#(although freaking out is a completely reasonable response)

[hptrash-lookaway]

Always thinking about marauders-era characters somehow ending up in the future and meeting hp-era characters

Anyways, rn I’m currently thinking about Lily wanting to know more about her future son before actually meeting him and so she asks Draco for some details, not knowing she’s making a huge mistake and he’s about to go on about Harry till someone physically stops him

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 7

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader sleep together for the first time

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: loss of virginity, oral f/m receiving, so much praise, pain during sex, unprotected sex, cr**mp**, bit of overstim, soft dom spence, if u don't like that freak shit (love and intimacy) this is not for u, spencer is a nerd, they're both nerds actually and that factors in heavily, you may get more from this part by FIRST reading how they met in this bonus chapter a/n: thank you all for being patient, ilysm, this was the most laborious thing i've ever done for no reason and also this part changed so many times and is not what i expected it to be so pls go in with tempered expectations and keep in mind that this story is more about the characters and their specific relationship dynamic than just being porn. i truly have no idea how you guys will react to this but i sincerely hope you love it and them like i do<3 also it's twice as long as the other parts so feedback would be very very appreciated! again i love u all and enjoy the penultimate part!

Spencer’s lips are on yours, and you weren’t expecting it—hell, you weren’t expecting him to be in your apartment. After all, he’d wished you goodnight and walked out only a moment ago.

“Spencer—wh—” 

But he’s insistent with his lips, kissing you bruisingly over and over like there’s nectar on your tongue and he’s parched for you. Still, he has enough decency to not completely ignore you, exhaling a quick excuse over your flushed lips. 

“I missed you.”

This time, though, you dodge his hungry kiss. Part of you thinks, as he watches you, eyes alight and breathing heavily, that he sort of likes your playing hard to get. It’s not something you do very often, admittedly. 

“We’ve been apart for like, maybe a minute.”

“I didn’t even make it to the parking lot.”

Your face heats.  

“Well you can’t just—you can’t just walk in like that! And I thought you said we weren’t supposed to mix fighting with pleasure.”

“Then start locking your door. And I thought you said we weren’t fighting.”

You roll your eyes in response, though your heart is still pittering in your chest. 

At least his hands move to your arms, stroking up and down relatively chastely—although he has this way of making everything seem intimate. Especially when paired with those amber eyes of his—glowing like a candlelight beacon in the window guiding you home. He speaks in low, appeasing tones and darts his tongue over his lips. 

“I originally said it’s a bad idea for couples to sleep together after an argument. But you know—makeup sex is ubiquitous across culture and time because it works. Anger and arousal trigger a lot of the same hormones, specifically norepinephrine which is involved in feelings of longing and—”

“Spencer.”

“You know what else?” He mutters in a way that feels dangerous. “It tends to feel better than regular sex.”

That earns a shaky exhale from you. Whether from irritation or arousal is anyone’s guess—probably a combination of both. 

“So you came back to fuck me?”

It’s probably evident to Spencer from your choice of language that this already isn’t going exactly as he’d planned. He doesn’t answer right away—just regards you, gaze bouncing between your two eyes like he’s trying to calculate your level of anger. 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You push him away and move to walk down the hall. 

“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”

A warm hand wraps around your wrist in the dark of the hallway and he pulls you back until you’re falling against something tall and warm and lean. The smell of polished amber and sandalwood overwhelms your senses. 

“What’s wrong, angel? What happened in the minute I was gone to change your mind?” His voice is scratchy like a favorite record. It’s the voice he could hold you captive with. The one you have a very difficult time saying no to. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter, unintentionally leaning back against him. “What happened to change yours?”

His response comes pressed against your ear, half-lost in your hair. 

“You’re upset that I changed my mind. I thought you wanted this, honey.”

“I do,” you admit, letting your head fall back against his shoulder and bringing his arm to wrap around you. “And if you hadn’t walked out earlier I would’ve done it. But… I’m tired of us doing everything on your timeline. You just… you expect me to be amenable to what you want, constantly.” His nose and lips press into your shoulder. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I’ve been begging you to sleep with me for I don’t even know how long. And you keep changing your mind, and I feel like you’re being really confusing about it. Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, you never did, but I just feel kind of… jerked around. And you did it again tonight.”

A beat of silence. 

“I understand your frustration,” he appeases, securing both his arms around you. You cling weakly to his wrist, to his warmth, like he’s a tether in a storm. “Would you prefer to wait until you initiate it?”

“No. Yes! I don’t know,” you huff, disentangling yourself from his arms and continuing toward your bedroom. “Now I’m annoyed at you again.”

He follows you right through the door. 

“Just tell me what to do! I don’t want to be annoying.”

“I can’t. I’m being unreasonable.” You flick on your adjoining bathroom light and examine yourself in the mirror. Yeesh. The eye makeup situation is abysmal after all the crying that has taken place over the course of the evening. 

“So choose to be reasonable and tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”

You frown at your reflection, pushing your hair back and rubbing at some excess mascara. 

“No, you’re not understanding me. I’m not choosing to be unreasonable. My thought process regarding the situation is inherently unreasonable and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s just the way I feel.”

“The feeling being that I’ve been too domineering over how our sexual relationship has unfolded?”

Spencer watches you in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as you tip some makeup remover onto a reusable cotton pad. You try not to check him out as you nod, but it’s impossible—with his sleeves rolled up to show defined forearms cradled in capable hands, and his hair all messy. 

When he pushes off the wall you freeze, unsure of his next move—until he’s gently spinning you around and taking the bottle and cloth from your hands. 

“Maybe it would help,” he begins, soft as he focuses on the new task, carefully bringing the round to your right eye so he can remove the bleeding mascara. You allow your eyes to flutter shut. “If I remind you why I’ve been so hesitant.”

“Because you hate giving me joy.”

He laughs, nothing more than one huff from his nose. 

“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”

Point taken, as he gently wipes your makeup away for you. Your silence is his cue to continue. 

“Everything I said about worrying that you would regret choosing me is true. It was especially true when I thought you felt lukewarm toward me. And all of that confusing stuff I said in the phone is true too—having sex for the first time is incredibly intimate and weird and sometimes scary. If you’re not 100% sure about your partner, or if you think your feelings are unrequited, it’s hard to be completely comfortable in such a vulnerable situation and your likelihood of getting hurt or having regrets skyrockets. I know that from experience. I wanted better for you than what I got. Still, I know it was wrong to project my feelings about the significance of sex onto you. In that regard, you’re right. I was being domineering, and I guess… I guess to an extent I’m still deflecting. I shouldn’t be trying to pretend like it’s about you when in reality I mostly just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go through that again, and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was something you could have changed.”

You try to process that. 

“Go through what?” You whisper hoarsely. Something about having him at such close range while he takes such care with you feels whisper-y. 

“Sleeping with someone who didn’t love me back.”

Your reply is small. 

“Oh. Right.”

How could anyone not love him back?

Spencer’s reply is simple and kind, without a hint of, obviously you dumb bitch—which is pretty much what you’re thinking to yourself. 

“Does that make sense, lovely? Do you understand why I wanted to wait?”

He lets you ponder for a while in comfortable-enough silence as he finishes removing your eye makeup with a characteristically gentle hand. When you open your eyes, he looks genuinely content, screwing the lid back on the bottle as if he’s got an eternity to wait for your answer. 

“Yeah. That part makes sense. But why did you seem so… I don’t know, like, wishy-washy about it?”

Spencer’s eyes dart up to meet yours, brows slightly raised. Then a small laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him. 

“Because I’m obsessed with you. I thought about you like that constantly. I still do.”

Your breath catches at the casual admission. 

“Oh.”

Spencer hums, setting the bottle down before tenderly thumbing away some excess mascara that he must have missed from under your eye. 

“You didn’t think it was easy for me, did you?”

“Well… kind of,” you admit, tracking his eyes until they meet yours. 

“Not sleeping with you has been among the hardest things I’ve ever done. Especially when you started begging me. That first time, when I picked you up from Penelope’s and you asked me why we hadn’t had sex yet…”

He trails off, still rubbing at your cheek as he loses himself in thought. 

Eventually, you grow impatient, prompting, “what?”

“It’s not a nice thought.”

“Well, you have to tell me now,” you insist. 

He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips. 

“It was just… you had no idea what you were talking about, and you were ready to throw a tantrum in my living room until I gave you what you thought you wanted. Part of me was imagining bending you over the couch right then, since you thought you were so ready.”

It feels like someone has snipped the pulley that keeps your stomach in place. 

“Spencer,” you splutter, convinced your cheek is tangibly heating under his touch as your head reels at the revelation that he could have such a deeply dirty and mildly sinister mind. 

“I told you it wasn’t nice.”

You swallow. 

“Is that… is that still what you want?”

His brows flicker again and he tucks hair behind your ear. 

“To bend you over my couch? No.”

Your face warms even more and you turn to leave the bathroom, sick of his teasing. 

“Okay, goodni—”

“Hold on.” Spencer catches you by your waist and pulls you back into him for the second time tonight. A dangerous smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t want to bend you over my couch.” He laughs, slipping a hand under your shirt to rub your back. “You know what I want. I’m more interested in learning what you want.”

“I want…” Your eyes dance between his, and your heart flutters against the confines of your chest as you realize what you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours for the taking. “I want to stop talking about it.”

His expression neutralizes and you know it’s probably intentional to stop whatever feelings you assume him to be having color your decision. 

“Oh?”

“I just think we’ve talked about it enough.”

Before he can say another word, or ask you another question, you kiss him with such passion there’s no way he can doubt how much you want this. 

Only a moment passes before he allows himself to lean into it, cupping your face between reverent hands and taking control of the pace of the kiss, slowing it down until you can hardly breathe. Your little noise of want has him quickening the process, pressing against you until you’re walking backward out of the bathroom. It’s like the first crack in a dam. After that, everything becomes inevitable. 

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sit down hard on the mattress, smiling up at him. You skim the front of his thighs with your palms as he smooths your hair.

Spencer groans, leaning down and kissing you til you’re on your back. 

“Don’t make that face.”

An affronted huff from you breaks the kiss up and he pulls back to study your expression. 

“What do you mean don’t make that face? I was just smiling at you.”

“I know you were. And you have such a pretty smile it makes me feel guilty about… defiling you.”

Your brows flicker up and your mouth drops open with an affronted scoff.

“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”

“You already have,” he admits with a half-laugh as he kisses you again. “My mind was never this dirty before we met.”

“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”

He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth. 

“I love your smile. You’re gorgeous. Any more demands?”

Pleased, you shake your head and pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Not currently.”

“Really?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over your cheek and down your jaw, “I’d do just about anything you asked me right now. You don’t want to take advantage of that?”

The sensation of his lips just below your ear threatens all rational thought in your brain, but you manage a reply with only a slight delay and a hint of a waver coloring your tone. 

“I shouldn’t have to demand things. You should just know to do them.”

His kisses drag lower, warm and unhurried and you’re trying not to let your hyper-sensitivity from going a week completely untouched show—but you doubt he misses the way your breath catches, or the barely audible squeaks, or the arch of your back or the tightening grip on his shirt. 

“Well, for future reference—” he nips at a sensitive spot and you gasp quietly, even as you tilt your head to offer him more access. More room to bite, if he so chooses. “—I happen to enjoy it when you make demands of me. Especially when those demands entail letting me call you pretty.”

“I’ve never not let you call me pretty before,” you huff. It’s a touchy subject, and Spencer can probably sense your hackles rising, but he has you right where he wants you and so he pushes anyway. 

“No. But you never believe me. We’ve had this conversation. You always act like I’m walking you to the gallows when I compliment you.” 

It’s hard to make a defense when he’s leaning his weight onto one arm so he can unbutton your jeans, when he’s looking down at you with sparkling onyx and scorched-earth eyes like you’re something to be consumed. But not violently, no—ardently. Like fruit heavy on the vine. Like you’re a religious rite to the devout and deluded. A sacrament.

But it’s not a blind passion. Spencer knows you; every inch of you and every loose thread on your soul begging to be pulled. He knows you and he still wants you like this. To be perfectly honest, you’d never thought you’d feel comfortable handing yourself over to someone like this—vulnerable and all your layers of armor shed. Never in your life would you have thought you could trust a person so implicitly that you’d hand them a knife and show them exactly where to press, that you’d say, I know once you open me and you see me you’ll not want to change a thing.

You adore him. Cosmically. Enormously. In every dimension. He’s lodged so deep in your heart you have no choice but to love him eternally. 

It’s deep in the midst of all these very profound revelations that you realize Spencer has stalled with your zipper undone. His hand has strayed to your hip, to sweetly push your shirt up and trace love letters into warmed and downy skin with his thumb. 

“I just wish you could see yourself how I see you,” he says softly, the weight of the truth a strain on his vocal cords. 

Sometimes, he is so kind it’s like a punch to your stomach. You’ve never been quite as kind as him. And nobody’s ever been as kind to you as he is. You’ve done nothing to deserve his kindness, but you know he needs a place for it, and you’re here with open arms. 

He studies you a moment longer, swallowing as his eyes trail over your face and lower. You want to reach out and brush strands of caramel hair out of his face, but he seems to be thinking so hard you’re hesitant to distract him. 

“I’ve never told you this, because I know you’d just shoot it down, but… you are genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.”

Something twinges in the depths of your stomach—the darker shades who live there and exist solely to whisper not enough not enough not enough to you every minute of every day. 

But they’re simply not a match for the softness you find when you do reach out for his hair, or the way he looks at you. Spencer loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist—not a cuff, but an affectionate hold. 

“Do you believe me?”

There’s so much earnest hope in his voice it almost jars you. He so badly wants you to understand how feels about you—he’s been trying to tell you for months and all you know how to do is refute his praise and insist on your worthlessness. 

Ever since Spencer, you don’t see the faces on magazine covers or in superhero movies, no matter how mathematically flawless they are. Nobody gets close to being as beautiful as he is in your eyes. He’s in an entirely different echelon, and despite how you feel about yourself, you have to accept that he might feel the same about you. 

“I do,” you say, equally soft, and 100% honest. You believe that he believes it, and that’s enough. It’s all that matters. 

The shallow knit of his brow loosens. His lips ease into a suggestion of a smile. But it’s most visible in his eyes—the way smoldering coals reignite, melting the amber glass of his irises until they’re molten. 

The way he kisses you then, you’d think you’d lassoed the moon and pulled it down from the sky for him. But apparently all it takes to make him incandescently, contagiously happy, is to accept a compliment.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency on his breath as he kisses you deeply and quick enough your heart is racing. It only goes faster when he remembers his previous task and begins tugging your jeans down, but he doesn’t even bother to pull them past your knees before his hand is creeping up your thigh. Goosebumps race each other across your body as you try to remember what it feels like—what he feels like. But you can’t, even as his thumb fans over your inner thigh and pushes it open, gently encouraging you to give him more access to you. 

“You’re not wasting any time,” you breathe against him while he traces the edge of your underwear.

“Do you want me to slow down?”

Judging by the way the tips of his fingers only barely shy away from the fabric, he really wants the answer to be no. But you know in his searching gaze that he’d never push you. 

“No, it’s fine. As long as we… don’t go this fast the whole time.”

“We won’t.” The hasty words are of lower priority than the next kiss he plants to your swollen lips. “We won’t. I just missed you so much.”

“Yeah?” You giggle airily as he drags his fingers over your clit through the material, trying to ignore the way it makes your head spin. 

“Yes. Yeah.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, so… desperate for you, as he drops his lips to your neck and presses barely-there kisses everywhere he knows you’re sensitive. Just the feeling of his breath against your skin has you shivering. His hand between your legs only brushes your most nerve-dense spot, but a few touches in and you’re already wound up, like if Spencer doesn’t give you more soon you’ll burst. And not in the good way. 

When he finally commits to actually kissing your neck, you squeak, warmth emanating from that spot just below your jaw all the way to your toes. The frantic energy of earlier is slowly melting away, and he loses focus with his hand, as it begins straying wider, stroking your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach. It’s like your nerve endings are on overdrive, delivering twice as much feedback to your brain as they normally would. Each touch feels like he’s conducting electricity over your body, like you’re a plasma ball. He’d probably like that analogy—you, a core of alternating voltage, and him, the conductor, tracing a path and giving all those electrons an easy release. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d tell Spencer you found a way to work Nikola Tesla into your mutual sex life, and he’d probably propose on the spot. 

But that electricity is building fast—even more so when he drags his lips down just above your collarbone. Your breath hitches, simultaneously trying to crane your neck to give him more room, and curl into him so as to escape the stimulation. Finally he pulls away, and losing the softness of his mouth while the air feels so cold against the places he’d kissed almost hurts. 

