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gravid-transluna · 3 months ago

Text

In the Name of Science

words: 7627

content: birth denial, clothing birth, mutual birth, fpreg

Co-written with the wonderful and endlessly imaginative @shhhsecretsideblog

First entry into the Spell-verse, a series of stories revolving around a town blanketed by a rapid pregnancy and birth spell.

The news already had coined a name for it. Go figure, Char thought, shaking her head at the display of pure pseudoscience on the screen before her.

“Yes, that’s right,” a reporter spoke. “Emergency services have taken a census and The Spell seems to have affected every person able to bear children in the town.”

“The Spell,” Char scoffed, shaking her head. “Call it a virus, a fluke of biology, whatever. Just don’t chalk it up to magic.”

Because if it was magic, that would mean her science would be ineffectual on the obvious life growing inside her belly, now looking full-term with a baby that she hadn’t been pregnant with this morning. It rippled, hanging low between the scientist’s thighs. She placed a palm on her stretched tummy. The evidence, she thought, speaks for itself.

“Shouting at the tele again Char?” Laura said as she waddled into their lab. Her long white coat hung open at her sides, her own newly formed bump making the coat too small to fit round her frame.

“Got you a coffee.” She passed the hot drink to her boss and went over to sit on the stool by her own workstation. It took a bit of navigating, still not used to this extra weight she now carried, but eventually she plumped herself on the high metal chair.

“I mean, they aren’t wrong calling it ‘The Spell.’ What’s happening here is unheard of. All these pregnancies are popping up very much like magic.” Laura rubbed the circumference of her large belly that now sat heavily atop her thighs. She could feel the baby moving inside, it was so strange. Pregnancy and birth was never something she thought she’d experience. She understood it, she knew all about the process, but it was something else entirely actually experiencing it. And going through it all within the space of a day was a bit of a rollercoaster.

They’d done scans and knew they were carrying human babies, it wasn’t anything supernatural or alien, but it was just the speed, it was unprecedented. The baby in her womb shifted and kicked her in the ribs “Oof!” She huffed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.” Laura commented to her boss.

Char nodded, smothering the instinct to cup her own belly as devoted her attention back to her work.

“Hopefully, you won’t have to. We’ll find a way to reverse the process without delivery and things will—“ she paused, startled by a twinge in her stomach muscles and the subsequent squirming of the baby inside her. She cleared her throat. “Things will return to normal and we can take the time to research this phenomenon thoroughly.”

Secretly, Char’s urgency stemmed from another reason—already she’d struggled to adapt to the feeling of her body so unrecognizably changed, the idea of a passenger inside her, her body growing and stretching to accommodate it without any of her say in it. Even the tiniest signs of motherhood she steadfastly resisted, trying not to waddle or hold her heavy mound, wearing her usual lab wear instead of anything more comfortable. Yet—

She knew this was nothing compared to birth. She also knew that they were on a strict time limit. Shaking her head, she dispelled these thoughts. ‘We don’t have to worry about that. All we have to worry about is finding a cure,’ she thought.

“You really think we can find a cure before these babies are born?” Laura asked hesitantly. She knew how her boss was handling this sudden change in their bodies, and it wasn’t very well. Not that she’d admit it. She disappeared quickly into the work when it first started happening to people and completely ignored the signs this morning that it was happening to them both as well.

“I’ve heard that some people are already starting to give birth… we might not have the time. Not before these ones are born anyway.” Laura patted her bump affectionately. She wasn’t fighting this as much as her boss. Yes it was a shock, but Laura was leaning into the experience, it was fascinating.

She noticed her belly start to twinge, felt similar to period pains. Laura shifted in her chair, trying to ease the uncomfortable feeling, her legs widening on the stool to fit her rounded stomach in between. “Have you had any twinges or cramps or anything?” Laura asked.

Char glanced at Laura, absorbing the gravity of her condition, the way her midsection protruded from her open lab coat and her discomfort that so mirrored Char’s own. “Nope,” she lied easily, convincing herself that it was the weight she was now carrying, that the pressure in her hips and the aching of her back was all because of the new load in her belly.

“Well, I’m not exactly hasty to get these babies out the old-fashioned way,” Char said.

A part of her shared sentiments with Laura, though. Call it a scientific curiosity, but the process of birth was quite a marvel. Another cramp seized her belly and she stiffened slightly, bearing it without note. Her own belly hung low, having dropped without her realizing, but Laura’s taut, overhanging swell was immediately apparent to her.

How about you?” She asked while peering into a microscope.

“I’m not sure… I’m feeling something… oof—” Laura took a sharp breath as the ache peaked before easing off again. “It’s probably just my body adjusting to the quick pregnancy. I’m not in a hurry to give birth myself.”

She didn’t want to say it but the rate at which their stomachs had swelled, Laura didn’t think they would have long before the pangs of labor hit. It was difficult to ascertain how “far along” they were, given the speed in the growth, but judging by the bumps alone Laura guessed her and Char were developing at the same rate.

“We better work fast then, before either of us goes into labor.” Or both of us, Laura thought to herself.

Char pressed her lips together at the reminder, and without knowing she palmed the underside of her swollen stomach, attempting to soothe the tightened muscles.

“Yes, right. Could you come over here and we can analyze these lab reports together. Bring the files from the corner bench, please.”

Her back ached, yet she was too restless to sit and besides, she always worked while standing. She’d be damned if she let this baby inside of her intrude on her routine.

“Sure thing.” Laura said to Char’s instruction. Holding her taut stomach, Laura slipped off the stool onto her feet and waddled over to the corner bench to pick up the files.

Standing seemed to have jolted her baby, feeling the weight sink lower into her hips as it kicked. A sudden sharp tightening slashed across her belly causing her to gasp and grab on to the table. “Mnngh!” She groaned as the muscles pulled and squeezed, its intensity surprising.

“Char… hooo… I think I might be having a con-contraction…” Laura panted through the pain, hips instinctively swaying beneath the white lab coat.

Char snapped her head up from the microscope to see Laura doubled over, clutching the table. With her back flat, her weighty belly seemed to strain toward the ground, dragged downward by gravity. Char watched as Laura swayed her hips in an almost hypnotic pattern, as though instinct had taken over. Her panting, even, seemed instinctual, the sounds of an imminent mother.

“Laura? Hey—“ Char struggled to walk without a waddle, across the room to Laura. She was stopped by a squeezing in her tummy that took her breath away, the entire surface hardening painfully. She dismissed it before it even ended. ‘Braxton Hicks,’ she thought. ‘No big deal. I have time…. Laura, I’m not so sure.’

She placed a palm on Laura’s lower back and she breathed and swayed. “You’re okay,” she said, her usual brisk tone softening. “Just breathe.”

“Hoooo-hoooo…..” Laura forced herself to take measured breaths, in and out, breathing through the sudden pain. Her head dipped and her eyes scrunched, the weight and pressure suddenly peaking before gradually fading away. Slowly the assistant straightened back up and faced her friend (?) and boss.

“Jeeze, that was… intense.” She breathed, rubbing the underside of her belly. “I wasn’t expecting that to come on so fast. Guess I’m in labor. I’ll start running a log of all my symptoms so we can add to our research.” She picked up the earlier requested files and handed them to her boss, noticing a slight glistening of sweat on Char’s forehead. “You still doing okay?”

Char nodded, appearing uncharacteristically distracted. She made an effort to straighten her back, feeling the clamping around her womb subside for now.

“Fine,” she said. Then, appreciative of Laura’s dedication to their studies, “Good work, Laura. If it gets to be too much for you, let me know. Until then, we’ll work around the clock and develop a cure before you progress too far.”

And, before I do as well, Char added to herself.

Noting Laura’s significantly widened stance and the way she stroked and circled her dropped belly, Char felt a twinge of apprehensiveness.

As they worked, fighting the clock, Char listened to Laura’s pained breaths become sharper. Eventually she began to vocalize, softly at first, closing her eyes and rocking her body back and forth, making slight grunts and moaning under her breath.

Char wasn’t in a much better state. Her contractions had grown into strong, regular surges and every time her belly seized up she could only focus on it and the baby inside it preparing to be born. Born, she thought. Not if I can help it. Her familiarity with the process and inevitability of birth did nothing to halt this line of thinking. Yet with each contraction she felt like nothing else existed but her swollen, contracting belly. She released a breath after a particularly brutal one. There was so much pressure. She felt it deep in her hips, wanting so badly to open herself up all the way.

Laura let out a pained groan herself, and Char glanced up.

“H-how are you, mm, holding up?” She asked the other laboring woman.

“As w-well as can be expected… hoooo…” Laura held her heavy belly with one hand, the other leant on her workstation as she swayed through the pain. “They are really picking up now Char, oof, the pressure is a lot.”

The lab assistant had abandoned her chair a while ago, finding the most comfortable position was to stand at her desk as it allowed her to follow her body’s rhythm and its instinct to move. Plus the baby was sinking way too low to be sitting down on that ridiculous high stool. She had spent entire days on that chair working before The Spell, but that idea seemed downright ludicrous to Laura now.

Their research seemed to be slow moving, and it wasn’t entirely down to the fact she was in labor, the science just wasn’t providing them with answers, still proving to be a mystery. She’d been keeping track of her contractions, which were getting dangerously closer together and time was running out.

Whilst the waves of pain coursing through her body every five minutes were consuming, Laura wasn’t oblivious to the fact her boss was also struggling. Perhaps it was because of her own labor she could recognise the signs; the way Char kept moving around the lab and never stayed still, her heavy breathing and occasional moan, and the way her hips would shift and bounce when she thought Laura wasn’t looking. Yup, her boss was almost certainly in labor too. But Laura knew better than to ask her outright.

“Are you feeling okay Char? You’ve been on your feet for quite a w-while now..”

Char tried to imagine sitting and found she couldn’t, with the baby dropped so low, the head pressing heavily on her cervix. She knew from the strain in Laura’s voice and her repeated movements around the room that she was feeling the same pressure and slowly increasing urgency. She wanted to moan, openly sway and rotate her hips against the excruciating pressure, to release instinctual grunts with her contractions like Laura. But, not yet. She couldn’t be in active labor.

“Just frustrated,” Char growled. “We’ve barely made progress and this current batch of tests has yielded no results whatsoever…. mmgh!” She winced, closing her mouth so as not to cry out as a contraction clamped her midsection.

“Also,” she added. “I might—urgh, be experiencing some Braxton Hicks.”

“Oh… braxton hicks… okay.” Laura acknowledged calmly, knowing full well there was nothing false about the pains plaguing Char. “Just try and b-breathe through them. They’ll soon pass. You can move around you know, follow your body’s instincts if you need to, I’m sure it would help with the, errr—false labor pains.”

They continued working in relative silence, except from the unusual noises Laura found herself making through the pains. She thought she heard her boss whimper, and asked “Is there anything I can do to h-help?”

Not that she was capable of doing much, the pains were so strong now she could barely do anything other than catch her breath between waves. Laura stayed close to her work bench, not daring to move too far for fear she’d crumble to the floor. Her bump hung heavy and low off her hips, her baby was pressing hard against her cervix clearly marking its exit. A particularly forceful contract had Laura folded over against the bench, forearms on the white surface, hips jutting back, and her head buried in the crook of her elbow. Her groans had turned more primal, the pressure building to the point she almost mooed like a cow. Something was slipping down, she could feel it. With a grunt Laura felt something give and the immediate dampness that followed trailing down her leg.

“Ummm… Char? Hoooo… I think my water broke.” Laura whimpered into her arm, not daring to move.

Char turned when she heard Laura’s animalistic groans and grunts, undeniably the noises of a woman deep in labor. She saw Laura standing wide-legged, a wet patch forming on her lab trousers and puddling the floor beneath her. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, and Char knew she was feeling the same pressure against her widening cervix as herself, increasingly overcome with the sensation of the head moving into position, the instinctive need to open herself up for the baby getting ready to come out of her.

“Laura—! Hooo um, okay,” Char faltered, taking large waddling steps to Laura and cursing the weight in her pelvis and the unwieldiness of her belly. .Normally in control of the situation, she felt lost at the sight of Laura’s waters puddled on the floor. This was an uncontrollable variable. No matter how much they wanted to keep their babies in, once their bodies decided it was time there was little they could do. But Char wasn’t ready to give in yet.

“I’ll, mmgh, find you some towels,” she promised Laura.

In the hallway she suffered another contraction, and found herself vocalizing freely without Laura around, lowing insistently and arching her back. Without knowing, her knees bent slightly, beginning to sink into a squat. She realized what she was doing and tried to hold herself upright against the hallway wall, but by then the contraction was upon her and she felt a sudden burst of fluid from between her legs.

“Oh…. shit,” she murmured, panting hard.

When she returned with the towels, she met Laura’s gaze and knew that they were both feeling the urgency of birth. They were almost out of time.

The contraction had waned when Char left the room and Laura slowly righted herself and breathed quietly, taking stock of the situation, letting her body adjust and working with the new sensations. The baby was definitely on its way, there was no doubt about that. The breaking of her waters had helped ease the excruciating pressure which had been building, but Laura became more keenly aware of the shape of the baby in her womb without its cushioning.

Taking deep and steady breaths, Laura tried to calm her mind and body. It was during this almost meditative state that she heard the unmissable sound of a woman in deep labor from the corridor. She knew exactly who it was.

Char was a very methodical woman, set in her ways, but she was strong and determined which was a necessity in this field of work. Laura respected her immensely. But it was no surprise to the assistant that her boss was fighting this and seemingly was fighting it to the very end. At some point Char would admit she was in labor, she would have to if she was going to birth her baby. Laura just hoped she would be able to help Char through it when the time comes, and not be consumed by her own birth.

When Char came back she was flushed and sweaty, but gritted a smile as she passed Laura a towel. Laura noticed her boss kept one for herself… strange.

Laura threw the towel on the floor and used her foot to wipe the liquid that was now puddled at her feet. Her trousers were wet but she didn’t want to take them off, she might have known Char for years but wasn’t quite ready to be walking around half naked in front of her boss.

“This baby is definitely coming, I can feel its head right down in my pelvis.” Laura announced, cupping the underside of her large swell almost trying to hold it up. “How are you holding up Char through your… practice contractions?”

Even without her announcing it, Char could tell how close Laura was to birthing her baby, her stance and dropped belly unmistakable as signs of her imminent birth. Laura, she knew, was dependable, and though Char would rarely admit it, she relied on Laura and her stability and her easier personality tended to balance Char’s own stubbornness. Her patience was beginning to wear Char down, and she almost admitted then. The head was huge against her dilated cervix, and she could feel it oriented, ready to descend. Everything was moving painfully downwards. She could no longer even pinch her knees together, so wide was her gait. It felt as if the baby would drop out of her if she spread too wide.

“I-I think I’m, I’m in—“ Char was cut off by another contraction, doubling over with an urgent grunt, so unlike her normally composed and cool attitude. “Ohhhh,” she moaned, closing her eyes. She gritted her teeth, eyes squeezed shut as the contraction began to peak and she clutched blindly at her rigid, taut belly.

“Oh Char…” Laura said, waddling over to her boss, keeping one hand on a bench for support. “I think you’re in labor, hun.”

Char was completely doubled over, clutching her large and heavy belly, and grunting wildly. There was no way she could keep denying her situation now surely. Laura put a hand on Char’s back and rubbed up and down her spine in support. “It’s okay, just breathe through the contraction. Slowly, don’t panic, in and o-outttt…”

Laura was cut off by a contraction of her own, and without her waters it was aggressive and forceful. She immediately spun around, grabbing the nearest bench, and groaned deeply as she fell into a slight squat. The baby was slamming against her cervix, squeezing its way into her birth canal, and Laura had no choice but to push with the force of the contraction.

She tried not to panic, to stay calm, but the head filling her canal was almost making her nauseous. She wanted to tell Char but couldn’t speak, not that her boss could do anything as she was dealing with a contraction of her own right now. The only option left was to ride the wave, and follow her instincts.

Over the din of her own uncontrollable noises Char could hear Laura’s straining groans as she bore down fiercely, primal with the urgency of a birthing mother. Char tried to change her posture but the feeling of the baby descending, pressing down forcefully against her cervix was too much for her to bear standing, and she clasped her hands on her thighs as she squatted, desperate for relief. The contraction peaked, and though she tried to control her breathing, sucking in air at first, by the ends of her breaths she found herself grunting slightly. She gave a gasp, realizing that she was pushing. No! No, no! She thought desperately. You’re a scientist. This is your lab, and you have control. Try as she might, it was impossible to assert control over her laboring body. Her baby was coming, and she was pushing. Still, she tried to resist the urge to push, panting and blowing as the pressure grew and her back flared with pain.

Laura’s contraction seemed to subside a little before Char’s, and Char saw her belly visibly heave as her uterine muscles relaxed. She let out a grunt as the contraction released her. They made eye contact as Char’s contraction began to fade as well. Char shifted her gaze.

“We…. w-we,” she panted, trying to regain her breath. “We have to find this cure. Right now.”

“Char…. Even if we do find a c-cure… what do you t-think is going to happen?” Laura said sternly as she heaved herself back to standing. “These babies,” she patted her bump and also Char’s for effect, “are coming and no cure is going to make them disappear.”

Laura had seen the way Char literally squatted to the ground and pushed, and her clothes were also damp on her bottom half. “I’m saying this as both your friend and colleague, you are in labor just as much as I, and we should prepare for their arrival.”

Laura waddled awkwardly, bowlegged, back to her desk and grabbed a drink of water. Still panting after the latest contraction, she picked up a pen and carried on making notes. “I’ll help you as much as I can, noting everything down about this rapid pregnancy, tracking my symptoms and experience, but we’re going to be giving birth soon. Both of us.”

Char glared weakly as Laura patted her belly. She’d known Laura to be one of her only lab partners to actually stand up to her or challenge her, but even then she was firmly gentle. This was no different except of course so steeped in labor herself Laura had a bit more edge to her, biting just a little. She knew how Laura was feeling. Their babies were so low, pushing heavily into their canals and forcing their bodies to deliver, and she wanted nothing more to stop what she was doing right now, squat down, and let it come. Magic or science, Char and Laura were experiencing their most natural, primal instincts.

But—she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. No, this was HER body. An intruding passenger wouldn’t change that, even as it inched its way through her birth canal and demanded she work hard and concentrate on nothing but pushing it out. Char made a laborious effort to straighten somewhat, though her stance wasn’t much narrower than Laura’s own bowlegged waddle.

“Not, urgh, yet,” Char said. “I’m not having this baby. Mmm…. hoo, I’m grateful to you, Laura, for holding it together for this long. But you n-need to deliver. Please, don’t burden yourself. I’ll finish this cure on my—hmnh, hm. My own.”

She painstakingly toddled to her research table, lifting the hefty weight of her belly as though it would keep the baby from dropping any further.

