Spencer kisses over your pussy again and again, making you tremble as you feel his cock rub against your thigh. You hear him grunt as his cock pulses, feel his cum soak your pussy all over again. His mouth moves over you again and again as you tremble and whimper, his cum dripping over your swollen cunt.

Finally, he pulls back, finally allowing you to collapse onto the couch, barely able to keep your eyes open.

Spencer pulls you into his arms, holding you tight against him. You lean forward, burying your face in his chest as you try to catch your breath. You hear him whispering words in your ear, sweet and soft.

“Good girl, baby. Such a good girl for me,” you hear him murmur. “Did so well, made me so proud.”

Then his fingers are back between your legs, rubbing at you with gentle strokes. You hear his voice whispering words of praise, telling you what a good girl you were for him. Your pussy clenches against his fingers, and you make a small sound of pleasure. You feel boneless now, your body heavy and relaxed.

“I’ll take care of you,” you hear him whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, baby.”

You lean forward against him and let yourself melt, his fingers rubbing at your oversensitive pussy as he murmurs praise in your ear. You close your eyes and let him take care of you, let him do whatever he wants to your body.

You know now that you’ll do anything for him.

You feel your pussy clench against his fingers one last time, and then you’re out, held in his arms as the cum runs down your thighs. You feel him whisper one last thing in your ear before you fall asleep. You can’t quite make it out, but you know it’s something good. Something sweet.

You sleep in his arms as he holds you tight, his fingers still buried in your cum-soaked pussy. 

Nestled against Spencer’s chest, the silence between you comforting yet heavy. There was an undeniable tension in the air, like you were both waiting for the other to say something. He eventually broke the silence, his voice hesitant but determined.

“I’ve been thinking... about us.” Spencer shifted slightly, his hand still resting on your back, his fingers tracing small patterns against your skin. “The money. Our arrangement... I don’t want to stop giving it to you.”

You tensed at the mention of it. You’d been trying to push that part of your relationship into the back of your mind, but hearing him bring it up again—especially now, when things felt so different—was jarring.

“I don’t need the money, Spencer,” you said quickly, pulling slightly away from him, your gaze searching his face. “I never needed it. Not from you.”

His brow furrowed, his hand gently grasping your wrist, his thumb brushing over your skin with a quiet insistence. “I want to give it to you,” he said softly, his tone a little more urgent now. “It’s not just about... the arrangement we had before. It’s about me taking care of you, providing for you, because I care about you.”

You shook your head, your chest tight. “I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want to feel like I owe you something. I just want you, Spencer. Not the money, not the... arrangement.”

He let out a long breath, clearly frustrated with the distance between what he wanted and what you were saying. “You don’t owe me anything. But this is how I show you that I care. You don’t get it. I don’t just want you physically, or emotionally. I want to take care of you. I want to make sure you have everything you need. If that means money, then that’s what I’ll do.”

His words were persistent, full of a quiet desperation that made your heart ache. “You’re not getting rid of me,” he continued, his gaze intense. “Not now. Not after everything.”

You felt the tension building inside you, a tug of war between pride and the vulnerability his words offered. He was right in one way—you didn’t want to feel like you were taking advantage of him. But another part of you knew he was genuine. He wasn’t just trying to control you, or manipulate you. This was him trying to protect you, in the only way he knew how.

“I... I don’t want to need it,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to need anyone like that.”

Spencer’s thumb ran across your cheek, his touch gentle but firm. “I understand. But you don’t have to need it. You don’t have to feel like you’re relying on me for everything. But let me do this for you, please. Let me take care of you in this way.”

There was a quiet, almost painful silence as you thought over his words. You felt the battle between your independence and his need to provide waging inside you. He was so certain, so unwavering in his desire to take care of you. And you knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just about the money. It was about him wanting to feel like he was enough for you—like he could give you something, be something more than just a professor or a lover.

With a soft sigh, you finally relented, your eyes meeting his. “Okay,” you said quietly, your voice tinged with hesitation. 

His expression softened immediately, a mixture of relief and something else you couldn’t quite name. “Thank you,” he said, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I just- I want to take care of you… in every way possible. I need to do that.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest, but now it felt a little easier to breathe. You were navigating this relationship together—despite the secrecy, despite the complications. And now, despite the money, too.