“You’re a mess,” he chuckles affectionately, raising his hand to brush hair away from your face before stroking the heated high point of your cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s teasing, but so low and gentle and honeyed it swirls your stomach. 

“Whatever you want,” you admit quietly. It’s a shy confession more than it is a salacious flirtation because he already has you. And you want nothing more than for him to act on that in any way he so pleases. Whatever he does, it will be careful, and kind, and because he loves you. You know that no matter how he takes you apart—he’ll put you back together again. 

“I don’t know if I can. You’re all jumpy.”

God, he has the prettiest smile—even when it’s twisted with sarcasm and a thin veneer of guilt, like he knows he shouldn’t be teasing and just can’t help himself. 

“I’m not,” you defend, face heating further. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know what it is.”

That sticky sweet tone is back, pooling in his eyes and dripping all over you like nectar as he languidly looks you over. 

“I didn’t say you were nervous. Just a little bit jumpy.”

It’s not accusatory—he’s simply stating a fact. Easy, gentle, designed to soothe. 

You shrug helplessly and chew on your lip, unsure of how he wants you to respond. It’s definitely true that excited as you are, you’re slightly on edge. You feel taut as a string on a guitar, tense and waiting to be yanked at any second. 

His expression is serene, and his thoughts inscrutable as he continues lavishing you with his eyes, down to where he’s lying over you and back up. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak for a moment as he formulates his words. 

“Can we try something? There’s this tantric exercise that might help you relax.”

Your brows draw earnestly and you nod up at him, not requiring any convincing even though you have no idea what he’s talking about. 

Spencer directs you to sit up, and you do—kicking your jeans all the way off so you can sit criss-cross with your hands braced on your ankles. 

He’s next to you on the bed, at a slight angle, one of your knees in his lap. You blink at him. 

“Now what?”

“Now you give me one of your hands,” he says, tone tinted with a hint of an amused smile, as if your impatience is funny to him. Of course it probably is. 

Frowning only a little, you unlock your left arm and hold it out for him, watching curiously as he takes your one hand between his and flips it palm-up. 

“Did you know,” Spencer begins, voice low and confidential, “that the fingertips are the second most sensitive part of the human body?”

“What’s the first?”

“Lips,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hand where he’s brushing the tips of your fingers light enough it almost tickles. “They’re both incredibly important for keeping you alive, which is why they’re one and two. But you’ll be particularly sensitive anywhere you’re vulnerable.” His words are trailing off as he brushes his thumb over your palm and to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Like here.”

His knuckles skim up your forearm, to the crook of your elbow. 

“And especially here.”

You’re fascinated as he traces back down the length of your arm and over your inner-wrist, feather light. Then up once more, with the blunted edges of his nails, and your breath catches. You’ve never noticed how sensitive such an innocuous part of your body could be, but it has your stomach flipping—more so when he looses a breathy laugh. “You know, some people are actually able to reach orgasm just by light stimulation to this area.”

Your response is just as airy—you don’t recognize your voice when it comes out like that, hanging in the pitch black between you. 

“Really?” 

An affirmative hum from him, as he lifts your hand and places an intentional kiss over your pulse at the bend of your wrist. Your chest aches and heat is pooling in your stomach as his gently trails them up the delicate skin of your arm. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the reaction you’re having—after all, it’s just your arm. But he treats every part of you like it warrants love and attention and intimacy. Even the parts you typically ignore. Certainly parts you never considered to be sexually or romantically relevant. It’s dizzying. It’s like magic. 

“Arms up,” Spencer finally directs, just as sweetly as he’s doing everything else, and helps you tug your shirt over your head. Every brush of fabric, every seam against your skin registers more than it normally would. Everything is heightened, and despite your state of undress you’re still warm. “Your neck is really sensitive, too. It’s the most commonly acknowledged erogenous zone.”

Erogenous zone. Of course this all comes back to biology. 

“Tilt your head for me, honey.”

Utterly entranced and useless to not abide by him, you do so. Spencer brushes your hair over your shoulder, and if the slip of it down your back weren’t enough, the graze of his fingertips against the nape of your neck has you shivering. 

The warmth of him at your throat feels completely brand new, despite having already had his lips there only minutes before. But now they ghost over your skin with a kind of novelty, and your own lips part in silent pleasure, head lolling to allow him greater access.

“Lie back.”

Without hesitation (but perhaps a bit sluggishly in your stupor) you obey, sliding down until you’re propped up only by pillows once more. Spencer takes his place propped above you once more, thighs slotted with yours as he quickly picks up where he left off. 

The sweet kisses are perfect and feel so much better than you’d ever thought to notice before—but at the same time your core aches and there’s that pressure building again that’s starting to get to you. 

“Spencer,” you try, and it comes out hoarse but you don’t care at all. “More.”

“You want me to leave marks?” 

And the offer is so tempting you’ll wait a few more minutes to ask for what you really need, nodding semi-frantically and ���mhm’-ing desperately. 

As he gently latches onto a spot that will require concealer later but feels fantastic for now, one of his hands slips down your side, just barely letting his nails skim, and your back actually arches. It’s a shocking amount of stimulation for being nowhere near any sexual hotspots. That tiny caught breath dissolves as his fingers continue down just as lightly over your hip and thigh. Your muscles tense as you chase and run away from the feeling. It’s ridiculous.

There’s no point in trying to keep your eyes open now—they grow heavy and you let them fall shut as he sucks another love bite to your throat. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s kind of weird.” He says, voicing your thoughts as he eventually decides the mark will be sufficiently dark. 

“Yeah,” you agree, lacking all eloquence as he caresses every sensitive place you didn’t know you had and your hips writhe minutely in a little desperate dance of your own creation. 

“Most people aren’t aware of the potential of the erogenous zones that aren’t actual sex organs. They don’t pay attention to them. You know what else is an interesting function of erotic stimulation to areas that aren’t directly involved in reproduction?”

“Hm,” you hum as his hand skims to your back. You lean into it and he promptly undoes your bra with a single hand—a skill you’re not even sure you have. 

“It releases not quite as much oxytocin as an orgasm but more than sexual pleasure alone. So you’re less tense before sex than you usually would be, and you’re primed to build more trust and feel more connected with your partner during.”

God, he’s a nerd. And it’s so, so hot. 

You roll over on your back again and look up at him through half-lidded eyes. The corner of his mouth flickers as he takes in your expression, before trailing downward, following the path his fingertips make over your skin as they tug the straps over your shoulders. Trying to stop him, to be shy, would be a pointless venture. He’s seen you like this and you want him to see you again. 

A shaky exhale of his own brings a little smile to your face as he pulls your bra away and observes the newly bared skin with a hunger that you can feel. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes cast pointedly down and thumb brushing over the side of your right breast. 

“You mentioned.”

“I’m not allowed to say it again?” He teases, leaning down to kiss you soft. Your lips curve against his. 

“You can say it as many times as you want.”

Spencer hums, finally thumbing over your breast’s sensitive peak. It sends a chill down your back and seeing as you’re already worked up to the point of near insanity, the pleasure from such a simple touch is much stronger than it would be otherwise. 

“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”

After that, he doesn’t waste much time—only toying with your flesh for another minute as he kisses you before his hand is skimming down your abdomen and dipping below the waistband of your underwear. 

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips toward him when he doesn’t move to touch you anymore. 

“Please what?”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He smiles at this, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as his hand travels lower. Fingers slip between wet folds and he begins making the lightest of circles over your clit. 

“You’ve probably been waiting long enough, huh? I should be nicer.”

Your answer is a breathy almost-whine as you seek more friction against his hand. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing down harder. The sensation sends sparks down to your toes and you attempt to clamp your legs shut around his wrist. “These need to stay open,” Spencer chuckles, “or else I can’t help you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words are a sweet sing-song against your cheek as he kisses you there, before hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling down. You try to help wiggle out of them as best you can, gasping when he tosses them away and immediately returns his hand between your legs. He dips his head down, tongue lathing over your breast, and teases you with the tip of one finger circling around your entrance. 

“I need—”

“Shh. Let me worry about it.”

With that, he’s dipping his ring and middle fingers just barely inside of you to the first knuckle, then back out, before pushing a bit deeper, and repeating the cycle until they’re as far as they’ll go. When he slowly starts fucking you with them, still mouthing sweetly at your breast, you’re ready to melt. 

The room is quiet except for your breathy mewls, the lewd, wet sound of his fingers inside of you, and the blood rushing in your ears. Soon your breast pops from between his lips and he finds somewhere else to leave his mark. Spencer is turning you into a work of art, with his fingers, with his mouth. You don’t mind at all. You’d let him sign his name, if he could—but you doubt he’d let you get his name tattooed. 

Soon you stop fighting the perpetual tug of your lids down and let them flutter shut, loosing a freer moan as he brushes over that sweet spot inside you. Even when he’d told you how to find it over the phone, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like this—maddening enough to have your hips twisting again and that hot bed of coals in your tummy sparking. 

“Spencer,” you warn, leg twitching as he stokes the fire beyond the point where you can passively enjoy it. Either he’s got to slow down or he’s got to let you burn all the way up. You practically jump when you feel his tongue flick over your clit—you hadn’t even been aware of his shifting positions. Maybe you’re more out of it than you’d previously thought. Your eyes shoot open and he does it again. “Oh, fuck.”

The words are simple, quiet, and apparently that’s not enough. Before you can even process the sensation of the tip of his tongue on you he’s latching onto your clit, suckling in a way that has your vision momentarily going out. You cry out and kick involuntarily, hips jumping up, but he captures your leg and presses you down into the mattress so no matter how much you squirm and squeak you can’t get away. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, Spencer I wa—ah—sn’t ready—oh my god.”

He remembers his fingers deep inside you and begins rutting them and you hiss, inhaling sharply through your teeth before letting it all out in a tremulous moan. The orgasm is building up so quickly it almost feels like an attack on your poor body as you try to process it all to no avail. Every sound you make is a vulnerable mess of pleasure and pain, a clear fear of surrendering to something inevitable. Of course, it doesn’t really hurt at all. As usual, he’s blindsided you. Found you unprepared. You rake your fingers through Spencer’s hair, continuing on with your shaky moans that sound half-worried. 

“Oh, please.” Really, you’re just pleading to be put out of your misery. It’s in moments like this, as the black is creeping in around the edges of your vision and your thoughts become threads in the tangle of an existence knotting in on itself with no discernible end or beginning in your mind until everything is completely abstract, that you’re reminded why the French refer to orgasm as the little death.  

Your fingers lace tight enough in the wilds of his hair to pull, and he groans against you, and those vibrations are your undoing. You succumb to the dark momentarily but he continues a loving assault of gentle kisses to your clit—careful enough so as to be inoffensive even after the euphoria abates and you’re hypersensitive, still relishing soft strands of hair between your knuckles. 

You’re breathing hard as you blink your vision back, looking down at him as he looks up at you from his place between your legs and rubs the top of your thigh.

“I wasn’t ready,” you pant, lips flashing into a tired smile that doesn’t hold a candle to his own livelier one. 

“Took it like a champ.”

If you weren’t already so warm his sarcastic comment would inspire more heat in the apples of your cheeks. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid using sports idioms?” You smile as he climbs back up your body. 

“It’s unreasonably sexy that you said idiom and not simile.” He kisses you, grin mirroring yours, and you don’t complain about the slick still on his lips. “And look at that. Not afraid to kiss me when I taste like you anymore.”

“I remember what you said,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, glowing amber pools in the low light. The words echo in your head from the first time he’d gone down on you and you’d been hesitant to taste yourself. 

One day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.

“So do I,” he points out needlessly. “Eerily prophetic, hm?”

“I think you just like going down on me,” you laugh. 

Without the light on, his smile is just as brilliant as usual.  

“You might be right about that.”

Another interlude of quiet begins, but you don’t mind it. Taking this slow, as desperate as you’ve been for it, feels nice. Easy. Waves of burning need ebb and flow, but for now, it feels nice to be bathed in his candlelight gaze, know you’re loved, and nothing else. 

“What next?” You whisper after a long moment, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw. He leans into it slightly, lips brushing your palm. 

“That’s up to you, angel. What’s going to make you feel most comfortable?” 

Your bottom lip rolls between your teeth as you think and he tracks the movement, corner of his mouth twitching fondly. 

“It might help if you weren’t fully clothed.”

“I think we could probably do something about that.”

He pecks the tip of your nose playfully and then he’s pushing off the bed. Your brow wrinkles as you follow suit only partially, sitting up with your legs folded under you and pulling the sheets over your body to combat the chill and the vulnerability of being completely naked. 

“Oh, my god. You had your shoes on that whole time?”

“I got distracted,” Spencer defends, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to slip the loafers off. 

You clutch the sheet to your chest, watching the adorable way he pushes his hair out of his face as he rushes. He’s so clearly excited—it shows in the flush of his cheek and his even worse than usual coordination. 

“But on my bed?”

“I’m sorry,” he says without seeming very apologetic, leaning down to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll pay to have your comforter dry cleaned. I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t care.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I am,” he insists against your lips, shaped by what is surely a boyish smirk. 

Unsurprisingly, you get lost in the kiss, dropping the sheet to hang onto his shoulders. Spencer takes advantage of the once-more revealed skin, rubbing your thigh with slow passes in a way that has you all lit up again already. It doesn’t help that his tie is skimming right over the recess between your folded thighs as he leans over your seated form, kissing you deeper as the moments pass. 

“You’re distracting me now,” you scold, but your voice is quiet and smiley as your noses brush. 

“Do you want to help me with my clothes?”

You nod, heart hatching like a cocoon and already slipping a finger into the knot of his tie so you can tug perhaps not gently enough. He chuckles, bracing himself with his fists on either side of your lap as you pull and yank until the fabric comes loose and you slip it from around his neck, flinging it blindly for dramatic effect. Then he slowly draws back to his full height, until you’re about eye-level with his chest. His gaze fixes on you, feverish and intent as he finds the buckle of his belt without looking. The slide of leather on leather, the jingle of the metal has the hairs on the back of your neck rising and you fight a chill as he pins you with his stare—feeling rather powerless as he towers over you, still essentially fully clothed while you’re completely naked. 

You probably shouldn’t be as thrilled by it as you are. 

Spencer tosses the belt on the floor and watches on, utterly charmed as you rise to your knees. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you begin unbuttoning his shirt with slow, careful fingers. 

“See?” You murmur bashfully. “Helping.”

His voice is equally as soft. 

“Very helpful. Thank you.”

The tension in the quiet room gets to be too much and you have to focus hard on the task at hand, failing to bite back a twisty smile. For once, he keeps his stupid perfect mouth shut and lets you push the fabric of his open shirt from his shoulders in humid silence. 

Your fingers skate down his torso and you watch the muscles tense. You wonder if he notices the way he pulls you slightly closer or if it’s subconscious as you both track the path of your hands. 

“Your button is on the wrong side,” you note, voice wavering slightly, once your fingers stall at the waistband of his pants.

Spencer chuckles. You feel silly. 

“Men and women’s clothing tend to have the buttons on different sides, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence, before the words come pouring out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m still a little bit nervous, I think.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer assures you, hands gliding up and down the soft lines of your waist. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. But I’m going to take really good care of you, okay?”

You nod, not looking away from the exposed skin of his torso. 

“And if at any point you need to take a break or stop, you’ll tell me.”

“I will, but… I don’t need to stop right now.”

“Then you can go as slow as you want.”

You swallow and take a moment to gather yourself before continuing on undoing his pants. With his assistance, you pull them down, and with them his boxers tug an inch or two lower, exposing a subtle v-shape before it disappears beneath the waistband. The fabric is obviously tented. A ball of nervous anticipation spins faster in your stomach, drawing all the heat in your body down between your legs. He’s pretty everywhere. You’d nearly forgotten. 

Spencer’s stomach tenses under your light touch as you drag your fingers down, down, just to the waistband. It’s then that you look up at him for permission to continue, and find his eyes already on you, heated and intense. 

“Go ahead, honey.”

Again you find yourself quite excited to touch him, but you start cautiously, simply letting your hand fall over the shape of him through the fabric. Even that has his chest rising and falling at a slightly quickened rate, and one of his hands finds your unoccupied one, twining them together. That small gesture inspires you to bolden your explorations, becoming more insistent in the way you palm at him. He feels big, which is a concern of yours. But you try not to let that intimidate you.  

Already he’s quite hard, you suspect from going down on you earlier (which is flattering as much as it embarrasses you) and your fingers graze a small wet patch of fabric. You fixate on the shaky little breath he releases as you push down his boxers with new fervor, and his cock springs up. 

