#(if i’m writing with u - yes ! u ! i mean u !)

[simcardiac-arrested]

growing up is like, every single thing you thought would be so complicated and unmanageable and unthinkably difficult turns out to be, actually, pretty simple. and every single thing you thought was so simple and easy to understand and how come adults don’t get this turns out to be painfully hard to deal with, to actually understand and internalize.

the thing you thought you had all figured out—somehow, you forget the right way to handle it. the thing you thought would dictate the course of your entire life, the thing you thought would ruin you forever—you move on in 2 months. the worst thing to ever happen to you hasn’t caught up yet. maybe it never will. maybe life shouldn’t be based on which worst thing happens when.

a hobby you thought would be a silly one-off becomes an all-time favorite. a genre you could never see yourself getting into can offer you the best story you’ve ever experienced. an inherent belief you thought you’d never budge on starts getting cracks. a person you’ve only ever seen in passing and had short conversations with can become your closest three, five, seven years later.

everything you thought about yourself can turn out to be wrong. you’ll get better in ways you didn’t know you could. you’ll slip and fall just as much, get new scrapes along the way as you survive yet another mess of a job, a situation, a relationship. it might be fear, or it might be happiness when you’ll look at yourself in the mirror and not recognize who it is.

so yeah, i guess, if i had to describe what growing up feels like, i could say i’m closer to figuring my life out, or i’m even more lost than before, or that it’s like a rebirth, i’m becoming a new person, i’m finally getting to know myself, or the many, many other things people say when you ask them.

and they’re all right, of course—the future you dreamed for yourself at age 12 is no longer there to guide you anymore, but sometimes it does feel like you see things clearer, like the pieces occasionally click in your head even if you can never comprehend the puzzle. you’re still who you were at your core, but you’re also starting to peel back the layers, to find such things that you never even imagined could be you.

so yeah, i guess, growing up is all of those things and more. it never stops to wait for you to realize it’s happening. it’s changing, changing in a way you can never anticipate, changing in a way that will simultaneously ache deeply and make you the happiest you’ve ever been. it’s the most complex, most intricate experience a human could have.

but, like most complicated things, it’s also actually pretty simple.

i mean—it’s just plain fun, isn’t it?

[daistea]

I’m actually not used to writing short fics, I prefer long and drawn out slow burns (looks at my 300k genshin fic) so I have the deep urge to write that for Mithrun, but… I hesitate because it would be a reader insert, obv. I’d have to take away some of the insert/rp elements of the reader, and where would I even post that genre of fic?? Wattpad?????? Who do you think I am???????

[the-somwthing]

Sick of BigB ruining the wonderful relationship that is Scarian. Where is BigB saving Grian from the horrible relationship that is Scarian.

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢 𝚂𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 ~

💚💜 𝙶𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚏𝚘𝚛: @charismakat 💚💜

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙺𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝙻𝚎𝚎!𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝚂𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑— 𝙸’𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 😭💔. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜, 𝙼𝚈 𝙶𝙸𝚁𝙻 𝙰𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙻 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙵𝚁 💖💝💘���˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟺,𝟷𝟺𝟺

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 👩🏾‍🦱💚

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝙰𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝙷𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝟸 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝! 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗, 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢. 𝚂𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚒𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗-𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚌. 𝙰𝚃. 𝙰𝙻𝙻. 𝙸 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝚂𝚘 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝙸 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎, 𝚋𝚌 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜.)

𝙾𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚐𝚜𝚜𝚜𝚜: @shut-up-jo @someone1348 @itzsana-kiddingmenow

@saturnzskyzz @giggly-cloud @savemeafruitjuice @cedarrthefluffylee

@rice-cake-teen10 @titters-and-tingles @veryblushyswitch @tmntalways

@pocky-dragon @my-l0v3r-v3rse @jamiesgotchu

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍…𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙱𝚕𝚎𝚞𝚐𝚑. 𝙸𝚏 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚓𝚊𝚖, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍/𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 ;)

𝚃𝚆: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚒𝚝!!!

̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙻𝙴𝚃’𝚂 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾!!!˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“April, you gotta focus…”

“I am focused!”

Donatello crossed his arms along his plastron, glaring at his older sister as his eyebrows knitted together in annoyance. “Alright then. If you’re ever so focused like you say you are…then riddle me this: what is that phone doing in your hand?” The softshell turtle asked, pointing to April’s phone that was in the palm of her hand. 

The girl looked away sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck and not even bothering to say a rebuttal to the question. The younger teen sighed impatiently, pinching the bridge of his snout.

The two siblings were currently in April’s bedroom, sitting on her carpeted floor along with some papers and folders scattered around them. The two were wearing their pajamas— as it was night time when they decided they should meet up and study. Well…for April to study.

The girl in question wore a black t-shirt with green checkerboard pants, and also wearing a bonnet for her hair along with her signature green glasses. Donnie on the other hand wore his signature purple hoodie, purple leg warmers and as well as his purple mask.

The older one scoffed, quickly sliding the phone underneath her bed and grabbing the history notes that were placed next to her. The girl straightened her posture, pretending to look over the messy notes she took earlier in class, making 'mhm’s' and 'uh-huh’s' here and there.

“What phone?” She asked innocently as if she wasn’t on YouTube a couple seconds ago.

The mutant dramatically sighed, massaging his forehead and laying down on the carpeted floor, his plastron facing up. The human teenager dramatically sighed as well, mimicking her brother’s fall on the floor.

“You can’t blame me for this, Dee! Studying is so freaking boring.” She groaned. “When am I ever going to have to know about these old guys in real life?” April asked genuinely, looking at her notes with the Founding Fathers faces on it before shivering, putting the pictures of them face down. The turtle teen sat back up, giving her an unamused eyebrow raise.

“April…”

“No! Like seriously. Let’s be real for a second here, Don. Who the absolute hell is gonna randomly come up to me and say: Who was the guy that led the battle of Ft. Sumter?” She said as she sat up as well. The softshell turtle blinked at her, then blinked at her once more, slightly tilting his head to the side in confusion. 

“Your…history teacher?” He stated, chuckling a bit. The girl threw a nearby pillow at her brother as he laughed, catching it and throwing it back at her. “Besides him!” She groaned, putting the pillow to the other side of her.

The purple banded turtle sighed, “Riri…I know this is atrociously boring for you but you got to at least make an effort here. This is your last grade of the 3rd semester!” Donnie stated sternly, reaching into his backpack and pulling out his computer that he brought with him when sneaking into the other's apartment. The older sighed, crossing her arms and glaring at the floor stubbornly. She absolutely hated when Donnie had a point.

Which was usually 99.9% of the time…but still!

April rested her cheek in her palms, “I have a 88% in History though…” She pouted, trying to reason with her brother that they didn’t really need to study so freaking hard to delay the ONE bad grade she’s about to get.

And anyway, if she flunked this test, what’s the worst it could bump her grade down to? An 84? Possibly a 80? Yeah…no. She’s completely fine with those odds for sure.

“Besides, it’s in two days.” The human girl said, getting up from where she was sitting to go on her phone again. Donnie huffed, now starting to grow annoyed at his sister’s lack of motivation and focus. “The test is in two days and yet you still don’t know the 8th amendment…” The younger spat, glaring at his computer screen as he began to type more harshly by every passing word he typed.

“…Isn’t that the one which gives us the right to keep and bear arms?”

“That’s the second amendment…the eighth amendment is not being able to give cruel or unusual punishments.” Donnie explained whilst rolling his eyes.

Oh sweet pizza supreme in the sky…April was so screwed for this test…

“I was close enough…” The older groaned, going over to sit next to the other, leaning on his shoulder. “What’re you doing, anyway?” She asked, poking the purple banded teen’s cheek as she saw the evident scowl on the younger one’s face. The softshell rolled his eyes once more, pushing his sister slightly but with no real force to it.

“I’m looking at you’re grades, actually.” Donnie said in a very calm voice which only worked to his benefit as April’s eyes bulged like saucers. She grabbed the young genuis' laptop, looking through the tabs to actually make sure he was on her school app and he didn’t just hack in and steal her account.

“Wha— since when the FUCK did you have access to my grades, Donatello?” The older teen asked, looking at the younger as if she was .2 seconds away from hitting him with her bat from here, all the way to New Jersey.

“I’ve always had access to your grades.” The younger teenager shrugged, trying his best to ignore his older sister’s very angry tone. “Your username is April and your password is O’Neil…both in caps. It wasn’t really that hard to figure out, sis. It’s literally your well-known catchphrase.” He chuckled.

“Your password for all of your electronics is literally Bootyyyshaker9000! You have no right to talk about 'bad passwords.'” April scoffed, raising an eyebrow at Donnie who only laughed more at her retort, taking back his computer. “Touché.” He nodded.

“But the reason why I’m under your school account in the first place is because I’m looking over your notes and I have made digital flashcards based on most of them. You’re welcome.” The softshell explained, showing the other teen the flashcards he’s made. The eldest to laughed fondly, “Alright, Mr. Tech wiz. Show me whatcha got.”

“Let’s see…” The taller teen mumbled, scrolling through the flashcards before settling on one to ask his sibling. “Okay…who was defeated in the Battle of Gettysburg?” He asked, looking up at April only to find a nervous expression plastered on her face…an expression translating to 'I dunno what the answer is.'

“Abraham…Lincoln…?” April guessed in a small voice, knowing she was completely 100% wrong in every which way but couldn’t help at least trying.

“Wrong; obviously. But…you already knew that. The correct answer was Robert E Lee.” Donnie stated before looking down at his computer, searching for another flashcard. The softshell was about to ask another question but before he could muster up a word, he saw his sister’s facial expression.

No longer smug. Nor bored.

She was…blushing?

“Something wrong, Riri?” The younger asked, finding the flustered state of his older sister completely hilarious. The girl in questionn cleared her throat, rubbing the back of her neck before looming at her sibling again, “Are…Are you sure that’s his last name…? The…Robert dude you just mentioned.” The older asked as the softshell looked back at the computer, re-reading the text. “Mhm. I’m positive. That is what it says. You can look him up yourself if you’d like.” 

April groaned for probably the millionth time, putting her face into her palms. Because…Lee? Fucking really? This Robert E Lee guy couldn’t have picked a better last name for himself? He HAD to choose that as a last name?

Donnie shook his head fondly at his eldest sibling’s flustered state, searching for more of the flashcards he pulled up on his computer. Preferably more about this Robert E Lee fellow.

This embarrassed state of the eldest was a very rare sight— kind of like a once-in-a-full-moon sort of thing. So Donnie would do what any good sibling would do in this moment and enjoy the literal hell out of it while it lasted.

The purple cladded teen smiled, “If you were too much in…a mood to study, you could’ve just told me, April.” He giggly joked, which only caused the older to bury her face into her hands more, muttering a quiet 'shut up', but with no real venom behind it. The softshell chuckled, scrolling through the flashcards before pausing.

Holy mother of Pearl…hold ON a freaking second.

Now that he thought about it, it made so much sense that April was in…a mood. No wonder she was so unfocused! Either he’s completely over-analyzing this whole…situation or April’s just being a drama queen instead of just asking him to help with her whole…situation. Either or.

But he was going to bet his money on the first guess.