The morning light crept through the blinds, painting the room with soft hues of gold. Spencer sat at the kitchen table, his book in front of him, but his attention was somewhere else. His glasses were perched low on his nose, and his hair was slightly messy from sleep.

You leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching him, feeling a small, contented smile tug at the corner of your mouth. “Early start today?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

He glanced up at you, his smile gentle and easy. “Couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts.”

You moved to the table and sat across from him, the space between you feeling familiar now. It wasn’t filled with tension or expectations—just quiet comfort.

After a moment, you spoke again, this time quieter, more thoughtful. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How easy it feels now.”

He set his coffee down, his fingers lingering on the cup. “Strange how?”

“Like we don’t have to overthink everything.” You shrugged, leaning back slightly in your chair. “Like we can just... exist here, like this. Without any of the complications.”

He watched you for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know what you mean. It feels... easier than I thought it would.”

You couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something in his expression, in the way his eyes softened when they met yours, that made everything feel a little clearer.

“Is this what you want?” you asked, the question feeling lighter than it had before.

Spencer took a moment, running his hand through his hair before answering, his voice steady. “I think this is what I’ve been wanting all along.”

You sat with that for a moment, letting it settle between you, and somehow, in that quiet space, it made more sense than it had in the past. There didn’t need to be grand gestures or sweeping promises. Just a simple understanding, and that felt enough.

The rest of the world could wait. You didn’t need to rush toward anything else.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

taglist: @ivet4 @lunarmoonbeam1

[teyrnacousland]

I've seen the headcanon that Lucanis' mother, Caterina's perfect heir, was actually similar to Illario in some ways. That she was calculating, ruthless, ambitious, obedient... all the things Caterina overlooks in Illario because Caterina sees her favourite daughter's deep brown eyes and quiet, controlled demeanor and careful planning in Lucanis.

But I am also attached to the idea that the opposite is true too. That Illario's mother shared similarities with Lucanis; that she was empathetic and stubborn, with a slight rebellious streak. But she was always outgoing and charming, was more impulsive with her emotions, and was always sharper with her tongue than with a sword, so Caterina only sees her in Illario.

I just love the idea that Caterina can't look beyond the surface and see who her grandsons really are because on some level she can't see past the ghosts reflected in their eyes. She can't see that the quiet brown eyed boy is is more of the gentle hearted rebel, and the one with blue eyes and a shining, fake smile is the ruthless leader who would do anything she asked.

[salemlunaa]

𓇼 ˚∘ Unlocking the Power of Manifestation: Shifting Realities Explained ·˚𓆉 ༘₊·

It seems some of you still don’t get it.

I get so many asks and dms worrying about the same thing so i will address it now:

“when i go to the void, will i still see my family and friends?”

“will everything be the same if i go to the void? like if i downy want certain things to change will they stay the same?”

“i like manifestation because shifting is too much for me”

“i only do normal manifestations because i don’t want to leave my family if i induce the void and shift”

well let me tell you something, there is no difference between the two

manifesting = shifting, it’s the same thing i don’t care if you are manifesting the sun to come out today with affirmations or you induce the void and manifest a whole new life. It’s still shifting, and it takes the same effort. I think the art of shifting has been put on a pedestal, but it’s nothing.

Let’s say Lumera wants to manifest money she does this through affirmation, she will shift to a reality where she has money, everything else stays the same, the only difference in this reality is that she has more money. Shifting isn’t some extravagant thing, it’s just natural, it’s first nature so it will feel normal and natural.

Manifesting is shifting because you just shift to a reality where your manifestations are in the 3D. There are many different realities where you don’t have what you want, but you’re not aware of that reality, your consciousness isn’t there. EVERYTHING IS A SHIFT, whether you pick that red skirt over the blue skirt in the clothing store, you’ve shifted to the reality that you now own a red skirt, yet everything is the same, and a reality where you picked the blue skirt exists but you just aren’t aware of that reality.

There is no original reality, feeling so bound to this one and so comfortable and natural in this unfavourable reality is why you aren’t getting what you want.