He’s still perfect. 

You smear beads of precum down his tip, and he sighs, letting his head fall against yours as you both watch. A few coquettish pumps and he’s humming, kissing your face and dragging his lips down your neck where he makes a home for himself. Apparently the sight of your hand wrapped around him had been too much to bear. 

“So good. Missed this.”

“It’s just my hand,” you whisper, a little insecure that he’s maybe playing it up for your benefit. 

“It’s you.”

His voice is so breathy, you sort of have to believe him. 

“Can I…?”

Too nervous to voice what you really mean, you trail off, but it apparently doesn’t matter to Spencer. He lifts his head like he’s in a stupor but you’ve said something urgent. 

“Anything you want. You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Um…”

You let go of his hand (and his dick). Spencer automatically rotates to accommodate you as you end up on your knees on the wooden floor in front of him. 

“This is what you want?” He breathes, already pushing his fingers through your hair and gathering it back as you look up at him and nod. 

Very quickly you have him back in your hand, trying to remember what you learned from the few times you’ve done this. You start perhaps a bit softer, less eager to prove yourself than you have in the past—simply dragging him over your tongue before enveloping his tip in your mouth, and releasing with a pop. Despite being overtly, explicitly, and undeniably sexual, there’s something almost chaste about the way you handle him. It’s a (dirty) expression of love, and you think he understands that as he rubs at your cheek affectionately. 

Eventually, however, you get too excited, and you take him into your mouth in earnest, bobbing your head slowly and seeing how much of him you can take without gagging. 

Spencer makes the prettiest noises—they’re breathy, and not ostentatious, but he’s got such a nice speaking voice it’s like his gasps are bars in a song. You whine around him, wriggling your hips in a rather pathetic display, and then all too quickly he’s tugging your hair so you can’t keep him in your mouth. 

“What?” You ask, closer to pouting than you’d care to admit and voice slightly hoarse. “You said I could do anything I want.”

“Not if you’re that good at it. Come here.”

He helps you up and catches you in a deep, messy kiss before you’ve fully regained your footing, swaying against him, but he holds you fast, pulling away slow like strings of honey trail between your mouths. 

Spencer’s eyes are fixed on yours, lips parted in a sort of wonder before he glances down to your own mouth, wiping the shine from your bottom lip. Any moment you’re expecting him to say something, to tell you you’re beautiful or perfect or that he’s in love with you—but instead he just meets your eyes again, that same wonder-struck look on his pretty face. A tiny, breathy laugh forces itself from his chest like you’re a genuine miracle. 

You feel so observed—seen in a way you’ve never been seen, looked at closer than anyone has ever looked at you before. And he still looks at you like you’re the human embodiment of love, the closest mortal manifestation of the divine, Galatea come down from her marble pedestal. The way he looks at you has your heart pounding and your breathing hastened. Adoration has never been something so physical, so tangible, ever before in your life. Your blood hums at the frequency of his electromagnetic field—an energetic aura that surrounds each person and can be detected from several feet away, as he’d explained it to you. It originates from the heart and if you spend enough time close to  someone, syncs up the beating of your most vital organ with theirs until it’s a perfect match. Maybe that’s why, almost as quickly as your heart had begun to pound, it slows again, and you feel any reservation flush from your body like a fever. 

“Okay,” you breathe, cataloguing every angle and curve of his face to store with all the rest, all the moments that feel important. Of course, you’ll never remember them like he does yours. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest. 

“Okay?” Spencer asks. He understands the confirmation for what it is, and searches for signs of hesitation on your face while rubbing reassuring circles into your hip. You nod resolutely. 

As he lays you down on your bed, it feels like you’re entering some kind of altered state. Everything is muted and glowing with a watercolor aura in the dark and you really only care about the man on top of you and the way moonlight dances on his skin and the way he smells like smoky amber and rain. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed under you, before sweeping your hair from beneath your shoulders into a corona around your head. All the while his eyes are so soft on you, just like his hands, and his lips when he leans down to touch them to yours. 

One of said hands finds its way to your jaw, trailing down over your neck and collarbone, before settling over your breast where he swipes a thumb over your nipple, lightly, slowly, several times. 

Once again you’re struck with the odd feeling, even with his hand on you like this, that the situation isn’t sexual in the way you’d anticipated. It’s not pornographic, or even very dirty. Everything Spencer does, even as his hand sneaks down between your legs, he does because he loves you. 

“One more like this,” he mutters against your jaw after a moment. 

“Why?”

Your impatience yields a smile you can only feel against your skin. 

“Just want you relaxed and feeling good. That’s all.”

When you assent, his fingers are already slowly pushing inside you. 

It seems you’ve entered some sort of time warp as well, because you reach a gentle peak in what feels like record time, aided by his easy murmurings and saccharine praise.

“Perfect. That was perfect,” Spencer says with a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his fingers from you and you feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets. “Can I ask you something before we get carried away?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sweet and compliant as pleasure dulls your inhibitions for the second time tonight and your head lolls into the pillows. 

“Baby,” he croons, voice soft as worn paper as your lids flutter and lashes brush febrile cheeks, thumbing over the heated skin. “Need you a little more alert, sweet girl.”

“’M trying,” you whine, though it’s half self-effacing laugh. Spencer chuckles too as you shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to reinvigorate yourself. “Okay. Go.”

“Well… we don’t have any protection.” Before you can groan, loudly, he hurries on. “And that’s… I’m okay with that, if it’s what you still want. I trust you. But there will come… a moment of reckoning. And I need to know where I should… reckon. So you don’t end up surprised.”

Now you’re really laughing—a giggly mess beneath him as your arms loop over his shoulders. 

“Stop it,” he whines, pressing his nose to your cheek as you turn your head in an effort to not snort at your boyfriend to his face. “That was for your benefit, you know. You get squeamish.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously when you refer to it as reckoning.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. When I come, you essentially have two options. Inside, or on your stomach. Tell me where you want it.”

Your breath catches and your stomach does that tripping-over-itself thing again. 

“Um…”

Another fond half laugh, at your expense, is pressed against your skin. It’s enough to prompt you into answering—he doesn’t have to say anything to make his point about your being squeamish. 

“Inside,” you mutter, shy as you attempt to bring him closer so he won’t be able to look at you quite so closely. You wonder if he’s remembering the conversation you’d had over the phone last week—before he’d accidentally kind of broken up with you—about this very subject. You certainly are. 

“Okay. I want you to have everything that you want.” A few kisses to your neck later, between nips, he speaks again. “Just need to hear that you want this one more time.”

“I want this,” you repeat, obedient and honest, plain and simple. “Now, please.”

Spencer responds by first kissing you, firm and loving. It soothes you, and he punctuates it with a kiss to your cheek, before he’s reaching down and guiding himself between your legs. You feel surprisingly calm, more overcome with love and the light pleasure rolling down your back as he drags himself over your clit than you are by nerves. Still, you pointedly hold his gaze, not looking down in case you psych yourself out. He slots himself in place, tip resting against your entrance. 

“Remember, if you need to stop at any point—”

“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly. 

Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous. 

He watches you, sympathetic though you’re not sure what for. 

“I need you as relaxed as possible, okay? I want this to be easy on you.”

You take a moment, scanning your whole body for tense muscles. When you feel sufficiently relaxed, you offer Spencer a small nod, and at that, he begins pushing into you ever so slightly. 

At first, it just feels foreign. He’s going so slowly, so carefully, you’re not sure he’s moving at all—until he finds resistance and the odd full feeling changes to a hint of burning stretch. Your hips jump and your breath catches, and Spencer stops immediately, relieving the pressure with a tiny shift in position. 

“It’s gonna hurt,” you realize, eyes darting between his like he might be able to tell you otherwise. You’d always been aware of the possibility, but you were holding out hope that you’d be one of those people who didn’t experience any pain their first time. 

“Just for a minute. Then it’ll feel good, angel.”

You swallow and nod. At the end of the day, you trust him completely. You trust him enough to let him hurt you. 

“Super deep breaths for me.”

He watches intently as you follow his directions, taking several deep breaths in succession, before he begins pushing into you once more. The pressure builds and builds until he pushes past that point of resistance, and it’s like he’s breaking you in two. 

“Ah,” you gasp, abs twisting as your body tries to escape the sensation without any input from you. 

“I know. I know, baby, that was the hardest part. Breathe.”

He drops his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles with light pressure to distract from the pain.

You nod, lips pressed together tight as the deep ache muddles your brain. It’s an insistent pressure against something does not seem to want to budge. It burns and stretches and is laced with sour, flirtatious pleasure so that you can hardly tell what it is you’re feeling. Mostly, you’re dizzy and hot.

“Relax, just like that,” he strains, looking down. “My good girl. We’re almost there, baby.”

Cries spill unbidden from your mouth and your eyes shut as he continues to open you up deeper, until finally, finally, his hips settle into the cradle of yours. 

Spencer sighs a curse under his breath, so quiet you don’t think it was meant for you. 

He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre. 

You whimper, and he snaps out of whatever revery he’d been in. 

“You okay? How does that feel?”

You take a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head to no avail—your thoughts are like TV static. 

“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”

“You can have as much time as you need. It’s a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice small and weak. 

“I bet,” he agrees, peppering soft kisses all over your face. “But you’re doing so well. Proud of you, brave girl. You’re doing so well and we’re gonna make sure it feels good soon, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

“Will you please kiss me again?” you whisper, and Spencer’s brow knits with concern. 

“Of course, angel. Of course I’ll kiss you,” he says, and makes good on his promise with his lips on yours. It sweetens the ache. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can have anything. You’re so perfect.”

He kisses you again, just as lovingly, and soft, like you’re delicate. All the praise is only contributing to your lightheadedness, but you don’t mind at all. It feels good. 

“You can… you can move.”

“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”

He waits for your nod before his hips are pulling back and you arch at the odd sensation. When he pushes back in, eyes carefully locked on yours the whole time, you keen slightly, frowning and brain shorting out as it tries and fails to process this new feeling. 

“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”

At first it doesn’t feel good. It mostly hurts. But slowly, the pain begins to abate as you acclimate to having him inside of you, and he’s careful the whole time. 

“Spence?” 

“Hm?”

He sounds concentrated on the task at hand—you’re entranced by the sight of him above you, the parted lips, the unkempt hair over the brow furrowed in pleasure and focus. But he’s never too busy for you. 

“Does it… um—” you pause to hold back a whine—“what does it feel like for you?”

At this, he slows even further and chuckles—it’s a strained, slightly breathy sound. 

“For me?”

“Mhm.”

“You feel perfect, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

The slight fry in Spencer’s voice as he curses, which is a rare event in and of itself, flips your stomach, turns you on immensely. The idea that you’re giving him pleasure too—it’s almost overwhelming. That’s when it starts feeling good. 

“Oh—” you squeak, jaw dropping and bucking your hips inadvertently as the first bolt of true pleasure shocks deep in your core. He hums. 

“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”

But you can’t answer for a long moment. Your brain is melting as your legs lock around him. 

“Mm—it’s—it feels…”

“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.

You whine and press your face into the curve of his shoulder as each thrust gently rocks your body. As the pace picks up bit by bit, you feel yourself clenching hard around him. His hips stutter and he hisses. 

“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

He laughs breathily. 

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me out. You have to relax.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re trying, baby, you’re being so good for me.”

Your nails skim his back—a small expression of a much larger desperation. Once he’s sure you’re relaxed around him, begins going faster. 

Your gasps and soft moans come more often now as he finds a steady rhythm and it feels so different when he’s actually fucking you. It feels like he’s everywhere. Every time your hips meet you feel the sweet shock of it in your teeth, your toes, the back of your neck. In the best way, you feel consumed by him. It’s not at all like you’d imagined, and it’s perfect. 

“Wait, Spencer,” you breathe, struggling to form the words. Immediately he stops again, lifting his head from your shoulder to examine your face. 

“What is it?”

He sounds just as wrecked as you feel, panting and strained and it feels good to hear. 

“I wanna watch.”

For a moment his eyes dart between yours like he’s trying to determine what you really mean—but you said exactly what you meant. Then he laughs, a huff of air from his nose as he presses his head to yours and gives you a quick kiss.

Your toes curl as he readjusts his position, holding himself a little higher and resting your heads together so you can both look between your bodies. 

“There,” he murmurs as he slowly begins to withdraw again. “Like that?”

But you can’t answer, because you’re too busy whimpering at the sight of him pushing into you. The feeling seems to increase tenfold as you watch it happen. Distantly you wonder how the fuck it fits. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”

Spencer takes this as a blessing to find a pace again, slower now as he seems to be just as enthralled by the sight as you are. 

“Give me your leg,” he rasps after a few moments like that, and you don’t know what he means exactly but you lift your right leg slightly only for him to press his hand to the back of your knee and push toward your chest, effectively opening you up and giving him more range of motion. It also enables him to fuck you even deeper. Again he slows, apparently savoring the feel of you yielding around him all the way down to the hilt. 

Black spots dance in your eyes as he settles at your deepest point—not pain, necessarily, just overwhelming sensation. Your jaw drops and you choke out a moan as he presses into recesses you didn’t know you had, as he shows you a part that you might have gone the rest of your life without knowing existed. He stops there, like that. Everything stops there, like that. If the cars on the road below ceased to drive, if the airplanes froze in the sky, you’d not be the least bit surprised. Somehow, you’ve unlocked a small eternity. There’s no sound but your joint heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. The words just come bubbling up out of you in a little whine. 

“I love you.”

Spencer’s breath pauses for a moment before he’s letting it all out at once, brushing his lips up the ridge of your nose before they settle on your forehead in what seems like a permanent kiss. A few breaths in, you allow your eyes to flutter shut. Your heart rate slows down a touch, and you settle into the moment, never having been quite so content as you are like this—never having felt quite so adored and safe. 

“I love you,” he finally echoes, voice rasping, lips still pressed to your skin, still breathing against your hair. When he starts to move again, drawing back ever so slowly, you hiss softly. He raises his head from yours, and you look away from where he’s pulling out, meeting his eyes just in time for him to push back in, just as deep. They shine in the mostly-dark room and you moan unabashedly. It’s a high-pitched, sweet thing, nothing that will have the neighbors complaining—but so clearly true, from the depths of your soul, an expression of everything you’re feeling—not just the pleasure. 

Although that’s good, too, as Spencer shapes you to him again and again, the head of his cock kissing places nobody’s ever been and places you hope nobody else will ever venture to. This is all you need. Him. 

“Jesus,” Spencer groans, eyes fixed on your face as he fucks you slowly. But you can’t bring yourself to talk, too new to this kind of pleasure to find it anything other than mind-boggling and world altering. Your lips are still parted, allowing each sound to pass without filter. “Listen to you, beautiful.”

When he stops again, just to look down and marvel at you, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you can taste the pleasure on the back of your tongue and he keeps taking it away when it’s so close. But on the other—you’re just as overwhelmed as he said you’d be. Your body has never had to process this kind of sensory information before, and you’re exhausted, but it’s so good. 

“Spencer,” you manage. He looks up, pupils blown and eyes lidded where they’d normally be wide. “Please don’t stop.”

He swallows, spurred into action again as soon as you say it. 

“Good?”

You nod and whine again as he picks up the pace bit by bit, remembering to push your leg back once more so he can get as deep as you need him. 

“So good,” you exhale at the top pitch of your voice. Your brows pinch and you release a fuller moan as Spencer finds a speed that’s fast enough to constantly feel good no matter where he is. You’re gasping for breath, back arching—and he finds a new angle, catching against the spot inside you that renders all those years of human evolution that gave you sentience and intelligence a waste. He chuckles airily at your series of series of affronted moans and halted gasps. 

“Right there? That's a good spot, isn’t it?”

“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”

It feels so good it almost hurts, and your eyes are stinging to prove it. Your legs clamp tighter around him and you realize there’s a very lewd wet sound and you can’t believe that’s you. 

“Spencer, you’re—oh my god, I love you,” you whine, and it sounds like you’re pleading for your life. At this makes his own sound of pleasure, and hastens his messy circles on your clit as if in reward. 

But it’s too much all combined. 

Your hand claps to your mouth to obscure the loud, licentious moan that comes out—but Spencer immediately moves his hand from between your legs to grab your wrist and pin it gently to the bed, intertwining your fingers. 

“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”

You nod, and he lets go of your hand to return his fingers to your clit. If possible you get wetter around his cock—you can feel yourself gushing. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as if pained. 

“Yeah? Gonna finally let me feel you cumming, angel?”