Suddenly, Donnie was snapped out of his thoughts as April grabbed his shoulder’s and started to shake him back and fourth somewhat in an aggresive manner. She sighed, noticing the pure surprise in the softshell’s eyes that he was now in fact out of Donnie-land and back on Earth.

“Oh thank God…I thought I was going to have to whack you with my bat to get you to respond.” April joked. But the purple banded turtle knew damn well (definitely not because of past experiences) that his sister would not hesitate to use her bat if she needed to.

“Anyways…we should take a break.” The girl said suddenly, trying to change the subject. The younger teen raised an amused brow, knowing exactly what his sister was doing and decided to play along. The turtle let out a a small laugh, “We took a break ten minutes ago.”

The eldest rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest a she huffed, “So let’s take another one!”

Donnie pinched the bridge of his snout— he was so SO close to punting April out of her apartment window…head. first. Oh sweet Gram-Gram up above have mercy on him.

The duo had just spent thirty minutes just arguing back and forth whether or not they should study…but they haven’t even truly studied yet! If they couldn’t get back on track soon, Donnie would fear he would be here all night…which…he wouldn’t really mind, of course. He loves spending time with his sister but he has more important things to do than help her study.

Like watching Bridgerton for example!

…Don’t judge him…

But anyway— April needed to start getting these facts in her brain ASAP! The test was in two days for crying out loud. And Donnie knows that April studying at the very last minute would not always give her B+'s and solid A-'s…much to the older’s disagreement.

“Y'know…I actually have an idea to help you with you’re sudden lack of motivation towards studying, Riri…” The younger smiled, trying to keep his tone as monotone as possible but couldn’t help the cheeky smile spreading across his face. The human girl raised suspicious a brow, not liking the sudden change of tone and facial expressions from her little brother.

That goofy little turtle was up to something. And April just KNOWS she’s going to be the victim of whatever he was planning.

“What’s this idea of yours, little brother?” She asked, suspicion clear in her voice as her chocolate brown eyed narrowed at him. “For it to work, can you sit directly in front of me so your back is facing towards yours truly?” The mutant asked, voice still very calm but his expression clearly mischievous. April’s suspicion only rose as her younger brother spoke…but did as she was told, sitting in front of him so her back was facing his front.

“Okaaaaay…? Now what? Any more instructions?” The girl asked, her suspicion being replaced by genuine confusion. The younger teen snickered, “I think it would be better if I…use an example.” He explained.

“Let me just think of a random question…oh! During WWI, what did the British manufacture and poison?” The young genius asked, waiting for his sister to answer. He couldn’t see the other’s expression as of right now, but he could just tell by her body language that she had absolutely no clue. The older rubbed the back of her neck, shrugging, “Psh…uh, I dunno…guns…?”

Donnie paused for a moment, trying his best to cover up his laugh with a cough. The younger wiped a happy tear from his eye before fixing his posture, putting the computer to the side of him. “I’m sorry…guns? April, how can you poison a GUN?” He asked, trying to understand the logic behind his eldest sibling’s answer.

April groaned, “Dude I just said I didn’t know! It was the 1600’s or something! Who’s to say they DIDN’T poison guns?!”

The softshell’s left eye twitched, “WWI takes place in the 1800’s…”

The chocolate brown eyed teen turned around to her brother slightly, “Are you sure about that?” (John Cena reference goes crazy…)

“YES!!!”

“Alright alright! Jeez…no need to shout. Heard you loud and clear, Houston.” She mumbled, resting her cheek on her palm because…

Houston, she definitely had a problem.

Her Civil War test was in two freaking days and she barely even knew what century it took place in. She was screwed. She was the definition of the word screwed.

And anyways, tenth grade sucked major ass anyway. Flunking one History class wouldn’t be so bad. But April knew damn well Donnie, along with Raph, Leo, Mikey, Splinter, her Mom and literally everyone else in here life would not let her even touch an ounce of flunking.

She sighed, “…How is this supposed to be helping me again? Because this is literally the same tactic we’ve been doing but instead I’m facing away from you.”

The young genuis hummed knowingly, looking at the computer screen behind him, “You got the question I asked wrong, correct?”

“I…mean, yeah. Why are you askiEEEEK—!” The girl shreiked, hugging her middles as her younger sibling randomly poked her in the ribs. She turned her head around once more, glaring at the taller teen, “Donnie…what the actual fuck?” She seethed.

Which, in retrospect, that tone would’ve had the young genuis running for the hills any day…but today was not that day.

“Okay…so here’s what we’re gonna do, sis.” The younger one grinned cheekily, “I’ll ask you Civil War questions from the flashcards. If you get a question right, nothing happens. But if you get a question wrong I’ll have to tickle you.” He finished like it was the most casual sentence to say.

“How is that fair?” April huffed.

“This studying tactic helps you with you’re current mood AND helps you study more. It’s pretty fair if you ask me.” The softshell snickered.

“I hope you get run over by a car when you’re heading back to the lair…” The eldest grumbled, turning back around to face away from the taller teen.

The other barked out a laugh, finding this whole situation completely and utterly hilarious. “Love you too, Riri.” He smiled, “Now! Shall we get started~?”

“Do I even have a choice at this point…?”

“No…not really!” The purple banded turtle shrugged, going onto the computer to pull up a question. April giggled slightly, trying to stifle her laughs by covering her mouth. Donnie snickered at the adorable sight, poking his sister’s side, “I haven’t even tickled you yet and you’re already giggling up a storm…I wonder why that is…”

“Shuhut uhup yohou Megaha-mihihind looking thing...” The smaller teen grumbled, swatting at the other’s hands as he merely chuckled, “Alright…in what year did the Civil War begin?” He asked.

The glasses wielding teenager thought a bit, “Well…you said earlier tonight it was started in, like, the 1800's…”

“Mhm. So what year?”

“Like…1855…?” She guessed, which resulted in Donnie carrying out his promise as he to tickle her underarms. The older let out an inhuman shriek, clamping her arms down as she kicked her feet on the carpet, “DOHONNIE!!” She shouted through her laughs.

“Hm? What’s up? You need something April?”

“STAHAHAP IHIT!” The smaller teen cried out, squirming back and forth. The softshell rolled his eyes fondly, “You’re just a couple years off. C'mon, just guess.”

“1843?!”

“Higher…” Donnie commented as he scribbled his nails on the sides of her neck. The human girl shrieked, scrunching her shoulders as her back fell against the turtle’s plastron, “1865!!!”

“Lower…that’s when it ended. But you’re still super close.” The mutant stated, moving his fingers down to tickle at her sides. April shook her head hugging her middles as she banged the balls of her feet harder on the floor, “1864???”

“Lower…” The turtle said as he gave one quick squeeze to her hips. The girl jolted, letting out a loud, hilarious and genuine scream as she laughed, “1861!!! IHIHIT’S 1861!!! DAHAHAMMIT *squeal* STAHAH—!!” The human teen covered her mouth in surprise, blushing profusely at the noise she just let out.

The mutant couldn’t help but giggle in amusement, happy and somewhat shocked at the noise that escaped his sibling’s mouth, “Awe~! Okay, now that was straight up adorable.”

“ShuHUT UHUP.” The girl threatened, still hugging her middles which Donnie couldn’t help but chuckle to. “I do not know why you are so hostile towards me. My tactic is helping you!”

“Lihihike hehehell ihit ihihihis…” April grumbled. The young genius raised an amused brow, crossing his arms, “When did the Civil War start?”

“…1861…” She mumbled.

“And when did it end?”

“…1865…”

Fucking smartass…

“Point taken…” April huffed as she glared to the side, crossing her arms as the taller teen pulled up another question, “Alrighty then. What fort did Confederate General P.G.T Beauregard fire on to officially start the Civil War?”

The girl blinked, “…What fort? Like…a pillow fort?” The turtle jabbed her in the side, resulting in a loud squeal from his sister. “IHI’M BEING SERIOUS, YOHOU ASS!”

Donnie feigned a fake gasp, wrapping one arm around April’s chest, keeping her arms in place as the other hand worked its way down and tickled all over her stomach.

The eldest let out an ear piercing scream, kicking her legs on the floor even harder. “I’ll ask again: What fort did Confederate General P.G.T Beauregard fire on to start the Civil War?”

“IHI— *squeak* DAHA— *hic* FUHUCKIN DAHAHAMMIT!!!”

“Mmm…nope. That’s not it~!”

“DEEHEEHEE!!!”

“I’m barely even touching you!” Donnie scoffed, “To think what would happen if I—”

“FAHAH— *hic* FAHAHA— *squeal* FOHORT SUHUHUMTER!!! IHIHI— *hic* DOHOHON!!!” And just like that, the taller teen stopped yet again as he scrolled on his computer. “Cahan Ihi gehehet breaks at leheheast?” April giggled out. Donnie chuckled at the question, “This right now is your break. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Oh God up above that little walking talking green beanstalk will be in a world of hurt after all of this was over…

The purple banded turtle released April from his embrace, “This is an easy one. Who was elected—”

“LIHINCOLN! ABRAHAM LINCOLN!!!” The girl shouted immediately, letting out a huge wave of relief wash through her…that lasted, like, a good second and a half before she felt fingers poking her in the back, causing her to flinch involuntarily. “IHI ANSWERED COHORRECT, YOHOU FOHOHOUR EYED FREEHEEK!”

Donnie let out a satisfied huff, resuming to scribble at the elder’s underarms, “Well first things first: Your wearing glasses right now. So I don’t even know why your setting yourself up—” April squirmed so frantically that her glasses fell off of her face. The softshell turtle couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden action that played in front of him, “I stand corrected.”

The girl wheezed softly, a small tinted blush spreading on her face, “YOHOU— *squeak* THIHIS IHIHIS CHEATING!!”

“Hohow is this cheating?” Donnie asked innocently, tickling the other’s underarms harder.

“NAHA— *hic* IHI GOHOHOT IHIT *hic* RIHIHIGHT!!!”

“Oh. My apologies then.” The taller teen said, chuckling as the other in front of him grumbled curses and threats here and there. “Okay…what was the CSS Hunley?”

“…Thehe whahahat…?”

“I talked about this several times…” The turtle mused, his finger inching excruciatingly close to April’s hips. The eldest held onto her little brother’s wrists, shaking her head back and forth as loud cackles echoed around the room, “IHI REHEALLY *hic* *hic* DUHUHUNO! DOHOHON *squeal* PLEHEASE *hic*!!!”

“Oho don’t you even. You should have been listening to me when I was explaining this to you!”

“IHI WAHAS IHI *hic* WAHAHAS!!!”

The softshell chuckled at the retort, tasing April in the side causing her to let out a goblin-like shriek. “Wohoah…I’ve never hear that noise before…” The smaller teen wheezed out a tired laugh, slumping against her brother’s plastron.

Maybe instead of just flunking this test she could just simply pass way right here right now. The younger rested his chin on April’s shoulder, giving her a knowing look. She gulped in giddy panic, small giggles escaping her mouth once again.

He wouldn’t. He would never…oh, who is April kidding?! Of course that windshield wiper look-a-like would…

“We’ll skip this one. The answer was a submarine. We literally listened to Yellow Submarine by The Beatles to help you get the jist of it…” The softshell sighed knowingly, “This is an easy one…”

“Whose military genius and personality is often credited with holding the Confederate Army together?” The softshell asked, wiggling his fingers near April’s sides in an anticipatory manner.

