#But there's something so pure about this scenario

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Scenarios in which you find out just how ... ticklish some of your companions are.

Featuring: Wyll, Shadowheart, Gale, Astarion and Lae'zel.

Genres: Humour, fluff, crack.

Slight Tav/Shadowheart and Tav/Astarion. Tav is a menace.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

(Readers, have some mindless fluff. Work has broken my mind and this is all I can write.)

Wyll: The Crab

The moment he'd emerged from his tent that morning, Gale had surveyed the clear skies, the promise of truly spectacular weather, and declared that today would be the day for cooking up a batch of fresh catch.

So it was that you had found yourself at the docks, strolling past hawkers displaying rows and rows of tempting sea harvest. From beneath the canvas awnings, scales and fins of fish gleamed, empty eyes turned skyward, bellies sliced open to display the pure white flesh underneath.

At your side, Wyll paced along, arms swinging slightly, a faint smile on his face as he took in the familiar sights and scents. He had volunteered to accompany you, to help carry the load of produce that you would inevitably purchase.

Rounding the corner, your fingers closed on his arm, tugging excitedly.

"Oh, it's been a while since I've seen deep sea emerald crab! And just look at how perfect they are!"

Piled high in a basin, the shells of the crabs shone with jewel-like lustre. In no time, taking advantage of this rare opportunity, you had paid off the fishmonger and your precious cargo of crab had been safely enclosed and tied up in netting.

"Here."

You handed over the bag to Wyll.

"Hold that. I'll look around for some mussels and sea bream. Can't have a feast without those."

Wyll took the bag, but you noticed his slight reluctance. Cocking an eyebrow, you received his hasty acknowledgement.

"Oh, no problem. You go on ahead."

Strutting further down the walkway, you shot a brief glance back at Wyll. He was holding the bad of crabs at arms length, obviously trying to be subtle.

What was that all about?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sight of some large scallops, of stunning quality, and you promptly forgot about Wyll's strange aversion to crabs.

A half hour later, you were happily making your way back to camp, pack laden with more goods, when you heard a strange noise from Wyll. Turning, you saw that he'd been forced to carry the crabs tucked under an arm, his shoulders occupied with the other baskets.

"Everything all right?"

"Oh, yeah. Everything's fine."

"Then what - "

Before you managed to complete your sentence, Wyll let out an explosive wheeze. He doubled over abruptly and you dropped your pack in concern as you hurried over to him.

"Wyll!"

He raised a hand, palm out, stopping your advance.

"N - Nothing to wo - worry 'bout, I - I assure- "

Another sudden explosive breath, his hands tugging the crabs away from him. It was then that you noticed that the legs of the crustaceans were still moving, in slightly jerky fashion. They weren't alive, some remnant of muscle memory causing their strange dance.

And it seemed that Wyll could not handle the sensation of it along his stomach.

You paused, a slow grin forming.

"Wait, are you - "

"N - Not what you think - "

Your hand came to rest on your chin.

"Oh, but Wyll, I rather think it is."

"C - Can you not - "

"Tell the others that a crab tickled your fancy? If you compensate me enough, I might be tempted."

He gazed up at you, something like defeat in his expression as your smile grew wider.

"H - Horns don't make a devil, it seems."

Shadowheart: Cliffhangers

There was a specific kind of enemy that grated on your nerves more than any other; the flying kind.

Butterflies and brightly feathered birds were all well and good, but summoned mud mephits and their greasy counterparts were deserving of a special place in Avernus as far as you were concerned.

Such were the thoughts cluttering your mind as you clung to the side of a cliff, the path that had wound along its edge now narrowing to little more than a foot-span.

You'd managed to use your arrows as makeshift climbing spikes, the muscles of your shoulders screaming in protest each time you stabbed a steel head into the rock, clinging on for dear life. The flapping and constant harassment of the mephits just made things exponentially worse.

Edging your way forward, you managed to turn your head slightly to see how Shadowheart was faring. She had slipped and lost a shoe a few yards back, the unfortunate item tumbling all the way down to the foam-clad rocks that jutted from the sea below. A terrifying sight indeed.

Just when you thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse, the terrain of the narrow ledge beneath your feet took on a different texture. Glancing down, you paused and let out a groan.

"What? What is it?" came Shadowheart's tight query. It sounded as if her teeth had been ground to dust from all the tension.

"Just watch your footing here. There's some kind of sentient moss. It's... wavy. Looks a bit slippery."

Shadowheart muttered something that was carried away by the wind and the flapping of the mud mephits. You knew your warning had been heard, so you continued edging your way forward. The moss was soft beneath the soles of your boots, giving way and then springing back up as you passed. Fortunately, it wasn't excessively damp.

As you edged forward, lips moving in a chant designed to keep your concentration, you heard a low noise come from Shadowheart, something like a soft squeal of protest. Whipping your head around, you saw that her eyes were squeezed shut, mouth puckered and trembling.

"What's wrong? Shadowheart?"

She didn't reply, but remained stationary, panic now evident on her face. Her whole body gave a spasmodic twitch.

"Hey!"

You grabbed her arm before she slipped, dragging her toward you. As her bare foot passed over the wavy moss she let out a decidedly high pitched shriek, the kind you'd never heard from her before.

"Wait, wait, not the moss!"

"What?"

"It's ... under my feet! It's squiggly and moving!"

There, on the side of the cliff, with the unappealing prospect of tumbling to your death on the rocks below, you were faced with the sudden, disjointed reality that Shadowheart's ticklish feet might kill you both.