“Okay, do whatever you wanna do Char.” Laura resigned herself to losing this argument. Her boss was determined but this was next level, bordering on complete denial. Well if Char was feeling even half the sensations Laura was, she’d succumb to this birth soon enough.

Laura needed to prepare for the imminent birth, her recent pushing was a sure sign the baby was close. Slowly, and whilst always holding on to something, the assistant rummaged through the drawers and cupboards in the lab. “Do we have anything we could use for clamps to cut the cord?” She asked aloud, not really expecting an answer from her disgruntled colleague. “Ah, this could work.”

She collected the equipment she’d need to clamp and cut the chord on her desk, and moved the towel on the floor with her feet again mopping up the new liquid that she’d trailed across the floor, not realizing she was still leaking. “I’m gonna go get some more towels.” Laura again spoke aloud but knew her boss had disappeared into her own world.

Laura barely made it to the doorway when another contraction struck, and damn they were close together. Her fingers gripped the wooden frame as her body sank downwards again, the pressure building and building between her legs. “Mnnnghhhhhhhh!!!” Laura grunted, muscles contracting and squeezing the large head further through the birth canal, to the point she could feel herself start to open slightly. “Nghhhhhhh the head…. I can feel it…” Laura mewled as she squatted.

Char listened to Laura’s preparations in the background, doing her best to tune out both Laura’s words and the feeling of a massive head lodged in her birth canal, stretching her from within. Her legs trembled, nearly buckled even without a contraction. She resented herself for pushing but knew from her last contraction that she wouldn’t be able to help from bearing down again. The urge to push, the pressure, it was blurring her vision, and her head pounded dizzyingly. A mantra repeated in her head: ‘Hold it in. Just hold it in a little longer.’ Her stomach felt like a hard stone weighing on her middle even without a contraction. She tried to focus, pulling herself into a chemical analysis of her own birthing fluids she’d swabbed from the towel.

Suddenly, she heard Laura’s loud grunting and her attention was drawn to the doorway to see her assistant bent and squatted, pushing hard into her trousers. She felt a tug of concern.

“Laura? Hun, you okay—?”

The head, she thought. Oh god, she’s still wearing her work trousers.

Before she could even take a single step towards Laura, she felt another contraction grip her. “Oooof,” she grunted deeply. Her knees began to give out and she was forced into a squat even as she tried to remain standing. Gripping the table for dear life, she groaned and growled. Don’t push, she thought. Don’t—

“Ohhhh.” The head shifted down. Her powerful internal muscles shoved it through. “OH—I’m—I-I’m pushinggggg, mmmmgh!”

Laura was consumed by the sensations thrumming through her entire body, it was as if something primal was happening to her - new and unfamiliar, completely out of her control, and yet her body seemed to know what to do. Her knees widened and she sunk deeper into the squat, opening her hips as much as she could. Leaning into the contraction, using it, Laura pushed the heavy weight down. It felt… productive. She knew it was what she should be doing.

The location wasn’t ideal, and she hoped she still had time to collect more towels and set up a more comfortable birthing area. But whilst the contraction raged, Laura submitted to it, letting it work her baby down, slipping further and further towards its exit.

Somewhere in the distance she heard her name being called. After a long push Laura gulped a breath and turned her head to see Char squatting at her desk and crying out that she was pushing. She would laugh if her body hadn’t forced her into another push.

They needed to get set up and quick, Char looked like she was suffering just as much as Laura was. When the contraction waned just a bit, Laura stopped pushing and somehow managed to haul her body back to standing. Char looked okay, well as she could given the situation, riding out a contraction and holding on to the sturdy frame of her workbench.

“I’m getting more towels, hang on Char!” Laura shouted, hoping her boss would hear over the groans Char was making.

Waddling ever so slowly, the head sitting right behind her lips, Laura went off to the cupboard to find more towels. They’d soon need them.

Another contraction struck mere minutes after the last while Laura was in the cupboard but she was not as successful this time in staying on her feet. The force of the contracting muscles and slashing pain splitting her open brought her to her knees. She clung on to the shelf in front of her, her heavy belly squished between widened thighs, and she pushed hard wailing with the effort. The head was peaking through, pushing apart her folds in her underwear. But her body was driving this journey, Laura was just the passenger. After a solid minute the contraction let up and when she released the push with a gasp, the baby slipped back into the birth canal. With a trembling hand she felt the fabric between her legs, she was definitely bulging, but the head wasn’t crowning just yet. She breathed deeply, gathering her strength before getting back on her feet. She needed to get back with the extra towels, not just so she could birth her baby there but so she could help Char. She’d need a friend and the support right now, and so could Laura.

As Laura submitted, pushing freely and loudly as though nothing else mattered in the world except getting her baby out and getting it out now, Char resisted her baby’s inevitable birth. Panicked, she gulped in a breath, trying to ease up on her furious pushing as she felt the head filling her opening thoroughly. It was beginning to bulge her, though her lips remained shut. The pressure and incredible sensation of the head sitting low at her opening, almost ready to exit, was almost too much to bear. She mooed deeply, from the back of her throat. Her belly tightened even harder than before, squeezing her like a vice and she couldn’t help but push again. The baby strained against her opening, and she could feel her most delicate area distending obscenely.

“Oh god!” She cried, throwing her head back as her thighs spread and she pushed again and again uncontrollably. The urge was undeniable. She was subject to her body and right now, it was telling her to birth her baby. Here, now, into her trousers. She felt helpless. Out of control.

“It’s coming,” she moaned. “Ohhh, it’s coming!” She knew this deeply, intuitively, with an age-old maternal instinct. She was ready to birth her baby. But she felt alone and vulnerable.

“Laura,” she gasped, couldn’t say much more than that. “Laura, oh god, it’s coming and I’m pushing! I need to hold it in! Just a little longer!”

She could hear Char’s wailing from the corridor, becoming fast apparent the lead technician was losing her fight against the inevitable. With one arm carrying a load of towels, the other hand pressed against the wall as she waddled heavily back to the office. On walking into the room she saw her friend and colleague in a deep squat, white-knuckling the work bench, chin to chest and pushing. Loudly.

“Oh Char, it’s okay hun.” Laura shut the door behind her and dropped the towels beside her friend. “You have to breathe as well as push darling.” She said as she staggered to her own workbench and grabbed the medical supplies she’d collected. With the baby playing peek-a-boo into her underwear, Laura knew their time was almost up.

Cumbersomely, Laura got down to her knees beside her boss, putting the clamps and scissors on the pile of towels. “Shhhhh it’s okay Char, don’t fight it. Use that contraction and push with the pain.” Laura rubbed a hand up and down Char’s back, trying her best to support and encourage through this.

Unfortunately with their labors progressing in tandem, Laura’s role as carer was snatched away when the next contraction tore its way across her midsection. Instinctively, without intending to, her body was pushing with the pain and she could feel the baby start to leak through again and stretch apart her lips. She went to all fours and rocked, sinking backwards towards her heels whenever she had to bear down.

“Mnnnnghhhhhhh! Come on baby….” She groaned before gasping another breath and pushing hard again. She didn’t care that she was still in her work clothes, or that she was on the floor of a laboratory that was covered with two lots of amniotic fluid, she was simply following her instincts and soon the baby stopped slipping back in and stayed, keeping her lips in a perfect oval shape.

“Ohhhh god… I think it’s starting to c-crownnnn….” The assistant managed to huff when the contraction eventually dulled.

Char’s belly refused to fully relax at this point, now constantly flexing with forceful surging contractions, but there were brief moments of respite where she could pause in her pushing and some awareness returned to her. Laura, she realized, was beginning to tent her pants with pushing, on all fours with her back arched and her hips shoved forward, trying to make as much room for the large crowning head as possible. She was pushing the head into her clothes, Char realized, bulging them ridiculously, and between her spread thighs more fluids dripped and leaked. At the same time she processed this she realized that her own clothes had never been discarded, but she made no effort to remove them in her precious few moments before her body would force her baby further out of her. Instead she clung onto the naive hope that she’d miraculously stumble upon a cure while crowning into her pants, feeling the head beginning to press up against her underwear and part her lips slightly. Laura, she could tell, had offered less resistance to her body and had made more progress in her pushing, the head sitting permanently, she calculated from the bulge in Laura’s pants, at around a half-crown or more.

“Hey,” she croaked hoarsely, barely able to manage anything but grunts with her clenching belly. “You—you need to get your pants down, hun. Head’s coming out.”

Painstakingly, she began to squat down, moaning as the head was pressed back slightly into her sensitive lips by the tension of her underwear. It felt so low, so full, she needed to open up, she needed to push, relieve the immense pressure, yet her friend, yes friend, not just assistant, needed her. As she squatted low, she hooked her fingers around Laura’s waistline.

“I need, urgh, I need you to get your legs together. Mmmm, we gotta get your pants off, ‘kay?”

She was surprised to see Char moving in her peripheral vision, but Laura could pay no mind, for this baby wanted out and it wanted out now.

“Grhhhhh!!! It’s coming out… mnghh!” Laura cried into the next push, bearing down and feeling the head stretch her wider and wider. Her hips were so full, her pelvis felt like it could snap, the pressure of this baby’s head - this large and heavy mass - *needed* to come out.

Char’s attempt to remove her trousers was fruitless, though the black fabric was stretchy and comfortable with the expanding of her stomach, it was not elasticated enough to be pulled over the wide angle of her legs. The baby sat so low, right at her entrance, stretching her entrance wide with the emerging crown. There was no way in hell she would be able to put her legs closer together.

Instead, she widened them further. “Hmngh! Can’t… baby… coming…I have to pushhhh-mnghhhh!” Laura’s face sunk towards the floor, dropping to her elbows and opening up her hips to the skies. It was coming out, she could feel it sliding slowly out of her into her stretchy clothing. All she could do was push…. Pant and push again.

Char watched in utter fascination as Laura pushed with total abandonment, entirely consumed with the baby coming out of her, every last thought focused on the overwhelming, intense, undeniable urge to push. The bulge in Laura’s pants grew, stretched her thinly and Char could scarcely believe that such a huge head could come from her, pass through such a narrow opening with so much force. She removed her fingers from Laura’s waistline, realizing the impossibility of such a task at this stage in Laura’s labor. She was pushing it out into her pants, and there was nothing Char could do about that except cup the growing bulge as it emerged from Laura’s opening into the straining fabric.

It was terrifying, watching Laura push without regard for anything else. As she felt a powerful contraction wrack her own reddened, exhausted belly, she knew there was no stopping this. She was giving birth and was about to push a baby out into her pants exactly as Laura was doing now. She growled fiercely, deep in her squat—the perfect position. Her knees jackknifed and she opened her hips as wide as they could go. Against her opening the fabric of her underwear arched with the coming head as she bore down immensely. Her face turned bright red with her hardest push yet.

“Oh GODDDD!” She bellowed. “It’s COMING, I’m pushing it OOUUUTTTT!”

Her lips parted, wider and wider, trembling and convulsing around the head as it burned and stretched her. She jerked, trying to escape the ring of fire and yet she couldn’t stop pushing for a minute. She was in the final stages now, and the only way the burn would stop was when she had pushed her baby into the world. Instinct took over completely. This was what her body needed her to do. This was what SHE needed to do.

Even though they were consumed with their own births, Laura found comfort that at least they were together through this. Each laboring woman was not alone.

But the strength required to birth these babies, who didn’t even exist 24 hours ago, would be down to the mother. Gasping for air Laura pushed again with everything she had, through the pressure and pain and the burning ring of fire that had her mouth open in a silent scream. The baby’s head had to be almost out by now, surely!?

Despite being beside each other Char’s bellowing voice seemed so far away to Laura. Nothing else registered beside the baby being born into her pants. She growled with another push and suddenly yelped when the head slipped fully out.

“Oh my god oh my god…” Laura muttered over and over and pushed herself back up on her knees. She scrambled at the waistband of her elasticated trousers and pulled them down to her knees along with her underwear. Her baby, she had to get to her baby, the maternal instinct cried in her head. With a trembling hand she felt the newly born baby’s head that was now wedged between her thighs. “Hi…. baby… oh my gosh you’ve got hair!” Laura was in shock, but also in awe of what her body had just done.

It was only after the head was born that Laura properly heard the cries of her friend. “Char…” she muttered and saw the other woman squatting and huffing, red-faced, chin to chest, with an obscene bulge protruding from her clothes between her wide legs.

“Oh my god Char! Your baby is coming out!”

Had Char any piece of mind she might have answered with her customary sarcasm: oh really? I wouldn’t have guessed. Instead, the only sound that emerged from her mouth was a long lowing wail that only deepened and became more guttural as the head filled her bottom so thoroughly, and it felt as though her pelvis was creaking open to allow the massive head through. She opened slowly, barely pausing to take a breath as she bore down without repose. Dimly, she was aware of Laura’s own baby dangling between her thighs, having pushed the huge head out, and with renewed efforts Char grunted the head further and further out. Her lips tautened and thinned, red with the stretch. The head reached a full crown and for a moment Char pushed and it didn’t move, solid mass wedged tightly in her opening. She gasped, scared for a moment that it was too big, that there was no way she could push something of this size out of her body.

Then she heard Laura cooing to the head between her legs, and something stirred within her. She realized that the dread she’d been facing was being replaced with something like motherhood, her body responding naturally, automatically, to Laura’s awe and wonder. Char realized that she wanted to meet this thing she had carried inside her for a mere twenty-four hours.

“C’mon BABYYYYY!” She shouted, bearing down furiously. Her lips slipped around the head, and then—with a splash of fluids and a grunt of relief, Char freed the head into her pants.

Laura watched in fascination as Char grunted the head further and further into her clothing, it was huge. Char had been fighting this throughout the entire pregnancy and in that moment Laura understood why some women balked so much away from birth. It was hard work. But then she saw a change in her friend, the way her eyebrows furrowed with determination, the slight readjustment of her hips as she took a breath; she was no longer fighting against her body and was readying herself to meet her child.

“You can do it Char, push!” Laura called as Char bore down. She wished she could move to support her friend physically but she was still mid-way through her own rapid birth to risk moving.

Tears begun to well in her eyes at the thought of their babies, the exhaustion of labor and the stress of the last 24 hours hammering her emotions.

By the time Char had birthed the head of her baby into her pants Laura was already feeling the pangs of the next contraction and the baby’s head turned slightly in the palm of her hand. “Oohhhhh… mhhh okay okay… you ready little one?” She panted, pulling in air through her nose, widening her legs apart to steady her balance and preparing herself to push again. Both hands were between her legs when the contraction really got going and all too soon she was pushing once more and felt the shoulders stretch apart her already sore lips.

With trembling fingers, Char reached down between her legs, feeling the hard slick roundness of the head she’d just pushed out between her legs. She gasped. The aftershocks of her contraction clutched at her belly.

“Oh… oh, my—that’s a baby. I just gave birth.”

The evidence was conclusive. But she could scarcely believe that she’d pushed an entire baby through her birth canal and out into her pants. The experience she’d just been through, the effort, the haze of contractions and the hard pushes as she focused on nothing but expelling her baby, and the intense sensations throughout her body. It was all unbelievable. Inching down the waistband of her trousers, Char struggled them to her shins and sank to her knees. She panted in disbelief, feeling instinctually that this was *right,* that this was what she was meant to be doing. Her identity had irreconcilably changed to that of a mother and as she caressed the head between her legs, she felt a rush of contentment. Char was a scientist, an expert in her field, but now it all paled in comparison.

She glanced up at Laura, seeing her shock and awe mirrored in her eyes as she lifted her baby from between her legs and rested it against her chest. Laura smiled exhaustedly at her.

Char began to pant as another contraction took hold.

“Ooh—“ she exclaimed. “You’re ready…. c’mon, you’re ready to be—UGH! BORN!”

Her baby slipped between her lips with a spray of fluids and immediately she sank to the floor, sighing in immense relief.

Laura fell silent with her final pushes, holding her breath as she bore down, the head filling her palm as the shoulders squeezed their way through. She gasped another breath and pushed with everything she had, this was it, she could feel it. Come on baby…

Once the shoulders were freed Laura wasn’t expecting the speed of which the baby slipped out and the hush of fluid that came with it. Catching the slippery newborn Laura gasped, relieved and shocked, and immediately brought the babe to her chest.

“Hey…. Oh my- hey baby.” She cooed, eyes welling with tears as she looked upon this little miracle that had grown in the last 24 hours. When the baby started to cry she instinctively rocked and hushed the infant “it’s okay… you’re okay.” She said, wiping the blood and fluid off the newborn's face.

Laura had barely caught her breath back when Char started pulling down her trousers and panted heavily, a baby’s head hanging between her open legs. A second later Char was mirroring Laura’s actions and pulling her own baby to her chest and sobbing with relief.

“You did it.” Laura said softly to her friend. “We did it. I can’t believe they’re real, we just had babies.”

The Spell might currently be a scientific mystery, but as the two women sat exhausted on the floor cradling their newborns, the research could wait. For now, the scientists were in awe of the new lives they’d just birthed.

#fpreg #clothing birth #birth denial #labor kink #birth kink #pregnant kink #inconvenient birth #birth fic #birth rp #rp with my forever writer on this site my one and only

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reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

Text

Needy

Summary: Spencer is touch starved.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut, fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+), porn with little plot, additional warnings undercut, sub!spencer, slight dom!reader, crying

Word count: 8k

a/n: for @kameowwww hope i did you good <333 this is the idea

this is like straight up porn so

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (f&m receiving), PinV sex unprotected (wrap it before you tap it), voyerism, masturbation (f), vibrator (f), orgasm denial, overstimulation, sub/dom dynamics

Spencer Reid had always been a man of intellect, preferring the quiet solace of books over the chaos of human interaction. He never quite understood the appeal of constant physical affection until he met you. Before you, his life was a series of equations and logical deductions, but you brought something new to the table—warmth, comfort, and a touch that ignited something deep within him. Now that he had tasted that sweetness, he found himself utterly addicted. He couldn't imagine going back to the way things were before you.

The two of you had been dating for quite some time now, and Spencer had grown accustomed to the constant stream of affection you showered upon him. It wasn’t just the emotional warmth that he relished but the physical connection as well. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin was electrifying, each touch sending a shiver down his spine that lingered long after your hand had moved on. He adored the way you would pull him into a hug for no reason other than to feel his presence against you, your bodies fitting together perfectly like pieces of a puzzle.

When you kissed him, your lips soft and inviting, Spencer would lose himself in the moment, his mind quieting as all he could focus on was the sensation of you. The way your hands would slide up his chest, lingering at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer, made his heart race with a fervor he had never known before. It was a sensation he couldn’t quite articulate, this melding of souls and skin that made him feel so alive, so desired.