“STAHAP DOING THAHAT!!!” April yelled. “I’m not doing anything! You’re going to get it wrong anyway so I’m just participating in the inevitable.” The young genius said, putting his hands in his lap and smiling down on his computer. More nervoud giggles escaped the other’s mouth, wanting to absolutely punt her little brother right here and right now.

Because believe it or not, she did actually know the answer to this question…since the answer was that dumb Robert E. Lee guy.

And worst of all, Donnie knows she knows the answer to the question. He just wants to be a little shit.

“Times up, O’Neil~!”

“WHAHAT!?!? YOHOU NEHEVER *squeal* SAHAHAID IHI *squeal* WAHAS TIHIMED!!!” The eldest squealed.

“Well I did just now, didn’t I?” The younger one teased, pinching the spot where April’s side met her hips. “OHO YOHOHOU— *squeak* FUHUHUCKIN SHIHIHIT!!! MY *hic* GOHOD! NAHAT *hic* THEHERE!!!”

“Aw but why not~? Is riiiight here better~?” The purple banded turtle asked innocently, tickling his sister’s hips mercilessly. The girl lurched her back up out in hopes that she could at least buck Donnie off of her, but the younger turtle only smiled and continued his attack as he drilled his fingers into his sister’s hips.

April screeched, “DEEHEE!!! YOHOU LIHITTLE SHIHA— *hic* NAHAT *squeal* THEHE HIHI- *hic* PLEHEHEASE!!!”

“D'aww~! Is my tough big sister too ticklish for this~? I think she is~!” Donnie teased. “STAHAP STAHAP!! YOHOU *squeal* GEHET *hic* OHOHOFF OHOF *hic* MEEHEE!!!”

“Oho my banana pancakes…I forgot how ticklish you are despite your usual tough teen demeanor…” 

April screamed in laughter, “DOHOHONNIE!!!”

“Yes, my beloved older sister whom I love dearly?”

“STAHAHAP *hic* IHIT NOHOHOW!!!”

“Then what’s the answer~? I know you know it~!”

“OKAHAHAY! OKAHAY!!! THAHAT RAHA— *squeak* THEHE ROHOBERT *hic* GUHUHUY!!! DEEHEE COHOME OHOHON!!” The girl laughed, happy tears welling up in her eyes slightly. The taller teen stopped, letting the other slump against him as she giggled tiredly. “So~! Based on everything we’ve gone over tonight…could you give me a quick little summary on what we went over?”

April rolled her eyes, adjusting herself so she was facing her little brother again. The softshell grabbed a Sprite from April’s mini fridge at the bottom of her bed, tossing her one of the soda’s.

The elder teenager basically chugged the drink, putting the empty can to the side, pondering her answer a little bit before saying, “The Cihivil Wahar staharted in…like, 1861 and ended in 1865. Basically, Confederate troops fihired on Fohort Sumter— which ihihis in Charleston Haharbor. Sohouth Carolina could nohot put uhuhup with a federal fohort blohohocking aha sea port—” The teen paused, looking at her brother in pure shock as the other just smiled back at her.

“…Holy fucking shit. I sound like yohou explaining sohohome gadget ohor something.” The girl chuckled out. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” The purple cladded turtle said, crossing his arms amusingly.

April chuckled at the gesture, resting her cheek on her palm again, “Yeheah…I guess. Thanks fohor the help, Deehee…”

“Anything for my big sis!” The softshell smiled, turning to close his computer. “We should do these study sessions more often! It helped you know more about your topic and it helped you with your current mood.” He grinned teasingly.

“You’re out of your damn mind.” The eldest glared, crossing her arms as she scoffed at the offer. But the younger did 100% take notice that she didn’t deny the suggestion by any means.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[inkykeiji]

>.<

[dani-ya-dig]

Tourniquet by Zach Bryan is literally Sam and Darlin at each other in case you guys were wondering

Like???

“You’ve been stabbed in the back and the rest of your body. Won’t you tell me where you’re bleeding from? If you need a Tourniquet or if you wanna turn and quit, know that I’ll be by your side. You bled your whole soul into things you can’t control. In a world you’ll never satisfy. I’ll bandage up your body and your bones and your bad days too. Take care of the blood that your love runs through. I know all the damage that some days in the dark world does. You were laughing last week at somethin’ I dreamed of”

“When you finally feel the blood you spill into everybody else, I’ll tourniquet your toes to the ground. Pull you in and hold you tight. Love you through the heart of night”

YOURE TELLING ME THESE LYRICS ARENT SAM AND DARLIN

[starlooove]

He is in fact not cool with his friends killing people he just can’t do shit about it and the fact that he thinks he can do smth about (and does!) when it comes to his kids is like a major point

[willowfey]

someone tell me to be brave and hit send on this email

[autistic-katara]

Would you be up to writing a fic where Miles is thinking of committing su***de so he calls the su***de hotline and gets connected to Hobie in an AU where the spider verse doesn't exist? I understand if not ☺

honestly if it wasn’t for the fact that i hate AUs with a burning passion i would write the fuck out of that (anyone who does like AUs fe free to use this idea tho)

[evansbby]

we making progress on poyt 5👀??

literallt leave me alone I’m so done with questions like this I get them 2837281828 times every single day and I try to be polite about it but sometimes I just can’t

[womansound]

my little pea brain is so sleepy so i nap for a hot second .. replies n other things later .. mwah

[intelligent-space-gay]

genuinely didn’t realize so many people get so upset abt the Barbie v Oppenheimer stuff. I said in a comment on tiktok that Billie eilish singing what was I made for right after Barbie didn’t get an award for anything is such a good example of what the song means and everyone’s so up in arms abt it ??

sorry I don’t ur doco movie that’s nuclear weapons propaganda is better cinematically than the Barbie movie which had one of the most moving monologues I’ve heard in a LONG time.

idk man. something something women being dismissed etc etc

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: HUNGRY FOR MORE

✩ ‧ ˚. serial killer!gojo x detective!reader: fucking the serial killer you're supposed to be arresting might be the best (or worst) decision you've ever made. PART 2 | NSFW

contents: fem!reader. porn with plot, dubcon, public sex (in an alley), p –> v, orgasm denial, fingering, he cums inside, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, lil' bit of dumbification, hair pulling, squirting, dirty talk, manipulation/coercion, mentions of murder (he's a serial killer what did u expect), non-sexual mentions/usage of guns, probably more. 3K words.

author's note: wrote this instead of writing my research paper and studying for my math final. if this flops i will actually become the serial killer /j. anywaysss tagging @satoruhour @screampied @satorena.. and yes, the "season 2 coming soon" in the banner means something ;)

“looks like your little killing spree’s gonna have to come to an end,” you muse, crossing your arms and cocking an eyebrow at the man across from you. he grins back at you, and it’s almost unsettling—he looks a little too smug for a killer who’s just been caught.

“i don’t think so, sweetheart,” the man responds dryly, leaning back against the alley wall, features relaxed and at ease. he—satoru gojo—has been your target for a couple weeks, and now that you’ve finally cornered him, you find yourself feeling a little… unfulfilled. usually, when you caught criminals, they begged for mercy and showed a little more emotion than what satoru’s shown so far. 

also, the criminals usually weren’t this good-looking.

you maintain eye contact with satoru while you carefully reach into your coat’s pocket, withdrawing your phone and unlocking it. unexpectedly, satoru doesn’t make any move to stop you from dialing the number to your boss, instead smiling coyly as you do so.

“so, you’re one of those guys who don’t care what happens to them?” you ask, tilting your head as you hold the phone to your ear. satoru shrugs and his grin only widens the longer your phone rings. ten seconds pass before your phone tells you that the number you dialed is currently busy, and satoru’s muffled laughter becomes unbearably suspicious. you narrow your eyes and involuntarily take a step back. “what’s with the smile?”

satoru scoffs and dips his head, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step towards you. “y’know, you’re rather brave, comin’ out to catch a serial killer all by yourself. and in the middle of the night, too.” he stops advancing when he sees you pull a gun out of your pocket and hold it up threateningly, a look of warning in your eyes. “okay, okay, relax. i’m not gonna do anything to your pretty face.”

“what did you do?” you ask suspiciously. satoru widens his eyes in mock disbelief, as if he’s completely and utterly shocked that you’d ever accuse him of anything.

“besides the fifteen separate counts of murder? not much, really.”

“i’m not an idiot,” you snap, cocking the gun and aiming it at his head. “you’re not the one in control here, satoru gojo. spit it out before i put a bullet through your skull.”

satoru laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. “fiesty, aren’t we? it’s alright, i like my girls with a little fire in them.” he tilts his head to the side and looks you up and down, eyes lingering on parts of you that suddenly make you feel naked, despite the coat covering most of your figure. “put down the gun, sweetheart, then we can talk.”

you wait a second, scanning satoru’s overly relaxed face before cautiously lowering the gun. “what are you hiding?” you ask again, eyes hardening.

“a lot of things. but i think you’re talking about what i did to your boss, right?”

“you have five seconds before i shoot you.”

satoru makes a face and then rolls his eyes dramatically. “fine, since you’re bein’ so pushy about it. i killed him, obviously. you’re a smart girl, shouldn’t you have figured that out by now?” when you don’t immediately answer, satoru sighs and shakes his head. “and here i thought that the girl who’d been tailing me for the past week would have a little sense in that pretty head of hers. looks like i was wrong.”

“shut it,” you snap again, re-dialing the number and letting your phone ring for fifteen seconds. when nobody picks up, you internally curse and think about what to do next. dialing 911 would be worth a try, but the look in satoru’s ice-blue eyes makes you think otherwise. despite the gun in your hand, something about him makes you entirely certain that he could overpower you, even if you landed a shot on him. and even if you just shot him right now, he’s been shown in the past to be able to function fine with a bullet through his chest. that’s how two of your subordinates lost their lives to him—by underestimating your city’s notorious killer.

so you decide to bide your time.

“ran out of options?” satoru asks smugly. he raises an eyebrow when you slide your phone back into your pocket and exhales a laugh. “you gonna wait for a big, strong man to rescue you? ‘cause i’m right here, honey, and i could be your savior.”

“that was actually the shittiest line i’ve ever heard,” you scoff, rolling your eyes at the self-satisfied look on his face. “are you seriously proud of that one?”

“well, it worked.”

he pushes himself off the alley wall and towards you so fast that you hardly even have time to process it, and before you know it, you’re the one pressed to a wall with a gun to the side of your head. satoru’s other hand grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head, and his face is close enough to the point where you can feel his breath—which is unexpectedly minty—on your cheeks as he grins down at you. “you really think i’d use a line as shitty as that if i didn’t know it’d make you lower your guard? tch, you really shoulda known better.”

you use every curse word you’ve ever heard in that moment and grit your teeth, rapidly thinking through all the possible ways you could get out of this situation, but nothing comes to mind. you’re quite literally stuck in between a rock and a hard place, with a gun pressed to your head and with your limbs out of commission. 

satoru clicks his tongue and widens his eyes at you, leaning in closer. his lips are uncomfortably close to your own as he traces the gun down the side of your face, cold metal brushing against your heated skin. “not gonna fight back? that’s no fun.”