Your blank expression jarred something in her. She stared defiantly back, cheeks now steaming scarlet, eyes flashing in embarrassment. It was ... terribly cute.

Her voice emerged in a hiss.

"Don't you dare judge me."

"I'm not - "

"Look, if I don't get off this moss, I'm going to fall. There's no two ways about it."

"Uh, all right. So ... what can we - "

You paused to swat away a mephit, and you could tell that she was bracing herself for what she had to say next.

"Carry me."

"What?"

"On your back. If we maneuver, we can do it. I'll keep the mephits away. You focus on moving."

"Easier said than done!"

"Not when the alternative is dying. Now hurry up, I - I can't stand here much longer."

Somehow, you both managed to move into the required position. It was precarious going. Shadowheart managed to grip the ridges of the cliff, briefly lifting herself while you stooped slightly. Muscles quivering with exertion, you raised her and her knees sunk tightly into your sides. You immediately clutched at the cliff again, breathing ragged.

Slow as your progress was, you finally made it to the end, where the narrow shelf widened and rejoined the top of the cliff path.

Here, you collapsed, Shadowheart springing nimbly from your shoulders. You were both drenched in sweat and she was avoiding your gaze.

"Some climb, huh?"

"Oh, shut up," she snapped. She paused, tone softening considerably.

"And thanks."

"You won't be thanking me when I tell the tale tonight around a roaring campfire."

She groaned and covered her face with her palms.

"What do you want?"

"A massage for my very sore shoulders. And new arrows. These have been blunted beyond recognition."

"Ugh. Done."

Gale: Laughter most hideous

The battle had been short, but vicious. While you'd managed to overpower the cultists rather quickly, their rapid movements and knack for disappearing and reappearing in strategic places had run your team ragged.

One particular cultist seemed to have an entire library of scrolls shoved down his trousers, because the barrage of irritating cantrips had been near constant. Apparently, wearing your opponent down with utter triviality was an accepted strategy.

Gale, of course, had dealt with the majority of your magical defenses, his shields as powerful and reliable as ever. Even he, however, hadn't been able to prevent every attack from striking true. A few negligible energy missiles had made their way through, and he'd been hit by a spell of Hideous Laughter.

While he'd waved away the spell's effects with an almost lazy brush of the hand, you were now noticing odd motions from him as you climbed your way out of the sewers. He twitched every so often, and moved his shoulders up and down with an odd stiffness.

You weren't the only one who noticed. In her usual brusque manner, Lae'zel brought the matter up.

"Has a slime crawled into your robes, wizard?"

"Ah, no. No. Nothing like that. Just a little ... "

He shrugged again, face contorting.

Lae'zel brandished her sword.

"I can beat it out of your clothes if you like."

"That won't be necessary, I assure you."

"Maybe he's picked up an infection," came Astarion's drawl from the rear. "The kind that leaves crusts in your underwear. Hang around in sewers long enough and it's bound to happen."

"No, Astarion, it isn't that either. It's - "

You frowned as Gale cut off, a chagrined set to his mouth.

"Look, it was that scroll. The one of Hideous Laughter. It ... can't affect me in quite the same way as others. I have a natural resistance. But it has ... residual effects. In hard to reach places. Like my back."

You spread your hands.

"Oh, well that's ... something we can deal with right?"

"Well ... if someone would be so kind as to lend me some kind of implement with which to scratch that itch, I - "

Lae'zel waved her sword again.

"No, Lae'zel, not that - "

Astarion came forward and slapped something into your palm, his smile made devilish by the dim lighting of the cistern.

"What say we take care of our wizard?"

You glanced down and saw that he'd handed you one of his gloves, the fingers narrowed to fine points to assist with the precision of his lockpicking. Unanimously, you both turned to Gale and advanced on him.

Now looking rather nervous, your resident wizard raised his hands.

"Now hold on, you two, what are you - "

"Relax, Gale. We're here to help."

Lae'zel snorted.

"This should be interesting."

Astarion grasped Gale's shoulders and spun him around, facing away from you. You fitted Astarion's glove onto your hand and you both turned Gale's robe up, exposing the bare skin of his back above his trousers.

"Uh, I'll have you both know that my skin is rather sensitive there - Oh Gods!"

The last part emerged as a yelp as two hands clad in the designated back scratchers dragged down either side of his spine. Astarion's grin was now positively toothsome, canines glinting in the gloom.

"Why, what delightful sounds you make, Gale. I'd never have known - "

"Stop, stop, hold on - "

You punctuated Gale's protest with a downward motion of your own hand and he jumped slightly.

"As satisfying as this is - "

"I thought your back was unbearably itchy?"

"It is! I'm just ... it's ticklish, you imbeciles!"

Astarion raised a hand to his mouth in mock surprise.

"Ticklish? You? The mighty wizard?"

"Well, being in possession of a normal, functioning body makes me ticklish in certain ... areas, so yes!"

You frowned and considered this key piece of information.

"He has a normal human body, Astarion."

"Oh, that's very clear, from his ... precious little reactions."

"I say we continue with his treatment then."

"I concur, my sweet sewer conquerer."

"Now just a minute - "

Gale was soon rendered helpless beneath the co-ordinated motion of your fingers, laughter escaping him in short bursts, his form squirming and writhing in your grasp. In spite of his struggles, you managed to firmly take on the itch that had lodged itself there, soon dissipating under the rigorous scratching you gave him.

When you'd emerged from the sewers, both you and Astarion looked particularly smug, Gale's disshevelled clothes and hair, along with his embarrassed expression, attracting a few stares from passers-by.