The intimacy extended to the most mundane of routines—the way your hands lingered a little longer on his back as you parted ways in the morning, your fingers tracing small circles that left his skin tingling in their wake. Your touch was intoxicating, a sweet addiction that he eagerly anticipated each day. It was as if you had created a secret language of touch, a series of unspoken words that only the two of you understood, a language that spoke of love, trust, and an undeniable connection.

But now, he was miserable. Absolutely miserable.

Spencer had been shot in the leg during a case gone awry. The doctors said he couldn't fly for a while, which meant he was stuck back in D.C. while you and the rest of the team were off on another case. This separation was a special kind of torment, one that gnawed at him with every passing hour.

He found himself staring at his phone, the digital clock mocking him as the minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness. It felt like time had slowed down since you left. No, it felt like time had stopped altogether. Spencer found himself yearning for the sound of your voice, the feel of your skin against his, the comfort of your presence. He missed you more than he could put into words, more than he had ever thought possible.

Every hour, like clockwork, he sent you a text. His messages ranged from sweet to downright needy, each one a reflection of his growing desperation:

9:00 AM: I miss you so much already. I can't wait for you to come back.

10:00 AM: Just had breakfast, and it's not the same without you. Miss you.

11:00 AM: I keep staring at our picture on my desk. It makes me smile and want to cry at the same time.

12:00 PM: I'm thinking about you. Are you thinking about me too?

1:00 PM: I miss you so much it hurts. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before.

2:00 PM: I’m hard... It's so embarrassing. Do you think I should touch myself?

3:00 PM: I love you. I miss you. I need you. Please come home soon.

He knew he was being pathetic, absolutely pitiful, even. Spencer Reid, BAU genius, reduced to a lovesick fool who couldn't even go a day without hearing from you. It was embarrassing, really. But he couldn't help himself; his emotions were a whirlwind, and you were the eye of the storm—the calm he so desperately sought.

He knew you were busy, embroiled in the intricacies of the case, piecing together the psychological profiles that would lead the team to the unsub. He respected that, understood it more than anyone. Still, the emptiness of your absence gnawed at him, clawing at his insides until he felt like he was going mad.

As night fell, he lay sprawled on his bed, his phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline. The room was dark, save for the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. Shadows danced across the ceiling, and he imagined your silhouette beside him, tracing the curves of your body with his eyes, feeling the warmth of your presence.

And then, finally, his phone buzzed with the notification he had been waiting for—your nightly call. Spencer's heart leaped at the sight of your name flashing on the screen. He scrambled to answer, almost dropping the phone in his haste.

“Hey,” he breathed, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He wanted to sound confident, but the anticipation of hearing your voice made it hard to keep his composure.

“Hi,” you replied, but your tone was laced with a hint of annoyance that made Spencer wince. “How was your day?”

Spencer hesitated, searching for the right words. “How—how was your day?” he repeated nervously, trying to ease the tension he sensed from you.

You sighed, the sound echoing through the line. “Other than my phone going off every two seconds, it was fine.”

His heart sank, guilt washing over him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling the weight of his own neediness pressing down on him.

“What did we talk about?” Your voice was firm, demanding an answer he was struggling to find.

“I don’t—I don’t remember,” he mumbled, the words tumbling out of him in a pathetic attempt to buy himself time.

“Don’t play dumb, baby,” you said, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “Put that eidetic memory to work. Tell me right now, or your ass will be so red when I get back.”

Spencer squeaked at the imagery, feeling his face heat up at the thought. His mind raced as he tried to recall the conversation, panic mixing with a strange thrill at your words. “Okay! You said… not to text you unless it was important, that you’d call me when you’re in the hotel,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s right, my smart boy,” you said, and he could hear the smile in your voice now. “You need to be patient, Spence. I know you miss me, and I miss you too, but we agreed on this for a reason.”

Spencer nodded, even though you couldn’t see him, his heart aching with a longing that was both painful and sweet. “I know,” he murmured, feeling the tension in his body ease as he listened to your voice, the gentle reprimand laced with affection. “I just… I miss you so much.”

“I know, baby,” you soothed, your voice like a balm to his frayed nerves. “And I promise, when I get back, we’ll make up for lost time.”

—

As soon as you set foot in your shared apartment, Spencer was up and running from his spot in the reading chair, the book he had been pretending to read for the past hour forgotten. He practically threw himself at you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, his face burying in your neck as he breathed in the scent that was just so—you. It was as if he couldn’t get close enough, as if he wanted to meld into you completely, the relief of having you back washing over him like a tidal wave.

“Hi, baby,” you laughed softly, your arms encircling him as you returned the embrace, feeling his neediness and desperation in the way he clung to you.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured against your skin, his voice tinged with an aching vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings.

“I missed you too,” you replied, your fingers gently threading through his hair, offering him the comfort and reassurance he craved.

Spencer’s body was pressed tightly against yours, and you could feel him start to wiggle, subtly at first, as if testing the waters. But soon his movements became more insistent, his hips grinding against you in a desperate attempt to find some relief for the neglected erection that had been tormenting him during your absence.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked, pulling back slightly to look at him, raising an eyebrow as you caught the sheepish expression on his face.

“...nothing,” he mumbled, his cheeks turning a deep shade of pink as he averted his gaze, suddenly finding the floor incredibly interesting.

You pushed him off gently, taking a step back to give yourself some space. Spencer’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his hands, the sting of embarrassment and rejection written all over his face.

“I just walked in the door, and you’re already trying to hump me like a bitch in heat?” you chided, your tone firm but not unkind. It was clear he had been waiting for this moment, stewing in his own need and desperation, and you couldn’t help but find his pathetic eagerness endearing.

Spencer glanced up at you, his eyes wide and pleading, the blush on his cheeks deepening. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice small, shame and longing swirling in his chest.

You shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “I think you need to learn some patience, Spence,” you said, your voice dropping to a husky murmur that made his heart race. “But don’t worry, I’m here now, and I’m going to take care of you. Just not until I’m ready. Understand?”

He nodded, his breath hitching at the promise in your words, his anticipation building as he realized he’d have to wait a little longer to get what he so desperately craved.

“Good,” you said, reaching out to gently tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Why don’t you make us some tea while I get settled? Then we can see about that little problem of yours.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, the submissive role coming naturally to him as he eagerly turned toward the kitchen, his heart racing with excitement at the prospect of what was to come.

As you watched him walk away, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction at how easily he fell into place, his neediness a palpable presence in the room. It was a dance the two of you had perfected over time, a delicate balance of power and trust that left you both feeling fulfilled and connected in a way that was beyond words.

Once you were settled, you called him back to you. He returned with a tray, the tea carefully prepared, his hands slightly trembling as he set it down on the table. He looked at you expectantly, hope and trepidation in his eyes, waiting for your next move.

“Come here, Spencer,” you said softly, patting the spot next to you on the couch.

He obeyed immediately, sitting close enough that his leg brushed against yours, his body taut with anticipation. You reached out, your hand finding his, your touch gentle yet commanding, a silent reminder of who was in charge.

“Are you ready to be a good boy for me?” you asked, your voice low and teasing, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his voice quivering with eagerness, his eyes shining with a mixture of adoration and need.

"Good," you murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips, a promise of what was to come, the warmth of your breath mingling with his. Spencer’s heart soared at the touch, his whole body tingling with anticipation. He tried to press into you further, reaching for your hips to pull you into his lap, yearning for more contact, more of you. But before he could make his move, you slapped his hands away and pulled back.

Dazed, he looked at you with wide puppy eyes, his expression portaying confusion and longing. "What?" he asked softly, his voice laced with desperation.

"I need you to do something for me, baby. Can you do that?" you asked, your voice a silky command that sent shivers down his spine.

Spencer nodded so fast he resembled a bobblehead, eager to please, to do whatever you asked of him. His eyes were filled with unwavering devotion, the need to be good for you evident in every fiber of his being.

"Good boy…" You praised him, a wicked smile playing on your lips as you stood up, walking toward the bedroom with a sway in your hips that was both enticing and authoritative. Spencer eagerly followed you, his heart pounding in his chest as he anticipated what was to come.

When you reached the bedroom, you pointed to the chair in the corner, your eyes never leaving his. "Sit down," you instructed, your voice firm yet gentle.

Spencer reluctantly took a seat, his mind racing. This wasn’t usually how things went, and he felt a twinge of uncertainty mingling with his excitement. "Babe?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice as he tried to understand your plan.

"Shhh… Can you be quiet for me?" you asked, your tone soothing yet commanding, and he nodded again, eager to comply.

He watched as you moved around the room with purpose, his eyes following your every step. His anticipation grew with each passing moment, the air between you charged with a tension that was both electrifying and maddening. Spencer sat on the edge of the chair, his hands gripping the armrests as he tried to contain his eagerness, his heart beating a frenzied rhythm in his chest.

He was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, the urge to touch you warring with the need to obey, to be the good boy you wanted him to be. He knew he had to trust you, to let go of his own desires and surrender to the moment, to the pleasure you promised.

You glanced over at him, your eyes meeting his, and the look you gave him was filled with a promise that made his pulse race. He could feel his resolve wavering, the need to reach out and pull you close overwhelming. But he held himself back, knowing that your control over him was part of what made this so exhilarating, so intoxicating.

Spencer took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, to let go of his own wants and needs, and focus solely on you, on the sexual tension, on the connection that bound you together. He was yours, and he knew that this moment would be worth every agonizing second of waiting.

Once you finished collecting the items you needed, you walked just close enough to Spencer that he couldn't touch you and began to strip. Spencer slowly realized he was being punished, as undressing you was one of his favorite things to do, whether or not it was sexual in nature. He loved the sensation of removing each piece, the anticipation that built with every button undone and every zipper pulled. It was an intimate act that spoke of trust and desire, something that made him feel closer to you than anything else.

He whimpered from his seat in the chair, gripping the arms tightly. His fingers dug into the fabric, struggling to maintain his composure as he watched you, every muscle in his body tense with longing. You continued until you were bare, your skin glowing with a confidence that made his heart skip a beat. You winked at him, teasing him with the promise of what was to come, before walking back to the bed and climbing on with a graceful ease that left him breathless.

Spencer wanted to talk, to plead, to explain himself, but he didn't want his punishment to get worse. He was caught between his desire to be good and his desperation for relief. So he did the only thing he could think of—he raised his hand, a silent request for permission to speak, his eyes wide and imploring.

You laughed softly, the sound wrapping around him like a caress. "Yes, baby? You can talk," you said, your tone both gentle and authoritative, holding the power to both soothe and command.

"Am I being punished?" Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a mixture of curiosity and resignation.

"Yes, smart boy. You are," you replied, watching him with a steady gaze, your words firm but laced with affection.

"Why?" He ventured the question, a tentative exploration of his transgressions.

"Why do you think?" you asked, challenging him to delve into his own behavior, to understand the reasons behind his current predicament.

Spencer thought as much as he could in his state, his mind swirling with a chaotic mix of emotions. "Um, is it, uh, because I touched myself?" he ventured hesitantly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Well, I didn’t know about that, but thank you for telling me," you said, your lips curling into a sly smile as you watched Spencer's entire face fall, realizing he had just outed himself.

"Try again, Spence," you prompted, giving him another chance to find the true answer.

"Because I, I texted you too much?" he guessed, his voice small and contrite, like a child admitting to a misdeed.

"Good job, baby boy. You're done talking now," you confirmed, acknowledging his confession. "Now you get to watch."

With that, you pulled out your favorite toy, the bane of Spencer's existence, to pleasure yourself. It was a delicious torment, a visual feast designed to both punish and tantalize, to teach him the value of patience and obedience.

Spencer watched, his breath hitching as you began to rub the vibrator on your clit, the sight both mesmerizing and agonizing. He was captivated by the way you moved, the way you seemed so utterly in control, the way you drew out your own pleasure with an ease that left him reeling.

Spencer's eyes never left you, drinking in every detail, every gasp and moan, every shiver of your body as you pleasured yourself. His need was growing exponentially, a desperate ache that throbbed in time with his racing heart, a longing that was both exquisite and unbearable. Every fiber of his being was attuned to you, yearning for your touch, your approval, your love.

You were a vision of temptation, a goddess in your own right, and Spencer was helpless to do anything but watch, his hands gripping the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, the frustration and desire bubbling over into soft whimpers and pleas that slipped from his lips despite his best efforts to remain silent.

The room was filled with the sounds of your pleasure, a symphony that played just for him, a reminder of the power you held over him. Each sound, each movement was a sweet torture, intensifying his need until it was a tangible force, pressing down on him with relentless intensity. He felt a sob rise in his throat, a sound of both yearning and surrender.

"Please," he whispered, the word escaping him before he could stop it, his voice cracking with emotion.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile that made his heart skip a beat. "No talking, remember?" you reminded him gently, your voice a sultry command that sent shivers down his spine.

Spencer nodded, biting his lip to stifle the whine that threatened to spill forth. Tears slipped down his cheeks, hot and unbidden, as he struggled to keep himself in check, the battle between obedience and desperation waging a fierce war within him.

Even though he was being punished, he knew that this was part of what made your relationship so special, so unique—a delicate balance of dominance and submission that left him feeling more alive than he had ever thought possible. The act of surrender, of giving himself over to you completely, was a heady sensation, one that filled him with a profound sense of belonging.

However, as you entered your core with the toy, Spencer let out a heart-wrenching sob, the sound filled with raw emotion. It was a sound that spoke of betrayal and longing, a testament to the war inside him. That should be him! He couldn’t help the tears that fell, his feelings a torrent that he couldn’t control. You didn’t chide him for that noise, knowing that he couldn’t hold back from that much. It was a moment of vulnerability that made your heart swell with empathy and power, seeing just how deeply he felt, how completely he had surrendered to you.

The vibrator in your hand whirred quietly as you reached your own peak, and then you turned it off, the room descending into a hushed silence as you calmed your breathing, your chest rising and falling as you regained your composure. You climbed off the bed, your movements fluid and deliberate, each step a reminder of the control you held.

You walked over to Spencer, who was still sitting in the chair, a picture of longing and obedience, his eyes glistening with both shed and unshed tears. You offered him your hand, a gesture of both forgiveness and invitation, a silent promise that the moment of his punishment was over.

Spencer took your hand immediately, rising from the chair with a quiet eagerness that spoke volumes about his desire to please you, to earn back your favor. His obedience was at an all-time high, each movement careful and deliberate, as if he were afraid of making a misstep.

“You did so good, baby. It’s over, okay?” you murmured softly, your voice soothing as you reached up to gently wipe away the remnants of his tears. Your touch was tender, an unspoken reassurance that filled the space between you with warmth and affection.

He nodded, sniffling slightly, fresh tears running over the ones already dried on his cheeks. The vulnerability in his eyes tugged at your heart, and you couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight of him so open, so trusting.

“Do you want your reward?” you asked, your tone teasing yet filled with genuine affection, knowing that he had earned the comfort and love that only you could provide.

“Yes, please,” he whispered, his voice filled with longing, the need for your touch evident in every word. His eyes met yours, filled with a hopeful longing that made your heart skip a beat, a promise that he would do anything to stay in this moment with you.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, a promise of the reward that awaited him, a sweet culmination of all his patience and obedience. Spencer melted into you, his body relaxing as the tension ebbed away, replaced by the soothing balm of your touch.

With a soft smile, you led him to the bed, guiding him with a tenderness that spoke of love and understanding, ready to give him everything he had been waiting for, ready to show him just how much he meant to you.

"Okay, baby, it's your choice first. What do you want?" you asked, a gentle encouragement in your voice as you gave Spencer the rare opportunity to express his desires. It was a gesture of trust and affection, a way to show him that his needs were important to you, even within the dynamic you shared.

Spencer blinked, momentarily stunned by the unexpected freedom you offered him. He almost never had any sort of control in the bedroom, and the sudden responsibility of choosing what he wanted was both exhilarating and daunting. His mind raced, a kaleidoscope of possibilities flashing through his thoughts as he considered his options.

"Uh, um," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and excitement, "can you, um, lay down?"

"Sure, Spence," you laughed softly, the sound warm and inviting as you moved to accommodate his request.

Once you were laying on your back, your body a canvas of curves and soft skin, Spencer crawled between your legs, his eyes drawn to the glistening slick that beckoned to him. The evidence of what you had done was a siren call, screaming at him to reclaim you, to remind himself of who you belonged to just as much as he did.

Wordlessly, he leaned down, his breath warm against your skin as he positioned himself with reverent care. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with awe and adoration, before he licked your core from base to crest, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your entire being, making you moan in response.

His touch was gentle yet insistent, his movements guided by a deep-seated desire to please you, to erase the distance that had been between you and replace it with something more profound. As his tongue worked its magic, he focused on every reaction, every gasp and shiver, adjusting his actions to draw out your pleasure in waves that washed over you.

You felt your body responding to his touch, a symphony of sensations that built steadily, the connection between you deepening with every pass of his tongue against your clit. It was a dance of devotion and need, a testament to the trust you had built together, and the love that underpinned every moment of your shared intimacy.

Spencer’s hands gripped your thighs, steadying himself as he delved deeper into the moment, his senses overwhelmed by the taste and scent of you, the soft sounds of your moans spurring him on. He was utterly consumed by his task, lost in the rhythm of your responses, the symphony of your pleasure, a song he never tired of hearing.

As he continued, you felt the tension in your body coil tighter, the anticipation building with every passing second. Spencer was relentless in his devotion, his tongue and lips moving in a rhythm that threatened to send you over the edge. The sensations were overwhelming, a rising crescendo of pleasure that filled every corner of your being.

But you didn’t want to finish just yet. You wanted to savor the moment, to draw out the exquisite tension that lingered between you. With a gentle but firm push, you moved Spencer away before it was too late, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you fought to regain control.

Spencer looked up at you, confusion and distress clouding his eyes. He immediately started tearing up again, a wave of insecurity washing over him as he tried to make sense of the situation. He blinked rapidly, his voice breaking with emotion as he tried to understand what he had done wrong.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he babbled, his words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush. “Please let me try again, I’ll do better, I promise, please, just–”

“Whoa, baby, slow down,” you interrupted gently, reaching out to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide and searching yours for reassurance. You could see the emotions swirling within him, a cocktail of desperation, fear, and hope that tugged at your heart.

“You did nothing wrong, Spence,” you assured him softly, your voice a calming balm that soothed the jagged edges of his anxiety. “I just didn’t want to come yet. You were doing so well, baby.”

He sniffled, his lower lip quivering slightly as he processed your words, relief flooding his system like a tidal wave. The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by a tentative hope that he hadn’t disappointed you.

“Really?” he asked, his voice small and unsure, as if he were afraid to believe it.

"Really,” you confirmed with a warm smile, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his skin. “You were amazing, Spencer. I just wanted to take care of you first, okay?”