“the fuck you want me to do?” you snap irritably, glaring up at him and curling your hands into fists. satoru tightens his grip on your wrists and cooes a sarcastic apology to you, taking his time looking you up and down again. if you didn’t value your life, you probably would’ve said worse, but seeing as you were the only person in this ridiculously isolated alley, it wouldn’t be worth much. 

“i dunno. didn’t that detective academy or whatever teach you anything?”

you roll your eyes again, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you consider the possibility of your eyes getting permanently stuck in the back of your head just because of him. “y’know, you’re not giving me a whole lot of options.”

satoru laughs. “if i did, that’d defeat the whole purpose, wouldn’t it?”

at this point, death would be preferable to hearing his idiot talk any longer.

“so, i’m gonna be the one asking the questions from now on,” satoru continues, clicking his tongue disapprovingly when you scowl. “if you behave, i won’t hurt you that badly, ‘kay? keep that in mind.”

“thought you liked your girls feisty.”

“oh, that’s true,” satoru muses thoughtfully. “yeah, never mind, you can be a little bratty. i need a reason to fuck you stupid anyways,” he grins after a moment of consideration.

“what the fuck?”

“you heard me, sweetheart,” satoru cooes, feeling his pants tighten as he watches your eyes widen. your “tough” demeanor drops for a split second, and satoru can’t help but want to fuck it off again when it returns. your scowl deepens and you frantically think through all your options again, but there isn’t a whole lot you can do at this point.

“if you wanna stay alive, you’ll be a good girl and you won’t scream,” satoru murmurs, leaning in closer and pressing his lips to yours. you grit your teeth and try to shove him away with your shoulder, but it doesn’t do much. satoru smiles against your lips and hums softly, pulling away with an almost affectionate look on his face. it’s so at odds with who he is and what he’s done that you drop your guard again, wanting to believe that he really will keep his promise not to hurt you.

satoru sees the shift in your features and smiles tenderly, all traces of his borderline-sadistic look gone. he studies your face for a moment and kisses the corner of your mouth, letting his lips linger for a second before he pulls away again. “i’m gonna let your hands go now, m’kay?” when he drops your wrists, they fall limply on his shoulders as you warily study him, eyes wide with confusion. it’s jarring, the way he just… changed personalities within the span of a couple seconds. “i’m not gonna hurt you, pretty,” he breathes, dropping the gun and letting it fall to the floor with a loud thwak. “this’ll be a lot more fun for me if you don’t resist, yeah?”

oh, fuck it.

“okay,” you murmur, ignoring every siren going off in your head. you don’t really have any other options, and honestly, nobody was going to walk by and get you out of this sticky situation anytime soon. and satoru was pretty attractive… and you could just arrest him afterwards, right?

as if he read your mind, satoru smiles and promises, “you can handcuff me after i’m done with you. just let me have a little fun one last time, baby.”

yeah, it’d be a stupid decision to believe the sweet-talker towering over you. there’s no way he’s just going to let you drag him off to jail, but there’s a reason he’s stayed out of the grasp of the law for so long. it’s hard to live a life as on-the-edge as being a serial killer, but the reason satoru’s survived for this long is because he knows how to use his words. he knows how to make a person go against every warning in their head, and he knows how to get what he wants.

which, for tonight, includes you.

“you have thirty—no, twenty minutes,” you mumble, knowing damn well that this would be the end of your career as a detective. whether or not you dragged satoru in after all this, you could never continue your work knowing you had sex with the biggest serial killer in the city.

satoru laughs and kisses you again, lips trailing down your face and settling on your neck. “haven’t i already made it clear that i’m the one in control here?” he muses as he slips his hands under your coat and tugs it off. it falls to the cold ground and bunches up around your feet, leaving you in a button-up shirt and flowy, dark pants. “c’mon, let’s get these clothes off you.”

within a minute, the rest of your clothes save for a black lacy pair of undergarments join your coat on the floor, and the chilly nighttime air nips at your skin. “i’m cold,” you mumble, feeling yourself involuntarily tense up everywhere but where satoru’s hands cloak your skin. satoru laughs in response and presses his knee to the spot in between your thighs, and something in you snaps at the point of contact. 

“you really are an idiot, aren’t ya,” satoru scoffs, hand sliding down to your waist. his fingers latch on the waistband of your panties and he tugs them down, exposing your already-wet pussy to the cold evening air and his eyes. “lettin’ a serial killer fuck you in a dark alley… what kind of detective does that?” satoru spits on two of his fingers and slips them inside you, instantly groaning when he feels you clench around him. “fuck, you gotta be the tightest pussy i’ve felt in a while,” he mutters, white hair falling into his eyes as he looks down shamelessly. “do you not have sex with other guys?”

“don’t have time,” you swallow what would’ve been an embarrassingly loud moan as his fingers go deeper and deeper. how long are this man’s fucking fingers?

“aw, look at you, you’re so cute,” satoru cooes, smiling down at your scrunched up face. you look back at him through squinted eyes, hips starting to roll against his fingers. it’s true—you really haven’t had time to have sex given your already-insane schedule. it’s almost like you spent more time tracking the man who’s now knuckle-deep inside you than sleeping, but the slutty part of your head tells you that it paid off.

“‘m gonna cum,” you whine pitifully, squirming around satoru’s fingers as he curls them inwards, making you clench around him even tighter. a shiver runs over your body, starting from in between your thighs and spreading all over you as satoru’s fingers move back and forth inside your soaking wet cunt. “g-gojo—”

“call me satoru, baby, and you’re not cumming until i say you can.” with that, satoru withdraws his fingers from your pussy with a pop! and grins at the way you glare at him sullenly. he mockingly pouts and licks his drenched fingers clean, tongue lapping up your essence. “heh, don’t worry, i’ll make you cum more than you knew you could once you’re stuffed with my cock.”

although you’ve determined satoru’s “promises” to be dubious at best, he fufills this one after he’s spread your legs wide open and positioned his cock at your entrance. “this might hurt, baby, but remember, no screaming.” after you nod in acknowledgement, satoru slips his tip in and watches, amused, as you try to close your legs on reflex. “uh uh, keep ‘em nice and wide f’me,” satoru tuts disapprovingly.

and true to his word, it hurts—a dull ache spreads throughout your legs as his dick goes farther and farther inside you, reaching places you hadn’t felt in a long time. satoru’s hands settle somewhere on your waist as he pushes himself deeper, ignoring your gasps and pleas for him to slow down a little. your shaky hands move to his hair and you unwittingly pull on it, somehow eliciting a soft groan from satoru’s lips, and somewhere in the back of your mind you think that of course a serial killer has a hair pulling kink—it just makes sense. 

“s-satoru, it won’t fit,” you whisper, feeling satoru hit an especially tight spot in your cunt. even with how wet you are, it just feels like you can’t possibly take any more of him—he might as well be ten feet inside you, given the pain in your hips. but, as expected, satoru only smiles tauntingly down at you and murmurs words of encouragement as he somehow pushes past the barrier and gets all the way in amid your pained whimpers.

“yeah, that’s it, knew you could do it,” satoru says sweetly, voice coated with poisonous honey. now that he’s all the way in, the ache from your waist down starts to fade into pleasure, especially as satoru starts moving himself in and out to get you used to the feeling of his dick. “just like that, pretty girl. jus’ like that.”

soon enough, he sets an unexpectedly harsh pace that makes your back arch off the cold, brick wall behind you, and even as satoru tries to keep up his “cool serial killer” act, you can hear his quivering breaths as he gets close to cumming. “shit, i forgot how fuckin’ good it felt to fuck a cunt this tight—” he mutters through gritted teeth. “‘m gonna cum inside, ‘kay?”

you nod breathlessly, chasing your own pleasure and not actually listening to the words satoru murmurs in your ear. at this point, it didn’t matter—all your pathetic little head could think about was satoru’s dick, and somehow, you forget that he’s a killer when he cums inside you. it’s hot and thick and it almost knocks you over—when was the last time you felt this good, if ever?

the coil in your stomach snaps and you cum with him, nodding along to satoru’s praises on how well you’re taking him. you squirt all over his painfully hard dick and suck in a sharp breath as you do so, body trembling from the force of both of your orgasms.

“see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” satoru murmurs when you both come down from your highs, stroking your hair almost tenderly. you bob your head in response, face warm and eyes unable to properly focus. he stuffs his fingers back inside your puffy cunt and scoops the cum dripping down your thighs back inside, mumbling something about not letting a single drop go to waste. “who knew the pretty detective i’d had my eye on would be this good to me?” he cooes, grinning snarkily.

satoru’s earlier promise floats through your head and you force yourself to look him in the eye. “y-you said you’d let me arrest you after,” you breathe, back still pressed to the wall as satoru surveys you amusedly.

“oh, sweetheart, you’re in no condition to be giving orders,” satoru says condescendingly, pulling up his pants and grinning at you. his cheeks are still flushed red, but whether that’s from the cold nighttime air or from the heated sex, you don’t quite know. “we should do this again sometime,” he continues conversationally as he picks up your coat for you. despite the fact that you’re still naked and trembling, satoru drapes your coat around your shoulders and helps you button it up.

“but you said—” you protest, but satoru cuts you off with a raised eyebrow.

“you didn’t seriously believe me, did you?” satoru tuts, shaking his head. “i’m a serial killer. i’m not gonna turn myself in just ‘cause of a detective’s pretty pussy, baby. you should’ve known better, doll.” satoru wraps an arm around your limp shoulders and tugs you in for a kiss, lips pressing firmly against your own for a couple seconds before he pulls away with a satisfied smile.

he leaves you with a promise to see you soon.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 3

in which spencer reid spends a rainy day teaching inexperienced fem!reader how to touch him. of course, her efforts don't go unrecognized, much less unrewarded

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings: inexperienced reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, oral m receiving, reader swallows lol, a truly sickening amount of praise, like really, you JOKINGLY refer to each other as dirty sluts, r has longish hair, spit mentioned once, thigh riding (moans loudly), its filthy idk what to tell you, i feel like i've crossed the desert on foot i don't even know what else is in here, your honor they're in love, i take you to dinner first, this part is stupidly long a/n: had a fucking field day the three separate times i had to rewrite this el oh el... but think i like how it turned out?! anyway, if u like this PLS lmk bc writing it took a small piece of my soul, and yes there will be a part four!! take care of yourselves!! i love you!!!

You give Spencer half a minute or so before knocking on his door for a second time. 

It’s miserable outside, and though the hallway you’re standing in now isn’t terribly cold, you’d much prefer to be in Spencer’s apartment, where it will be the same toasty 68.5 degrees as always. Not that the heating will magically dry you. And not that you’ll be there for long, if the date you’d scheduled last week goes on as planned. 

You’re getting worried, about to knock for a third time when the locks finally click and the door opens to reveal a disheveled Spencer Reid—not at all looking ready for a date. You take in his ensemble; blue checked pajama pants, FBI Academy crewneck, the usual questionably paired socks. He’s rubbing his droopy eyes, which slowly widen as he notices your attire. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, our date! I mean—you look really nice. I look… like this. Why don’t you come in while I get ready to go?”

He holds the door open a little wider and you step through, relishing in the familiar warmth as you pull your hood down and excess water droplets spatter on the ground. 