You were fully aware, through all of this, that he could have worked the Weave to push you away at any time.

A thought to store away, it seemed.

Astarion: All pointy ears

"Well, isn't this comfortable."

The sensual purr of Astarion's voice in no way countered the situation you were both currently in. You let out a low growl and he tutted.

"Now, now. No need to be grumpy, sweetheart. After all, wouldn't you rather be tied up with me than any of our other companions?"

And tied up you were. Being the stealthier members of your group, you'd taken it upon yourselves to raid the vault of a local weapons dealer, happening upon a beautifully loaded safe that Astarion had managed to crack.

Right before you'd been caught, that is.

You were not sure how they'd managed to get the jump on you. Astarion's sensitive sense of smell had detected a whiff of sulphur, a mark of demonic infestation. It was entirely possible that the dealer had managed to wrangle some kind of security contract with a contact in Avernus that alerted him whenever the safe was tampered with.

Either way, you'd both been restrained with some expert knots, tied together back to back on a pair of chairs and left to rot until the dealer returned with his 'information specialists'. A coy term for torture and interrogation personnel, no doubt.

With the number of crossbows trained on you, there had been no question of a flashy escape. The room was too brightly lit for Astarion's shadow-based techniques to be of much use.

So, here you both were; languishing in the lower levels of the enemy base, wrists and ankles growing increasingly numb due to the tight knots. Well, at least your circulation was an issue. You weren't sure if vampires suffered from the same setbacks.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you leaned back.

"Any brilliant ideas on how we can get out of this mess?"

"Hmm."

You felt his body shift behind you, the rope creaking as he tested the knots. There was a moment of silence before Astarion spoke again, his tone a touch more plaintive this time.

"Well. They've certainly gone to town with these damnable knots."

"You don't think we can loosen them?"

More silence. Unusual.

"Astarion?"

He let out a put-upon sigh.

"There is a way ... not that I prefer it. But I've done it before when I've been in a ... sticky situation."

"And what's that?"

"I ... gnaw through the ropes."

Despite the situation, your snort of laughter was explosively loud in the small room.

"Gnaw? Like a rabbit?"

"I'd prefer not to be referred to as such, thank you," came his acidic reply.

"Fair enough."

You hastily stifled your amusement before Astarion decided to nibble through his own restraints and leave you behind. Instead, you addressed the more pertinent issue; your backs were tied to the chairs and maneuvering would be very difficult.

"So, how are you going to get your head on level with the rope?"

"I've thought of something. You still have the scabbard of your sword at your belt, correct?"

"Yes?"

"If you manage to hook it into my ropes, and I move from side to side, I can get the ropes to lift upwards and over my head. Then I bite through the ones on my wrist."

"Hmm. That ... might just work. Hold on, let me ... "

Pressing down with your elbow, you angled the empty scabbard still strapped to your waist. The edges were hard steel, not sharp, but using your body weight for leverage, it would be firm enough to enact the scenario that Astarion had envisioned.

"All right, I'm moving the scabbard towards you now."

He shifted again, pressing closer to you on one side. Using your thigh and elbow, muscles twisting awkwardly, you pushed the scabbard slowly towards him. You felt the resistance as it prodded between the ropes that bound him to the chair.

"Almost ... got it ... almost ... ha!"

You gave a soft triumphant shout as it slid home. Astarion murmured in encouragement before beginning his slow movement from side to side, careful not to unbalance either of your chairs.

Bit by bit, the ropes slid down, time passing inexorably as he inched his way through the bindings. You could feel his body slide downwards, his head descending as he lossened the ropes steadily against the firm anchor of the scabbard.

It pulled free a few times and Astarion groaned theatrically and made a jest about the 'tip slipping out', much to your annoyance.

All things considered, your escape attempt was going swimmingly, until it was time for his head to slide through the rope. The cloth upper of the scabbard, now fraying at the edges, caught on his ear.

Astarion let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a giggle.

"Ah! Oh my."

"What? Did you hurt yourself?"

"No. I mean, yes, there's some rope burn, but nothing I haven't experienced before."

"So ... what was that?"

"Nothing."

It certainly wasn't nothing. As you helped him shimmy through the ropes, a series of hiccuping breaths, stifled shrieks and sounds of barely contained hilarity reached your ears.

"Astarion. Do you want to tell me what the fuck is going on back there?"

"My apologies, d - darling, it's just ... the threads on y - your scabbard are in my ear and - ah!"

Another bout of hissing and snorts.

"Oh, why, that's ... p - positively ... positively ... ticklish - eeeh!"

Gods, you were going to absolutely murder this unhinged man.

Gritting your teeth, you held firm as he finally made his way out, fangs immediately going to work on the ropes that bound his wrists. Once you were both free, you slowly made your way from the bowels of the enemy hideout, Astarion's lockpicking skills once again proving useful.

He was skilled, you'd give him that, even with all of his ... unique foibles.

With his pick in the final lock, he shot you a sly glance.

"Well? I don't see you mentioning my little weakness."

The delicate point of one of his ears twitched mockingly. You raised an eyebrow.

"Do you want me to mention it?"

"Oh, you're no fun."

He leaned towards you, a slow, seductive smile curling his lips, hands still busy with the lock even though his eyes weren't.

Show off.

"Go on, tweak my ear. I know you want to."

"Astarion, now isn't the time for - "

"Just do it. For luck."