He has a filthy mouth when he wants to. The words hit like high voltage to your core and the very pit of your stomach. You can’t even respond beyond a desperate sob. 

“Show me, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”

You cum around his cock with a broken cry and it’s like a purge of every drop of angst you’d felt over the past week or so—hell, it’s a purge of all the insecurities that had bubbled to the surface since you started dating him. None of it matters anymore. How could it matter when you have him? When you have this?

The orgasm washes you out like a tidal wave, taking everything with it. It’s strong, and it’s so good, so intense, your body is overwrought with sensation and it’s too much even though it’s perfect. Your brain is drawing a blank as it tries to react to the feeling, and it’s like every button on the damn panel has been hit. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” Spencer grits, and you feel it in the way he adjusts his position, shifting as he grips at the edge of the mattress for leverage and the thrusts become messier, needier. You gasp as his other hand tangles in your hair, turning your head to ghost your lips over his forearm. It’s not entirely surprising when his own lips find your shoulder—but the feeling of him finding his release just as his teeth sink into your skin does come as quite a shock. It doesn’t hurt, and you’re sure there’s no skin broken, but it’s an undeniable fact that he has grounded himself in the throes of passion by biting down on you.

Inside you, he feels hot. Searing, almost, as his spend tries to fill space that doesn’t exist. There is absolutely no room for anything else inside of you. Stars dance in your eyes at the overstimulation, but long after he’s finished he’s still fucking into you—albeit much slower and with far less technique. Spencer moans like a two bit whore, like he’s reached pain to a point of ecstasy, and to you it’s as good, as special as the singing of the planets. If he’s as sensitive as you are now, it’s no small feat for him to keep going on like this. It’s a testament to how much he doesn’t want it to be over. The pleasure is carrying him away, but you’re beginning to feel how soft you must be and how if he continues on like this you may bruise like an overripe peach. 

“Spencer,” you manage, skating your hand up and down his back in what you hope are soothing lines. “Baby.”

He whines as his lips detach from your shoulder, but his hips finally slow to a stop, nestled inside you. 

“Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes, opting now to bury his face in your neck (with significantly less biting this time).

You’re still reeling, toes still curled, still struggling to breathe as your head spins and spins and spins. His chest pushes against yours with every heaving breath, hot and heavy on your skin, and that’s the only sign he’s still alive until his hand eventually reanimates in your hair, scratching your head tenderly. 

For a span of minutes, you stay like that—silent, twined together like caducean serpents. His weight on top of you is perfect. This, the lack of differentiation between your body and his, is perfect. You don’t know where he ends and you begin and you don’t need to. It’s a blissful moment. 

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, lifting his head to look at you with flushed cheeks and messy hair and sparkly eyes. 

“Hi.”

He smiles. 

“You’re so pretty.”

“You too,” you murmur, moving your hand from his back and pressing your thumb into the hollow of his cheek. His eyes map the curves of your face as he pushes your surely askew hair back. 

“How do you feel?”

It takes you a moment to seriously consider his question, scanning your body for any undue pains, but for the moment, you find none, beyond a dull aching throb that you can manage. 

“Good. Tired.”

You wince at the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. Spencer hums sympathetically and presses a sticky kiss to your lips which makes it a little better, though you can’t ignore how uncomfortable all the previously pleasant wetness has become between your legs. 

“Here—stay here, I’ll get a wash cloth and—”

“It’s fine,” you insist, holding on even as he tries to roll off of you. “I just need… will you stay here for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he promises, now pressed close to your side and propped up on an elbow, “whatever you want.”

You lavish in his gaze, warm like a spotlight, as he strokes your cheek and plays with your hair. Very quickly you’re lulled into a doze, eyes fluttering shut. Minutes stretch. You feel drunk on waking dreams, and perfectly at peace. Safe. 

“Angel girl,” he christens you fondly. More than anything, it’s an observation, so lovely it sinks into your skin like a balm, soothing every tired muscle and little mark he’d made. Even half-asleep, it makes you smile. 

“You’re an angel,” you slur, reaching blindly for him, and he chuckles, catching your wrist and helpfully settling your hand on his cheek. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

You hum, “mm-mm,” looking up at him with just as much adoration as he has for you. Those cuddle hormones must be kicking in because soon you’re attempting to pull him back on top of you. He doesn’t quite comply, probably for fear of crushing you—rather he settles next to you, gathering you in his arms. 

Silence blankets the two of you, but it’s not unpleasant as you just watch each other with barely-there smiles curling your mouths. This kind of intimacy still manages to give you butterflies, even after everything else you’ve done. This kind of satisfaction, reverie in the sound of each other’s blood flowing and lungs filling. Setting aside words because you don’t need conversation as a pretense for wanting to be around each other anymore. You don’t need an excuse to look at him like this. You don’t need words any more than you need clothes. It’s enough to just be. 

“I love you,” he says, a soft reminder, and entirely redundant with the way he’d already been looking at you, touching you. 

“I know. I love you too.”

The smile flickers brighter on his face. 

“And thank you.”

Your eyes narrow minutely as you consider what he could possibly be thanking you for. 

“For what?”

“For loving me. And trusting me. It’s…” your heart squeezes as you realizes tears are pooling in his eyes. He takes a moment and clears his throat. It’s incredibly endearing. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

You look down, thumbing at the sheets where you’ve hoisted them over your bodies. 

“You do realize how lame we are if we have sex and both immediately start crying, right?”

At this he laughs loudly but not loud enough to pop the little bubble you’re in, and you look up just in time to catch the brilliance of his smile, the way it changes his whole face and he becomes superhuman in his beauty, the lines that form by his eyes and the way they narrow and crystalline tears bead his lashes like precious gems. 

“Don’t cry,” he requests gently, hypocritically as your own eyes sting. The way his smile fades is like the sun setting. Gorgeous, like everything else he does. “You’ve cried so much, honey. Please don’t cry.”

You sniffle, gathering yourself. 

“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”

Spender leans forward to kiss you tenderly a few more times. Ordinarily you’d worry about coming across as clingy when you hold onto him so closely and so insistently like this, but for now you don’t care. Neither does he, it seems, as he seems unable to get you close enough. Eventually, you end up curled against him, head tucked under his chin and dozing on and off as he traces shapes into your skin. 

“What are you writing?” You mumble some time later, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He only responds with a soft hm, like he was lost deep in thought. You clarify, “it feels like you were writing something.”

“She Walks in Beauty.”

Your lips pull into a sleepy smile. 

“The Lord Byron poem?”

The first time you’d met Spencer, he’d inadvertently caused your painstakingly annotated copy of Lord Byron’s works to go flying all over a cafe, and then kindly helped clean up the pages and reorder them for you in record time. Among the poems had been She Walks in Beauty. 

“Yeah. I was trying to figure out when exactly I fell in love with you, and as someone who is deeply skeptical about love at first sight, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I keep coming back to our first conversation. I mean, I believe in genetic compatibility, and how that contributes to attraction and what we think of as chemistry, but—”

“Wait, what about our first conversation did it?” Your cheeks ache from smiling as you speak. “As I recall I was being a bitch and I was covered in coffee.”

He laughs dreamily, still tracing letters over the small of your back. You wonder what part of the poem he’s at now. 

“Yeah, mean to me and covered in coffee is pretty much exactly my type. But I think it was actually the annotations on that copy of Lord Byron’s works. They were so insightful, and personal, I—it kind of took my breath away, and I know I shouldn’t have read them all but I couldn’t stop. You were compelling, and charming, and funny and wildly intelligent and beautiful and… and I didn’t stand a chance.”

Everything aches. It’s a good ache. Despite being seconds from tearing up all over again, you snort. He never told you about that first day.

“You thought me writing ‘sister fucker’ in all caps every time he mentioned Augusta was charming?”

“Oh, obscenely so. But now that I’m looking back, I feel like… I feel like I can’t remember not being in love with you. I mean, I remember when I realized I was, and that was later. But it was like I met you, and then I was just… waiting for you to catch up.”

You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, watching the way the ambient nighttime light from the window and the bathroom dips them half in color. 

“We were pretty much on the same page. I was debating courthouse versus small intimate ceremony as soon as you left.”

You watch him watching your joined hands, features soft and relaxed, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as he speaks. 

“Definitely small intimate ceremony. I have too many friends who would kill me if they weren’t invited to the wedding.”

You giggle and pretend the thought doesn’t give you butterflies. You imagine a ring on your finger, the one he’s got between his own. Marriage had never been something you’d considered. Not when you had no reason to. It seemed like something for other people. But maybe one day, it will be for you, too. 

“Did you know Lord Byron had a daughter who is regarded by many as the first computer programmer? She wrote the first algorithm for a theoretical machine that was so complex it couldn’t be built with the technology available at the time. It was called an Analytical Engine.”

He sounds almost wistful as he gives you the utterly unprompted, but still welcome, abridged version of her life. The description is ringing a bell—but you can’t quite place her, sleepy as you are.  

“What was her name?”

“Ada Lovelace. She was exceptionally gifted. The odds of parent and child being so extraordinary in their respective fields are incalculable, but from a purely theoretical perspective, negligible. I mean, they’re both massive historical figureheads. That’s extremely uncommon.”

You adore it when he goes off on these tangents—the passion that stains his voice, the ardor that grips him until he has no choice but to tell you exactly what’s got him so excited. You could listen to him talk for hours. It means he’s here with you, and he wants you to love what he loves. 

Since he met you, that’s all Spencer has wanted—for you to love what he loves. 

You want the same. 

“Pretty name,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.” 

-

part eight

[palajae]

eastside.

PAIRING... agent!riki x agent!reader | GENRE... partners! au, romance, angst, mentions of violent, blood, guns, death implications | WC... 1k | “i’m not doing to die, you idiot.”

it’s pretty simple, really. 

you and your partner were sent out on an undercover mission—as a couple on vacation. you thought that last bit was unnecessary, but for some reason your partner insisted on the cover story. it made it all the more believable. 

whatever, you were used to it. after all, working together for four years made your teamwork and bond the best of the best. it wasn’t everyday that you were assigned to a s-class mission. that is, until your cover was blown. 

luckily, everyone had been evacuated before the resort had gone under fire, leaving you two to deal with the remaining mess.

“when’s backup coming?”

“it’s gonna take at least thirty minutes. we’re not exactly in the most accessible of locations.”  his voice sounds rather exasperated through the earpiece. 

everything seemed clear, it was just up to you two to get out of the place. you duck down, avoiding as much crashing and falling debris as possible. you needed to get to him. stealthily, you’re able to make it to the exit, peeking around the corner to spot your partner. 

right as you’re about to run over, you feel the hairs on your arm rise. quickly, you scan the area, only to spot a flash of movement from above. there was still one straggler remaining. you curse when you notice the gun in his hands.

you were just out of his view, but your partner was in his plain sight. and he was completely oblivious, you knew he looking around for you like always. 

“ki, i need you to fall back.” you try your best to keep your voice steady and calm, although the slight quiver at the end of your words gives you away. 

“what?” he stops in his tracks, glancing around in confusion. 

“do it!” you beg. he falters, having never heard such desperation in your voice. 

“you trust me.” 

it wasn’t a question, but a statement. everything you needed to say, everything he needed to hear, was conveyed in those three words. 

you inhale, rushing into the open area and aiming your gun at the guy. he spots you as soon as ni-ki begins to retreat. 

please, you beg. 

for what exactly, you’re not sure. 

as soon as the shot goes off, ni-ki spots you and rushes to your side. heart pounding, he scans the area. since when was there another guy left? either way, the man is effectively taken out. 

“fifteen more minutes, guys.”

ni-ki could care less. he brushes a few stray hairs off your clean face. 

“y/n, you-“

why are your eyes closed? 

his blood runs cold when he pulls his hands back.

all he sees is red. 

“o-oh god y/n? listen, you’re fine. right? you’re okay.”

ni-ki tightens his hold around your limp body, eyes never leaving the sight of the red continually blooming from your stomach. he keeps pressure on the wound, doing his best not to freak out even more, but when he doesn’t receive any sort of response or reaction, his mouth dries. 

he calls out your name again and again, placing a hand on your face and shaking slightly as if that would immediately wake you up. 

"no, please! you just…you can’t leave me like this-“ his voice cracks. 

your eyes fly open in annoyance. “ni-ki! will you just shut up for a minute? i’m not going to die, you idiot.”

you sigh. you can feel it. 

he’s trembling. even worse, it’s the first time you’ve seen unshed tears in his eyes. 

you place your hand over his on your cheek, squeezing slightly as if to comfort him. that action is enough for you to allow your eyes to flutter shut. 

you felt really, really exhausted. so much to the point where everything seems to fade away, the sound of your partner’s panicked cries and the throbbing pain coming off in waves from your side.  

you put in countless years and years of hard work with no rest or relaxation—all the blood, sweat, and tears—just to get to this point. 

maybe, just for a brief second, you could rest. 

a/n ▸ so like… sorry? hope you enjoy this gift tho lovelies <3

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[shrewsburysworld]

Twisted Devotion | Kim Taehyung (m) Part 1.

*This is a fan fiction. completely fictional. The behaviour of characters in this fiction is not something to emulate. You are responsible for your own consumption. Thank you.*

*This is original work. Do not copyright*

Pair: Yandere Taehyung × Obsessed Reader

Summary: You were obsessed freak for the new police officer in the town. Trying to get into his heart and pants both with your efforts. But when you give up on him, he comes again in your life and you were dumbfounded when you get to know that he isn't a normal police officer.

Warning: The behaviour of characters are not something to emulate. Reader isn't yandere just crazy for him, blood, reader cuts herself for show off, argument, appearance of choi Yeonjun.

Rainy season has touched South Korea, although many people hated rain Kim Taehyung was not one of them. And it was for variants of reasons.

One of those reasons being her. That woman.

He unintentionally looked at the door as if his eyes were waiting for her. The longing of seeing her was so much that he started hallucinating her standing at door, all drenched, her outfit clearly showing cleavage and her palm all bloody - wait! What?!.

Taehyung snapped out of his imagination while he saw you standing there in real. He quickly got up after he realised that you were crying for help. The junior officer, Choi Yeonjun who was standing beside can't help but cringe. You were coming into police station regularly since two weeks.

And even a blind person can figure out you were in love with officer Kim. He just saw you as a silly girl who was begging for attention. People will say he's too harsh but looking at you clinging on officer Kim like your life depends on it, he was sure.

Taehyung doesn't know what to do, you were crying - probably fake. He knows you by now. And complaining about some unknown person who harmed you. Him being a gentleman gave you a handkerchief and told you to sit on the other side to write a report. Thankfully Yeonjun was already out when hugged him.

He saw your obvious pout after pulling out of hug.

"So, did you see their faces?" Taehyung asked the question even after being sure that this was self harm.

"Won't you ask me how I am?!!" You asked in slight anger tone.

"My palm has been cut open!!" It was not that big but you wanted to see worry or love or whatever it is in his eyes.

Taehyung massaged his head, loudly breathing through his nose. He remembered the night he met you - some goons had attacked you. You were lucky that he was nearby. He fought with them in his regular black tshirt with leather jacket. It was raining so it went all slow motion for you. Your knight in shining armor was nothing less compared to heroes in films.

He lend you his jacket to make you feel more safe. And there were butterflies in your stomach as he made such move. You asked for cleaning his little wounds to touch him, feel his muscles and he thought you were just being kind.

After that night you visited the police station as he told you he works there. You brought him luxurious gifts just simply on the name of being saved. Only if he knew you already gone for him.

He thought it was cute. After that day, she seemed to be everywhere—offering him homemade cookies, dropping by the precinct with lunch, giving him luxurious gifts here and there even if he refused.

You were quite flirty as well but what began as harmless flirtation quickly escalated into something much more unnerving. Every day, you found new ways to insert yourself into his life.

Like - right now you were being pain in the ass. Solely focusing on does he care about her - not even caring about her wounds.

"You need to back off , YN!" Taehyung told you, his voice tight with frustration.

You were silenced by his serious tone.

“This isn’t cute anymore. It’s not a game. Stay away from me.”

But You weren't deterred.

“Taehyung, you don’t mean that,” you said as your voice soft and coaxing, as if you could soothe away his anger with just a few words. You reached out to touch his hand, but he jerked away, his patience at its breaking point.

You were upset not with him but with yourself. You being a rich brat was always given what you wanted. So you were determined to get him to love you.

But now you understood that love can't be forced even after trying so many times you failed to gain his love. You can't always win anything even with money sometimes.

You stood up and left the police station. Your hand was taken care by him while you were expressing your agony.