“Oh,” Spencer blushed, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink as he tried to hide his face in your hands. He was such a giver that sometimes he forgot you liked to give too. The thought of you wanting to focus on his pleasure made his heart race with excitement and gratitude.

“Can I touch you, baby?” you asked softly, your voice laced with affection and a hint of playful intent.

“Mhm,” he nodded eagerly, his eyes shining with anticipation as he gave you his permission.

You switched positions, guiding Spencer to lay down on the bed, his body stretched out beneath you like a beautiful canvas. He watched with wide eyes as you climbed over his legs, your movements graceful and deliberate. You began to mouth along his adorable tummy, placing gentle kisses that made him giggle and squirm beneath you.

“Stop it, that tickles!” he laughed, his voice a joyful melody that filled the room. He tried to keep still, but his body naturally reacted to your teasing touches, causing his muscles to twitch and shift under your lips.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with affection at the sight of his genuine happiness. “Keep still,” you instructed playfully, your tone both loving and commanding, a mix that Spencer found utterly irresistible.

“I’ll try,” Spencer promised, his voice a bit shaky as he fought to obey your command. His eyes were wide, filled with a combination of anticipation and delight as he felt your lips continue their journey across his skin.

As you licked down his sparse trail of hair, you felt his body respond, muscles tensing beneath your tongue. He took a deep, steadying breath, the sound still a bit shaky, but he was doing better, finding his center amidst the flurry of sensations.

“Okay, Spence?” you asked, pausing to look up at him, ensuring he was comfortable and at ease.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he replied, his voice a little breathless but filled with warmth and trust. He couldn’t help the happy tears that welled up in his eyes, the emotion of the moment washing over him in waves. The feeling of being so cared for, so cherished, made him feel safe and loved in a way that was almost overwhelming.

“Okay,” you murmured, a note of reassurance in your voice, before you took him into your mouth, your movements deliberate and precise, a dance of intimacy that you had both perfected over time.

“Oh my god!” he cried, his voice a mixture of surprise and ecstasy, his head falling back against the pillow as the pleasure washed over him in waves. The sensation was almost too much, too intense, and he let out a series of whimpering cries, unable to hold back the sounds that escaped his lips.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, his eyes fluttering closed as he gave in to the sensations coursing through him. The feeling of your mouth wrapped around him was almost too much to bear, a pleasure so profound that it bordered on pain, he had been on edge for so long. He was lost in the moment, caught in a web of need and longing, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

“Please, please,” he begged, his voice hitching with each word. He could feel the tears spilling over, a combination of joy and desperation that he couldn’t contain. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You smiled softly, knowing that you had him right where you wanted him. His voice was a beautiful swirl of whines and pleas, a testament to the depth of his need and the power you held over him.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you cooed, your voice a soothing balm that eased the tension in his body, even as the sensations continued to build. “Just relax and let go, okay?”

Spencer nodded, his head moving in jerky motions as he tried to follow your command. His body trembled with the effort of holding himself together, of staying still under the onslaught of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. His hands clutched at the sheets, his knuckles white with the effort of maintaining control.

“I’m trying,” he whimpered, his voice cracking with emotion. “It just feels so good, I can’t—oh god, please!”

The tears flowed freely now, his cheeks wet with the evidence of his vulnerability. But he didn’t care, didn’t try to hold back the emotion that spilled over, knowing that he was safe here, that he was loved and cherished and understood. Every tear was a testament to the depth of his trust in you, to the surrender that came so naturally when he was with you.

As you licked and sucked his cock, Spencer felt himself go a little bit more insane. The sensations were overwhelming, each touch a bolt of electricity that shot through him, igniting every nerve ending with exquisite pleasure. When your tongue traced the ridge along his head, he thought he died and ascended to a higher being, the world around him fading away until there was nothing but you and the bliss you were giving him.

His body trembled beneath you, his muscles tensing and relaxing in a dance of ecstasy that left him breathless. Every stoke of your tongue was a sweet torture, a reminder of just how much he needed you. He felt like he was on the edge of something monumental, something that would shatter him and remake him all at once.

No longer able to hold his release any longer, Spencer began to babble again, the words spilling from his lips in a torrent of need and desperation.

“Oh, I’m going to come, please. Ohhh… please, can I come? I’ve been so good. Please!” he pleaded, his voice full of whimpers and cries, the emotion raw and unfiltered.

His eyes met yours, wide and imploring, filled with a desperate need for permission, for your blessing. His chest heaved with each breath, his body straining against the pleasure that threatened to consume him, to pull him under into a sea of bliss that he both feared and longed for.

“Please,” he begged again, the tears continuing to flow, each one a sign of his vulnerability, his surrender.

You paused for a moment, allowing the tension to build even further, your eyes locking with his, your expression both tender and commanding. The power you held over him was intoxicating, a heady mix of dominance and love that left you both breathless.

“Not yet, Spence,” you murmured softly, your voice a soothing balm that both calmed and ignited him, a promise of what was to come. “Just a little longer, okay? You can do it.”

Spencer let out a low whine, his body trembling with the effort of holding back, of obeying your command even as every fiber of his being screamed for release. But he nodded, his eyes shining with desperation and devotion, his heart full to bursting with the love he felt for you.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice a shaky breath that carried with it all the emotion of the moment, all the trust and need and longing that filled him to overflowing. “Okay, I’ll wait.”

He bit his lip, his body a taut line of tension and anticipation, every nerve ending alive with sensation as he held himself back. His mind was a whirl of pleasure, need, and love. It was a beautiful agony, a sweet torment that left him on the edge of everything, ready to fall into the abyss of bliss that awaited him. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of how close he was to the release he so desperately craved.

“Good boy,” you praised, your voice a melodic promise that resonated deep within him, and then you mouthed along his balls, your movements calculated to push him to his very limits.

The sensation was too much, the culmination of everything you had built together. Spencer’s control shattered, and he felt himself tipping over the edge, the world narrowing to a single point of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Spencer shouted, his voice carrying apology and ecstasy, as he came, the force of his release catching him by surprise, his body shuddering with the intensity of it.

His release hit you in unexpected places, getting his come in your hair and on your face, the aftermath of his pleasure painting a vivid picture of the depth of his release.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, your eyes shining with amusement and affection as you took in his apologetic expression, the mix of embarrassment and satisfaction on his face endearing him to you even more.

“It’s okay, Spence,” you reassured him, your voice gentle and soothing as you reached up to wipe the sticky substance from your skin. “You just owe me one.”

“What…?” Spencer asked in a daze of post-orgasmic bliss, his mind still spinning from the intensity of the experience. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he felt as if he were floating, weightless and free, in the aftermath of the ecstasy you had given him.

“I said,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his thigh in a gentle kiss that sent shivers down his spine, “you owe me one.”

“Oh,” he replied, his eyes widening slightly. He was slightly scared at the prospect of what was to come, knowing that your idea of a reward was often as intense as it was pleasurable. But beneath that fear lay a bubbling excitement, a thrill at the thought of pleasing you, of being able to return the gift you had given him.

“Think you can handle it?” you teased, your voice a holding challenge and affection as you watched the emotions play out across his face.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, his answer immediate and earnest, his eagerness clear in his wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Okay, baby,” you chuckled, a playful light in your eyes as you shifted to climb on top of him. Your movements were graceful and confident, a display of the control you wielded with such ease. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a charged electricity that wrapped around you both as you prepared to take him on another journey of pleasure.

You grabbed his soft shaft, your fingers gentle yet firm as you worked him in your hand, your touch a combination of care and precision that drew Spencer further into your spell. The sensations were overwhelming, a cascade of stimulation that left him breathless and trembling beneath you.

As you moved, Spencer writhed and whined in overstimulation, his body a live wire of sensation that sparked with every touch. The overstimulation sent him into a dizzying spiral of sensation, the world narrowing to the point where nothing existed but you and the incredible feelings you were coaxing from him.

“Oh, oh god,” he gasped, his voice filled with desperation and delight as he tried to process the onslaught of pleasure. His hands clutched at the sheets, his fingers curling into the fabric as he fought to hold on, to ride the wave of bliss that threatened to sweep him away completely.

“Just relax, Spence,” you murmured, your voice a soothing balm that wrapped around him, grounding him even as he felt himself slipping further into the depths of ecstasy. “I’ve got you.”

The assurance in your words, the confidence in your touch, allowed him to let go, to surrender completely to the moment and you. Spencer’s whines turned into soft moans, his body moving in time with yours.

As you continued, he felt himself teetering on the edge once more, the pleasure building and building until it reached a crescendo that left him breathless, his world narrowing to a single, perfect point of ecstasy.

"Please, please," he begged, his voice a soft plea as he gazed up at you with wide, shining eyes, his heart full of gratitude and love. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” His words were laced with desperation, a raw emotion that spilled from him in waves.

In that moment, you let go, pulling away just before he reached his peak.

“No!” he whined, wiggling beneath you as his body searched for the contact he craved. His eyes were wide with disbelief and desperation, the sudden absence of your touch leaving him feeling adrift.

"Stop," you commanded gently, your voice a soothing balm that steadied him, even as you denied him the release he so desperately sought.

Spencer looked up with big eyes, waiting with bated breath for what was to come next. His chest rose and fell rapidly, anticipation and longing held him still, trusting you to guide him through the moment.

You rose up on your knees, positioning yourself with deliberate care, the soft, teasing smile on your lips hinting at the pleasure that awaited him. His gaze was fixed on you, awe and adoration in his eyes as he watched you take control.

Guiding his cock into your core, you moved with a grace that left him breathless, his heart racing as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of warmth and pressure that enveloped him, drawing a choked gasp from his lips as he felt himself surrounded by you.

You sank down until you were flush, ass to thighs, your bodies connected in a way that transcended the physical, leaving him trembling beneath you.

Spencer cried loud and drawn out, his noise one of ecstasy as his head fell back against the pillow, his mouth open in a silent cry of bliss. It was a vision that took your breath away, his body a canvas of sensation and emotion, every muscle taut with the intensity of the moment.

The pleasure washed over him in waves, each crest a surge of euphoria that left him gasping for breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he lost himself in the pleasure. His hands found their way to your hips, holding on as if you were his lifeline, grounding him amidst the dizzying swirl of sensation that filled his senses.

You moved with a rhythm that spoke of both tenderness and command, your body taking everything you wanted and needed from Spencer.

“Please,” he whimpered, the word a breathless plea that slipped from his lips unbidden, hopeful this time you would listen. “Please, don’t stop, please.”

His voice was raw with emotion, the sincerity in his eyes a reflection of the trust he placed in you, the love that filled every corner of his heart as he gazed up at you, his vision of perfection and desire.

As you continued, guiding him through the waves of sensation with a skillful grace that left him breathless, Spencer knew that he was exactly where he belonged—in your arms, wrapped in the warmth of your love, the safety of your embrace.

Touch-starved and needy, now overstimulated and desperate for release, Spencer brought his fingers to your clit in hopes you would let him come again. His touch was tentative at first, the gentle pressure of his fingers a plea for more, a request for permission that you were more than willing to grant. He was caught between his desire for release and the need to please you, and every part of him was alive with the anticipation of what was to come.

“Oh, good boy, baby,” you praised, your voice a sultry murmur that sent shivers down his spine. His heart leaped at your words, the warmth of your approval wrapping around him like a comforting embrace.

As he continued to rub your clit, his fingers moved with a deliberate precision that belied the need thrumming through him, his desire to make you feel as good as you made him. You writhed atop him, your body moving in sync with his, chasing your own release with a fervor that mirrored his own.

You could feel the tension building within you, each movement drawing you closer to the precipice, the edge of bliss that you both longed to reach. As you got closer, you purposefully clenched your walls, changing the angle in a way that made Spencer cry out in both pleasure and pain, the sensation pushing him toward the edge once more.

“Please, do that again,” he begged, his voice a breathless plea filled with desperation and hope. His eyes were wide and pleading, his need written across every line of his face.

And so you did.

With a knowing smile, you repeated the motion, the deliberate shift of your core creating a cascade of sensations that rippled through you both. Spencer’s body responded instinctively, his hips arching up to meet yours, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt himself being drawn into the depths of pleasure once more.

Every movement was a dance of desire, sensation that wrapped around you both, binding you together in a shared experience of bliss. Spencer’s fingers never faltered, his touch a constant reminder of his devotion, his eagerness to please, to bring you to the same heights of ecstasy that he longed to reach.

As you continued, the tension in your body coiled tighter, a winding thread of sensation that promised release with every thrust, every touch. Spencer’s cries mingled with your own, a duet of pleasure that filled the room, echoing off the walls as you both teetered on the brink.

You could feel the climax rising within you, a wave of bliss that built with each passing moment, drawing you inexorably toward the peak of your desire. Spencer’s fingers moved in time with the roll of your hips, bringing you right where you needed to be.

With a final surge, you gave in to the sensations, the culmination of your shared desire sweeping over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy. Spencer’s cry echoed yours, a harmony of whimpers and moans that filled the room, leaving you both breathless and spent in the aftermath.

Spencer thrust once more, before coming inside you. The intensity of the moment left him breathless, his body shuddering with the force of his release. You both knew he didn’t ask, but neither of you cared. The unspoken understanding between you was enough, a silent agreement that transcended words.

Just happy to have you home and be back in each other’s arms, you both reveled in the warmth of the embrace, the security of knowing that you were where you belonged. His breath came in soft gasps as he tried to recover, the afterglow of the experience wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

“Welcome home,” Spencer murmured, his voice a whisper of contentment as he nuzzled into your neck, his arms wrapping around you with a gentle possessiveness that spoke volumes about how much he had missed you.

You smiled, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his back, a gentle reminder of your presence, your promise to always return to him. The motion was soft and reassuring, a silent affirmation of the bond that had kept you together through time and distance. Spencer melted into your touch, the tension in his muscles slowly unwinding under your gentle caress.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered back, your voice tender and filled with sincerity. The words were a balm to his soul, soothing the ache of longing that had settled in his chest during your absence.

“I love you,” he whispered into your skin, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled closer, seeking the comfort and safety that only you could provide.

“I love you more, baby,” you replied softly, your voice a gentle promise that wrapped around him like a protective embrace.

The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the comfort and security of each other’s arms. It was a moment of perfect peace, where nothing else mattered but the warmth of your bodies pressed together, the rhythmic beating of your hearts creating a soothing melody that lulled you both into a state of contentment.

#doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #smut

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ghsface · 19 days ago

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bro I love ur writing so much idk if this is how you request but tbh idgaf anyways. anyway can you write something abt Matt x reader at a party and doing some page 136 icebreaker shit? (I think that’s the page but idc) anyway yeah ilyy 😍😍😘

New Message ✮⋆˙

hey pretty, ngl I didn't read that book but I looked up what that page of the book is about and OMG THAT WAS HOT ngl, I tried to do something similar because I don't know the context very well, I hope you like it, ily too<33

I hate you - Matt Sturniolo

Sumary: You decide to provoke Matt at a party...

Warnings: smut +18 orgasm denial, teasing, sexual tension, explicit content, semi public sex, unprotected sex (don't do it), p in v, oral f receiving, dom!matt x fem!reader, hate sex?, I don't think I've forgotten anything, if I do, let me know.

A/n: ngl at first i liked it but now i hate it i don't know why like i love it but at the same time i hate it ugh i hate that feeling yk, i trying my best i hope you like it anon, and thanks for the request!!, my first language is not English, so I'm sorry if there is something wrong or things that are not understood.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

You arrived at the Sturniolo triplets’ house with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Nick had mentioned that he, you, and Chris were going to a party, and the thought of hanging out with them cheered you up, especially since Matt, Nick’s brother, wasn’t going to be there. For as long as you could remember, you and Matt had been mortal enemies, the competition between you was fierce, and every interaction always ended in insults and challenging glares. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you got ready for the night, hoping that your outfit would make you feel like the best version of yourself.

You had gotten ready in Nick’s room, enjoying the time you spent with him and Chris, who joked around with each other as they waited for you. Finishing up, you made sure to take one last look in the mirror before heading downstairs. As you opened the door, however, a familiar laugh made you frown. Matt was sitting on the couch, his mocking expression already in place.

“Are you really going out with that? You look like a desperate," Matt said, with that provocative look you knew so well.

Your instinct was to ignore him, but you couldn't help but let out a frustrated sigh.

"Didn't you say he was staying home?" you shot back, looking for Nick's gaze.

Nick, who was about to respond, stopped when he noticed the tense atmosphere between you.

"You know, I couldn't miss this party," Matt said, raising his hands in a gesture of false innocence. "Besides, I wanted to see you make a fool of yourself."

"As if you were the best example of behavior," you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're a fucking annoying bastard."

Matt smiled maliciously, enjoying the challenge you offered him.

"I've always thought it's my job to screw up your life."

"You don't have a job, you're just an idiot," you replied, gritting your teeth as you tried to stay calm.

Nick, visibly amused by their daily fights, decided to intervene.

“Guys, please, can you stop fighting, at least for tonight? If you have so many problems, fix them in bed.”

The two of you stayed silent, the tension palpable.

“Nick wtf” you said indignantly, and confused as to why Nick said that.

“It's just a joke, but if you really have so many problems, fix them somehow,” Nick said, laughing.

“You know we're going to go now because we'll be late.” You felt caught between your desire to continue arguing and your desire to leave things like that. Finally, you decided not to let Nick's joke affect you anymore.

“Come on, let's go now!” you exclaimed, gesturing to get out, knowing that Nick and Chris would follow you.

In the car, the atmosphere was tense. You sat next to Nick, feeling like Matt was shooting daggers at you from the driver's seat every time he stopped the car for a stoplight. You couldn't help but feel his intense gaze on you in the rearview mirror, but you chose to ignore it, focusing on the music Chris had turned on.

During the ride, the conversation between Nick and Chris flowed, while you did your best to stay away from the conversation, thinking about how awkward that night would be. However, deep down, there was a spark of excitement. The idea of going to a party always put you in a good mood, and even if Matt was there, you wouldn't let him ruin your night.

Arriving at the party, you were the first to get out of the car and enter the party, leaving the boys behind you. When you entered, the energy of the crowd was contagious. You headed towards the bar, looking for something to drink. You ordered a few drinks, and within minutes, you felt the tension of the day begin to fade away.

After a couple of drinks, the atmosphere was more relaxing. You looked around, looking for Matt, although you didn't know why you were looking for him. When you found him, he was chatting with Chris, but his gaze landed on you immediately, like a hunter stalking his prey. The way he looked at you made you nervous and, at the same time, provoked you. A stupid idea crossed your mind.

You decided it was time to play. You walked towards the dance floor, letting the rhythm of the music envelop you. With sensual movements, you began to dance, feeling Matt's gaze intensify from a distance. The game had begun, and you wanted him to feel it. You touched your body provocatively.