“When did you get in?” you ask, hanging your raincoat up on a hook. You know he’d wrapped up a case yesterday evening, but you’d gone to sleep before the team left Cincinnati. 

Spencer pauses in the middle of the room, staring at the antique flooring like he forgot what he was doing. 

“Uh… four hours ago.”

“Wh—four hours? Spencer, you must be exhausted.”

He laughs awkwardly, running a tired hand over his face. 

“I mean… I’ve definitely felt better.”

You kick your soaked shoes off and cross the room until you’re toe to toe with him. Immediately his hands settle on your waist and yours find his arms. His eyes are kind, and he’s clearly pleased by your presence despite his lack of energy. 

“The weather’s terrible, anyway. Let’s just go out another day.”

His features have softened and you can see how tired he truly is—not just in his bleary eyes, but the way his fingers grasp weakly to you, the way his head bows slightly. It seems bone-deep. 

“But I haven’t seen you in a week. I don’t want you to go home.”

Your lips twist. A clap of thunder rolls in the distance and the rain starts coming down even harder against the windowpanes. 

“We could hang out here. We can take a nap!”

Spencer sighs—half resignation, half disappointment. 

“But we made such good plans,” he laments. 

You kiss his cheek. 

“Plans that can be rescheduled. The bookstore will still be there next weekend.”

It takes him a moment to settle into the idea, but you watch the exhaustion win. 

“Okay. But no nap. I want to be awake for you. Coffee?”

You nod enthusiastically, beaming at the prospect of getting to spend the day doing nothing with him. Spencer mirrors your grin, before pressing a kiss to your head.

“You’re so cute.” Heat creeps into your cheeks and you can’t think of a satisfactory reply, but in the end you don’t need to, as he tugs gently on your hands. “C’mon. Tell me what mug you want.”

The kitchen counter bites into your palms as you lean with your back to it, watching Spencer putter all around the kitchen as he works on the coffee. It makes you tired just to watch. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap? Caffeine isn’t a substitute for sleep, you know.”

“I do know,” he agrees, measuring coffee grounds. “But other than last night, I actually slept fairly well this week.”

“You seem exhausted.”

“I… am tired in lots of ways. Not all of which can be resolved with more sleep.” he admits.

Your heart drops ever so slightly at the way his voice weakens as he looks through the fridge. Sometimes you remember there are still things you don’t know about him—sides you haven’t met. His work side is one of them, and it more than a little intimidates you.

“Bad case?” you ask, voice quiet and crackling with nervous energy. 

Spencer nods, approaching and setting a carton of milk on the counter behind you—caging you in with his arms in the process. It’s hard to find the words when he’s this close, but you manage to stumble through them. 

“Do… do you wanna talk about it?”

Spencer hums, tilting his head before gently saying, “not right now. But thank you for offering, lovely.”

“Okay, well—if you change your mind… if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better…”

Finally he stops with the teasing—the unabashed staring at your lips, the faux-attentive nods—and drops his head to your level to kiss you properly. It’s obviously an attempt to get you to shut up, you’re not dumb enough so as to miss that—but you don’t really care why he’s doing it so long as he does it at all. 

“I feel pretty great right now, actually,” he murmurs against your lips, a hint of a smile coloring his words. “Do you want sugar in yours?”

“Um…”

Your eyes dart helplessly between his as he pulls away and you struggle to un-fluster yourself enough to answer his simple question. Spencer seems to delight in this. The longer it takes you, the bigger his perfect smile gets. 

“You took too long. You’re getting sugar.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” you plead later on the couch, for the third or fourth time, setting your mostly-empty mug on the coffee table. 

His eyebrows raise. 

“I’m sure, honey.”

“But I want to help,” you pout, pulling your knees into your chest. Spencer regards you for a moment from the other end of the couch, before beckoning you closer wordlessly. 

“You are helping,” he assures you, gently grabbing your wrist as you crawl into his lap. He rubs soothing circles into the delicate skin with his thumb. “You being here and being you is plenty.”

It’s the closest you’ve been to him since before he left, and while you’ve all but given up on asking him to sleep with you, it doesn’t mean you don’t think about it multiple times per day. It’s especially difficult to keep your thoughts PG when you haven’t seen him in a week, and his hair is all messy, and he’s got his pajamas on, and you’re in his lap, and he’s looking at you like that. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer murmurs, likely concerned by your lack of response and the glazed-over look in your eyes. You reanimate, averting your gaze to the spot on your thigh he’s now rubbing absentmindedly. 

“Nothing. I just missed you.”

“I missed you a lot, too.” You don’t even have to look up to know that his brows have twisted into a pleasant sort of bemusement, like you are a particularly complex puzzle—you can hear it as he continues speaking. “I’m still not used to having something external take up so much of my attention while I’m trying to do my job. I’ve never had that before. Not something good, anyway. It’s like every time I leave, I’m thinking about you more than the time before. And I was already thinking about you a lot.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as he rambles. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he chuckles. “You prove to be incredibly distracting even when you’re hundreds of miles away. Do you know how many nights I almost called you before realizing it was one in the morning?”

A slow smile spreads over your face. 

“Oh? Whatever could you have been calling about at one in the morning?”

You’re teasing him, and it works. He blushes adorably. 

“Um… probably exactly what you’d expect. In hindsight I think it’s best that I refrained.”

“What?” You grin, incredulous, forgetting your shyness and leaning closer. “You totally should’ve. I’ve never had phone sex before. I would’ve done it.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” Spencer laughs. “It would have just been me talking to myself with you on the other line. I don’t think phone sex is really up your alley.”

“Shut up,” you laugh as your lips meet. He smiles into the kiss. Before you get too lost in it, you pull away, leaning back when he tries to follow you. “I think you’re over-complicating it. It’s just dirty talk, right? I can totally do that. It’s just, like… blah blah blah, dirty slut, something something…”

You trail off as he gives you a look. Poker faced—aside from the slightly narrowed eyes sparkling with humor. 

“You want me to refer to you as a dirty slut?”

Maintaining eye contact is an uphill battle—you crack in a matter of seconds, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes stubbornly. 

“No. For all you know I want to call you a dirty slut.”

It’s ridiculous, but he recognizes the bravado for what it is, still smiling slightly as he rubs your hips. 

“Right. I apologize for assuming. But just for future reference, I don’t want to be called that, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable calling you that, either.”

“But you can call me other stuff,” you remind your boyfriend, pulling back and still not looking at him. 

“Yeah? Like what?”

And just like that, you’re shy again. 

“I don’t know… nice things. I like when you’re nice.”

“I like being nice to you.” It’s so sincere-sounding that you meet his gaze, examining his face. His eyes are clear and soft on you, the only source of warm light on such a grey day, as his hands keep running slow lines over your sides. “Kiss?”

And how could you ever deny him anything? 

As has happened before, the kiss starts out innocent enough. And it’s not that it gets particularly heated, or anything—it’s just that it doesn’t end, and after a few moments your mouth slips open and so does his and that’swhat gets both of you worked up over a period of minutes. Pressure and heat that you’re becoming accustomed to build between your legs, and you don’t even notice that you’ve begun rocking back and forth in his lap until Spencer is attempting to still your hips with patient but assertive hands. 

“Honey, that’s—slow down, sweetheart.”

Finally he gets a grip on you and you realize as soon as you stop moving that there had been friction occurring—and you’re pretty damn sure you know what you were grinding against. 

Your whole body feels hot with arousal and embarrassment. 

“Oh my god—I’m sorry,” you mumble, moving your hands from his shoulders to cover your face. “That was an accident, I—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assures you, squeezing your waist gently. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing because I know we haven’t… gotten there, yet.”

A moment passes—your hands fall to the FBI stitching across his chest, studying the letters without really seeing them. You haven’t gotten there yet… but why not? Why haven’t you touched him, or even seen him? You think back to the few times he’s touched you and realize that you had been too busy with either your own insecurities or pleasure to genuinely consider how it might be affecting him. He says your name gently, drawing your attention. 

“You okay?”

You nod haltingly, brow furrowed as you think. 

“I—yeah. I was just realizing that I haven’t, like… touched you, yet.”

It’s silent for another long second, and you glance up, to where he’s studying you with a dissonant kind of relaxed scrutiny—a knowing confidence that probably comes with a lot more experience than you have. 

“Do you want to?”

Woah. 

Usually you have to beg on hands and knees and prepare a slideshow presentation before he agrees to doing anything sexual in nature. He’s never so overtly invited or initiated it before. Not that you’re complaining by any stretch of the imagination.  

You nod shyly, still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“If you want to, I can show you how. But it’s also absolutely okay if you don’t.”

Show you how? 

Your brain is melting into sludge at the idea. 

“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze again. It’s kind, and you know he really wouldn’t be upset if you said no—but now that you’ve thought about it, you feel deeply compelled to try. 

“Okay. Come here, first.” You lean forward expectantly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand finds the back of your neck and he pulls you into another soft kiss. By the time your lips separate again, your head is spinning. “We’re just trying something, okay? You’re allowed to stop whenever you feel like it. Really low stakes. Got it?”

You nod, still close enough that your noses brush as you do. 

“Got it.”

He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away and leaning back into the couch. 

“Scoot back a little, angel.”

Wordlessly you do so, heart pounding with nervous excitement as he lifts his hips and slides his pajama pants down just enough to where he can comfortably pull himself out, and—

Your breath catches. 

Now, you may be about as virginal as they come, but you weren’t born yesterday. You’ve seen porn, you’ve received unsolicited nudes—it is the 21st century. Yet never before have you thought to yourself; wow, that dick is the pinnacle of beauty. Perfect. Breathtaking. But there’s just no other way to describe him. 

So that’s what hits you first—how unexpectedly pretty it is. 

The size sinks in a quick second later. 

You can’t tell with perfect accuracy how many inches he is, but you’re pretty damn sure he’s big. That’s meant to fit inside of you?

No, no—that’s a consideration for another day. Right now you need to stop staring like an idiot. You glance up at his face, and he’s sporting a cocky little half-smile which lets you know you’ve been caught. Motherfucker he’s so hot. It’s unnerving. 

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” he asks politely, quite obviously containing his amusement. But you can’t summon a sufficiently sarcastic response. 

Your voice comes so soft when you reply, “you’re pretty.”

Spencer melts, eyes impossibly softening. 

“Pretty?” His smile is earnest now. He strokes your cheek and you can’t not lean into his touch. 

“Mhm. I want to, um…” your lips twist to the side as you look back down, finding he’s not gotten less intimidating since you last checked. “But what if I’m bad at it?” you whisper. He chuckles, brushing hair over your shoulder.  

“It’s kind of a hard thing to be bad at. And I’m gonna help you, okay?”

It’s the honesty with which he speaks to you that makes you feel so safe. There are no hidden intentions or words that seem to mean one thing but really mean another. Spencer wants you as a person more than he wants you as a body and that’s been clear since the first time he touched you. You take a deep breath. 

“Okay. What do I do?”

“First, you’re gonna spit in your hand.”

You look up, alarmed. 

“You want me to intentionally get my spit on you? Is that not your worst nightmare?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not super worried about yours,” he teases. “But if you’d prefer, I can spit in your hand.”

“Actually, mine is fine,” you laugh nervously. 