It's been awhile, taehyung hadn't seen you. Who was he kidding tho it was just second day of you not visiting him.

Taehyung couldn't believe you didn't come the other day after argument. He thought you will enter with your sunshine smile and homemade cookies in your hand, flirting with him by openly calling him baby and talking dirty just to make him blush.

On the first day of your disappearance, he was astonished not founding you by his office door with some notorious idea to see him but he became busy to stop the feeling, the feeling of loneliness. He was surrounded by people but at the same time he wasn't. It was like you had his identity, and that somehow made him happy.

The second day was normal for everyone but not Taehyung, not him.

At first, it was just a flicker of curiosity. He wondered where were you, what were you doing, why the heck you had finally listened to him. But as the day turned into night, that curiosity grew into something more—a strange, burning need to see you again.

The rain wasn't stopping and for the first time he felt like hating the rain for the first time. It can't be right?! He promised himself to be rain lover all his life.

He began to replay your encounters in his mind, each memory sharpened by the absence of your chaotic energy.

And then, the dreams started. Dreams where you was the one pulling away, where he was the one chasing you, begging for your attention. Each time he woke, his heart pounded in his chest, his sheets twisted and damp with sweat and maybe some white substance. He hated the way you had wormed your way into his thoughts, but he couldn’t stop it. The more he tried to push you away, the more you consumed him.

Soon, Taehyung found himself driving by your apartment, lingering outside the places you used to wait for him, hoping for a glimpse of the woman he had once been so desperate to escape.

The tables had turned, and now, it was Taehyung who was haunted by the obsession that had once belonged to her.

But except it wasn't just a normal obsession, it was intense. Seems like you didn't know about officer Kim Taehyung at all.

next part

Did you guys like it?! Yandere Taehyung is about to take place in part 2!!.

Show some love and appreciation, it'll make me happier 💕

Tag list : @hoji-licious , @tan-veee , @illnevertrustmyselfagain , @tae-n-u

[1800-page-not-found]

Wingwoman (Wriothesley x reader)

summarry: Being the secretary of the hydro archon isn't easy, although I suppose being her friend does make it easier. The hydro archon-furina, is quite a good friend actually. Though, her methods of helping you get closer with the man you fancy aren't always quite...ethical. But I promise you, she does mean well.

notes: i still havent completed this quest yet so its probably wrong in some areas lol. I also think i'll be updating some orv writings on the weekend where I have more time.

not proofread

"[name] [last name], by order of the court, you will be sentenced to-" the lady paused, trying to make sure what she read was correct. "-to twelve hours in the Fortress of Meropide for...not being true to yourself?..."

oh.

oh.

This was Furina's doing. You sighed, holding your head as you nodded.

"Right..." You answered, also seeming unsure.

This...this was really the best Furina could come up with? Just because you said you didn't fancy the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide.

Okay, sure. Maybe he is a little handsome, and strong, and kind, and-

ahem.

You were led to the inside of the Fortress and there you were. 'Furina, my dear archon and friend, what the fuck am I supposed to do here?!' You nervously bit your finger nails, freaking out internally. 'Oh archons, she wouldn't extend my sentence would she?...what am I even saying-she definitely would.'

-------

Wriothesley walked with Lumine and Sigewinne, going down to eat. His eyes widened at the sight of you, down here at the Fortress.

"[name]?" He spoke, his voice seeming surprised, at a dash of excitement. Had you-had you come to see him?!?

You turned around surprised. "Wriothesley? Lumine?-hold on, Lumine!? What are you doing here?"

"Ahahaha...Its...complicated. I'd rather not explain my sentence. How about you?" Lumine asks, smiling. It was good to see a friend again.

You certainly weren't here for business, that's for sure. Wriothesley would've been officially notified.

"I uh...also got sentenced. For half a day." You laugh embarrassed. You were definitely going to cut Furina's sweet intake by 25%.

Before anyone could reply, someone-who worked at the Fortress- ran up and handed Lumine a letter. "An official letter to Lumine from the Hydro Archon!" speak of the devil.

After reading it as you and Wriothesley conversed about business, Lumine laughed.

"Wriothesley, If its alright with you, Paimon and I would like to look around the fortress ourselves for a bit if that's okay. You could tour [name] around instead!"

No way. Theres absolutely no way Furina asked the renowned Lumine to help her-you, on this little fiasco. However, when Wriothesley nodded and turned his back to Lumine and Paimon, they both winked and gave you a thumbs up.

Oh my god, she did.

"-ame]? [name]? Would you uh, like a tour?" Wriothesley scratched his head bashfully.

"Yes, I'd like one if that'd be okay with you."

You smiled, trying not to freak out. Was this-this could definitely be considered a date right!?! I mean, you were arrested for a stupid reason but I mean, it worked! Damn, Furina was a really really good wingwoman...

"Great!-sorry ahem, I meant, it'd be no problem."

Oh my god what is this, a cheesy rom-com movie?

-------

After the tour ended, it was already nearing the end of your short sentence. (lets just pretend Wriothesley has no work responsibilities.)

"It was really lovely getting to know the place you work at. You seem like you enjoy your job." You smiled at him.

"I do!-sorry I meant yes, I do enjoy it. I also really enjoyed talking to you outside of work." He scratched his neck shyly, looking away, before mumbling, "you're much lovelier when you're yourself anyway..."

-------

And that was that. You were discharged from the Fortress, and you guys were going to become strangers again-

"[name]!" You hear his voice call out to you as you walked. Pausing and turning around, you were faced with Wriothesley.

"If, If you'd like, could we have lunch every now and then? I really liked talking with you today!" His cheekes were flushed, was it from running or his bashfulness?

"I would like that too..." You covered your face, blushing. What a cliche romance plot! Just like the novels you've read from your library Furina had gifted you...

"R-really!? Wonderful! Maybe you should get in trouble more so we can see each other more often-" Your eyes widen in surprise, and he stutters over his words.

"I-I'm sorry I shouldn't have sai-"

"Pft-ahahahaha!" You laugh, covering your stomach. "I didn't know you could crack jokes like that too!" You laughed, tears brimming your eyes from laughing so hard.

"Who knows? Maybe I will." You laugh, as Wriothesley waves his hands in the air in a frantic manner.

"N-no! That wouldn't be good for you! It would be on your record and it might put your job at stake!" You smiled, regaining your posture.

"Haha! No worries, the beloved Hydro Archon and I are practically best friends! I know her quite well."

You smile softly, then deciding to be bold and tucked his hair behind his ear, and kissing his cheek. "I hope I see you again soon."

You turned around and left, leaving a shocked and flustered Wriothesley. Little did he know, you and a really giddly smile on your face.

Maybe you should increase Furina's sweet orders by 25% instead...

[akirathedramaqueen]

Octavia's and Blitzø's potential relationship development

I believe that the show, despite Octavia openly hating Blitzø, gives us some hints that they have much more in common than it seems. I’ve noticed a couple of moments where Blitzø and Octavia are… pretty much in sync, if that makes sense.

Here are those moments I’ve noticed… maybe stretched in some places, but! Hear me out!

1. Here, they don’t hear each other, but both are repulsed by Stolas’s obnoxious language and express the same reaction. It’s funny that Stolas is the one calling them out.

[Blitzø]: WHAT [Octavia]: THE [Blitzø]: FUCK [Octavia]: DAD?! S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 4:52

2. They also share a distaste for Stolas’s behavior throughout the episode, albeit in slightly different ways. In fact, this serves as a great demonstration of how deaf and blind Stolas is to obvious social cues at the beginning of the series—he doesn’t stop even when directly asked to do so on multiple occasions.

Blitzø is disgusted by Stolas’s awkward, overly sexual advances and demeaning language towards him and his work.

[Stolas]: You are so cute when you are serious! S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 6:06

Octavia is taken aback by essentially the same. However, she blames both of them, understandably failing to recognize that Blitzø is just as uncomfortable as she is. From her perspective, Blitzø is a homewrecker who contributed to destroying her parents' marriage.

[Stolas]: You know, it's quite thrilling to see you on the job, Blitzy.[Blitzø]: Save it, bitch, I am working. [Octavia]: You both need to get a room. S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 8:20

3. They share the hate for the same clown!

[Blitzø and Octavia]: I hate that fucking clown. S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 8:50

4. They seem to have similar tastes in music! The song My World Is Burning Down Around Me, which Octavia plays to tune out Stella’s screaming, is also heard in Blitzø’s van when he comes to pick up Loona in the Queen Bee episode, although it’s only instrumental. Here, have a look. If, for some reason, the service with the timeframes isn’t working, I’ll also provide the timings in writing so you can check it yourself on YouTube.

Octavia turns on the song, and for a while, we can hear the lyrics before it fades into the background as the scene shifts to Stella yelling at Stolas and later to Stolas’s conversation with Octavia. S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 2:52 - 3:50

The song’s instrumental version can be heard when Blitzø’s van arrives, and the background noise at Queen Bee’s club is different, so there’s no chance for misinterpretation. It is the music Blitzø’s was listening to. S1EP8, Queen Bee, 8:20 - 9:14

5. Haha, they freak out in the same way in the Seeing Stars episode! I know it’s probably just a stylistic choice to transition from Octavia’s initial experience with LA to Blitzø having to contact Stolas and explain what happened. However, I might be indulging in a bit of wishful thinking, suggesting that this similarity in their stress responses could have some deeper meaning.

S2EP2, Seeing Stars, 4:42

So-o... What am I trying to say with all these points I've made?

Like the kind of delulu who yells, "Ghostfuckers, save us!" (we know Viv, we know how trying to put our hopes up ends, haha), I draw a complete unhinged card and I am going to make a very bold claim:

I think that once Stolas and Blitzø finally get their shit and themselves back together, and Octavia realizes there’s much more to the story than, “Oh, it’s just horny dad cheated on my mum with a red lizard dickhead and my dad ruined my family,” Octavia could actually bond with Blitzø quite nicely, and he would make a good second dad to her! Well, don’t get me wrong. She might never want to take it to that level. Also, we don’t know how things will turn out, nor do we know her relationship with her mum, Stella.

But I do believe that their parallels were thrown in for a reason. Despite the circumstances, they can, and maybe will, be on much better terms than they currently are.

Go on, call me delusional and leave me be in my complete denial corner. <3 I admit I do tend to forget the current state of the Stolitz relationship in the series, as in my world, where I’m prioritizing my time working on that fic, they are finally together. I am bitter-sweetly excited that @tealvenetianmask and I are slowly but surely getting close to finishing it. :)

(Yes, yes, it was shameless self-promotion—sue me for the unlawful use of a speculatory-analytical post space to promote our version of Stolitz working hard to sort out their issues post Apology Tour and having some silly and horny fun along the way.)

[143-iloveu]

Credit for all photos goes to the original owners. I do not own these images.

MDNI - Not all of my works are NSFW, but I do not want minors interacting with my blog just to be safe. All NSFW content will carry a Mature Community Label. Ageless and empty blogs will promptly be blocked.

Constellations

Idol!Felix X GN!Reader

Tooth-rotting Fluff

Content Warnings - None

Word Count - 548

When your exhausted boyfriend comes home from dance practice and falls asleep in record time... you can't help but admire him.

©️ Please don't repost or translate my works on other platforms.

Fifty-five seconds.

That’s all the time it took for Felix to fall asleep once his head hit the pillow - a new record. You decided to count purely out of curiosity. He’s been heading to dance practice before dawn for the last four days, and Lord knows the boys don’t wrap things up until they are beyond exhausted. He hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep this whole week.

As he drifts farther into dreamland, his tense muscles are finally given a chance to relax. His lips are forming a sleepy little pout, and a trail of drool is forming at the corner of his mouth - his signature face whenever he’s burnt out. He looks so peaceful lost in his dream. Your heart flutters at the sight. You could swear that you found your heaven within Felix. What selfless deed had you performed in your past life to be given the chance to be with such a sweetheart?

You’re quick to take advantage of the opportunity to admire the beautiful man who’s lying before you. His blonde locks are fanned across his forehead, some falling in his eyes. His breathing is slow, chest rising and falling in time. But the thing that always pulls at your heartstrings is seeing the freckles on Felix’s angelic face. It’s as if God painted constellations across his cheeks just for you to cherish.

You lay in bed next to him, attempting to count how many individual freckles you can see.

‘One hundred forty-three,’ you think to yourself.

That’s the farthest you’ve ever gotten.

Suddenly, Felix rolls further into you, burying his face in your chest and wrapping a strong arm around your waist. He holds you tight against him, and you can feel a small smile spreading across his lips. He must have felt you staring and rolled over to hide his face. He’s always such a shy baby whenever he catches you staring at him with hearts in your eyes.

He’s trapped you within his grasp, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You have only a single complaint; you weren’t finished counting. You sigh, accepting that your mission has failed. There’s always tomorrow. Although, you’re certain his freckles are infinite, just like the number of reasons to love him.

“Sweet dreams, my freckled prince,” you whisper.

He hums in response.

“I love you, Yongbokie,” you say gently against his temple before pressing a kiss to it.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he mumbles against your chest.

It feels as if you see God every time he says your name, intoxicated by the sound of it falling from his pouty lips. If his love were a religion, you’d be a devout worshipper. You’ve got him, and he’s got you; until the end of time.

He gives your waist a small squeeze before looking up at you with the cutest sleepy eyes. His lips are puckered, silently asking for another goodnight kiss. You happily oblige. A smile crawls onto his face, and he shifts to get comfortable again. He quickly falls back asleep, a light snore escaping his lips. You lay there truly appreciating the fact that you can call this man yours. Without him, you’d be completely lost. Soon, your exhaustion drags you off to join Felix in dreamland.

A/N: I am so freaking soft for Lixie. I wrote this one-shot in a couple of hours but went back over it hundreds of times since writing it. It has sat in my finished works folder for over a year, and I'm finally ready to let it see the light of day. I hope you love this as much as I do!

-Ashe 🦊🐺

©️ Please don't repost or translate my works on other platforms.

[sp-ud]

Yapped to my friends analyzing the horror scene from the Knights of Guinevere teaser. Going to copy paste it here, hopefully it's not too hard to follow. Originally I had a lot more images attached but im on the app so I have the 10 image limit

Hat guy:

- reverse hat, very cool

- is missing one of their overall straps

- seems to be the one talking as it's ponytail who moves to "hold her down"

- only moves once the strap is broken, and then just kinda stands there looking into the large ring til the end of the scene

Ponytail:

- has a ponytail with a single lighter streak of hair

- also wears a sort of apron thing

- is the one who goes to "hold her down" but ends up standing back and shielding their head once the strap bursts

- they then do turn to look at blue as she freaks out, only to turn her gaze upwards at the end when blue lashes out at the 'camera' and perhaps something else unseen to the audience

Taking a look at their screens, hat guy's clearly has a DNA sequence, or at least something similar, along the bottom. That is not something you just include accidentally. Ponytail's screen also seems to include some sort of diagram that seems important, but it's hard to tell what it is

Now to this, clearly some sort of dragging blood stain, except it interestingly goes underneath the table and we can see it pooling on the other side.

Interestingly blue doesn't have any of the blood on her clearly, she's just on top of it.

But also the tools have blood splatter On Top of them, meaning they were already there before the blood started getting splattered everywhere. But the direction of the line of splatter seems to imply that the cart has possibly been moved since the initial splatter

Blue:

- clearly mostly a mechanical body

- left foot is missing

- left middle finger is missing

- the same sort of "screw" design that is on the side of her upper thighs is also on her left shoulder

- even though her eye is open, the pupil is rolled back with only a bit of it showing at the top

- the blood, her eyes (the right one does crack open for a second), and her teeth are all the same blue color. Which actually makes me think of how blood, teeth, and eyes(under certain conditions) glow under uv lights. Although uv lights r also blue, not red.

Okay. So yeah this probably isn't organic skin. The way it bunches up around the neck and other joints is clearly intentional along with how it breaks along the parts where it's torn/burned away isn't how skin would break.

At first I was confused by the "spike" on the right side of her head but now I realize it's probably a single short lock if hair remaining on that side.

Also she has no ears.

But the reason I hesitate to completely write her off as "never was a person" is because of the way the burn(?) Scar looks, and how the eye is squinted around it. Meanwhile every other burned/torn away bit of skin just has mechanical parts under it

Interestingly, the extra bit of splatter on the floor comes before the strap bursts off and the blue liquid starts to spew from the ring.

You can also even see a bit of it on the floor behind the ring before that point too. But you can also see that behind the ring is just more floor, there's no other person or anything obviously on the other side or anything.

The ring also makes a burst of smoke/steam at the same time it starts spitting out the blue blood(?)