It wasn't long before you approached a boy who was dancing near you. Without a second thought, you pulled him towards you, moving with a magnetism that you knew would irritate Matt in some way. With each twist and turn, you noticed how his expression became darker and angrier.

"Do you like what you see?" you mouthed and threw Matt a wink from across the dance floor, enjoying the discomfort you were causing.

As you got closer to the boy, his hands wrapped around your waist and ran down your body, and the closeness was electric, he was a cute boy but he was definitely not your type. You felt like Matt couldn't take his eyes off you at any time. With each movement, you grew more confident, enjoying the provocation you were causing him.

Suddenly, you felt a firm hand grab your arm, and you didn't need to look to know who it was. Matt was staring at you with a mix of anger and desire, dragging you off the dance floor into an empty room.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he said, slamming the door shut behind you.

"I was just dancing with a friend, do you have a problem with that?" I replied, crossing my arms in a defiant gesture. "Did you think I was going to stand there with my arms crossed while you stared at me like you wanted to kill me?"

"You're provoking me, and you know it," he said, slowly approaching, his voice low and full of tension. "You in your damn dress and the way that guy touched you."

You felt powerful and vulnerable at the same time. You knew the tension between you had been building up for years, and now it was on the verge of exploding.

"Are you jealous Matt?" you challenged, smirking. Let me get one thing straight, you shouldn't be bothered by who I talk to or dance with.

"I'm going to show you who you belong to." He whispered in your ear and before you could protest he kissed you.

He found you against the wall, his lips crushing against yours in a fierce kiss that seemed to distill all the rage pent up between you. It was an uncontrolled kiss, full of passion and hatred, and the line between the two of you quickly blurred. When you finally broke apart, you were both panting.

“I hate you so much,” he murmured, his breathing ragged as his eyes fixed on you with an intense heat. “But at the same time, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your response was almost automatic. “Then fuck me like you hate me.”

He didn’t wait any longer. He led you to the bed in the bedroom, and his hands began to roam your body, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. Every kiss and every touch was a declaration of war and desire, and there was no turning back.

He took you into a whirlwind of sensations. He began to undress you slowly, as if he was enjoying every second, every little victory. The friction between rage and desire was palpable in the air, as if the room was about to explode. His hands explored every corner of your body, letting desire take over both of you.

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he whispered as his lips moved down your neck.

“And you’re an idiot,” I replied, feeling the rage you used to feel transform into overwhelming desire.

Your body trembled with anticipation as Matt kept his gaze fixed on you, desire burning in his eyes. The tension between you had reached a breaking point. Boiling, and there was no turning back.

Anticipation grew as his hands slid down your sides, his lips leaving a trail of soft kisses on your abdomen. “I’m going to make you feel good,” he promised, his tone a mix of certainty and defiance. But there was a warning in his gaze. He knew he wanted to play, and so did you.

Matt lowered himself slowly, his breath warm against your skin. It took you by surprise when his mouth closed around you. An involuntary moan escaped your lips as his tongue worked beautifully, licking and sucking with a skill that made you lose control. The way he looked at you, with those eyes filled with desire, made you feel more vulnerable and aroused at the same time.

The combination of his attention and the growing pleasure brought you to the edge, but just when you felt like you were about to explode, Matt stopped.

“I’m not going to let you finish that easy, baby,” he said in a whisper, looking up, and his eyes were filled with a mix of anger and desire.

At that moment, you felt like you were capable of anything. The rage that had built up for so long turned into pure lust. You gave yourself to him, letting yourself be carried away by the sensations he offered you.

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he murmured, his fingers playing with the fabric of your dress as he slowly pulled it up, exposing the skin of your tits. The room was permeated with an air charged with defiance and attraction, every movement between you causing a spark that could ignite the flame at any moment.

It took your breath away when his mouth found yours again. It was a fierce kiss, full of desperation and rage, every brush of his lips was like a reminder of all the battles you had fought in the past. He pushed you further into the pillows, his body pressing against yours, making a mix of pleasure and frustration run down your spine.

Matt pulled away for a moment, his assessing gaze sweeping over every inch of you. He knew he was in control. He held you tight, trapping your hands above your head and holding them firmly in place. The feeling of being completely at his mercy turned you on in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“You’re not getting away today,” he said, whispering in your ear as his warm breath sent a shiver down your spine. Then, he moved down again, his lips trailing kisses down your neck, each touch making you want more.

Matt’s hands roamed your body with meticulous precision, exploring every corner and curve as you tried to control the desire building inside you. The way he touched you was both a punishment and a pleasure, each brush of his fingers a reminder of how much he’d wanted this, how much you’d both wanted this.

His mouth continued its descent, leaving warm kisses on your chest. Every time his tongue brushed your skin, you felt like you were on the brink of insanity. But Matt had no intention of letting you go so easily. When his lips found your breast, he sucked hard, marking his territory as you gave yourself over to the mix of pain and pleasure.

“You’re as stupid as you are beautiful,” he said between gasps, the tone of his voice heavy with contempt and desire, as his hands slid down your hips. You squirmed against him, seeking more, wanting what had begun to become something even more intense.

He released you for an instant, just so he could strip you completely, each piece of clothing falling to the floor as a symbol of your surrender. The feeling of being vulnerable before him, exposed and desired, awakened a side in you that only he could provoke.

Matt stood up, looking at you with that mix of defiance and desire that drove you crazy. He approached you again, and with a quick movement, he pushed you down onto the bed, causing you to fall onto the soft surface. He leaned over you, his body covering yours, the pressure of his weight making you feel trapped and aroused.

“Now I’m going to show you who’s boss here,” he declared, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made the air between you seem charged with electricity.

Without further ado, Matt plunged into you, filling you with his body as the room filled with sounds of passion and desperation. Every movement was a mix of strength and gentleness, as he entered you with a brutality that only he could combine with an almost fierce devotion.

Amidst broken whispers and gazes filled with desire, you feel how both of you leave behind any trace of arrogance or defiance, allowing yourselves to feel the pleasure, although neither of you admit it, you have always wanted. Matt intertwines his fingers with yours, holding you tightly as he continues to look at you with an intensity that makes you shudder.

“You drive me crazy,” he finally murmurs, with a sincerity that momentarily breaks through all the hatred between you.

Moans escaped your lips without you being able to contain them, and with each thrust, rage and desire intertwined in a wild dance. Matt kept up the pace, his hands squeezing your wrists as he penetrated you with unwavering fervor, making it clear to you who was in charge.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice low and husky as his body crashed into yours, the sound of his skin against yours echoing in the room. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” you answered, each word laden with surrender as your body moved in unison with his, feeling the line between pleasure and pain blur.

“Say it again,” he demanded, increasing the pace as his thrusts became deeper, more frantic. The room was filled with whispers and sighs, each sound fueling the unbridled passion that burned between you.

“You,” you repeated, each word an echo of your desire, the recognition that everything you had felt for him was coming to the surface in this explosion of madness.

“Good girl,” Matt says with a arrogant smile

The friction between your bodies was intense, and each thrust brought you closer to climax. The mix of pleasure and rage was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help it, desire taking over you, making you forget everything but the present moment. In an instant of pure connection, feeling the barriers that had existed between you melt away, you let the pleasure sweep you away, allowing the world around you to fade away.

Matt finally found his own climax, his eyes locked on you, filled with a mix of triumph and insatiable desire. The two of you found yourselves in a whirlwind of sensations, each of you taking the other to new levels of pleasure and surrender.

When you finally stopped, both of you panting, the room was filled with a silence laden with meaning. You knew that nothing would ever be the same again, that the line that had once separated your hatred from desire had been blurred forever.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly, and feel free to leave a request ✮

Tags... @bsturnzmtt @leannking @sturniololover69 @bells-sturn @sturnedits <3

#⭑𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 ᯓ★.ᐟ.ᐟ #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo angst #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo angst #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fanfic #nick sturniolo

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nottsangel · 5 months ago

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i have some lorenzo thoughts (one of many) ‼️‼️

there’s something about lorenzo feeling very conflicted about his feelings once he realized that he somehow fell in love with you. i think those are feelings he‘s not really used to because he never allowed himself to fall in love with anyone tbh. he wants to prevent himself from getting hurt maybe? he was always just interested in having sex and nothing more. but now? maybe he‘s scared about his feelings since he doesn’t know how to act now :( it‘s something he needs to figure out

this is so him. he usually only cares about sex, and saw you as nothing more than just one of his fuck buddies he’d call when he got bored or just needed a distraction. and even though his friends would get into relationships, lorenzo was never like that. he was the friend that just fucked around and never understood the point of being in a relationship when he could have many girls at once, without any strings attached. so the moment he realised that he had feelings for you, he freaked the fuck out. he didn’t know what to do, how to act, what to say. so at first, he was in the denial stage. he oh so desperately tried to suppress his feelings, and gaslit himself into thinking that he only liked you because the sex was just, really fucking good. but after a while, he couldn’t ignore the way his face would light up whenever you walked into the room, and the emptiness he felt when you left again right after the sex, because that was the arrangement— the arrangement that he came up with. but fuck, he wished you would stay. he wished you would curl up next to him in bed, with his arms wrapped tightly around your body. he wanted nothing more than to make you his. but it was hard. it was new. and poor lorenzo just doesn’t know what to do :(

ੈ♡˳

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lives-in-midgard · 7 months ago

Text

Taking Care Of You

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Summary: When Chris finds out that you're sick he wants to be there for you.

Word Count: 1165

Request: I saw requests are open can I ask for a fluff one with Evans and reader is sick and he's there to care for her? It can be hubby/wife and bf/gf or even best friends up to you. Thank you!! [See request here]

A/N: Thank you for sending me this request! I hope you like it! The picture above inspired the parts were they were facetiming.

Divider made by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

It’s already been two months since your boyfriend Chris Evans left to film his new movie. You missed each other a lot but face timing and texting made it more bearable. Chris tried to call you as often as possible and when he didn’t have time, he sent you a text message. Because he was away filming Chris and you decided that it would be the best if Dodger stayed at your place and when you were at work his brother would look after him.

After picking up Dodger after work, you weren’t feeling well, so you decided to take Dodger for a walk. You thought that it would help when you suddenly sneezed. When you got home you suddenly felt cold and decided to go to bed and watch a movie while cuddling with Dodger. After a while your phone rang and when you looked at it, you started to smile because it was Chris.

“Hey, honey.” He said with a smile.

“Hey, babe.”

“You’re already in bed?” Chris asked a little worried.

“Oh yeah, I wanted to lie down for a while…work was really exhausting today.” You said because you didn’t want to worry him.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry you’ve had such a hard day.” Chris said softly.

“How was your day so far?” You asked and suddenly had to sneeze.

“Bless you, my love.” Chris said and made you blush.

“Well, my day was pretty good. Filming is going great so far.”

“That’s amazing Chris.” You said and sneezed twice and then started to shiver.

“Are you sure you’re okay, sweetheart?”

“It’s probably just a little cold.” You said, trying to smile.

“But please promise to let me know if it gets worse.” Chris told you in a worried tone and you nodded.

“Okay, I promise.” You talked for a while about everything that came to your mind and Chris also told you a lot about his day and his new co-stars.

“I miss you so much and can’t wait to be home with you again.” Chris said after a while.

“I miss you too, babe.” You said and you both said I love you, before saying goodbye because Chris had to go.

When you woke up the next morning, you felt so much sicker than the day before. Now you weren’t only sneezing, but you also started to cough and felt slightly dizzy. You decided that it would be the best if you stayed home and called in sick at work. After calling at work, you called Scott to ask if he could pick up Dodger because you were sick.

Most of the time you stayed in bed all day and only got out of bed to get something to eat. When you were lying in bed again with at least two blankets, you suddenly heard your phone ringing. You started to smile, but it quickly faded because you knew how worried Chris can be sometimes, especially when he is away. But you didn’t want to ignore his call, so you picked up and tried to smile.

“Hey, sweetheart.” You greeted each other and Chris knew immediately that you weren’t feeling well. There was no chance of denial, so you told him how you really felt.

“Oh no, I wish I could be home and take care of you.” Chris mumbled with a sad expression in his eyes.

“Should I come home?” Chris then suddenly asked.

“No, Chris it’s okay… really.” Then you told him that Dodger is staying at his brother’s home because you didn’t feel the energy of going for a walk with him and thought it would be the best. Chris understood that and hoped that you feel better soon. You only talked for a few more minutes because you felt so tired. Chris understood that, but he was also so sad that he couldn’t be there for you. You didn’t sleep very well that night, you woke up a few times because you were either too cold or too warm. You felt a little better in the afternoon than in the morning. Later when Chris called you, he sadly couldn’t facetime, so you could only talk without seeing each other. You talked for a while when you suddenly heard a knock on the front door.

“Wait, someone is at the door, I’ll call you back babe.” You said, wondering who was at the door. You walked to your apartment door, a bit slowly because you were dizzy. When you opened the door, you couldn’t believe who was standing there.

“Chris, what are you doing here?”

“I came here to take care of my girl. I couldn’t stay away from you any longer, especially when I knew that you’re sick.” Chris said as he walked closer to you.

“Oh, Chris thank you.” You said and started to shake.

“Come on honey, let’s get you to bed.” When he noticed that you were getting dizzy, Chris put his hand on your back and guided you to your room. You laid back down in your bed and Chris gently kissed your forehead.

“I’ll go and make you some tea.”

When Chris came back a few minutes later, he placed the cup of tea on your bedside table. You took a few sips and Chris held your back.

“Now let’s cuddle.” Chris said with a smile.

“Are you sure, I don’t want you to get sick.” You asked as Chris already made himself comfortable next to you.

“I’m sure, sweetheart.” You smiled and Chris then wrapped his arms around you. You slept for a while until you felt Chris touching your forehead.

“Sorry that I woke you up honey, but you have a fever.” He said in a soothing voice.

“Oh” You mumbled tiredly, and Chris tucked a hear behind your ear with a worried look on his face.

“Do you have any medicine here?” He asked and you nodded and told him where to find it.

“I’ll get it quick.” Chris said and gave you a smile. After a few minutes he was back with the medicine in his hand.

“Can you sit up for me, sweetheart? Just for a second, so you can take your medicine.” Chris asked and you nodded. Then he helped you to sit up, so your back was leaning against the headboard of the bed. Chris helped you take your medication and then you laid back down.

“Thank you for coming home to me.” You said after you cuddled again.

“I would come home anytime for you.” Chris held you tight and rubbed your back softly.

For the next few days, he took care of you as best as he could. Chris made sure you took your medicine, made you a bath, cooked for you and was there to give you cuddles. A few days later you felt so much better, but Chris still didn’t want to leave you, so he stayed another week to spend some time with his girl.

Taglist:

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x girlfriend!reader #chris x reader #chris x you #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans one shot #chris evans fluff #chris evans cute #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #steve rogers x reader #marvel cast #chris evans imagine

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otakuworks · 2 years ago

Text

❛ 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑. reborn au

feat. Zhongli x Reincarnated!GN!Reader | PART II | wc. 5.4K

Based on 'See You In My 19th Life' webtoon | overview. This Webtoon follows the story of a woman who somehow can remember all her past lives.

sum. You were running too fast in life, so fast that no one could catch up, not even Morax who left you to fend off with your curse. Just when you thought you'll slip and fall, a certain consultant came behind and caught you.

cw. mentions of extreme emotion breakdown. cttro 双niarss on Twitter for the art below.

main m.list genshin m.mlist

PART I < PART II

THEME SONG; Slump by Stray Kids (English Version)

There are five stages of grief; Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. All in order.

In your case, it was the other way around. You have long accepted Morax will lay on his deathbed one day, every living thing will eventually cease to exist, mortal and immortal alike

You, out of all people know the in-depth concept of death.

And yet, no amount of tutelage or experience can prepare you for the real thing.

Now you understood what Morax felt when you died.

Your chest feels raw like there's a sudden gash wound that has manifested in your heart. It was painful, too painful that you wouldn't wish it upon anyone, even on your worst enemy.

Scratch that. It's not just pain. It feels something more destructive, demanding and insatiable, crueler than sorrow. Not even death can appease this feeling.

It was agony.

Impale your abdomen with a spear hundred times. Sever your limbs every lifetime. Suffer for all eternity hiding behind Morax and watch him love with someone else over and over again— you'd take them all and say thank you.

You'd be grateful and endure each of them just to trade whatever horrible feeling that's tearing you apart.

Confusion, terror and fright blanketed your mind as you slumped on the floorboards, desperately gasping for breath.

The acrid smell of snarling lightning crackles in the stale midnight air, sharp enough to singe every nerve of your body, rendering you cowering in overwhelming emotions— agony, pain and grief.

Inazuma was bustling with the news of the Geo Archon passing away recently. You could only imagine how Liyue is digesting the cruel twists of events.

The news spreads fast enough for foreign people to sympathize to Liyue citizens, some even offered prayers to the Raiden Shogun, some pay their respects by wishing the late Archon to rest in peace, some never bothered to care.

But none of them mourned in the confinements of their four walls as you did, the Celestia above knows the quiet sobs that wrecked the very core of your existence. The horrors of every shitty lives you went through cannot be compared to this day.

Rex Lapis, who is— was widely known for many names, mostly as the Geo Archon, God of War, God of Contracts, Former Prime Adepti, the Stonebreaker, God of History is now reduced by dust with his people carrying the legacy he has passed on.

To you, all this time, he's still... Morax the petulant child who leans on you for comfort, who politely demands you to sing a lullaby as kids. You're already sold to the idea no one would ever believe you if you told them what embodiment of mischief he was in the ancient times, the exact opposite of the Archon they knew about.

Nostalgia hits you in particular days you can't find traces of the young Morax, but Pride would caress your heart every achievement he succeeds as you watch the people love him.

Similar to a lone planet, you desperately search for a star to orbit around, to give you a source of energy and strength. Once you find one, it'll be difficult to rearrange your position after you have settled down, you're attached until the star loses its amber glow.

And now the star is gone. Gone with the cosmos after a supernova.

Destroying the neighboring planets, including you.

You were the closest in its orbit, you're the one who had to endure the scorching flames morphing you into ashes until you're reduced into cosmos particles for no one to remember.

Morax left you to fend off with your curse and face adversities alone.

Mortals would succumb to these adversities and would choose to sever their connection to the living to escape from everything. You've seen a handful of them and can't ever get enough of it.

If there's anything you long to have other than having Morax beside you is a swift escape.

Every mortal is capable of such thing, you are too, but it's pointless if the pain will cling to you in your next life. It's fruitless to cry when you know every affliction won't be forgotten even if you tried.

Just why?! Why do I have this perpetual curse of reincarnation? I abhor you, Celestia! Not only you cursed me, you even took away Morax from this land!

You shake your head as the anger surge took over your sanity. You thought you can just go live your merry life, unbeknownst how dependent you were to Morax.