“It's like changing a shirt. When you put on a new shirt, you "jump" into a reality where you are wearing that new shirt. It's not what you think it is. There are infinite realities (infinite)

They (realities) are all as real as each other. You're just aware of this specific one. Doesn't make it more real than any other reality though. That's like saying you're scared of putting on a new shirt/ outfit because you'd be "jumping" into a reality where you're wearing a different outfit. That means that you'd be scared in everything you do, because your reality "shifts" with everything that you do.” - quoted from my girl @luckykiwiii101

Reality changes every second, your loved ones aren’t gonna disappear and change because of your outfit, yes when you pick that red skirt in the mall, your mum changes, but the only change she goes through is now being aware that you own a red skirt when you showed it to her on facetime. And if you picked the blue skirt she would vaunts but the only change being made is her now being aware that you own a blue skirt.

You don’t have an original reality, which is why people call it “current reality” because it’s the reality that your awareness is currently in. You can change that any time. Your innerman isn’t bound to just one reality because of what the 3d is showing you.

So stop asking if you’re going to see your family just because you want a new appearance via the void state. Stop asking if you should induce pure consciousness or just do “normal manifestating” It’s. The. Same. Thing. Shifting and manifesting have no difference, whatsoever. This doesn’t make things any less real and this doesn’t make your loved ones disposable, you’re a god and they don’t have to be “left behind” or change drastically if you don’t want them to. Everything but that desire of yours will stay the same if you want it to, stop asking stuff when your subconscious mind knows everything you want down to the minute details.

These questions and these fears ARE irrational because shifting IS first nature to you.

🌞☄️Do not let these irrational fears keep you from getting what you want.

[bataddictedloony]

Define a woman!

I’m gonna rant this here cus this argument keeps returning on the clock app and one day, I’m gonna be stupid and leave a comment in the wrong thread or smthn so I’m just gonna get it out of my system:

“How do you define a ‘woman’?”

Answer for idiots: you can’t.

You cannot possibly make a definition for the term ‘woman’ without excluding someone from the group when they clearly ARE part of the group (even if you’re a piece of shit transphobe and don’t want to include trans women). A woman is someone who has the potential to give birth? You just excluded every child before puberty, every infertile woman and every woman on menopause, next. A woman is someone who has a uterus? You just excluded a bunch of intersex women and all women who had a hysterectomy, next. A woman has a period? Excluded the millions of women who never get their period for various reasons AND all the women who take continuous birth control AND women who are pregnant AND again, little girls and women on menopause. A woman has to have XY chromosomes? Are you gonna check that for every feminine-looking person you’re gonna meet? How? Do you not think women with down syndrome are women?

Decades of feminism working so hard to make sure women are more than their genitals and potential to give birth, all flushed down the drain because you refuse to believe trans women are more than men in wigs? You’re weak as shit.

So answer for people who actually want to use their brain:

Woman is defined through experiences. Which experiences? Entirely up to whoever defines themselves as a woman.

The ‘female experience’ is so broad. You cannot possibly define it in one sentence and stick it on everyone who calls the word ‘woman’ their own.

You feel feminine and empowered by doing your nails? Congrats, that’s the female experience and makes you, therefore, a woman.

You feel feminine and empowered by wearing plaid and splitting wood in two with a giant axe? Congrats! Female Experience. Woman.

You feel feminine in a dress? Woman. You feel feminine in a tux and suit? Woman.

You feel empowered as a mother and love being pregnant? Woman! You despise the idea of being pregnant but find empowerment in your career? Woman! You feel like your period makes you more in tune with your femininity? Woman. You feel like your period makes you less than human and getting a hysterectomy makes you feel more comfortable in your body? Woman.

you love long hair? Woman. You love short hair? Woman.

You love loving men? Woman. You love loving women? Woman. You love both? Woman. You love everyone? Woman. You don’t feel like love is your thing? Woman!

Sitting at home with a good movie and a bottle of wine? That’s a woman. Getting bloody in a game of soccer? That’s very woman! Taking a walk with your dog? How very woman! Going to the gym? Such woman! Eating out with friends? Friend woman. Shooting a gun in the yard from the patio you built yourself? All woman!

Whatever the fuck makes you feel in sync with your femininity is your female experience, and if you have female experience and you like it, you are a W O M A N ✨

Same goes for men and the male experience btw! Since the question “what defines a man” is never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER asked for SOME 👀 reason. (We all know the reason….) Also same goes for my fellow enbies and the non-binary experience. If painting your nails bring you closer to your enbie side, you’re non-binary.

Gender is such a deeply personal experience, it’s just dumb to define it for someone else, let alone the entire human species. It’s like asking to define a chair, like, you KNOW what it is but you can’t possibly define it without excluding some chairs (“has at least 4 legs”, that’s a horse also swivel chairs exist).