(This was in response to a friend asking what I thought a poster from the teaser image posted a day before the teaser might be)

So, starsnuff is kinda pictured as mushrooms growing from a person's skull.

I don't think these 'tentacles' r supposed part of the robotics of blue even though they are coming directly from the shoulder joint. It just doesn't look like they could fit at all with how large they are compared to her remaining left arm.

So while they don't exactly seem to be mushrooms, I wonder if they are some sort of vine or maybe even root growing out of her possibly relating to starsnuff?

Anddd that's pretty much all of my yapping to my friends, not a lot of conclusions here just sort of noting details.

[httpscomexe]

Forbidden Secret Desire 7

Summary: He’s hunting you, even after time passes, and you think you’re free, he never stops hunting you.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Human hunting, past kidnapping, injuries, blood, guns, shooting, non-con, smut, pv, murder, descriptions of death, stalking, descriptions of death, death, non-religious beliefs of after death, Logan Howlett (Individual warnings per chapter)

Tags: @remmyj10 @sammyluvsfics @badbishsblog @cellyx33 @chxrrybomb22 @bitchidontpost

Word Count: 2329 (Find all chapters here)

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

P.P.S. I wrote this really fast cause I wanted to get FSD over with.

Enjoy your Forbidden Secret Desire.

You don’t know what you expected when he said hunting, but it wasn’t this.

You had woken up sooner than he expected you to, so he was still out running errands. The only reason you knew that was because after yelling and screaming off the top of your lungs for thirty minutes, there was no response.

You sniffle, holding back tears, which you were honestly embarrassed about, even if you were the only one in the cabin.

You stretch, and your head throbbed in pain. You weren’t sure what time it was, or how long Logan had been gone, but you needed to get out of there. He didn’t even tie you down to your surprise. Your limbs were completely free. You suppose he expected to be back before you woke up, but you couldn’t waste anymore time.

You step off the bed, every movement hurts every nerve in your body, but you need to run. Placing your hand on the door handle, you prepare yourself to dart straight into the woods, and not stop until you find another person, someone to hopefully save you. Although, you weren’t too sure if someone would freak out and hand you over the second they see Wolverine on your tail. Nobody wants 3-6 long sharp claws lodged inside their throat.

You know the second you open the door, a notification will be sent to his phone, telling him the ‘backdoor’ has been opened. To which he would come home as soon as he saw it.

So the plan was to just dart outside, hope the snow isn’t too thick anymore, and run. And you aren’t too sure what happened, but instead of darting into the woods, you freeze in the doorframe. There was basically a fucking blizzard outside. The wind was howling, the sound of air and the door alarm were both filling your ears and crowding your brain.

Then your stomach drops.

The sound of his truck rolling into the driveway was enough to get you running, straight into the woods, and only then do you realise your feet were completely naked, no shoes. You skin was only covered by your thin black socks, which were quickly bundling up snow on the fabric with each step you took.

You were sure he was already chasing you, the only difference between the two of you is he was sure to be wearing clothes more suitable for the weather, whereas you were in socks and an oversized shirt, the rest of you uncovered and free to the cold as you ran.

Then you hear a clicking sound. Followed by a loud boom and wood chips from the tree you just ran by blowing into your face.

“Shit!” You scream, protecting your face with your hands. He has the fucking hunting rifle. You realise, but you don’t stop running.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Y/N.” You remember his words as adrenaline runs through your body. “Then I’ll take you hunting, I’m sure you’ll have fun.” It felt like a kiss from a cactus when he pressed his lips to your cheek. “Behave.”

Hunting.

You replay the word in your head.

He’s hunting you.

But there was no time to think. There was another boom, a sharp pain grazing your skin as you leaped a little to your side, surprising yourself as you kept your balance. Your heart was racing, adrenaline keeping the blistering pain of the cold away from your feet and the painful drip of blood on your leg out of your brain. You didn’t have time to process the pain, not when you had an animal chasing you with a shotgun. And he seemed pretty intent on killing you.

You turn, hoping to lose him through some trees, and it seems to work as you hear the patter of his shoes crunching snow start to slow down. He was searching for you. No.

He was smelling for you.

You bend down, grabbing some snow with your hand quickly to wipe the blood off of your skin while still skipping, never stopping your movements as you quickly but quietly run past him.

If you had any luck finding another person, it would be down the driveway to the house. It would be a long run, but it was your best bet.

The cabin comes back into view, its shape taunting you as you get closer and closer, but you don’t run inside. You run around the side of the house, and you make your way to dark down the driveway until you would reach a main road.

But again.

You stop. Staring at the key in the engine of his truck with the door sitting open. He must’ve left it like that when he saw the notification on his phone, his priority was to find you.

You make a line for the truck, the gas tank was about half full and it was still running. Closing the door and pulling it out of park, you reverse and quickly drive down the little road leading up to the house.

You made it.

It wasn’t nearly as painful or hard as you expected it to be. You actually made it. You got away from him.

Crying happy tears, you make your way down the twisted road, the snow slightly blocking your vision but you don’t care, you weren’t stopping for anything.

Not even the man in his red flannel as he jumps out onto the road, colliding with the front of the truck, making you slam on the breaks, hoping you didn’t run over some random dude.

Then he stands up, and brings his rifle into view, shooting a clear round straight through the windshield, and you duck just in time, already pressing down on the gas again without looking out at the dirt road until you were sure it was safe to. Looking in the rear view mirror, he was standing there, the most defeated look you’ve ever seen written on his face as he breathed heavily, soon turning to walk back up to the house.

There was no way he would just let you go, right?

7 months had passed.

You hadn’t seen Logan since the day at the cabin, and you haven’t even gotten rid of his truck. It was still sitting in the garage of your new home, occasionally being worked on by your fiance.

Xavier has tried getting ahold of you a few times, wondering what’s going on and why you want nothing to do with the X mansion suddenly, but you don’t bother answering any questions, instead, you hang up, blocking the number and forgetting about him completely.

You had better things in life now to deal with.

A minimum wage job as a barista, serving coffee to people rude and nice, a simple, cheap apartment, right next to just about the noisiest neighbour. A cat, his name is Gus, and he absolutely hates anything you do, knocking everything you place on the counter down onto the ground, including coffee, which quickly stains the carpet, making you have to get onto your knees, scrubbing the living hell out of the carpet to avoid fees. Your fiance was unemployed, and you weren’t exactly sure how the fuck you were even affording the apartment anymore. He would just stay home on the couch, watching TV and occasionally being nice enough to buy groceries and make you dinner.

Yea. Sometimes you wish you had stayed with Logan. Of course, you’d probably still be 3 months pregnant. But at least you’d be better off living. And Logan likes to work, so he definitely wouldn’t be sitting on the couch watching football while you’re cooking dinner after a 12-hour shift and a rude 70-year-old customer who covered you in the ‘wrong coffee.’

Now you were in the shower, letting warm water run down your body. It wouldn’t be a long shower of course, considering Jake had already wasted a shit ton of hot water on his own shower, no having any consideration for the bill.

And as you’re in your head, not a single thought running through your brain, you’re suddenly pulled out. A crashing sound of something falling over is what catches your attention, making you turn off the water in the shower.

“Jake?” You call out. No answer. You groan, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around your body before pulling the door open. “Jake? What happened? What did you drop?” Still no answer. You step out further, and you don’t see anything. Everything's in place except for the lamp on the side of the bed where Jake was lying down before you got in the shower. You assume that’s what had fallen.

You walk around the side of the bed, expecting to see Gus lying there with a broken lamp. That cat was an ass, but he was still your baby.

Except that’s not at all what you see when you walk around the bed.

Instead, Jake is lying on the floor. The cord of the lamp tied so tight around his throat that his skin was plumping up and turning red, a few more minutes and his head would surely pop off. But that isn’t what had you scared. The jaw dropping discovery was the three stab marks, each lined up on his abdomen, blood seeping through his clothes and onto the carpet. Even in death, he was still a fucking pain.

“Not the time for jokes.” You tell yourself, then quickly grab whatever clothes your hands find first, you have to get out of there.

He found you.

“You’re in a rush.” You freeze, not even getting the chance to drop your towel as his familiar voice rings in your ears. “It’s not because of me, is it?” In the corner of your eye, he approaches you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “Right?” You shake your head, goosebumps running through your skin as he whispers against your ear. “Good.” He groans, his body pushing yours against the dresser. “It’s been a while. Didn’t you miss me?” He turns you around, making you face him, and you bite your lip, too scared to answer. “How about… A welcome back gift? Just for me?” His hands move up, fingers grabbing the ends of the towel still wrapped around your body in an attempt to pull it down, but you finally move, grabbing his wrists firmly to stop him. “Don’t. Fucking. Touch me.” He growls, shaking your hands off of him before finally ripping the towel off your body. “You’ve gotten chubby…” His hands move to cup your ass, and he lifts you against him, forcing your legs around his waist before he walks you over to the bed, throwing you onto the mattress.

You watch as he wordlessly undoes his jeans, pulling down the zipper and unbuttoning the denim with urgency before quickly moving between your legs, not even bothering to undress completely. He wanted you to feel exposed.

He lifts your hips, and waste no time as he pushes inside of you, a pained moan coming from your throat as he quickly begins thrusting inside of you, groans and curses spilling from his lips as one of his hands holds your throat and the other keeps you still.

“That’s it baby, fuck such a good girl.” He mutters, hips still rocking into yours.

Your hands find his, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as he squeezes your throat, leaving little to no room for breathing.

He thrusts harder and faster as you try urging him to stop, and his other hand moves from your hip to the matress, his knuckles pressed flat on the bed as he rams into you, his speed increasing as he feels your walls clench around his cock. Your eyes rolling in your head as it rolls back, the movements painful from the loss of oxygen as your face turns red and you begin to lose consciousness. But he doesn’t stop, he just moves faster into you, pumping with no remorse. He only wanted to get back at you, he was mad at you for running, but you’d be dead if you hadn’t those 6 months ago.

“L-Lo-gan.” You cough out his name, the supply of air to your lungs now completely gone. All that was left was the blood in your chest and the air in your veins which was also quickly being taken from you.

“Shut the fuck up…” He groans, and his hips begin to stagger, his movements becoming less urgent as he finishes, his seed spilling inside of you as he also forces you to cum, and you hear the sound of metal as his claws suddenly shoot through your mattress, leaving 3 holes beside your head, but that was the least of your worries.

You were more worried if he was going to stop.

When you were dead that is.

Your eyes face into a black state of unconsciousness, your body spasming underneath his as your body tries hard, fighting to breathe, but no supply comes as his fingers wrap tighter around your throat, trapping you in a breathless state.

It wouldn’t matter if you had died, and it didn’t  matter to you what he did to your body when you were dead. All that was running through your mind is what would’ve happened if you didn’t run.

If you had just behaved, would he had still left you alive?

Would he love you, and treat you like you were actually his romantic partner?

Or would none of that matter…?

You wonder.

Choking on nothing as your eyes finally close, and you drift into unconsciousness.

Then there’s nothing.

Not even a black void of incomprehension.

No screaming souls, gate to heaven, or depths of hell.

There’s nothing.

Something not even the most complicated cerebrum of any human biology would ever be able to comprehend.

You were dead.

[crepezinhos]

request where reader has a horrible phobia of the dentist, but albedo is there to talk them into going to their appointment and supporting them the way through? :)

Monthly Checkup

(REQUEST #6) POV: How would a science nerd like Albedo react towards a S/O who has a phobia of dentists?

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This a fluffy SFW piece

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains exaggerated views towards science / dentists

“There’s no need to worry, Y/N, it’ll be a simple checkup, no longer than 30 minutes, so why are you so worried about this? Have you not been brushing your teeth properly?”

That was his only argument to you as he drove the car in the direction of the dentist’s clinic.

You were worried, swallowing saliva repetitively, but you that moment had to be faced sometime. You wish you had procrastinated it once again, but Albedo insisted so much on getting the chore over to not mess up the calendar that you convinced yourself to arrange an appointment today and right now. Although he has been your boyfriend for months, you two have never really found each other in this situation, meaning that you never really communicated to him that you feared dentists.

Especially because Albedo is a very rough defender of science and does not tolerate conspiracy theories about it. Tell him vaccines are fake? He’ll just tell you to have fun with the HIV tests. The Moon’s landing is fake? He’ll just walk away from you. The Earth is flat and the government hides it? He’ll genuinely wonder if you ever stepped into high school.

How would you tell such a science-strict man like him that you think dentists will kill you and torture you using sharp materials in your fragile teeth? Would he laugh at you? It would not be a good sign coming from a stoic person like him.

“I, uh… I don’t know.” You muttered, completely unsure of what to tell him instead of the real reason.

“No, Y/N, I’m serious, is there something wrong with your teeth and you’re scared that the doctor will scold you for it?” He said, stopping the car right behind the crosswalk since the signal had turned red.

He was pretty close, but it’s not it.

“No, really.” You said, trying to get him to keep going until he guessed the correct answer.

“Y/N, I can see something is going on and I’m worried about it. Please, let’s talk about it. It would be good for the both of us as a couple.” Albedo insisted, turning his body to you, but keeping his left hand in the steering wheel.

You turned your head away from him even further, feeling the will of telling him the truth taking over and tightening your throat more and more.

“It might begin a bigger discussion and that’s the last thing I want right now.” You argued.

“It won’t, unless it’s something that could reasonably end our relationship.” He argued back, proceeding to wait for a possible response coming from you. “And, a slight disagreement about something insignificant is never going to be bad for us.” He stated a little more calm compared to how he started, putting his right hand on top of yours just to caress it gently. “Please.” Albedo insisted.

And you sighed in realization that you had no good arguments to hit him back, although you didn’t find his words valid or coherent to his person. Albedo is the kind of guy to make small disagreements a bigger matter, but now that he promised to stay calm, you could use it as a weapon against him.

“Well, I… I just… have a phobia of dentists. I’m scared of what the doctor might do to me today and that’s why I’m freaking out right not.” You confessed, shrieking your body and crossing your arms in expectation of his scolding, with a nervous chuckle that was supposed to make the scene less awkward,

And silent.

He didn’t say anything, especially because the traffic signal had turned green, so he had to look forward and drive, making the car went quiet for a quick moment, the sound of motors underneath it louder than anything.

…

He breathed in and out pretty loudly with his nose out of nowhere.

…

“I’m a little offended at your expectations coming from me, I must say, but I’m surprised with this information, I thought this was just another monthly checkup, but it wasn’t. I… did not know something so important as your phobias.” Albedo commented, surprising your negative expectations, and breaking off the awkward silence.

“Oh, please, you know every time someone dares to question science you get angry.” You replied, getting a little too comfortable to make a comment at his behavior although that could phrase could begin the argument that you wanted to avoid.

And it seemed like it when he went quiet again to process what you had said to him. It looked like he was analyzing it pretty well, but you thought he’d not agree with whatever he thought of.

You kinda don’t like it when Albedo gets angry. It’s annoying and really hard to make him drop those feelings.

“Well, I must agree that I do get unnecessarily angry when someone spreads fake information about science, but this is not the case here. I would never get angry at you for a fear, Y/N, especially when I know there’s a pretty good reason behind it.” He calmly explained his point of view to you, making you look up to him finally.

Not even you what he meant. Although that’s what you should’ve expected coming from a boyfriend, you didn’t understand how your fear wasn’t against his patterns or how you ‘have a reason.’.

“What do you mean I have a reason?” You asked.

“Your braces. You had them for some several years, didn’t you? I know that the process of it is usually very painful because of the many alterations they cause in your mouth, so maybe your brain started developing this fear to somehow protect you from these alterations, although they don’t happen anymore… I do believe it’s a little exaggerated, but I will not oppose something that could also happen to me.” He explained his reasons to you, but you barely understood his scientific explanation.

“Really?” You asked, finally looking up to him, a little happy that Albedo was upping the stakes against himself for you.

Albedo letting a person dare science and leave it like that? That was progress.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I would ever avoid appointments because of it. Would you do that, Y/N?” He clarified before you had any further bad ideas of him.

“I mean… I procrastinated this moment a lot.” You confessed, looking away again in embarrassment.

“But you’re still here in this car, with me, going to get this done, so I don’t think there’s any problem, is there?” He asked pretty solidly.

“No… unfortunately…” You whispered to yourself.

“Could I go in the room with you? Would that make you feel more comfortable?” Albedo asked more softly.

“Yes… please.” You answered a little nervous but also relieved that he made such a cute question.

You knew that Albedo would defend from the dentist if necessary, which made your heart go back to its normal rhythm.