Your will to live is solely operated by the fact you have someone you want to protect. But now he's gone? What's the back up plan? Clearly you can't just follow him in his death knowing you can die, but your memories will remain with you.

Was it out of selfishness to protect him to have someone accompany your lonely soul? Because he's the only one who actually remembers the real you?

Rain began to pour from the desolute atmosphere as you heard disembodied voices theorizing Morax's death. The muffled thundering of the storm only growing louder, reminding you of today's unsavory news. How convenient, the sky is sympathizing.

No, make it stop! I don't want fo hear any of it! Morax is dead, that's how nature works. I'm griefing because it hurts, not because I have nothing to live for.

You lived in that illusion for minutes until. . .

*drip* *drip*

. . . the dam broke.

Hot tears streamed down your face, and you squeezed your eyelids shut in the hope the pain would stop, just numbing it would be fine too. Your choppy breathing and watery eyes remained for quite some time, and sat there unmoving.

There's no see you later's anymore, for Morax has left you. Today has marked your first Goodbye to him.

For an indiscernible amount of time, there was only a black void and it could have been as if you didn’t exist and you had never existed.

And then you felt each of your cells that had been ripped apart within seconds be sewed back together just as quickly, and your eyes met nothing but a blinding white light.

Have I reborn again? You're not aware which is which anymore. You lift your numb hand and reality crashed over your head, you haven't died out of grief, yet.

Your mind is in havoc, you don't know what you want, not that you have any choice.

Dying won't help you escape, forgetting is not an option, loving. . . can't heal an open wound.

No words can equate the absolute devastation you feel.

❖ ── ✦ ── 『 6000 YRS AGO 』 ── ✦ ── ❖

This is stupid. Utterly ridiculous!

What kind of mortal would go in the mines in the middle of the night where monsters lurk in the shadows to hunt for preys? Yeah, that's a question he would like for you to answer!

He flies twice the speed he usually exerts, his mind running rampant of all worst possible scenarios.

He doesn't know what compelled you to do such ridiculous act, but all he knows is he has get to you before any monsters do.

Landing unceremoniously, he gulps at the sight before him. He was never a fan of darkness, it never fails to instill fear in him, the fear of the unknown.

The only time he feels comfortable in the night is whenever you're around him. You don't fear the night, and it somehow influenced him in a way that there's nothing that should be afraid of as long as you're with him— as his human shield.

Young Morax finds himself slowly withdrawing, the fear overpowering his will to come and save you.

"Morax? What are you doing out here?" Saved by the gracious voice of yours, young Morax nearly broke his neck with how fast he looked at your direction.

Your face is contorted out of concern for him, he's sweating profusely and his breathing is ragged.

Just seeing you all in one piece with no signs of injuries made hin slumped on the ground, sighing in relief.

You were at his side seconds later, subconsciously caressing his cheeks. Celestia above! He's shaking like a leaf!

"It's alright, let's get you out of here." Your soothing voice appeased his troubled mind as you helped him get back on his feet. He clutches the fabric of your shirt and wordlessly launches himself on you, arms and tiny tail entrapping you in an embrace.

You waste no second reciprocating the gesture, you've known him for months to be comfortable with physical sentiments. Though you can't say the same to him as he would always flinch away when you initiate it, but has no problem when he does it.

And it seems like he needs your comfort to even give a damn.

"Whatever it is, it can't hurt you now okay?"

From that angle, he peered from below you as if confirming the validity of your words, amber eyes looking like someone has kicked an innocent puppy, it's no wonder you have a soft spot for him.

Both of you strayed away from the caves leading to mines, "I-I thought you l-left me." He meekly mumbled, almost incoherent.

That baffles you as he continues, "I overheard f-from your village that m-monsters are increasing in the area and you're probably..."

"Shh... I'm here now, aren't I? I'm sorry you have to hear that, I can assure you I haven't encountered any marauding monsters during my little excursion." You sighed, guilt pooling your conscience.

He sniffled, "So, you're not going to leave me?"

"Can I even go anywhere when you have a sharp sense of smell?"

"I'm a dragon, not a wolf." He whined, though you could still see the glint of dubious in his eyes, "Can I trust your word?"

Words never served him better than actions, you ought to show him you honor your word by affirming it through gestures.

Smiling, you offered your hand to him.

"How about you hold my hand on our way home? Will that help?" He stares at you and literally contemplated before he relented.

It's warm, much similar to your hug, but like a form of hug that has been reduced to a smaller fraction. It's still a paragon of comfort.

Surely enough, it did help his mind to be at ease. If you ever feel like he's cutting off your circulation, he is cutting your circulation by intertwining your fingers as if trying to tangle it so it won't loose.

"I'm sorry, you must think I'm stupid for cowering away just because of some stupid dark cave." He lowered his head in shame.

He's a Dragon who has greater strength than most beings, and yet he lets his fear consume him as if they can hurt him like how—

"Nonsense! Don't ever think like that or I will personally be the reason why you should fear humans." As stern as you sound, your eyes tell a different story.

Young Morax deduced this as concern, which resulted a flustered and heartwarming reaction from the boy. You were worried for him.

It shouldn't be something he's supposed to feel happy about, but your fretful intentions warranted warmth and security in his mind.

"I didn't know how oddly. . . pleasant it is to hold hands." He mused, and you responded with an amused giggle, "Here I thought only couples do this stuff, but it's really reassuring."

"It does, doesn't it? Sometimes the solution to your conflicts is in a form of validation."

Too wise for a kid, he inwardly complained, ". . .Meaning?"

You hold his other hand and stood to face him with a sequined smile, "No matter how minuscule or massive your fears are, you'll still find comfort when someone validates your feelings; to let you know that they care. It may not be the solution in some cases, but it's better than being alone in times of your vulnerability."

You leaned slightly closer, "Can I ask you a favor?" Your gaze pierced right through his soul and he can only nod absently which resulted for you to grin.

"If you see someone, friend and stranger even enemies, looking so vulnerable that they actually might cry. . ." You lifted your intertwined hands with his, ". . .Make them feel significant."

A cold midnight wind whisked past the both of you, your eyes shone brighter than jewels and stars alike as you spoke those words that made a huge impact in his life.

". . .Even if my enemies are about to cry because I'm about to end their miserable lives?"

What a way to ruin the moment.

"You know what I mean, Mora." You deadpan, preparing to let go of his hand, but his grip is much stronger and it only tightens once he feels you're trying to detach.

"I'm afraid you have to elaborate further, Y/N. And please, I only have two syllables in my name. What's so hard in including the X?" In contrast to his words, he quite enjoys hearing his nickname.

"The X is not even a syllable, Mora."

That time, young Morax found peace.

He's always on the hunt for something new, something glimmering, something incredible, something undiscovered and something bedazzling. That's how his childlike brain thinks and he seizes anything outwardly beautiful.

But he never knew how amazing it was to see something— or rather, to see someone's beauty on the inside.

Perhaps that's what draws him to you, because of your voice, patience and understanding. He would never admit it though

To him, you're beautiful inside and out, almost perfect, even your flaws are easy to love.

He can't deny he wasted a few immortal years just mourning your death, you'd probably scold him.

Within those years, he's only reliving the memories and wise words you have with him. He wanted to come out as a better person after your death, take it as an honour of your passing.

You made him for what he is.

If he hadn't met you he'd still be the intolerable, impatient and disrespectful person as he grows up.

He'd still fear the unknown, never having the courage to take risks and accept whatever outcomes.

Everything he does always brings him back to you, his actions always correlates to something that's relevant about you. It had always been you.

He prays the Celestia to let you know you will always be apart of his person. Yes, you died, but every lingering piece of you still remains intact in the deep recesses of his mind.

He has moved on, but you remain the person he loved the most. Not even the sands of time has the capability to change that.

"How disastrous. People can be really simple-minded." Morax rubbed both of his temples once he heard the speculation of him and Guizhong plausible relationship.

"I apologize on their behalf, it never crossed my mind they'll be quick to make assumptions." The fair Goddess bowed in shame.

"You have done nothing wrong to spark such rumors, Guizhong. If anything, it is I who should seek forgiveness for I have tied you down with such unpleasant gossips."

She meekly chuckles, "If we're going to paint ourselves as the culprit then we might as well work together to quell the rumors."

His perfectly lined eyebrows knitted, which didn't go unnoticed by Guizhong, "What seems to be troubling your mind?"

A few seconds ticked by before he let out a whisper that only Barbatos can only hear thanks to his wind. For Guizhong who has keen sense of hearing, "If Y/N was here I'll gear up for another war just to extinguish this spreading rumors." She stifled a laugh.

Oh, she knows alright. She knows you. She knows the person who captivated Morax's heart, it's all about he talks to her in their leisure time and you're not a secret between their comrades.

Most people would find it dull to listen about someone's life unless it held any merit to pass onto the other mouth, she would too. But Morax describes you like a protagonist of a fairy tale, like some mythical being, caught between two worlds, a miracle of existence that racked his existence— which makes you an interesting person

She was so eager to meet you, it was rather unfortunate that you've already passed on uncountable years ago.

"Where are you going?" She inquired as the Geo Archon whisk passed her, "Out to visit an old friend. I won't be returning until tomorrow dawn."

She sighed, a corresponding smile soon follows as she took over his job for the meantime.

Morax walked through the barren areas in Mt. Tianheng, it became part of his leisure activities during the day when his mind needs to detach itself from reality and let himself be swayed by the memories he tucked in the deep recesses of his mind.

Memories of his late comrades who perished in the horrors of war and the most painful but nostalgic one; Y/N.

He ruefully sighed at the thought of you. Even in death, you have full grasp of his heart and shroud his head with your image.

Filtered beams of light accented the spaces between the ancient trees that twisted like spires from the undergrowth. Golden leaves littered the forest floor as Morax appraised the trail of mycelium path, one leading to a particular tree.

His expression remains unchanging, at least that's what he thought, any stranger sees him they'll stop to ponder what made this godly man smile so fondly.

A single maple leaf flow with the breeze, swaying in inconsistent direction until it falls in his gloved hand. The rich color of autumn and texture brings him back in his youthful days.

[ cttro papercider on Twitter ]

"Ah! All I do is reminisce to pass time." He muttered to himself as he let the leaf get carried away by the zither winds once again.

"It certainly has been awhile, Y/N. I was but a petulant child since I've visited you. I now stand here as the Geo Archon." It has been a habit to come back to this specific tree and treats it as his home.

It's a sacred place he's closely attached to, he can perfectly picture his young self failing to spy on you. He grimaced at the memory when he was caught in the act.

"I still have no idea why you let me trail your shadows, you weren't least afraid that I'm a dragon. You told me you're fascinated, but. . . was that the only reason?"

Only the breeze answered for him with nothing, "If you hadn't allowed me to do so I do not know what kind of person I would be as of today." He steps closer and pulled off his hood.

He let the silence hang for minutes, maybe even hours. Just standing there as he appreciates what nature has to offer in the place where his story began with you.

"Are you proud of me? My comrades claimed they were more than proud to stand alongside with me, but I doubt the veracity of their words when I led them to their demise. Is it that prideful to have me as a friend when I bring nothing but misfortune?"

He finally sat down between the roots of the tree, relishing the blissful comfort as the sunlight accentuates his godly features.

"I met a boy who was being manipulated by an evil god who only desires power and selfish gains." He began.

"He was a fierce warrior, strong and capable, the manipulation only fuels him to be at his strongest form. I was thinking of eradicating him, but his eyes already looked so dead. It reminded me of. . ."

He holds his tongue and shuts his eyes as he's in pain, "It would be one of my greatest regrets if I had impaled my spear into him."

"I thought of you that time. Hadn't it been to my promise to you, I wouldn't have gained a new ally. Xiao is his name."

The wind blew stronger, ". . . I forgot you can summon him just by calling out his name." He chuckles to himself.

Green statics cracked into the air and quickly revealed a masked man with his polearm readied for any danger.

"Settle down now. I apologize, your name slipped in my mouth." The young Yaksha visibly looked confused even under the layers of his mask.

"I was narrating a story to my old friend Y/N."

Guizhong couldn't have been more right.

By the end of the day, Xiao now knows every detail there is to know about the person called Y/N. It's what Morax ever talk to him.

"Mr. Zhongli is in a very elated mood ever since you told him Archon knows what, Traveler." Hu Tao, the Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor finds the situation quite absurd to look at, but never impossible. His mood just feels out of place.

Who looks at mournful families with an eccentric smile on their face as they consult them about their loved one's death?

"Why does Paimon feel like you're pointing finger at the traveler?" She puts her tiny hands on tiny her hips like a mother hen.

The Traveler let out a nervous laugh, "I wonder what exactly brought him in such high spirit with my words."

"Ooh... Paimon thinks it's about Y/N. Isn't it obvious by now?" Hu Tao furrowed her eyebrows, "Y/N? You mean the Adventurer?" Both heads snapped at her direction, "You know them?"

She reluctantly shrugged, "Only at acquaintance level. They showed interest in business and I taught them a few things." She smiled at the epilogue of her statement.

"If they ever come back, my hunch tells me you'd find them in Wangshu Inn, they frequented there before." She added before turning her attention to a new customer.

Zhongli, who's been eavesdropping, perked up at the claims. Perhaps he should visit Xiao tonight and totally won't inquire if he ever met you before.

Midnight falls and Zhongli bid his farewell to the traveler before heading towards the Wangshu Inn.

For some unknown reason, Zhongli could sense the foreboding feeling that's nagging his instincts as he gets closer to his desired destination, yet he doesn't stop. What's worse is that he doesn't know if it's for the good or bad.

All of a sudden, a harsh breeze blew past his face as if the winds attempting to convey a message that's only for his intuition to decipher, for him to meander.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his statue glowing bright blue, but that wasn't what caught his attention. A hand reached out to touch the stone statue.

A mop of [H/C] facing him backward bowed down in respect of the late Rex Lapis, but Zhongli could feel a much more intense feeling.

Something stirs inside him, he remembers this situation— when he watched Y/N with such fascination from above the tree, not knowing what they look like, yet they never fail to express their feelings through threaded words he finds so wondrous to hear.

In contrary to that, the person appears to be. . . forlorn. He stepped closer until he's only less than five meters away from them.

All of a sudden, he feels skittish around the person. It's as if he doesn't want to leave a bad first impression, he's suddenly self-conscious of his looks, and Zhongli never cared about his outer appearance.

Then they spoke, in a solemn voice.

"See you later, Mora. I hope you found your eternal peace."

There are times when you wish you'd forget Morax, some that you don't. But still, in the birth of new beings, you will find Morax in his next life. The prospect of being alone is a phobia you can't ever overcome unless you have Morax.

What a joke. It should've been a farewell. Your final goodbye to your old friend. Not a hopeless see you later.

It took you months to come with that mindset, only to end up saying what's the exact opposite.

It was difficult to come back in Liyue, every step adds a new pile of memory that drags you further into the depths of agony. Every where you look reminds you of the late Geo Archon. Each encouraging word in your mind gets trampled on by his image.

You consider it as an achievement to stand tall in front of his statue after his death, and a failure that you didn't get to bid your final words to him before you depart from Liyue.

You're still clinging to a nonexistent hope that you'll actually get to see him even after your death. Old habits die hard they say. It couldn't have been more relatable than now.

Sighing in disappointment, you retracted your hand from the statue and briskly turn around when you felt the disturbance behind you.

A gloved hand suspended in the air seems to be trying to reach out to you. As you raise your eyes to meet the oh-so-familiar glowing amber eyes that you grew to love. . .

You offered the stranger a faux smile, seemingly naive to the person standing in front of you with an aghast expression.

You failed to realize Morax as Zhongli just as Morax failed to realize you in your different lives.

"Hello. How may I help you?"

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Time has stopped, both hands of the clock moved counterclockwise, bringing him back to the time he first laid his eyes on you— so unsuspecting from what's about to unravel after a sweet hello.

His broadened eyes are solely fixated on you, it ingnited a feeling he couldn’t immediately identify, a sense of a certain and long-forgotten familiarity fogged his memory.

From the color of your eyes, skin and hair. The subtle furrow of your eyebrows and the upturn of your lips. The gentle facade that compelled him to indulge his curiosity towards you.

Y/N. . . Are you the Y/N the traveler was talking about?

But you bare no resemblance to the Y/N he knew, yet he can tell how it is your soul residing in the mortal's body. It is you. Your eyes aren't the ones that welcomed him as new friend. It feels different.

You're smiling while your eyes are grieving.

Your eyes failed to conceal your weeping soul and could only hope the last bits of its strength will keep it standing until someone reach a hand to put back the shattered pieces.

Behind that gleeful stare was a mountain of pain and extracting it would bring instability to the person who would dare to climb. Yet come what may, you're always worth any risk.

He lowered his hand to shake yours, his lips upturned into an enigmatic smile.

Your heart went erratic and the usually dormant butterflies imploded in your stomach. You haven't felt like a teenager since. . .

You felt your breath hitch in your throat when suddenly, with a mere handful of strides, the beautiful man was standing right in front of you, his amber eyes searching your face intently, trying to find whatever it was he was seeking.

"My name is Zhongli, I'm a consultant in Wangsheng Funeral Parlor." Your [E/C] eyes blinked surreptitiously before accepting it. What a beautiful name, you thought almost immediately.

Under normal circumstances you would've strictly reprimanded the man with his incongruous advances, but you felt something else, something so powerful it overshadowed your senses.

It was a need, an unyielding need to be close to him.

Rather than pushing him away, something inside you stirs awake and begin to implore to coalesce with his existence.

"I'm Y/N L/N, an adventurer."

So it is really you.

He briefly looks down to their intwined hands.

For countless nights, the image of your bloodied hand reaching out to him as you take your last breath plagued his every dream. The tender, soft hands that will no longer bring him comfort. The hand of the person whom he loved so dearly, whom he failed to protect against the wicked ways of the world.

The intense urge to hide you away from the prying eyes that shared similarities to his kept his mind in shambles.

Which what led him to mumble to you what his thoughts are repeating like a mantra.

When he spoke the promise he'll show you what's up at the highest altitude his wings could go, he was mostly speaking out of his selfish desire to hold onto your hand and fly you away to the farthest place no living creatures have ever stumbled upon.

He had to learn it the hard way; that the greater you wish for something, the crueler fate can be. Maybe if he hadn't been so greedy you could've live your mortal life.

Now that you are standing in front of him, shaking your hand, he can amend his mistake by straying far away from you before he repeats history itself, before he could inflict pain on you again.

And yet, looking at you attempting to shoulder the boulders of life is what all it takes for all the wisdom he garnered for centuries to be thrown out the window.

He can't imagine himself distancing from you when you're suffering and have no one comfortable enough to share your burdens with, no one to validate your feelings, no one to embrace you in your vulnerable times.