"Oh, for the love of - "

Reaching up, you pinched his lobe delicately. He let out a noise that wouldn't have sounded out of place in an erotic theatre production. From nearby, you heard the shift of boots on a wooden floor. One of the dealer's gang called out.

"Oi, did you hear that?"

You shook Astarion wildly.

"Get us the fuck out of here you - "

The final tumbler of the lock clicked into place and you both fled into the streets, the sound of Astarion's low cackle ghosting through the evening air.

Lae'zel: Gith psionics

Lae'zel's eyes shone in the gloom, one hand raised: a signal. In the forest clearing before you, your quarry had slowed, pausing to scent the air.

A large deer, enough to feed the camp for a week.

There was a bounty of smaller game within these woods, but Lae'zel had insisted on finding the best possible prey.

Raising your bow at her signal, you let fly an arrow. It struck true, taking the animal in the neck. The deer went down and Lae'zel smirked.

"Good strike."

"Indeed, if I may say so myself."

You straightened and pulled your pack from your shoulders, ready to prepare for carrying the deer back to camp. Voices from further within the trees interrupted you, Lae'zel instantly on high alert.

Three individuals appeared in the clearing, each carrying a rather lethal-looking bow and hunting knives. They stopped in a ring around the dead deer, their posture arrogant and territorial. The leader, a half elf with dark hair cut short, raised her chin in challenge.

"What's this? You trying to make off with our kill?"

Lae'zel growled and you paused, assessing the situation rapidly.

Oh, you knew full well what this was. Closer to larger settlements, hunting rackets such as this one were bound to spring up. They appeared as if by magic whenever someone else got lucky, intimidating other hunters into leaving their choice kills behind.

Adopting a subservient smile, you stepped forward, hands raised and empty as a show of non-aggression. They did not lower their guard, but you did notice that their eyes were fixed on Lae'zel more than you. She obviously registered as the larger threat. You cleared your throat.

"Now, there's no need for unpleasantness. That's a big deer. We can always share - "

"The kill goes to us. We took it down. That's my arrow."

The half-elf's tone was snappish, brooking no argument. You shrunk inward at her rebuke.

"But, please, if we could just - "

In the moment she took her eyes from you, no longer considering you any danger, you moved. Your arrow was nocked and released faster than any of them had a chance to react, lodging deep in her neck.

There was a brief moment where the other two remained frozen, even as their leader sank to her knees, crimson bubbling from her torn throat. In that instant, Lae'zel was among them, sword flashing once, twice.

They dropped like flies.

Lowering your bow, you blew out a breath.

"Well. Looks like their temporary reign in these woods is over."

Lae'zel snorted.

"And good riddance. How pathetic."

"Indeed - oh! Look!"

Scrambling forward, you examined the leather armour the half-elf leader was wearing.

"Gods, they don't make hunting gear like this anymore. Probably stolen. I'm taking this. This is amazing quality."

Your companion shrugged, cleaning her blade.

"The spoils of war go to the victor. You've won it fair and square."

Now, however, you were faced with a different dilemma. The weight of the deer would be difficult to bear along with the dead bandit's armour. You asked Lae'zel if she could wear the armour over her own, temporarily, while you both carried the deer back to camp. She agreed, if rather tersely.

The deer strung up on a sturdy branch you'd whittled for the purpose, carried between your shoulders, you made the trek back through the trees.

It was then that you noticed Lae'zel's odd movements. The leather armour she wore over hers was comprised of a number of interconnected strips, some of which formed a wavy collar. This seemed to bring her some kind of discomfort, because she kept shifting and tugging at the armour, cursing softly under her breath.

"Lae'zel? Is everything all right?"

"Of course."

She brushed off your queries with her customary shortness, but you could see how uncomfortable she was. An idea, half-formed, sprung into your mind.

Surely ... surely she wasn't-

Time to test a hypothesis, so to speak.

You 'accidentally' stumbled, brushing your hand over the collar. Lae'zel gave a start of surprise, before glaring over her shoulder at you.

"Watch it."

Well now. Wasn't this interesting.

It seemed that the back of Lae'zel's neck was particularly sensitive. You couldn't help but wonder just how much sensitivity was contained in that area. Perhaps more testing was required.

It would certainly be useful to know for your in-camp sparring sessions which inevitably ended with you bent over Lae'zel's knee, or with your face in the dirt.

Teasing some of the feathered fletching from one of your arrows, you raised it delicately, touch as light as an evening breeze. You brought it slowly towards the targeted zone, right beneath where her braids shifted and parted, holding your breath.

As soon as the feather made contact, the world seemed to shift around you. The deer on your shoulder was suddenly a dead weight, dragging you to the ground, you feet slipping and sliding for purchase before you went down. Raising yourself on your elbows, you looked around, bewildered.

Lae'zel had ... disappeared.

"Lae'zel?" you shouted.

What on earth?

Standing, you brushed mud from your knees. She was simply ... gone. There was no sign of her anywhere.

Turning frantically on the spot, a noise in the foliage above caught your attention. Head snapping up, you beheld quite the sight.

In the highest branches of the tree beside you, Lae'zel crouched, furiously swatting at her neck. It seemed that your experiment had worked beyond your wildest dreams. The ticklish sensation against her neck had caused her gith psionics to kick in.

Clearing your throat, you adopted a confused stance.

"What on earth are you doing up there?"

She stopped her movements abruptly, the realisation of what she'd done reflected in the widening of her eyes. Her gaze flicked between her hand and you, obviously choosing her words carefully.