Hesitantly, you do as instructed, even though it seems frankly bizarre. 

“Good. Now just wrap your hand around it, like this.” His voice is quiet, focused as he guides your hand downward. Your heart rate ticks up again as he encourages you to wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He feels much warmer than you’d expected—his skin is silken beneath your touch but he’s undeniably hard and that sort of eliminates any sense of him being fragile from the equation. 

“It’s gonna be less sensitive down here—and then, up here—” he slides your hand back up, covering your thumb with his own and swiping it just below the head of his cock on the underside. He hisses and you look up in fascination. “That’s the most sensitive part.”

Without further instruction, you do it again, keeping your touch light and watching his face for a reaction. His drawn brows twitch, furrowing deeper for a second, and his lips part. A heavy exhalation passes between them and quickly builds into a breathy laugh. 

“What?” you murmur, over-eager to please and very nervous to do something wrong. 

“Nothing. Just feels good, that’s all.”

“Don’t laugh,” you pout. Of course that makes him laugh again, and he leans forward to kiss your head. 

“I’m laughing at myself, angel. I’m a grown man fighting for my life from a handjob that you’ve barely started. I knew it would be different with you but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you look away. 

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” he urges, grabbing your free hand and encouraging you to uncurl your fingers. His thumb traces circles in your open palm, before capturing your entire hand in his. “Do you feel how much softer your hand is than mine?”

You frown, attempting to feel whatever it is that he’s pointing out. Despite the fact that you think he has very nice hands, you realize he’s right. By no means would you say that they’re rough, but you can tell where his gun normally sits in his hands, where his fountain pen rubs against his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Anything you do is going to be perfect because it’s you.”

Spencer drops his hand to your leg, rubbing it soothingly. The other moves to cover yours—the one wrapped around him. 

“You’re gonna help me, right?” you ask quietly. Some adventurous part of you is very excited about this as an experiment—fascinated by the reactions you’ve already gotten from him and eager to push it. 

“I am. Little bit tighter, honey. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

You do as you’re told, and he’s murmuring more praise—slowly encouraging you to begin moving your hand with his own. A shaky exhale catches your attention, drawing your gaze to his face. His eyes are, of course, cast downward, but his expression is hypnotizing. Those lips remain slightly parted, and suddenly you wonder if he makes noises like you do. In that moment it becomes your life’s mission to find out. 

For a while you continue letting his hand guide your movements, but he keeps things so slow for your sake that you’re getting impatient. You forgo his direction, picking up the pace but trying to keep the rhythm he’d instilled in the motion. His hand slackens around yours. 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself. The hand on your thigh rubs achingly deeper into the flesh. “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I want it to feel good.” Suddenly shy again, you slow down. His hips stutter, which you think may be a sign that it was working. “Am I—was that bad?” Spencer looses a breath, looking almost… frustrated?

“No, I’m just—I’m weirdly close to coming.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Well,” he mutters, “not usually. Mostly it’s embarrassing.”

You giggle, a release of some tension, and begin pumping your hand again. His breath hitches and he finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes with his own lust-glazed ones. Heat pools deep between your legs. 

“I want you to come,” you admit quietly as you twist your wrist, brushing that spot underneath the head of his cock again. His jaw literally drops, and a look that is part confusion, part pleasure, twists his features. You see the surprise sparkling in his eyes and it only spurs you to keep talking. “I’ve never seen how you look when you do, but I’ve imagined it. I bet you look so pretty when you come, Spencer. ‘Nd then I would know that I can make you feel good, too.”

“You… you are making me feel good,” he assures you. The way his brow furrows and his  lips are parted give you a feeling that’s entirely new. Normally, you’re the one falling apart under his touch—but when it’s the other way around there’s a whole new kind of pleasure in it for you. You feel kind of powerful. Maybe even close to confident. 

“Really? I’m not this quiet when you touch me.”

“I’ve ha—ah—had more practice not making noise.”

“But why?” you implore, ignoring the fact that he’s slept with other women and enjoyed the sounds they made, and opting to brush your thumb across that extra sensitive part he definitely shouldn’t have told you about. His hips buck up and he hisses, which is immensely gratifying to you. 

“Because I like to listen.”

“What if I do, too?”

In a moment of divine inspiration , you cover the tip of his cock with your hand, swirling beads of pre-come over your palm. Spencer moans and his hips jut up into your grip. It’s a beautiful sound, just as you’d hoped. 

“Jesus, fuck.”

You understand why he seems to enjoy touching you so much. It’s so rewarding to watch as his breathing picks up and pleasure contorts his face—to watch him get messier and messier and lose his composure a bit more with each stroke of your hand. It’s so simple but Spencer looks at you like you’re exercising some arcane deviant power over him and he’s not sure he should be enjoying it as much as he is. 

Distantly you think about how it felt when he had his hands on you—and then, in clearer focus, how it felt when he went down on you. Both were perfect, but something about his lips so gentle on the most intimate, vulnerable part of you had felt like ascension. Maybe it was the emotional component, or maybe it just felt fucking good. Regardless, it seems an irresistible thought. 

You keep stroking him until his head is lolling on the back of the couch as he groans.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah, baby?”

He sounds so destroyed it makes you clench around nothing. Without any indication that you’re going to do so, you stop touching him, and the speed with which he lifts his head again is almost comical. Immediately, while he’s utterly defenseless and desperate, you ask, “can I use my mouth?” 

His eyes widen, and then shut, as he processes your request with a tiny shake of his head—probably trying to clear the haze of pleasure from his mind before he answers. 

“Honey,” he rasps eventually, opening his eyes and smoothing a hand over your hair, “you don’t have to do that just because I do. That’s not why I do it.”

“But I want to,” you murmur, shy and mildly embarrassed by what feels almost like a soft rejection. “I don’t think I could do anything, like, mind-blowing, but… I want to try.”

Your face is hot by the end of the sentence, and you can’t meet Spencer’s eyes as his fingers twitch over your hip. A quiet moment passes—but it’s short-lived.

“Okay. Go ahead, baby.”

Wide eyes dart up to his. 

“Really?”

Spencer smiles fondly, brushing an invisible speck from your cheek. 

“I don’t think I’m capable of turning that offer down. Not when it’s you.”

“Okay—um, should I just—” Spencer watches on, finding your sudden enthusiasm completely adorable as you scoot off of his lap and gingerly kneel in front of him. Your eyes are big and glassy as you look up at him, hands set politely on his knees. You squint suspiciously, eyes darting between his face and his cock, now about as hard as it’s ever been due to your toying. He knows it’s probably intimidating for a girl who has never seen one in real life, and he feels kind of bad about it. You do terrible, wonderful things to him that he doesn’t understand. “Wow. So... it looks bigger from down here.”

“Please don’t try to choke yourself,” he instructs hurriedly, leaning forward slightly. “I really don’t need you to do that. It’s fine if you can’t fit it all, I just—” he exhales shakily. Spencer is most definitely strong-willed but he can’t pretend like the sight of you on your knees for him, inches from his aching cock for the first time isn’t impacting his cognition. Most importantly he doesn’t want to make you feel pressured. He’s trying to not let how badly he wants this show in case you change your mind. 

Spencer watches as you psych yourself out—wilting like a thirsty flower. 

“But what if I’m bad at this?” you mumble, hands curling into loose fists atop his legs. Spencer pushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears. 

“What’s your worst case scenario?” he asks. Your answer is immediate. 

“That I’m so bad you make me stop halfway through.”

Spencer can’t help but laugh again. 

“I’m sorry—I just… honey, you are really underestimating how profound your effect is on me. I just almost came from a minute long handjob. I can assure you that I won’t make you stop halfway through because I’d rather not have your mouth on me. That is… that’s just not going to happen.”

You lean your cheek against his thigh. He might actually pass away. 

“Will you tell me if I’m doing something wrong?”

“Honestly, as long as you don’t bite, you’re in the clear.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your lips pull into an embarrassed little smile. 

“Great. Thank you for that invaluable advice.”

“Of course,” he smiles. It fades slowly as you take a deep breath and look up at him, obviously steeling yourself, before leaning forward and taking him in your hand again. He watches with bated breath, repeating no sudden movements to himself over and over as your hand moves up and down a few more times and your head lowers. 

You delicately, so lightly trace your tongue from the base of his swollen cock to just underneath the leaking tip, mapping a vein, and his hips buck as you take him into your mouth experimentally. Only the first few inches fit but the sight of your lips wrapped around him, the way you’re looking at him is so unbelievably erotic Spencer knows he won’t last very long.

From a purely technical perspective—he knows he’s gotten objectively better head. Still, something about the way you’re so delicate with him, so soft and timid in the way you lick and kiss and take him into your mouth has him fighting not to come already. Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing that he’s watching you do this for the first time in your life is obscenely arousing. The idea that you’ve never trusted another person this much; that you’re letting him be the one to help you navigate something as new and as important as sexuality. The more he thinks about it, though, the more he realizes: it’s not your inexperience that turns him on. It’s just you. Everything you do is so undeniably you—he recognizes your mannerisms in every tiny motion, in every glance, and it’s killing him. You’re like a dream as you look up at him with big nervous eyes, (no, really, he has had this dream) and he remembers he wants to be reassuring you—not pondering life and human connection. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, groaning and hips twitching as your cheeks hollow, wrapping his achingly hard cock in soft gentle warmth so sweetly it feels taboo. “So good, baby. So gorgeous like this.”

You whine around him, receptive as always to his obsequious praise, and he notices the way your hips wiggle as you seek friction. God, you must like this a lot. Spencer gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, resting his hand on your head as you begin to bob it. That, he wasn’t prepared for. He’d have been satisfied with just kitten-licks and suckling but he won’t complain about this. It’s slow, and so intentional as you keep watching him for feedback cues. Ever his observant girl, you’re constantly paying attention. Aware of his reactions. He needs to keep telling you you’re good or else you’ll assume you’re terrible. 

“Over-achiever,” he whispers through a little smile as you down even more of him. 

Spencer is for the most part a kind and gentle person. For better or worse he is also a man, and he can’t help but fantasize about getting you all teary and drooly as he holds your mouth open and sees how much of his cock he can push down your throat. But again—kind. Gentle. So when you get a little over-zealous, attempting to sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure, he pulls your head back slightly. “That’s far enough, angel. That’s—fuck. God, you’re good at this.” The words are thoughtless, muttered to himself more than you as he watches through a haze while you look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, slipping him in and out of your warm mouth, a little faster now as you gain confidence. 

You whine desperately around him, like you’re the one nearing orgasm and not him. The sound of your pleasure as you suck his cock makes him dizzy. His hips buck, pressing him a little deeper into your mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales. “Slow down, baby. I’m—” a louder moan from him like you’ve never heard as he thrusts shallowly turns you on profoundly. He’s so much more vocal than you’d have imagined—sonically and verbally. He breathes out a quick, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” pulling your hair slightly, and you’ve never wanted to touch yourself more but you know you can’t focus on both. Instead you work on making him come—you can worry about you later. He says your name, with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you throb. “Honey, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come—”

You swirl your tongue around the top of him like candy and he’s done for. Spencer tries to pull out, which only results in cum both in your mouth and on your face. The orgasm is his strongest in recent memory, and he grunts, watching your lips part and a little squeak escape as he comes all over your face—but you keep stroking him all the while. Once he’s 90% sure it’s over, he falls against the back of the couch, breathing heavily and looking down at you through hazy eyes. Oh, he’s going to feel terrible about this in a few seconds—but right now you look fucking perfect. Your eyes are wide, nervous as his essence drips over your face and down your neck—he groans when you swallow cautiously, averting his eyes to the ceiling lest he do another thing he regrets. 