You taught him to be compassionate, to not disregard emotions, and he's about to set that in motion. You were there when he needed you the most, offered your shoulder to vent out his feelings, it's about time to let him do what you always did for him.

It became abundantly clear he's not willing to let you go through anything alone just like he had gone through without you.

"You claim you're a consultant. Did you perhaps think I'm a potential customer?"

He let go of your hand as much as he loathes being away from your warmth for even just a second, he's still convinced you can be taken away from him at any given moment.

"Indeed, I couldn't stand idle and watch you grieve alone." He watches how you averted your eyes as if hiding the pain would appease your mind.

"I appreciate the thought. . . though, I highly doubt it'll be effective."

He mentally chuckled at the irony. He, too, was once amazed of what simple gestures can bring to a downhearted person.

"Hmm. An old friend once showed me how to console a person. Allow me to share their insights."

Your eye brows perched in curiosity, this man speaks like he's in his 50s or something, ". . .If you insist. I could use a company for now."

Morax experienced eons of desires to attain what he wishes to, though he refrains from being blinded by those greedy thoughts as he had witnessed how cruel fate can be when he once desired to have you. Will history repeat itself?

Zhongli chortles in response, but his expression soon turned nostalgic, "I may not know what adversities you're facing nor do I know who you are, but know that you're never alone."

His smile never left his face as he takes off his glove and held the palm face forward to you, he watches how your eyes glisten with unshed tears, "W-What is that supposed to convey?"

You didn't even notice how much gap he closed just to increase the proximity between the both of you. Archons! You can smell the lingering scent of Osmanthus Wine mingling with his breath!

Is he a drunkard like Venti?

Perhaps this man is drunk to comprehend his actions, perhaps he won't remember this the never next day, perhaps he has mistaken you for someone else, perhaps—

"Wherever you wish to go, I'll keep you company. I dare ask if I may hold your hand along the way, Y/N?"

Perhaps there's hope you can cling onto until your aching heart is at ease.

Your hand found its way to his, almost too desperate to not let this moment of comfort vanish. Just this once, you thought to yourself as the man smiled with absolute glee that it puts the sun in shame.

Out of reflex, your fingers laced with his, wanting nothing more than to relieve in the warmth of his hand. His expression soon turned into a priceless one as if he's in disbelief that you actually just did that, and that alone made the realization struck you harder than Raiden's lightning and fried your nerves with embarrassment.

"I-I'm so-sorry! I didn't mean to get too comfortable!"

You're a stranger to him, and you acted as if you've been a longtime friends. He must have been feeling uncomfortable, you nervously thought as you quickly tried reel back your hand in an attempt to salvage whatever budding acquaintanceship you have.

Keyword; tried.

Your action prompts him to retaliate by locking his fingers in place, keeping your hand sealed with his and shot you a reassuring smile.

"Do not fret. I'm delighted to know I somehow earned a little fraction of your trust. It's only fair to mirror the trust you gave me."

As if to spell out his point, he held up your intertwined hands just below your chin. His eyes blazed with a newfound emotion you couldn't decipher. He almost looks eager. He was gripping your hand, not too tight, but firm enough give emphasize of something.

His action wasn't fruitless as it gained a reaction from you. Your eyebrows twitched, there's something too familiar about it, but your memory refuses to give you that answer.

Instead, you could only mutter weak responses, "I-I understand, but if you feel uncomfortable in any way then don't hesitate to point out what I'm doing wrong."

Whether it was a satisfying answer he wants to hear, his emotions betrayed to even give you a brief answer and his face only lit up as he turns away from you, "You could never do anything wrong in my eyes."

Did he just say something? "What was that?"

"Nothing. Are you new in Liyue? I could give you a tour if you'd like to make you familiarize with the environment."

Your lips turned into a genuine smile, it didn't reach your ears but something tells you this man will lengthen it until you're the happiest person alive, "I'd love to, Zhongli."

As the wind blows to the East, a new chapter has began with a new retelling of their unfinished story. Until the last maple leaf falls and the oldest standing tree drought, two souls will always find their way to rekindle what has been lost.

>> PART III

─ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @itsyourgirlria @shizunxie @elsoleil @cherlynono @slzarr @katsuissus @tartarsaucechi1de @spyanya @tikitsune @shoujishu @useless-potatho @chimsblogg @xiamuyi @lemonlimesocks @belletifeshyl @alexon-mars @multifandomvoyage @malt-rants-and-stuff @jameineliebe @angelkazusstuff @orginiallyann @eissaaaa @beezgobuzzbuzz @towos @kamukayakmonyet @atsukawolfcat @sunflowers1970 @yamtwt @avery-needs-more-fics @angstylittleb1tch @bigcandlesmolbrain @lxmine @imk1ra @fauxizs @islxisl @chihawari @bishishbored @yuuki4646 @sunsethw4 @princeabomination @alexiris @chocolateneapolitan @ayra2452008 @akaritenchi @sophiee-bush @ittosoneandoniwife @alatus2716 @almighty-raiden-shogunate

(it's my first time doing tags so pls inform me if it's not working, idk why the others are white, did I do something wrong??)

PS. if you want to get tagged for the next part or be removed then simply comment it TAGLIST is for the readers who want to be updated for my future genshin works.

─ 𝐀/𝐍. Can you all smell that? *sniff sniff* I smell a Xiao ver. of this 👀👀 Fr, I didn't expect the fic will be loved that much as I initially thought, I received many appreciative comments and messages which is what motivated me to write part 2, and possibly part 3 (just for the fluff) since this was supposed to be a series but I crossed that idea out until everyone broke my expectation. Thank you💜💙 and merry christmas everyone ❤💚

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli fic #zhongli angst #genshin crossover #genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #zhongli fluff #crossover #see you in my 19th life #webtoon #genshin impact crossover #reborn au #genshin zhongli #Spotify

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mixu · 7 months ago

Note

Hi, hope you are doing well. )

I am curious to know your impressions, anecdotes, experience of being a veteran SNS shipper. How was your experience with Naruto fandom? Has it changed? It would be great if you could talk about it.

Hi! I hope you’re doing well too. I barely receive any asks, so I’m excited.

Ah, my experiences and anecdotes being in the fandom, especially as a SNS shipper (does it count as shipping if they’re canon?) … It’s more than half of my life (I feel like I’m talking to my grandchildren) so this could get long.

I’ve been part of the fandom for 17 years, but it’s just recently that I’ve gotten to interact more with other fans both pro and anti sns. This mainly for three reasons:

Time period

When I entered the fandom internet and social media weren’t what they are today (that’s how old I am). I barely had access to internet for school and quickly read the new manga chapter before having to disconnect.

Location

Younger people don’t realize this but the globalization of manga and anime are quite recent. Now you can find merchandise even at the supermarket and a great catalogue of series is at your disposal with minimal effort. And being an “otaku” in the 2000’s was begging to be bullied at least in my country, so I preferred to keep my interests to myself.

My personality

I’m not the most social of people.

Thus, in the beginning, the fandom was nonexistent to me. It was just me, what Kishi wrote and my thoughts.

Little by little I got to interact with other people who were mainly shônen fans, and never read outside of that demographic, so there was no chance they would recognize a “non-pure shônen” even if it hit them in the face. There was not much to discuss aside from who would beat who, and I wouldn’t have been able to articulate it back then anyway, but my guts knew there was something different about Naruto. More than met the eye.

I next met a different part of the fandom in the form of fanart and fanfiction, but at that time it never crossed my mind that people would cling to those non-canon portrayals with their life. I would say most of these fans are avid consumers from other demographics that got attracted because something (the romance or the potential gayness) caught their eye, but are only interested in how to bend the characters to fit their vision. I know fanfiction and fanart are supposed to be self-indulgent, I enjoy it and write it even, but I’ve mostly managed to separate from the real thing. Not many discussions about the story as a whole (please keep in mind we were all teenagers back then).

So, none of those previous fan groups seemed to understand what I couldn’t put into words, and for the longest time, because my understanding of Naruto and Sasuke’s story was mostly instinctual, I had to go along with it. I let myself be gaslighted into believing my thoughts were just a byproduct of my fujoshi tendencies (I guess it could be right to call me fujoshi, but never due to Naruto).

After a quite long break, not just from Naruto but from manga and anime in general, I came into contact with the more educated part of the fandom in tumblr, and I finally got to put into words what was behind Naruto and Sasuke’s dynamic thanks to all of the great analysis that I found. I got vindicated and felt like I could finally live in peace but it was short lived.

When I met all the crazy antis, oh boy, I understood why ignorance is bliss.

That being said, there are indeed a bunch of obstacles between the fandom and understanding the true significance of Naruto’s story. However, not all of them are due to lack of knowledge when it comes to narrative devices and storytelling tools. I’m far from proficient in that topic and I can confidently say I got it.

Discarding those who will perpetually live in denial due to bigotry, homophobia, lack of an open mind, cultural differences, etc, and after much pondering elicited by this post of yours, I’ve come to the conclusion that the shônen label holds way more power than I originally thought. Or better say, all that shônen represents functions as the most effective reality filter.

Because Naruto was labeled as shônen:

The dudebros who only care about the power escalation won’t understand even if they are not homophobic because they came for the blattles and cool powers, nothing else matters.

The lost shôjo readers who force nh and ss into focus and think they can bend the “romance” to cater to their taste because a shonen writer would drop the ball with something as delicate. “Let Kishimoto draw his battles, we will fix the deficient love story because we know how true romance it’s supposed to look like. We wouldn’t be interfering with the hero’s story, anyway.”

All the while ignoring they are dragging a bunch of toxic tropes with them. They don’t see their pairings as failures because shôjo also has its good share of toxicity and abuse.

The fujoshi and fundashi who despite coming after the gayness, still miss the point because they do not care about the story so long as two hot men are kissing or fucking or whatever. They don’t actually believe in sns because most of their pairings are ships for fun, anything can be shipped, (pencil-senpai and sharpener-kun) so they see Naruto as a love story only under their terms but never in canon.

Then we have people that read a wider range but fail to look at the story as anything else than one written for male teenagers. Got shôjo for romance seinen and josei for more maturity, so shônen is meant for an easy quick snack.

Some of my friends, that I consider very intelligent people, way more versed in storytelling and narrative and whatnot than me, who are definitely not bigots or homophobic, still miss the point because they weren’t looking for it. They realized only after I pointed it out (I even made a ppt presentation, but that’s another story).

As for the people who understand from the beginning:

There’s of course those with the knowledge to dissect the story, and who can consciously ignore the restrictions of the labels.

Yet another group (I consider myself part of this one) that manage to bypass the rules only guided by instinct, but kept second-guessing themselves until they met someone from the previous group.

Then there’s my mother, bless her, who watches anime and loves her romances, but knows shit about manga demographics and wonders how the fuck Naruto and Sasuke gave birth to Boruto because in her eyes that little piece of shit has to be their son.

So once again, it all comes back to Kishimoto and his decision sell his soul to Jump. Was it all for fame or money? Was he too hopeful and naïve? Was it all a cruel prank?

What happened to mangakas like Tezuka? That man knew no limits.

That’s it for my thoughts on and interactions with the fandom. I think I leave my evolution as a sns stan for later if you’re interested in it.

#ask #sns #nsn #naruto fandom #sasunaru #narusasu #still trying to decipher Kishimoto

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v3nusxsky · 2 years ago

Note

Hello love your writing :))

I wanted to ask if you could write a story either about Larissa or Lucifer, they need to punish their partner and they use „longterm“ denial over a whole weekend and reader is just yearning for release after the weekend and Larissa/Lucifer gets soft after the fulfilled punishment and give them the best orgasm ever :)) you can involve other punishment methods as well :) but some cute fluff and praise at the end would be great :) thank you 🔥🥰

Be my good doll 18+

*Authors note~ i choose Larissa purely bc I don’t feel I can write lucifer well but may I highly suggest my darling friend @littledollll who will be able to handle a luci version <3*

Trigger warnings~ long term orgasm denial, mommy kink daddy kink shifted cock oral very smutty smut

Prompt~ see ask^^^^^

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

For the past two days all you could think of was her. No one but you would’ve been brave enough to be a brat towards the headmistress of Nevermore, and that’s why you landed up being tied to the bed, a ruthless vibe working diligently between your legs as Larissa watched on. Her intense gaze at your leaking cunt truly should’ve made you feel embarrassed but it was having the opposite effect. Larissa would bring you right to the edge only to rip you away from it. If you wanted to act like a whore then you’d certainly be treated like one.

Larissa did this till your brain was nothing but a pile of mush, your whines of need being strictly ignored as your cunt clenched against thin air. “If you want to act like a whore doll then mommy will treat you like one” she all but purred at you, laughing slightly as a few stray tears fell from your eyes, “now now pretty dolls don’t cry, you brought this all on yourself. You’re not to touch or cum until mommy lets you, understood?” Truly her tone alone was leaving no room for any kind of arguments, you nodded and attempted to gain control over your emotions. You knew you could safe word, but this was a punishment and safe wording just to avoid it was wrong. Larissa untied you and cradled you in her lap, wrapping their arms tightly around you in comfort.

That was two days ago, you were feeling like you’d explode if you’re honest. Nothing you did would quell the burning pit of need within you. You need her to fuck you until your brain was nothing but mush. Larissa didn’t make things easy, every night she mad the habit of teasing you, making sure you thought your punishment was at the end before fucking herself right in front of you, fully on display with ample amount of sound, almost as if she was trying to get you to fail your punishment. You wouldn’t. You shouldn’t t. And you most definitely couldn’t.

Two whole days, you were near enough exploding with need, that’s when you came back into your shared chambers to find your lover in a new lacy set bought specifically for your eyes only. You tried to keep your gaze on her face, you couldn’t allow yourself to fail here. Looking like an angel from heaven she crooked her index finger seductively, her gaze anything innocent, a complete contrast to her Lacy white set. “Mommy?” You whined, your need more evident than you wanted it to be. “Oh my doll, you’ve taken your punishment so well darling. Mommy is so proud of you that she wanted to give you a special treat. Do you like it?” She purred gesturing to her hardly clothed body. “Yes mommy. Thank you” you choked out finally allowing your gaze to run all over her body.

You knew how this would go, Larissa would follow the same routine as any other punishment, it’s something that calmed you. You instantly kneeled next to the bed and looked at your lover, “I’m sorry mommy. I won’t be bratty again in that way. I’m only mommy’s girl I’d never stray” you whimper and you see the way her eyes darken at the last part. “Say it again doll” she teased and you instantly complied. “So you can be a good girl” she mused as if it was the first time, “get up here doll, you know what you need to do to show mommy just how sorry you are.”

After climbing up on the bed, watching Larissa shuffle back into the pillows you gave her a sweet kiss. As the kids deepened the need grew but you knew she had to cum first, to show how truly sorry you were. Larissa allowed you to take her set off piece by piece as you showered her with love and kisses. Only when you made your way down your body did she bring a hand to your hair and tug your head upwards, “mouth only my sweet doll” she warned before allowing you to continue.

When your breath hit her core she gasped, truly the two day punishment was driving her just a mad as you. When your tongue swiped at the wetness there you saw Larissa could’ve cried. You knew just how to please her. Her hands gripping the headboard and her bucking her hips against your face, practically fucking herself on your face, she was able to approach a very much needed climax. When you felt her legs tremble you knew she was close so you gripped onto her hips hard enough to bruise as you guided her movements and moaned around her sensitive clit. With a cry from the older woman you rewarded with a gush of cum from her pretty pussy as it spasmed around your tongue, you making sure to get every last drop.

She caught her breath before managing to move from your face, chuckling at you as your tongue darted around to get any remaining cum it could. “Look at the little cum slut. Are you needy precious girl?” She purred trailing her fingers lightly over your body. “Mommy need so bad” you mumbled trying to stop your voice from quivering as badly as your thighs were. You watched as Larissa surprised you by shifting her female anatomy to male. Truly, the sight was nothing short of magnificent. “Oh fuck mommy? Daddy? Oh fuck” you whined confused on what your girlfriend would prefer.

“Either baby, I don’t mind just pick one” she murmured answering your unasked question. “Daddy please” you whimpered eyeing her cock. “Are you sorry doll?” You whimpered watching her stroke her impressive length, “I’m sorry daddy, I won’t do it again” you pleaded and she could see the truth lingering in your eyes. “I know doll, you took your punishment well baby” she reassured you while lining her cock up with your leaking hole. “Doll, I’m going fuck you okay? It’s a little bigger than the toys because it’s more realistic. I don’t want to hurt you baby. You remember safe word?” She truly meant this. “Yes daddy. It’s red” you stated and she nodded before pushing her length into you slowly.

Tears prickled at your eyes, your inner walls stretching around her even though she stilled her hips allowing you to adjust. “Daddy” you whimpered as a few stray tears fell. “You’re doing so good for me doll, such a good girl for me” she kissed the tears away. Soon enough pain morphed into pleasure and you subconsciously your hips bucked upwards causing your girlfriend to chuckle, “such a needy girl for daddy aren’t you? “

When she started to move, you truly wondered if anything would feel as good as her inside of you. Actually her and not some plastic fake dick. “Oh god doll, so tight for me. Fuck so warm and wet doll, making daddy feel so good” she panted out her, the thrusting of her hips and moans tumbling from her lips stealing her breath. All you could do was whine and mewl at the sensations she provided as you came close to your peak embarrassingly quick. “Daddy please I can’t I need” you whimpered your train of thought jumping around manically. “I know doll let go” she murmured coming to kiss and such on your pulse point. You came with a scream of her name, your cunt squeezing her cock in its vice tight grip as your cum coated it and leaked slightly onto the sheets.

You thought she’d stop there, but she didn’t, she kept fucking you despite the whimpers of “no please daddy no sensitive” you were repeating. “Come on doll give daddy one more” she all but moaned out. And that’s what you did, you came again, squeezing her dick as she spurted cum up into your needy cunt causing an almost pornographic moan to tumble from your lips. And the sensation of peeing ? That was new. “Isa? What oh god did I pee?!” The panic rising through you. “No darling, you squirted love, it’s okay it’s perfectly natural and now I know you can do it I’m going to have so much fun with you” she murmured eyes seemingly transfixed on your sensitive core.

You flopped back against the bed and held an arm over your eyes, “god I’m so embarrassed!” You whined causing Larissa to chuckle at you, “it’s okay baby. Let me change the sheets and then me and my good girl can have a bath can’t we.” A quick kiss placed on your lips as she set about running a bath and changing the sheets, just letting you have your space to come back down to earth. That was one hell of a reward.