"Hmm. I was just ... I heard something up ahead. Possibly more ... bandits. Yes. I came up here to ... check the area."

You waved exasperatedly at the deer.

"Well, fine, but maybe give me a warning next time?"

She slid down and dropped back to the ground, not entirely meeting your querying gaze. Her mouth pulled into a sour line.

"Hmph. Well, maybe get stronger and you won't buckle under the weight of one animal."

Needless to say, you refrained from any further 'experimentation' on the way back to camp. Lae'zel insisted that you wore the armour for the latter part of the journey.

Still in the rear, you allowed your devious grin to re-appear. Sparring sessions would be much more satisfying from here on out.

[aroaceleovaldez]

I never noticed that percy had PTSD in the original PJO series, how does he tend to present (if you're ok with answering)?

Percy's PTSD presents itself in a lot of different ways (Percy being tense and uneasy around a lot of authority figures, constantly being on defense/expecting first reactions to him in most scenarios to be volatile or violent, becoming extremely stressed and distressed at scenarios not typically associated to that emotional extreme, etc etc) but the two that stick out the most to me are a.) Percy's intense discomfort around any mention or discussion of alcohol (particularly notable in SoN when Percy briefly freaks out when he thinks Dakota is drinking alcohol) and b.) Percy's dynamic with Dionysus.

The first is pretty straightforward so I'll go more into the latter - when Percy first meets Mr. D, he is immediately uneasy around him in a manner that is starkly different from other adult and authority figures Percy has described up until that point. Mr. D doesn't do anything that would particularly invoke that type of reaction from Percy - but Percy himself acknowledges the reason why he is so distrustful and uneasy around Mr. D is because Mr. D reminds him of Gabe and Gabe's friends. Mr. D doesn't actually do anything to remind Percy of Gabe, it's simply some association Percy makes about Dionysus' general appearance and vibe that reminds him of Gabe. And Percy acknowledges that it's completely unfounded! Throughout the series Percy is actively working against his own mind and instinct to overcome this perception of Mr. D he has when presented with new information! This is Percy's PTSD in action!

Essentially, your brain has an association of "danger!" that it assigns to things it relates with that topic of trauma even if those things are not totally or clearly connected, which is why a lot of folks with PTSD have seemingly "unrelated" triggers that can cause them distress or trigger anxiety and panic attacks. And even to the individual with PTSD it can feel extremely random and difficult to find a connection between the two! For me personally, I have experienced exactly what Percy describes about Mr. D with my own PTSD! Without getting too into the specifics, I had a teacher one time who reminded me of an individual who caused me trauma. This teacher was a sweetheart! She never did anything rude or mean to me or anything, she was nothing but nice, but something in my brain associated her upon meeting her with this other figure to the point where I had to change teachers cause I was having a PTSD response every day when around her purely because of this association. It's just a thing that happens sometimes! And I was honestly really surprised and pleased with how accurately Percy's experiences are described because that really is exactly what it's like.

[hoiststowline]

Can I have a first kiss scenario for hound with human femme reader?

hound x reader

[a/n: any hound request is absolutely my pleasure to write. he's just so lovely.]

He’s fairly positive that everyone but the object of his affection knows of his enervating romance regarding you, the scout unable and struggling to find the courage to present his feelings to you with dexterity. Hound felt that everything he did lately felt clumsy, stumbling over words that usually came unchallenging in conversation, and has been caught staring about five times too many. It’s so damn easy to study your smile, the way your cheeks lift somewhat to accommodate the bend of your lips and every time he gets to see it, it feels like a reward and a punishment altogether. 

It’s no different than the ones you cast towards Cliffjumper, Mirage, or even Sunstreaker when he makes some quip that causes you to giggle. He’s crazy to think perhaps there is one saved special, a more carefree and blithe grin that upstages all others that have come before it. It’s unlikely, but he’s long been a fool about many things, and he wasn’t about to stop daydreaming about its existence when it wasn’t entirely proven it didn’t subsist. 

This time, it’s different, it’s a reunion a long while in the making. He’s been on a reconnaissance mission for about four and a half weeks, much shorter assignment than he’s accustomed to, but by far the longest you’ve both been apart. Earth’s time measurements often left him confounded, as stents that don’t appear extensive are quite the opposite in your perspective. 

He’s been back at the Ark roughly three hours give or take, enough to be medically cleared and undertake the necessary paperwork. It’s exhausting to prepare all this intelligence and information for a grand portion of it to be tossed into oblivion because it wasn’t useful or it was old news.

Yet, Hound does it without argument each time because the sooner it’s accomplished, the earlier he can seek your company. Not typically being one to skip out on assignments, Prowl was floored to discover the first time he’d tweaked the edges of his patrol to include your home. With a heavy spark, he made a pact to finalize his responsibilities before joining your camaraderie, though he didn’t have to be happy about it. 

Eventually, carrying an armful of data-pads, he begins the trek down to Prowl’s office when nervous chatter could be heard just around the corner, leading into the expansive room that would be the flight deck. He ventures to pass it by, making a mental note to assess the situation on the way back to his habsuite when he picks up your voice, enough to comprehend that you are not in a jovial mood. 

Immediately, he’s pivoting and heading straight for the cockpit, just five paces down the hall, followed by an expeditious left. When he reaches the interior panel, it slides over upon his proximity, and he finds you’re bargaining with Mirage to discover when the bot himself was supposed to return to the Ark. 

At the noise, you both freeze, fearful that you are being too loud and disturbing the peace. Hound can’t recall what Mirage said, his gaze trained entirely on you and the glassy look in your eyes. 