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he mutters, forcibly clearing the haze of orgasm from his mind and sitting up, fixing his pants and looking around before locating the box of tissues on the side table. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You look up at him attentively as he wipes himself from your face as gently as he can. 

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t ask you first. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Spencer guides your head around by your chin, wiping your jaw and lips. 

“It’s okay, Spence, I—”

“No, it’s not,” he cuts you off, trying to at least turn his guilt into a learning experience for you. He’s not deluded enough to think someone like you will stay with someone like him forever, because sometimes he does things like that, and he’s reminded that there are certainly people out there more deserving of you. At the very least he can clarify that nobody should ever do what he just did to you. “It’s really not nice to do that to someone.”

“Do you care what I think at all?”

Spencer freezes, finally forcing himself to look you in the eye. Despite the fact that he’s mad at himself, he’s sure it’s coming across as being directed at you. And he knows you’re sensitive, especially about this kind of thing. 

“Of course, I do, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to come back up here with me and tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs, cupping your jaw. Hesitantly you nod. The tissues end up on the table—which he will be thoroughlywiping down later—before you crawl back into his lap from the floor. Spencer helps you settle against him, hoping he hasn’t messed this up irreversibly. He keeps his voice quiet as he rubs your leg. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say,” you begin, “that it’s fine, because you’ll remember to ask next time. And because… I kind of liked it. I like when—when you do stuff like that.”

It’s a miracle he can hear you with the way your voice drops into an almost-whisper and you’re hiding against his shirt. 

“Like what?” he murmurs. Although he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the answer. 

“Like… I don’t know. Like you can do whatever you want to me. Like I’m literally yours.” Each word makes you cringe further, but Spencer has to try hard to maintain a cool facade as he processes this. If he’s going to try and be chivalrous, you’ll have to move away from this topic—this revelation—immediately. Thankfully, you seem eager to move on. “So… how did I do?”

He almost laughs. It seems exceedingly obvious how you did, but as per usual, you require verbal reassurance. 

“That was really good, baby. You did well.”

You blossom. 

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie.”

“Was I the best girl out of all of the other girls?” 

I wasn’t in love with any of the other girls. 

Just barely, he manages to stop himself from saying it, pinwheeling his arms on the edge of a very steep verbal cliff. The realization that he’s been in love with you for a while hits him like a truck. But he can’t tell you that right now. He should wait until you’re less vulnerable.

Fuck. 

He really wants to tell you right now. 

“Actually—don’t answer that,” you decide, while all of this happens in his head in less than a few seconds. “I want to go back to pretending I’m the only girl you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“You’re the only one that matters,” he offers, relieved to express at least some portion of the much bigger truth. Then he frowns. “Not that the other women I’ve met don’t lead important lives. I actually know a lot of incredibly influential and intelligent people who are women. I have deep respect for all of them. Am I helping or making it worse?” he rambles. You giggle. He has his answer. “What about you? How do you feel?” he asks after a moment, tenderly, lowly, stroking your hair as you lean against his chest. 

It takes you a moment to deliberate, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“I feel good. I, um… liked it a lot more than I would have thought.”

“Well, that’s good. Much better than if you had hated every second of it.”

You hum in agreement, and he waits for you to say whatever you’re holding back. It comes sooner than he’d have anticipated. 

“I feel bad about the times before. How did you just… go to sleep after? Were you not, like—insanely turned on? Not that I’m, like, irresistibly sexy, or whatever—you know what I mean.”

Spencer smiles because he knows you can’t see him. 

“I wasn’t doing it to pressure you into feeling obligated to reciprocate, I guess. My line of reasoning was that it would be less intimidating if I didn’t even present it as an option until you wanted to try.”

“Oh.”

Spencer thinks he sees where this is going. 

“Why?” he asks, leaning back and encouraging you to look at him. “Are you insanely turned on?”

“Wh—that’s—I didn’t say that!”

Spencer can feel how warm your cheeks are as he presses his lips to the side of your face. 

“You can tell me if you are,” he murmurs, all smiley as he moves to kiss your lips. “If you want something, you need to ask for it. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Yes you are,” you grumble. “That’s literally what behavioral analysis is.”

Not quite true, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the need to explain to you the semantics of what he does for work right now. 

“What got you all excited?”

“You know what,” you mumble, trying to look away again. Spencer doesn’t allow it this time, gently grabbing your jaw. 

“Yes, I do. But I want you to tell me. If you want me to make you feel good, this is how you’re going to convince me that you deserve it.”

You whine wordlessly, looking at him with those big, lust-glazed eyes.

“You wanted me to teach you how to use your words, right? This is it. I’m giving you an opportunity. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Maybe we can take a nap, like you said earlier.”

“No! I liked—um, I liked all of it. I didn’t know if I would, because I was really nervous. But when I first—you know—and you got all quiet… it was like you couldn’t even talk for a minute. I was kind of proud of that. Because normally nobody can ever get you to stop talking.” Spencer narrows his eyes incredulously, a small smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t interrupt—not when it seems you’re finally starting to get more confident in your words. “And I really liked the noises you made. I think that was my favorite part. I liked when you pulled my hair back, and how you spoke to me. And when… when you got me messy and I had to swallow it. I really liked how it felt because I couldn’t think of anything else, just making you feel good. I really wanted to… make you proud, I guess. Is that weird?”

Spencer shakes his head no, a fond smile on his face when your eyes meet his again. 

“No. It’s a pretty normal thing to feel when you’re nervous and wanting to impress someone you care about. And I would have been proud no matter what, for the record. You were being very brave.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching him expectantly. Spencer should have known you’re too needy to truly absorb anything he says to you right now. Which is actually pretty cute. Everything you do is endearing to him. 

“Stand up.”

You frown. 

“But—”

“Just stand up,” he demands calmly, preferring to think of himself as firm and not bossy. 

You do, looking rather annoyed and confused as you plant yourself in front of him. 

“Why?”

“You are so full of questions.” His hands slip up the side of your legs, under your skirt, and hook in the waistband of your underwear. Spencer looks up at you meaningfully and you nod, swallowing. 

As he pulls down, Spencer can literally feel the resistance of the fabric clinging to your soaked core. Under his touch the skin of your thighs is warm and soft. He wants to feel it on either side of his face, he wants to hear you whine as his stubble rubs against it, he wants to feel it clamp around his wrist, he wants it between his teeth and he definitely wants it pressing against his hips as he—

But no. 

There will be time for all of those things—especially the last one—later. For now, he’ll reach between your legs just to see—

“Oh, my god,” Spencer half-chuckles, half-groans, upon feeling how wet you truly are for him. He drags his knuckles from your dripping entrance up over your clit, pinching very lightly and earning a squeak from you which he ignores. “You really did like having your mouth full of me, huh?”

“I told you,” you breathe, visibly relaxing some as he continues to play with you for a moment. Then he pulls his hand away again, patting his thigh. 

“Sit.”

“You want me to…”

“Yes,” he says, simply. 

“But is it not going to… am I not going to mess up your pants?”

“You are even more neurotic about messiness than I am. I can wash them, honey. Come here.”

Spencer guides your hips over his thigh, watching your pretty face twist with uncertainty as you fully settle on him. Fuck, he can feel your warmth through the fabric instantly. Already he’s getting hard again. 

“What am I supposed to do?” you whisper, bunching his shirt in your fists. Spencer slides your skirt up higher, revealing the way you’re nestled against his thigh. He spreads you a little further apart, exposing more of your clit to the material underneath you. Immediately you press against him—he watches the delicate flesh rubbing gingerly against him and  his grip tightens ever so slightly. 

“All you have to do is rock back and forth. It’s easy.”

Already you’re starting to do it—but he guesses it’s like earlier where you don’t even realize it’s happening. 

“But… I wanted your mouth,” you admit, quietly, slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face there. 

“Do this for me first. Just get yourself off like this one time and then you can have my mouth. You said you wanted to help me feel better because I’m tired today, right?

“Yes,” you mumble, squirming over him. 

“Well, there are a lot of days when I get back home and I’m tired. I’m gonna need you to be able to get on top of me, just like this, and make me feel better. And I know you don’t know what it feels like to have something that deep inside of you yet, but it’s gonna be a lot. Even once you know how it feels to have me inside when you’re underneath me. I need you to practice for me right now so you’ll be ready, okay?”

You could come from the words alone. You nod, dazed with need as you roll your hips in a circle, pressing his thigh against your clit. 

“Back and forth, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hips forward with his hands locked around them. “Back and forth, just like this…”

You moan quietly, shamelessly, eyes fluttering as you look down and watch your clit dragging over the darkening fabric. It’s easier if you isolate your hips, grinding down without moving your legs or upper body at all. 

“It feels really good,” you whisper under your quickening breath. 

“Yeah? Does it?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, angel. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s audible now, quiet and wet and dirty. 

“I don’t,” you breathe. He sucks in a breath of his own, stilling your hips with fingers pressed deep into your flesh. 

“Sit up, baby.” You really wish he would stop making you stop, but you don’t want to keep going in case he needs you to quit—so you rise slowly, thighs trembling as you kneel. Spencer groans at the strings of your arousal momentarily connecting your core to his pants before they snap, getting your inner thighs wet. There’s a dark, very wet patch over his thigh, shining like glass. He thumbs over your slick clit absentmindedly as he looks up at you like you’re a miracle. “You’re fucking soaked. I’ve never seen you like this. Is this all from making me come?”

You nod feverishly, hips grinding against nothing in search of friction. He sits you back down on his leg, allowing you to sloppily find your rhythm again. Spencer bounces his leg lightly and you cry out softly, buckling forward. His arms wrap around you, still pressing you down against his thigh as you rut against it. 

“You’re sweet. Maybe I should have known how much you’d like it when I came all over your pretty face. You really like hearing that you did a good job, huh? I bet you like it even more when I prove it to you.”

You moan a “yeah,” barely processing his words. 

“My good girl even swallowed on her first try. Took it so well. And now look at how you’re taking this. You’re gonna love riding, baby. Just going to be another thing you’re good at as soon as you try it.”

“Spencer,” you gasp, overwhelmed by the praise. He’s bouncing his leg at regular intervals and everything is so sensitive.

“I know it’s harder to finish this way, but just one time, remember? And then you can have my tongue for as long as you want. You are my only plan for the day. Just give me one like this.”

But it’s not really harder to finish this way. Then again, you’re so turned on you could probably finish if a breeze hit you just right. Regardless, the thought of him going down on you again pushes you even closer to the edge.

You don’t know how much time goes by like that, you rubbing against him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, him pressing up into you until the pressure is so taut it snaps. There’s no time to warn him, but you suppose you don’t really need to. You writhe against him, caught between wanting to keep going and not being able to take more stimulation. He lifts you up just slightly, trying to separate you from his leg. You exhale deeply as your body relaxes, already close to dozing off against his chest.