“Was it that bad, Y/N?” Albedo asked with a slight smirk on his face as the elevator went down many floors.

“… Shut up.” You answered, chuckling.

“I’m kidding, Y/N, but I do want you to always remember these better experiences. It will end up replacing the bad ones and create a new perspective that will make your next visits less stressful. You had me really worried with all that intensity back in the car and I don’t want to ever see you like that again for such an unrealistic reason, alright? Let’s keep your tears for better occasions, the both of us.” He said, pulling your face closer to his just to smooch your forehead gently as he smiled and stared at your eyes.

“… Fine.”

Anon, if you’re reading this, I apologize for the very late deliver. If you have been keeping up with my posts, you must know that I have been recently on a trip which took all my days from tumblr. I am finally back, but I still don’t have much motivation or creativity to write at the moment. This isn’t a hiatus, but expect me to post a little less until school’s back. If you really had an appointment with a dentist, I really do apologize for missing it because it would’ve probably made you comfortable.

(Also, the braces thing was a self-insert feature of me but I believe other people can relate to it too, sorry if it’s a bother or not real about you.)

And, remember that dentists don’t want and will not hurt you, they just want to do their job, and some of them just really love their job, so there’s no need to be afraid. ❤️

Taglist: @kindofscenic @kindofshyent @the-stinky-winky

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3

[liillyliilly]

Firefly

tsukishima akiteru x reader words; 2171 synopsis; a first love that's soft, gentle, and honest. a first love like a firefly is what akiteru wants- and it's what he gets.

The case of Tsukishima Akiteru was an interesting case to try and figure out.

Tsukishima Kei had determined that a major reason was that third years in high school are just weird.

Kei, although five years younger and not quite as emotionally intelligent, had picked up on a few things that could have led to his brother’s strange personality change. He had come to the conclusion that it was due to Akiteru’s best friend. It’s not as if she had poisoned him? It is possible though, Kei noted as Akiteru practiced flirting in the mirror one evening after she had come to study.

“Akiteru?” Kei asked, leaning against the bathroom door frame. The inky blue blackness of nighttime bleeding through the window and casting shadows onto the floor.

“Yeah?”

“Did Y/N poison you?” Akiteru’s eyes widened before shutting that idea down completely. Running his hands through the honeyed locks of his hair. Akiteru rested his hand on the sink counter and stared at himself in the mirror, before smiling and then ushering Kei out of the restroom. Once the brothers had arrived at Kei’s bedroom, Akiteru hovered by the door while Kei got ready for bed.

Akiteru pressed his lips into a thin line as Kei kept asking about why he was acting weird.

“I’m not acting weird. I’m being completely normal.” Akiteru stretched his arms out and shrugged. Kei wagged a finger at him.

Making a sour face and then getting under his covers, Kei spoke up, “Normal people don’t freak out when their friends come over to play.”

“It’s not playing, it's called hanging out.” Akiteru groaned.

Akiteru would have liked to admit to his brother the reason why he was acting weird, but seeing as Kei was still in middle school, and didn’t have much of a filter on his words, Akiteru reserved the reason for himself.

“Hanging out and playing are synonyms.” Kei huffed before pulling his blankets up and over his head and then pretending to snore loudly. Akiteru tapped the door before shutting it, leaving a small sliver open so the hallway light could illuminate Kei’s room.

Throwing himself onto his own bed, Akiteru screamed into his pillow, holding it close to his face so his yell could be muffled. Once he had finished letting out the noise that had built up inside of him, Akiteru leaned against the wall, letting his legs dangle over the edge of his bed as he held the pillow close to him. His phone buzzed and Akiteru dropped the pillow, silently praying that it was Y/n. His heart raced and he felt his entire body warm up slightly, an overwhelming side effect of having a crush he assumed.

A smile threatened to overtake all of his feature as he saw her contact image pop up on the screen. Thanks for having me over it was a lot of fun! Maybe next time we can study at my house?

Akiteru wanted to type a ‘yes’ with a hundred exclamation marks. But he settled for a ‘sounds good’. Sending the message, Akiteru bit down on his bottom lip before setting his phone face down and bouncing his leg. Waiting a minute, he picked up his phone again. No response. Setting his phone back down. Wait a minute. Pick it up. No response. Akiteru repeated the action for a bit longer until he reasoned that she had gone to bed.

Sighing, Akiteru laid down on his back. His hands underneath his head as he followed the blades of the fan spin round and round in seemingly endless circles.

“Say, Akiteru, you really should look through your photos.” Y/n muttered, hiding the bottom half of her face with the assigned reading, staring at him with her big doe eyes. Full of wonder and curiosity, Akiteru thought if he looked at her for too long, he would fall right into the colored pools of his daydreams.

“Okay...” Tapping the app icon, Akiteru chuckled when he saw endless silly selfies taken by her, probably taken when he went to go get some carrots to snack on. “You know I’m going to delete most of these, right?” Akiteru knew that he would keep all of them. But feigning disinterest he teased her by holding his finger over the delete button. She leaped out and tried to take the phone away from him, but Akiteru was faster and was able to lift his hand up into the sky, keeping his phone from her reach.

She ended up half way in his lap, her face by his shoulder and her arm wrapped around his neck. The back of his neck flared up with an uncomfortable, but familiar, warmth. She smiled at him before sighing dramatically and laying her back over his legs, the back of her hand on her forehead as she began a monologue of sorts.

“Woe is me. For some of those photographs were perhaps the greatest pictures ever taken of me.” Akiteru just laughed at her theatrics and ruffled her hair which broke her out of the character of the woman in agony and reverting back into his best friend.

“Happy birthday!” Akiteru squinted his eyes for a minute before yawning and rubbing his eyes, trying to wipe away any residual tiredness that wavered in his body. When he recognized the person at the foot of his bed as Y/n, he pulled his blankets up to cover his chest. She laughs before rolling her eyes. Saying something about how it's nothing she hasn’t seen before, and how him being shirtless doesn’t really matter that much.

Y/n went over to his chest of drawers and threw a t-shirt at him and clapped a few times before hopping out of his room and stomping down the stairs. Akiteru put a hand to his chest, feeling the uneven beats chase to rise his blood pressure. Putting the shirt on, Akiteru splashed some water onto his face while in the bathroom.

“She’s your best friend. Get a grip.” He criticized himself while looking into the mirror. Then he caught sight of his unruly bed head and tried to flatten the hair down.

Akiteru eventually made his way down the stairs, but stopped before his foot reached the landing. She was crouched down to meet Kei’s eye level as she moved his head around in a joking manner, her lips moving to say something. Kei held onto her hand with both of his and he nodded at her words, removing her hand from his head.

The interaction between the two made Akiteru smile.

“Hey, Akiteru, you ready?” She stood up, dusting off her pants and adjusting the straps of her cross-body bag.

“Ready for what exactly?” Akiteru leaned the side of his body against the wall, and sudden his senses were flooded. The smell of his mom’s cookies, the sight of Y/n when the sun hit her hair just right and made her look like something out of a fantasy, the feeling of his toes wiggling in his socks, and finally the taste of the toothpaste left over in his mouth from brushing his teeth.

“You and I are going on an adventure.”

She perked up a little, pushing her shoulders back and putting a hand on her hip. Akiteru meandered over to her and raised an eyebrow.

“Yay?”

“Yay indeed, Tsukishima.” Akiteru shook his head and she corrected herself. “Yay indeed, Akiteru.”

As it turns out, Y/n had planned for them to get lunch at a small diner while she drove down a long winding path. The destination still unknown to Akiteru. After picking up some food from the drive through, they ate while Y/n kept taking turns down a rugged and rocky path through a forest. The roof of the trees covering the light as shadows cover them and the car in a comforting blanket of darkness.

“Are you going to tell me where you plan on taking me, or is this the part where you murder me?” Akiteru chewed on the rest of his burger before putting the grease coated paper in the small garbage bag underneath his seat.

“Obviously murder you.” She scoffed before chuckling, taking her hand off the wheel to steal a fry from the cupholder. The grainy salt leaving a small oil trace on the steering wheel of the car. Akiteru caught sight of a small sign, and then the trees spat them out, escaping the darkness and leaving them in an open field of tall grass. The sun had begun to dim, a sunset splaying rosy and orange shades over the sky.

“This took a little longer than expected, but good thing it’s darker now!” Y/n put the car in stop before getting out, motioning for Akiteru to do the same. When he tried to run up to her, she shushed him and patted the air to signal for him to move slowly and quietly. Eventually he caught up and she lead him up a small hill, sitting down and toying with a small rock she had found.

Akiteru plopped down next to her, keeping a sort of distance that only he realized.

“You ready for this Akiteru.” She whispered, looking at the speckled grey rock in her hand.

The sun beat down on their backs and the darkness forming on the opposite end of the scale began to swallow up the earth in a paced effort. Akiteru nodded. And Y/n threw the rock into the grass.

Explosions of small floating lights flew up into the air. Like fireworks, or freckles, or even the way the sea glitters as it recedes back into its body of water. Dancing in the air, hundreds, if not thousands, of fireflies raced up into the air from the movement in the grass from the rock. Akiteru looked at the fireflies for a moment longer before pulling his eyes away to look at her.

Her eyes had spots of what seemed like pure gold moving around. Her face streamed with the moving lights, her features struck out at him, the shadows making her look like a painting done by a famous artist. He didn’t even notice that she had turned to face him until she was blessing him with a toothy beam.

“Do you like it?”

“No.” Her face fell, and she toyed with her sleeves, before Akiteru used his hand to move her face to meet his again. “I love it.”

They stayed like that for heaven knows how long. Milking every single second together, just enjoying existence. But all perfect things must come to a close eventually.

Once Akiteru and Y/N got into her car, she pulled up a small wrapped box from her bag. Akiteru felt like the luckiest guy on earth, not only did he get to see fireflies shooting throughout the air during a sunset, he also got a gift from his best friend.

There was a simple black bow on the lid, and a sheepish grin on her face as she handed it to him. He let the box weigh down in his hand. When he made no move to open it, she pushed his shoulder and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Removing the ribbon, and tearing the wrapping away, Akiteru was met with a small stuffed toy firefly. Y/n angled her head downward, keeping her eyes on Akiteru, trying to read his expression.

“Kei means firefly. You and your brother seem close and I just thought, well, you told me about how you grew up without stuffed animals because you thought they were too childish for you, even as a six-year-old. It's meant to be a sort of memorabilia of us watching fireflies together, I guess? If you want I can-”

He cut her off by putting his hand on top of the one she had resting on her thigh.

“It’s a really good gift. Thank you.”

He really didn’t mean for his eyes to fall down to her lips. But he’s grateful that they did.

Swallowing thickly, she moved the armrests up, removing any barriers between them. Akiteru carefully and slowly moved his hands so that they were resting on her hips, tugging her to him softly. It was as if his body was acting entirely on instinct alone. Her hands ran to cup his face, a fingertip rested underneath either of his ears as her palms radiated heat into his face.

“Can I kiss you?” Akiteru nodded at her words. Moving in at the same time, Akiteru felt her mold her velvety sheened lips against his slightly dry ones. She pulled away but Akiteru rushed in for another kiss, keeping his lips planted against hers like he was trying to attach himself to her by the contact.

Akiteru got three gifts from her that day.

Getting to see fireflies.

A small toy firefly.

And a kiss that made him light up just like a firefly.

[lovediives]

I Wish I Hated You.

ೃ⁀➷✎ warnings: none! (afaik) ೃ⁀➷✎ pairing: kokushibo x sumiko (oc x canon) ೃ⁀➷✎ word count: 1,733 ೃ⁀➷✎ summary: sumiko asks stupid questions and then gets surprised when she doesn't get answered. ೃ⁀➷✎ a/n: this is barely read. i went insane, giggling to myself about half the scenes. there's something wrong with them. i hope they never get better. i hope you guys enjoy my first. (oh my god its been a year and this is only my first completed writing) of my little messy freaks...! this is very dialogue heavy LMFAO. reblogs appreciated!! ೃ⁀➷✎ divider credit: @/k1ssyoursister

this song goes well with this fic. give it a listen for a better reading experience!

Sumiko was not a woman of patience or virtue; she, alone, was someone who everyone could agree was a frigid bitch. So, when she found herself in the cold, rotating walls of the Infinity Castle, she had the ever-changing expression of a cardboard cutout. Her skirt fluttered in the wind, harsh air hitting against her bare legs as she grit her teeth. Her eyes narrowed on a spot for her to safely land, and, to put it short, she knew she wasn’t getting out of this unscathed. Slowly, rapidly, she wasn’t sure, but eventually she hit the ground, her feet failing to keep herself balanced as she tumbled and tripped until her face made a hard, flat surface. Her hands laid flat against it, pressing and feeling up the area to make up for what her eyes were unable to see in the darkness. Another sense of coldness wrapped around her body, pulling her closer against the freezing plane as she grumbled. Why wasn’t she able to move her head? No matter how much she pushed back, her body stayed stuck in place, almost like…

“I see you have made yourself comfortable, my dear.” A baritone voice cut through the air like a striking blade, and Sumiko’s eyes peaked up and were met face to face with her… issue. Six stupid eyes, one stupid, horrible man whose hands seemed to be keeping her trapped against his body. “Do not worry. I have no issue with holding you for now. Although, you have grown more forward than previously.” Sumiko tilted her head, or at least as much as she could in her current position, and looked down at her hands. Those same hands that were now placed on his chest that she was just earlier groping. A squeal escaped from the ruffled woman as she shot her hands down from his chest to her sides.

“You…!” Sumiko’s voice hissed out like steam from a boiling teapot. “Shut up! You know damn well the reason why my hands were there, Kokushibo!”

The demon’s hands moved over to her long, brown curls of hair, twirling them in his fingers. “Yes,” he stated matter-of-factly, “I am no fool. I’m just a husband joking around with his wife now that she’s returned.” Sumiko scoffed at his response, rolled her eyes, and pressed against his chest to push him enough to get his filthy hands off of her.

“This wife of yours. Is she with us right now? Surely, that dunce of a woman would know how to keep you in check.”

Kokushibo nodded his head, pressing his knees onto the ground to sit as Sumiko stared at him. She crossed her arms as she started to tap her foot impatiently at him. Does this man think of her as a fool? Did he seriously think this was going to work? But, as the clock of time continued to tick down in this endless loop of confusion, it wasn’t long until Sumiko found herself kneeling across from him. “You’re the worst, you know? You knew that I would be stuck sitting with you if I wanted to know what’s going on.”

He continued his journey of silence, leaving the woman adjusting in her position. Her eyes locked onto his (or two sets of them) as she bit onto her bottom lip. “Michi,” she started off delicately, a sigh leaving her lips as she looked down at the ground. If she wanted to get anything out of this man, she was going to have to play by his rules.

“Yes, ‘Miko?”

“Can you please tell me what’s going on?” Silence again. Sumiko had to hold back a rumble in her throat that wanted to explode into a slew of curses and insults. No, she was an adult, an adult who knew better than to play with the second strongest demon in the world. “Please? For your ‘Miko?”

A cold hand moved up against her face. Sumiko watched his hand move up from her jaw, to her cheek… only to… Tap her on the nose. “Do not attempt to manipulate me, Sumiko. I’ve been alive longer than you’ve been reincarnated.” Her fist slammed hard onto the floor as she narrowed her eyes.

“Then tell me what’s going on, Kokushibo! Stop messing with me!”

“You are not stupid, Sumiko. I do not need to explain what you already know. Use that quick wit of yours for a task other than insults, and it will all make sense soon.”

Kokushibo should be killed. That thought ran through her head a thousand times as she imagined the hundreds of ways she could torture and end his life. As condescending and worthless as he was, he wasn’t wrong either… Sumiko scooted off of her knees and sat firmly on her behind as she leaned back. “Yeah, yeah, special blood that…” Sumiko paused. She looked around the empty castle like a child looking around for monsters in the closet and under the bed. “...That man wants. But, there’s got to be more. I know I didn’t agree to just that! Didn’t he tell you anything else?”

“No.”

Sumiko should have kept her sword. Why did she have to be an idiot and leave it back with the corp? It would be a delight to see this man’s head on the ground.

“No? What do you mean no?”

“Sumiko. There is nothing left for you to know. You have blood that Lord Muzan wants, and you willingly agreed to be here. What else is it that you need to know? Your deal is between you and Lord Muzan, not between us.”

Sumiko moved childishly, crawling over to him as she pressed her finger accusingly against his chest. “Then why are you here? The first person I see in this castle just so happened to be you?”

Kokushibo shook his head, moving his hand to rest on the small part of her back. “You truly do not understand the power you have, do you?”