“Hound!” You’d exclaimed, but something different occurred, something else accompanied it. It caused him to drop the seven or eight data-pads he’d had in his hold, bewildered as that smile he’d convinced himself he’d imagined erupts, one that is just pure elation that could not be contained. 

At the dramatic clatter, you’d jumped slightly, but the smile never left your face, scrambling and nearly tripping across the floor to make it to him as efficiently as possible. Hound knows he’s got to have the dumbest expression on his face, but he can’t bring himself to care as he drops to a knee, empty arms now wide as he patiently awaits your embrace. 

“When did you get in? I had no idea you returned,” Mirage moves to begin collecting the dropped data-pads, but not before gently patting Hound on the shoulder. “Welcome back, buddy.”

He’s so distracted by the way your arms fight to wind around his neck but collects himself to address MIrage. “Thanks. ’N not too long ago, but don’t worry ‘bout that, I gotta get those to Prowl-”

“I got this,” The blue mech laughs, gesturing with his helm toward the paperwork. “Somebody was very worried about you,” 

Hound mouths thanks as Mirage disappears out the door, the panel closing back over with an automated hiss, leaving you both in shared solitude. “And how are you?” He rumbles, servo cupping your back as you pull rearward to address him, fingers splayed across the warm metal just around his collarbone. 

“I should be asking you that,” You laugh gingerly, hastily blinking away that worried emotion. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right. You’re not hurt, are you?” 

Hound blinks twice before comprehending what you’ve said, his unoccupied servo coming to rest over your left hand, dwarfing it where it resides on his chest. “‘M fine, ah promise. But, m’sorry to have been gone for so long.” He whispers when he’s so close to you like this, afraid to talk any louder to disturb such a perfect moment. 

“It’s okay,” The smile persists, even if it’s a smidge mellowed, just so your cheeks don’t begin to twinge with discomfort. “But I won’t lie, I missed you. Like a lot, a lot,”

At that, he chuckles, the action felt as it reverberates up from his chassis and tumbles out his mouth. “I missed ya more, y/n.” 

There’s a pause, a brief stutter where you both just smile stupidly at each other, the cool touch of Hound’s servo furling softly to hold yours within his grasp. Everything stopped, your heart leaps to your throat as you remove your free hand from his clavicle to rest on his cheek, Hound leaning negligible weight into your benign touch. 

“Yeah?” You rasp, leaning just an inch forward, waiting to be dismissed, but the idea of backing out now never crossed his processor. If anything, he moves closer, just near enough that you can see the sincerity dwelling in his cerulean optics. 

“Willin’ to bet on it.” He breathes, though his voice box hitches as you close the remaining distance to plant a kiss squarely atop his lips. 

[skyrim-forever]

So doing the baby meme thing got me thinking. What if Ondolemar found out Theodora was pregnant with his child while they were still seeing each other in Markarth? Just woke up one morning threw up beside his bed, she goes to Whiterun to get checked and BAM lil baby Arthano making an appearance in her tummy early! Because you know he was just so excited about popping his head out. Totally ready to be the next Arena champion. What kind of drama would ensue? Would Theodora even tell Ondolemar about it, given their current roles? How would Ondolemar feel sitting in his office or pacing Understone Keep knowing that Theodora was out there carrying his child? I NEED THE GOSSIP!!

Hi friend <3 Thank you so much for this ask this is a really interesting question. Unfortunately I can't see a scenario in which they would keep the baby because there are two ways it could happen.

Earlier on before they admit their feelings, if Theodora found out she would have a ~~fantasy abortion~~ and not tell him. They aren't in a relationship, owe each other nothing so it would be an "oops!" and then she'd be super careful. As their feelings came out she would tell him and he'd be very practical about it. That was the reasonable solution to falling pregnant in this type of arrangement. No hard feelings on his end.

It would happen after they had their love confession in Windhelm (chapter 1 is out here hehe shameless plug) in which case it would be the same outcome. This time done for the fact their isn't really any other option, she's got to fight Alduin, he has his duties. As long as she has to be in Skyrim she wouldn't be able to hide it, and then once its here, what do they do?

I was inspired to write this second scenario as that will explain it better. Under cut because sad :( and long this is 1100 OOPS

Ondolemar made it a point to work now, try to get something done while he still could. His love had scarcely eaten last night and was sprung from the bed early this morning with some foul sickness, retching into what she could find. The empty barrel had been something he meant to get rid of anyways. Theodora left to go see the Alchemist in town in hopes she could provide her answer as to what was afflicting her. She suspected some sort of stomach flu and if that was the case, he would likely come down with it too. Best work now until she returns with more information. 

Once she is gone for more than an hour he begins to worry. Running through his mind are fears it could be something more serious, something contracted on the road, an internal injury as she insisted on healing herself whenever possible; the fact they both drank heavily was not helping. The woman drank to be drunk where as he consumed casually throughout the day, it felt a bit better even if in reality it was comparable. As it’s nearing hour two, she comes back to him. Abandoning his work, he walks over to her, speaking just after the dwarven doors close. 

“You were gone for longer than I anticipated, I trust she found something? Are you going to be alright?” Her hands extend and he welcomes them gladly, trying to pull her in closer but she stays standing on her own. 

“I also wasn’t expecting to be gone that long either, but the alchemist has a strong suspicion.”

“That is good, what does she think? I hope it is not Bone Break Fever, absolutely a nasty disease that is. Do you feel weak?” She smiles meekly.