Sidenote: If some idiot tiktokker shoves a microphone and a camera in your face and goes “WHAT IS A WOMAN” or “HOW MANY GENDERS ARE THERE” just go along with whatever dumbass scenarios they come up with. “How many genders are there?” “My dude, as many as you want!” “Oh so like 40??” “Yep!” “Can I identify as a helicopter lol?” “Sure, who cares, do it!” “Should I demand everyone at my job calls me a helicopter” “You can go to your local townhouse, request to change your name to ‘helicopter’ and they’ll most likely let you. You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want as long as it’s not hurting others.” “You don’t think it would be dumb of me to do that?” “Why would I care, I don’t know you?”

[inkskinned]

she's singing in another room and my dog is asleep at my feet. my grandma asked me why i haven't found a man yet and i laughed. oh, you know. i like my house clean.

my girlfriend is also my man is also "my partner" if i'm in a professional setting. yesterday we went to a ren faire and a man mimed at me - you're together? and at my delighted nod, his baffled, you're gay? made me laugh. a woman with rainbow hair said i love the two of you together. you're both so beautiful it's absurd.

my dad introduced my partner as my "..... friend. or whatever" the other day. he knows we're dating. in the same way, i was never able to get my sister's husband to stop saying that's gay like it's 2008. he still uses the word fa***t, and my sister's defense of him has always been well, he's just kidding.

my lover and i dance to old music in a tiny kitchen. we judge new music together and take food critique very seriously. we watch love is blind before we fall asleep and agree that if they had a queer season, it would be bloody but also make for excellent tv. of fucking course queer people would know someone for only 2 weeks and agree to get married. what are you saying.

at a bar with friends, a man puts his hand on my wrist. got a boyfriend? and yes, i do have a boyfriend, she's amazing. i am texting her while i wander around a gas station named after geese. i am visiting a swing state for a wedding. in the candy aisle i overhear: she's actually like a lesbian it's disgusting. two teenage girls with packaged sandwiches in their hands, giggling. no literally, like. i'm not, like. okay with her being there while we're all, like, naked and changing.

my girlfriend and i tailgate, drink gin and cider out of cups. from the frat group beside us, a man corrects himself with one of his friends: bro, i mean, nonbinary entity, and it makes everyone around him laugh, myself included. he razzes his friend the same way i would have killed for at 19 years old - like nothing happened, he continues: you apply sunscreen like an alien. he does a little sassy (and fairly accurate) dance interpretation of the motion. his friend is laughing so hard they're crying.

i am lucky, i live in a safe neighborhood in a safe state. my masc passenger princess comes up from DC. i drive her for an hour to where all the leaves are a violent arrangement of color. we walk along the trails, letting autumn into our blood. in this part of the state, there's a lot of pickup trucks and trump signs. when we chastely kiss before getting into the car, i accidentally make eye contact with a woman holding her child's wrist. she looks disgusted. she looks fucking pissed.

two hours later my girl and i are eating dinner on a patio, soaking in the last warmth of new england sun before the chill of winter sets in. we are giggling and trying to talk through plastic vampire teeth. at another table, i see a young woman sit up straighter. i watch her watch us. she blushes and takes her partner's hand from across the table. shy, like the taste of evening has just become something deeper.

it's worth it for this moment, i think. my lover is still humming the same song she's been singing for four days straight and i don't want to kill her for it. her guitar is beside my bed. her toothbrush is in my bathroom. in a few moments i will make us lunch. we are lucky enough to have found each other. it is lucky enough to be in love.

[badpath]

If we're taking anecdotal evidence in the form of Quora threads and Reddit posts, I'll pile mine on the other side of the scale: I'm a millennial who went to college for computer science. It was a rocky time for me because I was socially coddled even if I took a lot of academically challenging classes, so I actually attended a few colleges. I'm a cis white male who's mildly bisexual, so short of not being disgusted by dick, I'm about as much the "group of focus" as you can get.

My experience at a total of three colleges is what turned me off of college and it has nothing to do with how many women are in a classroom. I went only because I need a degree to get literally any job in my profession. The degree is not an experience focused on personal growth, it's a commodity, a gate between you and the job you want. I would warn people away from college if they're at all open to a career that doesn't require it for that reason, not because "girls are icky".