Word count~ 1598

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #larissa weems #larissa weems smut #larissa x reader #larissa x you #larissa weems x reader #principal larissa weems x reader #principal larissa weems #weems #principal weems #weems x reader #principle weems

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ncfan-1 · 9 months ago

Text

I’ve largely avoided news about the upcoming Star Wars movie regarding Rey. Anyone who was around when TROS comes out knows how I feel about it, and since I can’t remember if I ever said it out loud, I’ll say it now: TROS tainted my experience of the entire Sequel Trilogy. I have never watched any of the ST movies again since I watched TROS in theaters, not even TLJ, which in my frank opinion is stronger than TFA and TROS combined. I… I’m not sure how to feel about the Rey movie.

Just based on my memories of TROS, I can’t view the Sequel Trilogy as anything but Rey’s villain origin story. By the end of TROS, she is immensely powerful, most likely the most powerful Force user left alive in the galaxy, and on the same token, intensely isolated. Her relationships with Poe and Finn seem markedly strained; she doesn’t seem especially close to either of them. The one person she felt understood her is dead, and moreover, he died saving her life, which is such a can of worms where guilt and trauma is concerned. Who does she have who she can really confide her troubles in? Who does she have whom she can really lean on? She seems almost totally unmoored from the community she is ostensibly a part of, her ties to her friends superficial at best.

Moreover, she’s reverted back to a more extreme version of her getup from TFA and kept it at the end of the movie, suggesting that she’s regressed emotionally in some way. She certainly seems to be in deep denial about all of the traumatic things that have happened to her and all of the traumatic revelations she’s learned over the course of the three films. The fact that she latches on to ‘Skywalker’ as her new identity signals that she isn’t at peace with her own past and heritage, that she hasn’t addressed and resolved her own feelings about where she came from and who she is. She hasn’t addressed or resolved anything.

And then, to top it all off, we end with Rey in a spiritual wasteland, where her only companions are ghosts and a droid with the emotional maturity of a young child, and the movie leaves it extremely ambiguous as to whether Rey is only on Tatooine to visit, or if she intends to set up shop and live there. It all gives me an extremely ominous feeling about where Rey’s journey is supposed to go next. Maybe she doesn’t become a full-on villain, but unless her upcoming movie devotes a huge chunk of time in the beginning to having her actually work through everything that happened to her and everything that she learned, instead of just sinking further and further into denial about everything, Rey being remotely well-adjusted in that movie is going to come off as so tonally dissonant to me.

Like I said, she doesn’t have to be a full-on villain, but where I would naturally expect to see Rey next from TROS is to see her as a liminal figure, someone who doesn’t really seem to belong anywhere, morally ambiguous, at least somewhat perilous. I could see her as something like a trickster figure. I could see her as an antagonistic force. But as prospective grandmaster to a new Jedi Order? Nah. That makes no sense tonally, based on where we last saw her. Yeah, I know there’s supposed to be about fifteen years between TROS and this film, but the huge time skip isn’t going to be enough to make up for the tonal gap. Not for me. I’ll watch it when it comes out, but I’m not sure how well it’s going to sit with me.

#Star Wars #I'm avoiding other tags in order to avoid inflaming anything #if you're excited for this upcoming movie this is not a knock against you #I hope it's good #I really hope it is #it's just that after TROS it's hard for me to be optimistic about other properties from that time period #Rey of Jakku

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winged-wheel · 18 days ago

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Undertale's First Hint at Self Denial

Spoilers for Undertale, I guess, but surely if you're reading this you don't need a spoiler warning for this game...

Howdy!

A simple look at my reblogs will indicate that I'm a big fan of Undertale Yellow, at least currently moreso than Undertale itself. But that doesn't mean I don't think about Undertale a good deal too. And while I'm not exactly an extreme lorehead or Chara superfan like some others are (god knows how many blogs there are out there who have THAT covered) I do like to think, sometimes, about the exact nature of Undertale's metanarrative, the themes the game intends for you to take away from it (and the ones that fans have read into it that may not have been intended but which serve as interesting and thought-provoking alternative interpretations), and my own stance on things. Chara/the first fallen human, both who they are (were) and what they represent, makes up a lot of that.

So, context out of the way, I realized something that maybe other people have as well but that I've never actually seen anyone put into words (though it's entirely possible if not probable that I've just missed it before lol).

If Chara, on a metanarrative level, represents you--both through the game's expectation of you to use your own name to "Name the fallen child", but also in a less literal sense your inner desire for completionism, addiction to increasing numbers, disregard for video games as anything more than short-time entertainment to be moved on from, etc--then the image of their final resting place, the patch of golden flowers that grows at the bottom of the fissure outside the Ruins, the very first room in the game, takes on especial meaning with regard to the metanarrative itself.

Undertale's metanarrative choice that it gives you, to either treat the game and its characters as real, deserving of respect, and worth being let go of to allow them continued freedom after completing a true pacifist route, or to lean into what Chara embodies and treat it as "just another RPG game", grinding for levels as would be "normal" in so many other worlds until you reach the Absolute, is a well understood one more than 9 years on from the game's release. None of that is probably news to anyone (or at least anyone who's cared to try and understand the game lol).

But it never quite struck me until now that the former--the choice to treat Undertale as "real"--is symbolized by Chara's grave. In order to do that, to care about and respect Undertale's characters so much that you're willing to forego almost all the concessions of a normal RPG, and ultimately content yourself with refusing to True Reset after the credits roll, you have to bury that part of yourself. You have to kill the desire within you to see what happens if you level up. To get stronger. Those learned traits and tendencies which have been established as the expectation by decades of video games past, even if you didn't grow up playing them yourself, have to be interred in the very first room of the game.

I'll draw no ultimate conclusions as to what that means literally with regards to Toriel and Asriel's attachment to tending the flowers there, and certainly none in relation to the direct characterization of Chara as a character within the story itself, as details are notoriously vague, few in number, and tend to produce interpretations that vary wildly from one another and, from some, have the potential to engender feelings of distaste or assumptions about others' "understanding" of characters (or perceived lack thereof). But the metaphorical significance of Undertale's first room being a burial site was something I hadn't quite considered on a conscious level until recently, and I feel like it might at least be an interesting thought to share.

'Til next time...

#this realization was prompted by J-Bug's absolutely fantastic animation of the letter from Undertale's 9th Anniversary newsletter #please go watch it!!!#https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OoBOGrqQQns #undertale #utdr #undertale analysis #chara #chara undertale #undertale chara #ut chara

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save-the-villainous-cat · 2 years ago

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U or Epic should write villain getting sick from a party and throwing up n hero is there to comfort them and it's totally not like I'm asking that bc my parents r going thru the same thing (nZ I'm sick too i think. Def v tired...)

“How are you feeling?” Considering that the villain was still nearly kissing the toilet seat, it was a rather dumb question. However, the hero felt like a simple “better” or “worse” would help them more than stating the obvious. And they knew the villain understood the politeness in the question.

“…’m good…” Obviously nothing new, that. The denial and refusing help others offered. Even if their relationship was less rocky, the villain didn’t accept much from the hero.

“I’d say this is karma but I don’t believe in it.” They handed the villain the glass of water which the villain actually took from them with shaky hands.

“…always get sick when I party…” The villain sipped on the water, slowly and carefully, for the water the hero had handed them five minutes earlier, didn’t stay in their stomach. But now it seemed better. The worst was over and the hero wondered if the villain was actually improving while simultaneously daring to hope that this was the truth.

The hero couldn’t swallow their laugh. “And how you partied…”

Something between amusement and pity conjured inside the hero. The villain could be a real piece of shit, so seeing them like this, white-knuckled clawing on the toilet was a little fun. But mostly, the hero was pitying them. Being hungover and sick wasn’t fun. And after what they’d done yesterday…

They crouched down and pushed the villain’s hair out of their eyes.

“Take it easy. You’ve barely slept.”

“…didn’t do it for you,” the villain clarified. They’d closed their eyes, leaning against the wall. “They played Spice Girls all night.”

That made the hero smirk.

“I don’t see a problem with that.”

“Punched them because the music sucked, alright?” The villain’s glassy eyes went over the hero again and again, as if they were searching for something. “Didn’t do it for you.”

“Sure…” Though the hero didn’t want to, they had to blush as they remembered how uncomfortable they’d been yesterday. Shame had overwhelmed them as the host made an extremely inappropriate comment about their outfit. It had left the hero with a bitter taste on their tongue and a feeling of being dirty. That kind of dirt they couldn’t just scrub off their skin.

And the villain, drunk and uncontrollable, had punched said individual bloody, resulting in both of them being thrown out. A silent walk to the hero’s apartment had followed, alongside with a night full of vomiting and pushing the villain’s hair out of their sight.

“I’m never gonna drink again,” the villain whispered, their eyes still closed. Both knew that was a lie.

“Are we friends?” the hero asked suddenly. Usually, the hero was the one people looked up to. They were the symbol of hope everyone turned to when all was lost. They were a beacon of courage. They were the one who stood up for everyone.

And yet, the hero realised, no one had ever done the same for them until now. No one had ever defended them like the villain had because everyone expected the hero to fight for themselves.

Though the hero was great at fighting for others, they weren’t quite sure if they could even tell a waiter they’d been served the wrong dish.

“I don’t know,” the villain said. They opened their eyes to find the hero’s. “Are we?”

“I don’t want to be friends,” the hero admitted. The villain seemed to have stopped breathing. They were paler and the hero feared it wasn’t just from throwing up all night.

“Well, there’s your answer, I guess.” The villain laughed humourlessly and it was easy to hear how tired they were. Hell, they hadn’t slept one bit. They looked more than a little weary.

“I want to be more than friends,” the hero said. “I want to be more than this. Whatever this is. Whatever we are.”

Now, it was the villain’s turn to (hide their) smile. The villain leaned their head against the wall again and sighed.

“We will destroy each other,” the villain said. “There is no way around it.”

“Then why did you punch them? Playing Spice Girls isn’t a reason.”

The villain looked at them and some kind of sadness filled their eyes. As if their fate was inevitably tragic. Bound to destroy. It seemed like both were too scared to say a word now.

So, the hero sat down beside the villain.

And the villain took their hand.

#love you snowy I hope you’re doing well <33 #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

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actually-a-girls-name · 3 months ago

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What flatmates do in the middle of the night

I'm back with another Johnlock ficlet!! yes I'm still wrapping up drafts I started for the May Prompts, no comment...

ao3 link

Prompt: Awkward // Words: 1,7k

The relationship of our flatmates is shifting, making them both clueless as to how navigate this change. Tired of his strategy of denial and avoidance, Sherlock is looking for a solution to these new emotions and (God save him) feelings. Of course, the right thing to do would be to talk about it. But well, easier said than done, right? That sets up for an awkward nocturnal meeting.

Sherlock laid still in his bed, face toward the ceiling. He was facing a particular problem that needed solving. He had busied himself almost constantly for the past week while achieving nothing at all: this could not last. Sleeping on it would be the wisest decision but, despite his immense fatigue, his racing heart was preventing any attempt of relaxation. He needed to face it, that was for sure. But how? Sherlock pricked up his hears and heard the cracking of John's bed above his room. Oh so he couldn't sleep either. Interesting. Was it?

Sherlock got distracted visualising John rolling in his bed and by the image of the sheets pressing against his body as he would entangle himself– wow, wow, wow, those kinds of thoughts aren’t going to be helpful. Or maybe they were? If Sherlock could understand exactly what he was feeling for the man, that might help. Except that he was shit at feelings, especially when they were his own. And who was he fooling? He knew already. Hadn’t really face it, that’s all. Because facing them seemed incredibly dangerous: once you face the truth you can’t unlearn it. Not something like that at least. If Sherlock didn’t understood much in the “sentiment” department, that he knew: if he were to go down that path in his mind, there would be no setback possible. So he policed his mind once again and continued dancing around the facts.

He grew tired of the dance soon enough, and that had done nothing to slow his heartbeat down. He needed to do something. He needed to move a pawn forward. And he needed to do it now because the more time he would spend thinking about it, the more time he had to chicken out.

He finally sprung on his feet, heart beating like a wild horse, and was approaching the door of his bedroom when he heard a crack. He stopped dead in his tracks, it seemed to come from right outside his door. Nothing for a second, and then another feint crack of the parquet floor. John was up, and Sherlock had been too far up on his own head to hear him coming. Stupid.

Another silence stretched out as he held his breath. John must be standing still just as he was now. Did he hear him coming as well? He wasn't going for the bathroom, or he would have gone inside already. He's coming for me, Sherlock thought. What makes him hesitate? His brain felt heavy and slow. What am I waiting for?

He took a deep breath that he hoped silent and opened the door onto his flatmate. John didn’t flinch. He was standing straight, wearing a blue stripped pyjamas bottom and a loose grey shirt. He had wrinkles across his forehead and dark circles under his eyes that suggested this was not his first insomnia. That was the first time the detective had really looked at him for the past few days, Sherlock realized with a twinge of guilt. He looked tired and slightly apprehensive.

“Ah, John.”

He feigned the surprise – very badly, even for a distracted John – and immediately regretted his acting choice. John didn’t hold it against him, however, and answered with a swift chin movement that felt familiar.

“Hi.”

Nervous, noted Sherlock. That makes two of us. God, he wasn’t used to this annoying feeling creeping inside his chest. The bloody bastard seemed to close his throat, robbing him of his ability of discourse. The detective was standing straight as an arrow, but his gaze was shifting. The seconds seemed to stretch. He briefly looked down, swallowed hard and then back at John. The latter cleared his throat.

“Right.”

The doctor turned his chest halfway toward the living room, looking behind him as if he was searching for what made him come here, then back to face Sherlock. The detective held his gaze.

“Are you uhm… you ‘alright?” finally asked John.

“Me? Oh yeah fine!”

That was a conversation starter alright. That was probably the only acceptable one when two flatmates were to find themselves meeting outside one of their bedrooms in the middle of the night without any apparent excuse for it. How did they take so long to even get there?

“You?”

“Yes. Yep, I was just uhm, going for the loo,” he gestured towards the bathroom door which was just a tiny bit behind him.

“Ah.”

Oh no, he’s retreating. John turned towards the door and acted as if he might go in, just particularly slowly.

“Your body posture indicated otherwise,” the detective blurted out. John turned back to face him, his brow slightly furrowed. “… as was the pause in your footsteps earlier.”

Oh I’m a dick, thought Sherlock. But someone had to do the talking, and, despite what he liked to say, John was usually good at it. A bit of colour appeared on his friend’s cheeks.

“Well yeah actually I was going to see you. I mean, see if you were awake.”

“I am.”

Idiot.

“Yeah, I can see that. And what were you up for?”

Oh he doesn’t want to talk either. Fair play.

“Wanting to talk to you as well.”

“Talk to me?”

For a short moment he thought he was going to finally be able to move that bloody pawn, but the little dose of courage he had gathered left him suddenly and he retorted wryly:

“Yeah, you know, see what you were up to in front of my bedroom door at this time of the night.”

This time John blatantly blushed. He swallowed.

“Ah.”

They stared at each other for what seemed to be a very long time, probably was. They were simultaneously trying to analyse each other’s feelings, silently begging the other to read their minds, and desperately trying not to expose themselves. Yeah, complicated gymnastic. It might have been comical for anyone else to witness, but unfortunately it was only the two of them, so it was just uncomfortable. Lost hikers trying to assess the solidity of a frozen lake by placing their feet on the surface but refusing to put any weight on it. How long could it last? This was getting ridiculous, even for them.

“This is ridiculous,” John finally blurted out.

“No I agree,” Sherlock replied quickly.

Another silence stretched out. And then the corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked up. John imitated him and they soon burst out laughing. It was glorious, they laughed and laughed and laughed their nervosity away until tears appeared in their eyes. Sherlock exhaled, finally getting his body back under control. John straightened up, shaking his head while reporting his attention back to Sherlock, still smiling. The corner of his mouth fell back, and Sherlock felt torn apart under John’s gaze. He had beautiful eyes, dark and huge under the faint light of the flat. Ones that robbed him of his ability to speak once again. He wasn’t even sure he knew one single English word at the moment, but judging by John’s slightly open mouth, he wasn’t the only one searching for his words. What a disastrous pair they were making. Panick finally settled in as Sherlock saw John’s grin slowly fading away. His shoulder dropped and his brows furrowed.

“It’s too late for that anyway,” he mumbled. “I’m going back to bed,” he added while turning around.

No, no, no. Well, that was one word.

“No, John, wait,” Sherlock called back, gabbing his arm. Three words, what a genius.

John’s gaze went from his arm to Sherlock’s eyes, silently asking a question. The detective’s fingers felt cold on John’s warm and soft skin. He kept his hand there as he continued:

“We should do this. I mean, we should probably talk.”

John nodded; his eyes still intensely fixed on Sherlock. “Come on in,” he offered, turning away to penetrate his dark bedroom. He didn’t turn the light on and the dim glow filtering through the curtains from the street were making it difficult to scrutinize John’s face. He didn’t seem surprised at the invitation, but Sherlock heard his breathing pattern shifting, getting heavier. They sat on Sherlock’s bed, side by side, attentively watching the wall in front of them.

“So…” began John encouragingly.

Abandoning any attempts to use his words (uncooperative and treacherous anyway), Sherlock answered by reaching for the doctor’s hand on his lap, carefully taking it in his. His heartbeat rose, he was certain John could hear his heart pumping loudly in his chest. They stayed still for a moment before Sherlock risked a glance in his friend’s direction, suddenly terrified: what if he had it all wrong? Then John turned towards his flatmate, watching him with the softest of gaze. He slowly intertwined their fingers together and delicately started rubbing his thumb against his partner’s soft skin. Sherlock’s shoulders dropped and he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. There they were. Finally.

There was still an interrogation point floating in the air between them, but nothing they could not resolve now. Sherlock slowly approached his head a little bit closer to John’s. He could feel his breath on his face and his heartbeat beneath his fingers. John closed the space between them, and, gently, pressed his lips against Sherlock’s. Answering the question. Sherlock’s heart missed a beat, he wanted more of that, immediately. He kissed back earnestly, opening his mouth against John’s. And so they kissed and kissed and kissed. The whole affair was messy; their noses were sometimes (somehow) in the way, sitting next to each other was uncomfortable and John hit Sherlock’s thigh when he wanted to put his knee up on the bed. Sherlock didn’t know what to do with his hands, one of them hanging in the air, the other rested awkwardly onto the sheets. And there was definitely too much saliva outside its usual place, and they had trouble breathing, and, and-

And none of it mattered.

Nothing mattered because John’s mouth was on his and John’s hands were pressing on the nape of his neck and messing with his curls and that was the best feeling in the world. And sure, more awkward angles, clumsy gestures and embarrassed chuckles were to be expected but oh, did it feel good. Did it feel right. It was still true that they should probably talk, Sherlock thought, but not right now. Their tongues were busy with other activities anyway, and were going to be for quite some time tonight.

#ficlet #johnlock ficlet #may prompts 2024 #sherlock holmes #john watson #bbc sherlock #johnlock #awkward #and they were roomates #idiots in love #mine

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