“A bit but that’s not it.” Noticeably her eyes fall to the floor. “I won’t know for certain until I speak with the healer, Danica Pure-Spring at the Temple in Whiterun but…” All the way to Whiterun what could possibly require such a trip? Any ideas as to what could be that serious are interrupted with the reveal. “I may be pregnant.” Oh. “And if I am then I will also take care of that at the Temple as well.” 

Ondolemar did not mean to be silent for so long, regretting that he retreated inward to grapple with this information rather than immediately comfort her. Regretting even more now that she apologizes.

“I’m sorry, normally I’m very good about-” He remedies the silence by bringing her to his chest, no resistance from her as she falls against him. Hand rubbing her back and the other smoothing her hair, he speaks. 

“No no, you have nothing to be sorry for, famously it cannot be done alone.” A weak attempt at humour but she does laugh, before the sobbing begins; anguished like he’s never heard her before. Hoping to never hear it again. Knowing there's nothing he can say at this moment, the intensity can not be healed with words, demanding to be felt, that is what he does. Let her cry against him until she can muster the words, chastising herself in anger now.

“Fuck, why am I crying? I’ve never considered having children before so why does it matter? Why do I feel so…” The question ends abruptly with another wail. 

He had thought of having a family someday, long ago  when he was much younger. The plan had been to throw himself into work, advance the family’s standing, then and only then would he let his mother work with the matchmaker and get on with the decades long progress to get married as an Altmer. But there was always more work to do, longer hours, more travel. Before he knew it the decades slipped by, casual relationships here and there but never entering into the formal process of courtship. Mostly with other agents, they were who he was around the most and thus were deeply familiar with the strict schedules under the Dominion. Seeing his sister wed had made him content, she found a nice, respectable man from a scholarly family in Skywatch. There were times he tried to rationalize with himself it was for the best. Whether or not he enjoyed it aside, he was a soldier first and foremost, the nature of a soldier is to be sent far from home. No point in having a family if he would not be able to see them, nor would he ask her to keep it as she was making the logical choice. There is her fated battle on the horizon, the matter of his position, as well as the purges conducted where there was higher density of mixed man-mer ancestry. What would he ask her, doom yourself to a life of hiding and single motherhood as he cannot follow because he loves her? Because sometimes he did imagine leaving his post, finding some way to flee from the Thalmor’s gasp and shed that which he cannot entirely believe. Tempted to do it even as he wished they lived in a better world and is curious if she has had similar thoughts. 

His thumbs gently wipe away her tears, as best he can, while cradling her face. 

“It is a serious situation, Theodora. You’re having a normal reaction regardless, let alone under our circumstances.” She nods and he places a kiss on her forehead, before gauging the situation.

“Do you want to keep it?”

“It’s not a matter of if either of us wants to, we can’t. Even if I could hide it the whole time, fight Alduin and manage to survive despite being who knows how pregnant,” A pained sigh as she is blunt with him on something which he knows to be true. “And unless it comes out looking identical to me, I’ll only be able to lie so much. Questions would be asked, Ondolemar. Nevermind if I tried to bring them around you in any capacity, how soon would it take someone to put things together, how fast would the hammer slam down on you?” Gods, she is right but that doesn’t stop the sting.

“I know, I know.” Leaning down for another kiss on her forehead, hands instead wrapping around her torso in a loose grip as she rests her head tilting upwards, clear view of the redness sin her eyes and the change in her skin tone. Red and puffing from the mental ache.

“If I were to have children though I’d want you to be their father.”

“They could have no one better as a mother than you.”

“I love you, Ondolemar.”

“And I love you, Theodora.”

[drones-of-innocence]

I've always wanted to entertain a universe where Princess Peach was not familiar at all with romance.

She would go through her life being raised on political philosophy and the understanding that she would one day be responsible for the people of the Mushroom Kingdom, her teachings are very strict and single-minded in the effort to make her an effective ruler. This turns her into an incredibly driven and kind woman who is primarily concerned with her citizen's security and happiness. The fairytale land of the Mushroom Kingdom emphasized a culture of love, certainly, but it was a love for all living creatures. Romance exists, but it was not part of the mainstream of ideas.

Her interests did not include fantasy or fiction. Even when offered by her guardians and retainers, she would decline and opt instead for denser, brainier, more intensive material. The concept of romance simply never came across her horizon.

Until she gets kidnapped, and a stranger arrives to save her.

This man is strong, stronger than the King of the Darklands. Strong enough to rescue her. He is humble and sweet, and he has the most earnest blue eyes she's ever seen. He is charming without meaning to be, content with the simple things in life, and her heart appears to do a little something every time he smiles bashfully at her attempts to thank him for his heroic deeds. He has dimples in his cheeks. Mario, he is called. Thinking of his name causes a most peculiar rush in her chest. She sometimes likes to murmur it to herself when no one is around, but she couldn't say why.

"It is love," those close to her tried to explain. But she didn't understand.

She discovers her grand library's fiction section. She pores over romantic tales, particularly those regarding a princess and her knight in shining armor. Meanwhile, she observes that her face becomes quite warm when Mario is around, and that she tends to ramble or stammer nervously when she is ordinarily so clear and concise. She has not had any practice disguising such feelings. They come off as quite obvious to any onlooker.

Mario is not presumptuous, however, and though he finds himself nursing his own romantic feelings for Princess Peach, he would never dare assume someone of his station would be worthy of her. Still, many point out her obvious flustered demeanor and clear affection for him. He had already dedicated himself to many acts of service for her, but he begins to bring her small gifts as well. Interesting findings, secret tokens, tiny treasures from his journeys. Small wonders of the amazing world he'd come to love living in, and tiny, heartfelt creations.