“We can’t have you tapping out just yet. I still have to fulfill my end of the deal.”

In the end, he fulfills it three times over, and you end up showing your appreciation in kind one more time—much slower and more comfortably in his bed. He gives you plenty of time to learn what he likes, taking your teasing and coquettish explorations like a champ and never so much as tightening his grip in your hair. Turns out, you don't exactly spend the day doing nothing.

And you do end up taking that nap after all. Just... much, much later. And with less clothing on.

-

part 3.5

[rafesangelita]

hi victoria!!! i love ur pogue!sweetheart!reader and i was wondering if u could do a lil hurt/comfort thing where one of rafes friends tells reader she talks too much/is too loud and she gets super upset? i’m a super big crybaby and i talk a LOT and i’d love to see how you write how rafey defends n comforts her :,)

warnings: protective!rafe, topper and kelce are pretty mean in this one >:(, rafe defends you <3, sight angst, fluff, rafe being the king of reassurance

a/n: i have personal beef with anyone who tells ppl to quiet down when they’re excited for something, or just naturally outgoing. also idk how to play poker so excuse the way i explained it if it’s incorrect lol

before you, friday nights were always reserved for rafe and his friends, the group of them either going out for a beer or staying in and betting money on card games. but now? rafe spent his friday nights buried inside of you, both of you laughing and kissing each other in the dark until one of you fell asleep first. and rafe wouldn’t have it any other way. his friends however, weren’t very fond of your boyfriend choosing you over them.

which would explain their impromptu visit while you two were mid-makeout session. “so this is why she has you locked away, huh?” you jumped, rafe covering you with a throw blanket as he slipped his shirt on. “what the fuck, guys?!” rafe glared at kelce and topper, your skin hot with embarrassment. “you left the door unlocked, playboy.” topper pushed a twelve pack of beers into rafe’s chest, the pair of friends walking to the kitchen.

“are you okay, baby?” rafe leaned down, wanting nothing more than to sucker punch his idiot friends for making you feel mortified. “i’m in my bra and panties!” you whispered, scrambling up from the couch and running up the stairs to rafe’s bedroom. rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing under his breath before meeting topper and kelce in the kitchen. “y’all should’ve called me or something.” his tone was harsh, kelce holding his hands up defensively.

“she has you so pussy whipped bro, would you have even answered?” no, the answer was no. “it doesn’t matter, you two shouldn’t have walked in like that.” topper scoffed, popping open a can of beer. “chill, man, we just came to see our boy,” kelce slapped rafe’s shoulder, “and beat your ass at poker.” he added. rafe laughed, muttering a ‘not a chance.’ before going upstairs to check on you. “y/n?” you were fixing your disheveled hair, your lips still swollen from your previous activities.

“hey..” you turned, rafe pulling you in for a hug. “why don’t you come downstairs? be my lucky charm for the game we’re gonna play.” you shook your head, recalling topper’s words from earlier; ‘so this is why she has you locked away, huh?’ locked away? really? “i better not, you should go have your ‘bro’ time, i know it’s been awhile..” you smiled, hoping he didn’t catch the way your gaze faltered. he did. “i want you with me.” he pecked the tip of your nose, your eyes shutting momentarily.

“what if they don’t, though?” rafe was already dressing you, waving off your words. “well then they can leave.” he shrugged. you sighed, letting him walk you downstairs where topper and kelce had the game set up on the table. “the girl scout is joining us?” you didn’t miss the way topper exchanged looks with the boy on his right. “yes, she is. is there a problem?” kelce mumbled a ‘no.’, followed by an awkward clearing of his throat.

rafe pulled you onto his lap, the guys starting the game as you rested your head against his chest. you didn’t know a thing about poker, your lips quirking every time your boyfriend shouted excitedly. “there’s no way!” topper slammed his losing cards on the table, “i have nothing!” kelce was getting frustrated, the chances of him winning decreasing with each turn. “if i flip this card and it’s right, i take all of this.” the guys had already put in well over four hundred dollars, the tension in the room incredibly thick.

“with this money we’ll get you that mixer you been wanting, how does that sound?” you nodded, both you and rafe leaning forward in anticipation. as soon as rafe turned his last card over, you screamed, jumping up as topper and kelce heads fell down in defeat. it was the first time you had even opened your mouth tonight, and kelce wasted no time in shutting you down. “calm down, do you really have to be so loud?” your smile dropped, along with rafe’s. “forreal.” topper glared at you before pushing the money in your direction.

“what’s up y’all’s asses? she’s just cheering,” rafe pulled you to his side, “just a reminder that you two came here on your own accord and interrupted us, not the other way around.” in that moment you felt like a little girl again, always having someone to tell you to quiet down and suppress your excitement. you couldn’t help the tears from welling in your eyes, their judgmental looks making you want to disappear. prior to you and rafe being together, topper and kelce had always been nice to you, but all of that seemed to go out the door when your boyfriend stopped participating in their little get togethers.

“we hardly see you anymore, bro, we just don’t understand why she can’t lay off sometimes.” topper looked over at you, his jaw ticking as rafe laughed bitterly. you couldn’t believe your ears. if only they knew how much you encouraged rafe to hang out with them. “has it ever occurred to you that maybe i rather spend my time with my girlfriend than hanging out with you two? get the fuck out of my house.” topper and kelce looked like they were at a loss for words, both of them apologizing to you under their breath.

“and not that it matters anymore, ‘cause you two are so convinced that she has me trapped in her evil lair somewhere, but she encouraged me to come down here by myself before i dragged her along with me. you don’t even know what you’re talking about.” rafe basically pushed them out before shouting, “and i’m keeping the beers assholes!”

rafe shut the front door, making sure to lock it this time before he scooped you up in his arms. “don’t cry, sweetheart, they’re both idiots.” you sniffled, laughing softly. rafe smiled at the fact that he knew how to make you feel better. “talk my ear off while i order that mixer, i love hearing your voice.”

[rumplereids]

shining light.

tags: spencer reid x fem!reader. dad!spencer reid. reader goes into early labor. childbirth complications, but nothing explicit or detailed. GIRL DAD SPENCER REID! a/n: girl dad spencer reid brain rot. im so consumed by thoughts of him that i havent edited this yet (i havent edited kiss kiss and wonderstruck yet either lol) i hope u like this as much as i liked writing it :) masterlist. requests are open !

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hello?”

“Hello, are you okay?”

“My mommy is in a lot of hurt,” a child sniffles from the other side of the line, “And dadda is away at work.”

“Oh, honey. How did your mommy get hurt?”

“She was in the ki-chen and I was reading. And then I think she fell.”

“Is your mommy with you? Is she awake?”

“Yeah. But mommy is crying,” the little girl’s voice turns faint, like she’s speaking away from the phone, “Mommy! Are you okay? Is bubba okay?!”

There’s an indistinct voice that answers back.

“Honey? Are you there? What’s your name?”

“I’m Ellie Reid. My dadda is Spencer. He works with aunt Penny and aunt JJ at ‘quanico’ to catch bad guys.”

“Okay, Ellie. Who’s bubba?”

“The bubba in mommy’s tummy?”

“Your mommy has a baby in her tummy?”

“It’s a baby sister.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful, Ellie.”

“Are you on your way now?” the sweet voice asks.

“Yes, Ellie. The paramedics are at your door. Can you let them in?”

“Okay.”

Spencer rushes through the hallway, JJ and Emily just a few steps behind him. As soon as the plane landed, an agent alerted the unit to a 911 call made by Spencer’s daughter. Words unneeded, Derek got into an SUV, immediately and silently offering to drive Spencer to the hospital. JJ and Emily got into the SUV with him, worry filling the blonde, though Spencer doesn’t have the mind to think about the others. His mind is solely focused on you.

Are you in pain? All he knew was that Ellie was the one to call for help. Said you fell in the kitchen. Were you hurt? Was your baby hurt?

“Spencer!” Penelope was waiting for him as he turns a corner.

“Where is she? Is she okay?”

“Mommy’s okay, dadda.” Ellie peeps up from behind Penelope’s skirts.

“Oh, my angel,” Spencer falls to his knees, arms opening to take his daughter in his arms. “You did so well. You remembered the emergency number, huh?”

“You said to press 911 in our phone if anything bad happens. Mommy got a big hurt.”

“I know. You were so good,” he presses a kiss on her soft, curly hair. His hands are rubbing up and down Ellie’s back. Whether he was soothing his daughter or himself didn’t matter.

“She’s in labor. Her contractions were bad bad. A nurse told me that the baby’s breeched.”

“Dadda, what does breech mean?” Ellie’s r’s still sounded like w’s, and Spencer’s heart completely melted.

He looks down at the little girl in his arms, her face still hidden against his chest.

“Do you remember the photo we showed you of bubba?”

“The weird black and white one?”

“Yeah,” he passes a hand against her hair, “A breech means that bubba’s standing up inside mommy’s belly. Not upside down how she’s supposed to be.”

“She’s so silly,” Ellie giggles. Spencer smiles back, he hears soft laughter from the three women surrounding them, “Yeah, bubba’s really silly.”

“Did she hurt mommy?”

“No, angel. She didn’t mean to.”

“Oh,” Ellie whispers. She looks up at her dad, “I knew you were gonna come.”

“Yeah? You did?”

“You’re a hero, of course you’re gonna save mommy when she’s hurt.”

Spencer wipes his thumb against his daughter’s soft cheek, “Of course. I’ll save you when you’re hurt too, Ellie-darling.”

“I know that,” she says matter-of-factly.

A nurse walks up to their group, “Are you the family of Y/N Reid?”

Spencer stands with Ellie on his hip, her little arms wrapped around his neck.

“Yes, I’m her husband.”

“Congratulations, sir. You have a healthy baby girl,” he feels the sigh of relief from everyone with him.

“How’s my wife?”

“How’s mommy?”

Spencer and Ellie were almost simultaneous in their concern for you.

“She’s fine. She’s sedated. The birth took a huge toll on her. You can enter her room, if you want.”

Derek finally arrives. He’s catching his breath from his run, his eyes meeting Spencer’s quickly before he exclaims, “Ellie-bean!”

“Uncle Derek!” Ellie wriggles in Spencer’s arms, he bends down to let her down.

Short legs run to her favorite uncle.

“We’re going to mommy and bubba now!”

Derek stands with Ellie in his arms. He looks to Spencer. “Yeah? Y/N’s okay?”

“We can visit her now,” JJ says with a small smile.

The group starts walking. On their way from the visitor’s lounge to your hospital room, Spencer overhears Ellie’s whispering; “Uncle Derek.”

“Yeah, Ellie-bean?” Derek whispers back.

“I want pretzels.”

“Salted? Cheese?”

“Um, salted. Please. And apple juice too.”

Spencer can’t fight the grin on his face.

“Alright, Ellie-bean. We’ll get pretzels and juice after we see your mom.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Derek shifts to bring Ellie higher against his hip.

“Pinky promise?”

“I pinky promise. On my badge and credentials.”

Ellie lets out a giggle, “Dadda!”

Spencer turns his head to give her a smile, “What’s up, angel?”

“What does cre-den-shals mean?”

Oh, his Eleanor. Always so bright.

taglist: @i-live-in-spite