She gasped when she felt his hands wrap around her waist and pull her closer. “What the hell are you doing!?” She shrieked as she found herself plopped onto his lap. Sumiko gulped, now noting how dry her lips were as she wet them. “Kokushibo?”

“Don’t… Call me that anymore.” He said in a hushed voice as he closed his eyes and pressed his head against the nape of her neck. “My… My name is Michi right now.”

Oh… Ohhh… Sumiko let out a weak laugh as she realized the insanity of her situation. Here she was, accusing this upper moon of withholding information from her as if he was the one pulling the strings. A man who had spent months pestering her, claiming that she was his wife. The same man that plagued her dreams with memories that felt so wrong yet so right. Stories and promises she should have never known, but they were forever linked to her soul. Their souls. Right. She nearly forgot why he would be the first one to show up and be there to catch her. “Michi,” Sumiko started, gripping onto the back of his hair tightly. “You’re such a self-centered man.” And yet, as her words spilled out, the strength of her resentment was mixed with a hint of playfulness she never thought she was capable of.

“I missed you.”

Sumiko’s breath hitched at his words. Her eyes shook as she forced a smile to play on her lips. “That talk we had last month…” Sumiko takes a second to recollect herself. Still remembering the loud clash of their swords and how easy it was for him to take her down in just less than a minute. She was so close to death, and yet, he never struck his sword. Sumiko could remember how his eyes lowered, and he offered her his hand. Would things be different if she… “How long? How long have you been waiting for a chance to say that?”

“Centuries. I’ve spent so long without you.” He admitted as he pulled her closer to press a kiss on the corner of her jaw. Sumiko winced at the touch but relaxed and pressed her hands against his shoulders to steady herself. “Gone… gone from my arms for hundreds of years, but you’re back, you’re mine again.”

Sumiko grumbled again under her breath. “Like you hadn’t left your family to become a demon in the first place.” She angrily hissed out. Her voice sounded not of her own, but that anger, that fire burned within her like a memory was crawling out to be released. “Do you think I’ll just let you back in because you waited?” Another kiss to her jaw. And then another, and another. All of them moving up from her jaw to the corner of her lips with dried, freezing lips that made her skin burn at the contact.

“If you didn’t want me, then you wouldn’t have agreed to Lord Muzan’s deal.” He spoke between kisses, teasing her lips with a promise of reunion as he covered over them but went back to her cheek. “The corps were willing to stay by your side. You had allies, friends, family, and yet you threw it all away.” He wasn’t wrong… flashes of her fellow hashira played through her mind, and yet, the one person who kept showing up was Michi. Her Michikatsu. The same man who loved her over 400 years ago…

“You have a lot of confidence for a man this desperate for a woman. Don’t you have any shame?”

“I am just a husband holding his wife in his arms.” This again? Sumiko thought she was going to throw a fit. “If you wish for me to let go, then push me away like you did before, and I will let you be.”

“If I wanted to push you away, I would have done so by now, you foolish man.” The hashira took a few deep breaths as she tried to lean his kisses to her lips. She groaned when he purposely missed her lips. “Michikatsu…”

“Li Fānghuá?” That name sounded bitterly sweet from his lips. He didn’t deserve to know her name, and yet here he was, speaking it like the two of them had never been enemies in battle. Sumiko leaned closer, brushing her lips against his, and she closed her eyes.

“I missed you too.”

[eddiegettingshot]

I don’t want to bring more discourse to your blog but I do think it’s fucked up how they’re basically saying lesbians are oppressing men… the best part is that I think you guys have been incredibly civil and not even mentioned the ones doing this shit by name. On the other hand, they’re screenshotting your posts and posting them to their followers and basically calling for them to harass you. I don’t get how women can’t talk about wanting a fictional character to die but these men can call real women bitches and whatnot. I know misogyny is rampant but it’s jarring watching it like this, especially on tumblr where you expect people to be more progressive

yeah i mean if someone is fine with namedropping my friends i don’t care as much about namedropping them i guess although i still try not to LOL. but it’s actually sort of insane the literal targeted hate campaign these people have launched in complete bad faith.

and like, re: what’s been going on today, i completely understand and sympathize with the fact that being trolled/ragebaited with bigotry is a disturbing experience (although the response should be to delete it lol). i’m sorry for people who have received that kind of shit because it’s not fun. but it’s actually really, really fucking horrifying that they have turned some anonymous freak clearly trying to get a rise out of them by saying inflammatory shit into ANOTHER wave of misogyny/lesbophobia/literal hate against SPECIFIC USERS on here. with NO proof or evidence of who’s even behind the messages! you don’t know that the person isn’t someone who just hates buddie or hates paige enough to try and stir the pot! you don’t know if it’s someone who’s even on tumblr or if they migrated from another platform! but you’re being insane and now you’re doing worse than the shit you claim is Wrong to do to LITERALLY TOMMY KINARD because you’re talking about REAL LIFE PEOPLE YOU OPPRESS WHO ARE ALSO ON THIS WEBSITE. and after the other night where people were talking about actual tragedies and… trump… for some reason, like. it’s getting dire. these people need to log off until they can learn to stop being antisocial weirdos. and all for a side character with 20 minutes of screen time. it’s crazy lol

[emmett-the-luchino-lover]

I see you're a luchino enjoyer 👀

Me and my friend are too! Could you please write a Professor x reader?! Bonus points if it's fluff <3

Yes yes!! One professor x reader coming right up! After the long wait, here it is! Reader is gender neutral in this one.

Luchino (Professor) X Reader 🧪

“Hey, (Y/N)! You wanna.. *hic*… join the party??” A drunken Jose said, alongside some of the other remaining survivors, at the dining room. I walked in to go through the kitchen to get something to eat, only to be met with everyone being tipsy and being all over the place.

“Ahh.. no… thank you.” *I reply, a little hesitantly but with an awkward closed eye smile. “Aaaree you sure?? You’re gonna miss out like that weirdo Luchino!” Says the other drunken one, Kevin. I giggle in response. “Yea, I am one hundred percent sure I’ll be good.” *and with that, I walk off. Speaking of Luchino, where even is he? He was never the party type, which shouldn’t be a surprise in itself. But most of the people usually dismiss him, as a part of his almost fully scaly arms, tend to freak out most in the survivor manor, and his mannerisms is enough of a reason to just not talk to him. Considering I never had a full on conversation to him, apart of me wants to learn and know more about him.

Once walking around the manor, I would hear someone… -or something, shuffle around the corner. Out of pure curiosity, I would slowly peak around the corner, to then reveal Luchino, holding a lot of test tubes, trying to walk back to his room. But, it seems like he is struggling a lot, as he is holding a lot more than he should be.It doesn’t look like he noticed me, but then, all of a sudden, he would accidentally drop one of those test tubes. I rushed in to get it, and grabbed it successfully before it could reach the ground. “Got it!” I say, then looking up at him. He just seems to stare at me back blankly, not saying anything. It would feel almost like several minutes with the silence that fills the room. Alright, this is getting painfully awkward.. why isn’t he saying anything?

“Thanks.” Is all he could say. We continue to stay in complete silence, until he starts to a little bit struggle with the other test tubes, to which I would step in and grab the other ones. “Woah- I can help you with these, if you’d like..” I say to him. “No. It’s quite alright, dear. Although I appreciate the help.” He replies. Not even going to lie, being this close to him where I can actually study his face, he’s not that bad looking… he’s kind of cute, even. I blush a little bit. I stand there in silence yet again just looking at him, kind of spaced off.

“Eheh. Although I do enjoy that you are completely mesmerized by my looks, I do have a job to do, so if you excuse me-“ he breaks the silence, chuckling and a bit fascinated with the way I looked at him. I stutter in response, surprised with what he just said, and without thinking, I said something stupid.

“M-mister Luchino, I want to learn more about you.” He looks at me blankly, before laughing really loud, making me regret what I had just said. “Why, you crack me up! You’re a cute one,you know…” he says, then continues, “since you seem so infatuated, I might as well. Although I have to say, I am a bit surprised considering no one is remotely interested to know more about me as much as you do. You know what? Take some of these, we are going to my lab.” He says, letting me take some of the test tubes from his hands, and we then proceed to go over to his lab.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed that all of this is happening, I am intensely blushing, a little bit overjoyed, always being curious of him, I finally have the opportunity to know more about him.. -and potentially be close to him. After a few hours have gone by, he would talk about himself, the history of his scales, how he got them, while I stood beside him during his lab experiments. After everything would be finished, it would be time for me to go. I would exit out of his room… or lab, to be exact, waving to him.

“Goodbye, Luchino! It was a pleasure to know more about you!” I exclaimed, giving him a sweet smile, to which he smile back, then all of a sudden, places hi hand on my shoulder, which makes me nervous and having butterflies in my stomach. “Anytime dear. You know, I admit, I also want to know more about you. Do you think I can stop by your room tomorrow?” He asks of me, which makes me almost star struck. I quickly nod my head in excitement. “W-why yes, of course! Anytime, Mister Luchino!”

“Good. See you then, (Y/N), was it? - oh, and also.” He replies. I raise a brow, then, all of a sudden, he gently grabs my hand, kissing it, then looking into my eyes. I start to blush, just looking back at him in awe. He grins in response, satisfied with the reaction. Then, he steps back, slowly closing the door. “Goodbye, darling.” Then, closing his door shut. Leaving me to my thoughts, out in the hallway.

What a weird one, he is. But I think I’m starting to fall for him.❤️

[shadale-s-safe-space]

Is it just me, or does Alex look a bit tired in the family picture?

Thank you for asking bcs there's a reason why.

Z was never meant to be dead, I just played off him being dead for the sake of AleX's story arc, it's just really hard to tell his part rn but I'll just say that he had help along the way. And that's why his hat was the only thing left in AleX's storyline.

Since his old jacked had been ruined, he was gifted a new one by his new "friend", while searching trough the pockets of his old jacket he finds their picture taken the day they started their relationship. He feels guilt rush trough him as he remembers the day she called him a liar.

[After being together for some months AleX was afraid that their relationship is going to fall apart just like everything she ever had before him. She lived in an abusive household where she wasn't allowed to go anywhere or see anyone, she just used to sneak out or sneak Z in, she used every opportunity she had just to see him. ]

He remembers the day when he promised that he'll never leave her,and conviced her to run away from home. That's when they started living together, they never actually got married, they just declared that day that they're now husband and wife.

He saved her once he'll do it again.

~~~~ a Lil part of his arc for now sorry~~~

He was overjoyed to see her. They can be the same way as they used to be again.

He wasn't actually himself anymore. While it still was him, it looked like something was bothering him. He became aggressive but not aggressive in a way of trying to hurt AleX. It was more of an obsession towards her. At first she thought that it was playful, they both haven't seen each other for a long time, even though it freaked her out sometimes , it was nothing more than an attack of hugs and kisses. [This is why he acted like a weirdo in AleX's arc aaaaa]

Until it started happening in the middle of the night too.

Almost every night she would wake up with him on top of her, No he didn't do anything serious he would just sit there petting her sometimes would call out for her and talk about things, but he never actually heard AleX's responses, it felt like he was I a delusional state, half a sleep maybe? She really couldn't tell.

If she wasn't next to him whenever he would get in that state, he would actually walk around their home trying to find her. Sometimes it felt like she was being hunted.

After every episode he actually wouldn't remember doing any of that and starts feeling guilt again, he was given another chance at life after he messed up and got them killed, he felt like he was ruining their life again. Not only did he give his best to find her, just to find out that he was waisting himself outside, but also did things he didn't want to do. Knowing that he's unwillingly now scaring her too hurts him to the core.

Scared that one day he'll actually do something bad to her, he doesn't understand why she still stands next to him.

Why haven't you left me yet?

Why would I do that?

I'm not the same person I used to be.

So?

I was supposed to save you, not be the source of your pain.

Seing Z lose himself more each day. She decides to grand him his biggest wish in life , if his old self is about to wither away, she at least wants him to be happy for once before he's completely gone. She just wanted to see his genuine smile again.

Since the day they started living together, Z always talked about wanting to have kids with her, he always wanted a family. AleX never was really into that idea. Knowing her own family, she was scared of becoming just like them. Z, although heartbroken by that, never forced her into anything, but he hoped for the day she'll change her mind about it.

Wait, really? Are you sure you want that?

Yeah, sure.. why not..

He was actually overjoyed, AleX doesn't remember the day when she last saw him this happy.

Z actually started feeling better. he was slowly being himself again. And over time healed of his traumas. He gifted his hat to one of his kids as a sign of their special bond as they are the ones who saved him.

[st0rmyskies]

WarrTime anon back with more questions. (I don’t know if it’s annoying to ask several questions in one ask or not I’m not really familiar with the whole tumblr thing but now that I’ve found you on tumblr I’ve gotten a bit excited that I can just ASK you questions haha. If you’d prefer I not ask so many things at one let me know!)

1. In LMTCOY Ch. 20, is the reason Warriors freaks out more so because he wasn’t able to handle the idea that he could genuinely have something with Time that lasts and that Time really does want him and care about him and love him for more than just his body, or is Time being gentle with him just something he’ll never be able to handle because he’s not used to it/doesn’t like it? Would he ever let Time try treating him gently like that again and being sweet to him, or is that something that would take a while to work up to?

2. In Ch. 36, is Time genuinely more worried for Warriors’s safety than he is jealous like he concludes in his head, or does part of him kind of selfishly wish he could have Warriors to himself?

3. What is their relationship technically? (In that same Ch. 36 Warriors refers to it as a “whatever this is”, but what is it at this point?)

And last one, haha: 4. At this point in their whole mess of what they have going on, if Warriors was sick and missed one of his typically scheduled days with Time, would Time go looking for him and take care of him? Would Warriors even let him? (I have been ill myself was reading LMTCOY again to make myself feel less miserable and then I started thinking about these two haha. I can only imagine Warriors with a common cold. He probably would either be overly responsible about it or whine like he’s dying)

Thanks for answering all my other questions! I really love the thought you put into these two characters, they’re so wonderful to read about. I hope you are well

Hello!! You are more than welcome to ask as many questions as often as you'd like, I never mind. Shorter asks get answered more quickly, as I can address them on mobile. If I'm planning on writing an essay, there's going to be a delay in getting answers. But if you like longer answers, then maybe it doesn't matter.

In The Most Luxurious Indulgence, Warriors has several things working against him in his and Time's sex scene. Wars has been thrown of his game several times during this little vacation, between being given an expensive pair of diamond studs (which carry a significant meaning in Hylian culture, there's a post on that somewhere around here) and not getting plowed the night before when he was inebriated (his relationship with Time has been completely carnal thus far, so he takes this as a mixed signal that Time is losing interest in him), and it all kind of comes to a head in that scene. Some part of Wars feels like he 'owes' this to Time because he's been brought on this lavish vacation on the man's dime, given gifts and so on. And Wars is also relieved that Time is not showing disinterest, rather quite the opposite.

It starts out poorly because Warriors doesn't like being on the receiving end of oral, but he doesn't speak up for himself--again, thinking he owes this to Time. Which is a similar line of thinking Warriors pushed himself down when he was with Volga. That starts to bring up all sorts of complicated feelings such that by the time Warriors does express that he needs to tap out, it's a question of how much of his panic attack stemmed from what was going on between him and Time and how much of it was just him being in his own head.

Warriors does go on to have a relatively gentle coupling with Time, at least for them. I do think that in the future Wars will acquiesce to less violent sex, although the episodes will be few and far between.

In You're Jealous, Time is ABSOLUTELY being a jealous beef and wanting Wars all to himself. There is a legitimate concern for his safety, maybe, but most of Time's motivation here is that he doesn't like Warriors going to others for the things that Time can provide. It brings up feelings of inadequacy just as much as it does concerns for safety.

Neither of them is willing to pin down what they have with any sort of official designation, at least not verbally. The fact that Time gave !Warriors a pair of diamond stud earrings sends a pretty clear message of, "I have a serious interest in you as my partner." It's one step up from a promise ring in Hylian culture, sometimes called a "half-hitch" or halfway to being engaged to be married. For some, it's an incredibly serious statement to make. For others--think your glitzed-out Hollywood starlet-types--it's just another jewel on their person, casually wearing another man's devotion like it's merely a fashion accessory.

If you were to approach them walking down the street with a camera and a microphone and ask them what they are to one another, it would spark a days-long fight between Time and Wars that would likely never get truly resolved.

And for your last question, actually, I might treat that as a prompt for a future LMTCOY chapter. I'm sorry to hear you've been unwell lately and hope you're on the mend! And thank you much for the kind words.