It's frustrating to see what is pretty obviously a class issue (higher education has been commodified and used to gatekeep historically high-paying professions) turned into a gender/race issue (men think learning is for girls and thus bad). I'm not saying there's no man out there who refuses to go to college because there are people not like him at it, but I would wager that's a vanishingly small minority compared to the people like myself who experienced first-hand the shortcomings and drawbacks of college and want anyone who attends, women and POC included, to consider whether that will actually get them what they want. If college does right by you, by all means, I just don't want you saddled with thousands of dollars in debt and a subpar education chasing the mirage of plentiful well-paying jobs, the way I and my generation were.

Why aren't we talking about the real reason male college enrollment is dropping? (Celeste Davis, Oct 6 2024)

"White flight is a term that describes how white people move out of neighborhoods when more people of color move in.

White flight is especially common when minority populations become the majority. That neighborhood then declines in value.

Male flight describes a similar phenomenon when large numbers of females enter a profession, group, hobby or industry—the men leave. That industry is then devalued.

Take veterinary school for example:

In 1969 almost all veterinary students were male at 89%.

By 1987, male enrollment was equal to female at 50%.

By 2009, male enrollment in veterinary schools had plummeted to 22.4%

A sociologist studying gender in veterinary schools, Dr. Anne Lincoln says that in an attempt to describe this drastic drop in male enrollment, many keep pointing to financial reasons like the debt-to-income ratio or the high cost of schooling.

But Lincoln’s research found that “men and women are equally affected by tuition and salaries.”

Her research shows that the reason fewer men are enrolling in veterinary school boils down to one factor: the number of women in the classroom.

For every 1% increase in the proportion of women in the student body, 1.7 fewer men applied.

One more woman applying was a greater deterrent than $1000 in extra tuition! (…)

Since males had dominated these professions for centuries, you would think they would leave slowly, hesitantly or maybe linger at 40%, 35%, 30%, but that’s not what happens.

Once the tipping point reaches majority female- the men flee. And boy do they flee!

It’s a slippery slope. When the number of women hits 60% the men who are there make a swift exit and other men stop joining.

Morty Schapiro, economist and former president of Northwestern University has noticed this trend when studying college enrollment numbers across universities:

“There’s a cliff you fall off once you become 60/40 female/male. It then becomes exponentially more difficult to recruit men.”

Now we’ve reached that 60% point of no return for colleges.

As we’ve seen with teachers, nurses and interior design, once an institution is majority female, the public perception of its value plummets.

Scanning through Reddit and Quora threads, many men seem to be in agreement - college is stupid and unnecessary.

A waste of time and money. You’re much better off going into the trades, a tech boot camp or becoming an entrepreneur. No need for college. (…)

When mostly men went to college? Prestigious. Aspirational. Important.

Now that mostly women go to college? Unnecessary. De-valued. A bad choice. (…)

School is now feminine. College is feminine. And rule #1 if you want to safely navigate this world as a man? Avoid the feminine.

But we don’t seem to want to talk about that."

[qoldenskies]

i think its so funny when people take the way donnie acts at face value even though its a horrible lie because he's a horrible liar, while understanding leo is bullshitting very well despite him actually being GOOD at bullshitting. many such cases

[keferon]

Guess who spent two days trying to understand how to draw a kiss

Based on amazing incredible gut wrenching Mistakes on Mistakes until..

[lazylittledragon]

ok someone please correct me if i'm wrong but am i weird for thinking those 'audiobooks don't count as reading' posts are ableist as fuck????

[elfqueen006]

Kind of May-Rose when I make her yuri/wlw

She was the Mean Girl so Elaine (fem!Ian) was basically that less popular girl bestie she talked condescendingly to but got really pissy when she made other friends.

Kind of comphet but doesn't know what that is so it's just her liking to fuck men but still talking shit about them to her Girl Best Friends Elaine/Shaun/Josie/Jill while they all kind of roll their eyes like "Gee if only there were other options"

Cloudy actually does talk about her hetero-leaning queer identity like a college lgbt brochure but if it were from when 70s/80s spaces were trying out being PC. Slips up and says shit like "transsexuals" on occasion. Because her parents are old and raised her like old people.

he would not fucking say that but it’s he would not fucking talk about his queer identity like he was reading out of a college campus lgbt center brochure