Pressure grows from those around them who can see they clearly have feelings for each other. When the time comes, Peach sits, meekly admiring a flower he had offered her as they sit on a grassy hill under the starlight. She explains that she believes she likes him, but admits that she does not understand very much about the nature of her feelings or of romance in general. She's a little frightened; her daydreams and wistful yearning have distracted her from her duties at times, and she becomes overwhelmed in his presence. She wishes to understand it all better, but she doesn't know where to begin.

Mario, surprised and flattered by the news, puts his hand over hers and tells her that he is willing to help her explore her feelings and make better sense of them. He can teach her; he's been a hopeless romantic for as long as he could remember.

And he loves her. He's more than willing to take this journey with her.

Flirting, dates, kissing. All of these are foreign concepts to Peach and she frets that she's very far behind and that she'll do it all wrong. But Mario soothes her and tells her it all comes with time. He won't push her into anything she isn't ready for, though he does purposefully tease and gently flirt with her just to see her blush and smile. Over time, she is able to reciprocate.

He invites her out to classic dates and more unique ones. Garden strolls, picnics, or trips to find the best view of the sunset. He continues to bring her gifts, and rescues her from Bowser all without any expectations that she return the sentiment.

She learns. She finds or creates gifts, and arranges dates to surprise him. Her heart feels full whenever she sees his eyes light up with genuine surprise and awe. She learns that he quite appreciates physical touch, and makes sure to reach for him often. Touching his arm, finding any reason to hug him, and offering a modest kiss on the cheek upon being rescued. He also finds great comfort and solace in words of affirmation, reminding him that she sincerely enjoys his company and finds him to be very cute. She loves how he blushes.

One night, after a date he put a lot of work into arranging, Peach expresses her gratitude for his effort, and tells him that she thinks she would like to kiss him. Blinking, Mario finds himself endeared to her shy and slightly clumsy request. He approaches her with his familiar soft manner.

"Close your eyes," he says with that bashful smile, and she does.

He kisses her forehead. His hands gingerly rest on her face, and she lets out a shaky breath. "Is this okay?" he asks, and she nods. He kisses her temple, and then her cheek. His mustache tickles. Her entire body feels like it's buzzing.

He pauses, his thumb stroking her face, before he tilts his head to kiss her on the lips.

She melts. It's tender and sweet. All the stories she had read emphasized the importance of a first kiss, and his delicate manner was better than anything she could have imagined. He pulls away, his eyes shining under the starlight, only for her to seize his hands.

"I want you to kiss me again," she says.

He smiles, and he does.

[the-way-astray]

i've seen a fair amount of people that have a take that's something along the lines of "alden isn't abusive/toxic/a bad parent but i like exploring that in fic, so i often characterize him like that anyway" and i'm so curious as to why these people are not extending this same purposeful character assassination to other parents, like grady, or even kesler, and why it seems to be an only alden thing /gen

[cuteniaarts]

2 hour rough drawing of Ehuang, my precious Green Opal child who I don’t draw nearly enough <3

[mariyekos]

Imagining a scenario where at some point Dante and Lady get married purely for practical purposes (like if she gets hospitalized so Dante can visit/make some decisions) but Lady ends up dating Trish so Dante's like

[crystalisopod]

I'm so grateful that my autism has sort of mellowed out as I aged, and that I'm less sensitive sensory-wise. because it's just so... I don't know, embarrassing? to think back on every meltdown.

it's embarrassing because everything hurt so badly, but it's not something I could talk about because it was all just mountains out of molehills. it's like having a breakdown and screaming over a paper cut, it's hard to even talk about without it sounding incredibly silly or making myself sound oversensitive and pathetic.

[ponett]

Any opinion on the Pokemon Gigaleak or nah?

I think seeing some of the WIP assets from when gen 3 was in development is kinda neat, because Game Freak is normally so secretive about that kind of thing. But beyond that I mostly just find this whole situation tiring.

Fans have a tendency to almost treat scrapped material as "more canon" than whatever actually made it into the finished product, in a way. It's treated as this pure, unfiltered insight into the creators' true vision. In reality, most of the time this stuff gets cut for a reason. Sometimes they very quickly realize it was a bad idea that was never gonna work, and they don't go very far with it. Sometimes it's a pitch from just one guy on the team that was never gonna get accepted. Sometimes they're just spitballing. Experimentation and iteration and knowing when to cut things are integral parts of the artistic process.

And hell, a lot of the time creators will just mess around with an idea purely as a creative exercise, or to get an idea out of their system, or to explore a crazy what-if scenario, or even just as a joke, with no intention of ever actually using those ideas. We recently saw this same thing happened with those leaked Rebecca Sugar sketches, where people were like "OMG Rebecca ships this, this is what they REALLY wanted to do with the show, this is canon, this was happening off-screen!!" And it's like, y'all have no idea how much crazy shit your favorite artists draw with their characters just to amuse themselves. The crew on Clarence had a not-so-secret Tumblr where they redrew scenes from Evangelion with Clarence characters. That doesn't mean they wanted to turn Clarence into Eva. They were just screwing around. This happens all the time, and with way more extreme examples than these. Lord knows how many Disney animators have drawn Mickey Mouse with his dick out over the years. That doesn't mean they ever actually wanted to make an official Mickey Mouse porno.

And, of course, there's the response to those myths that were never supposed to see the light of day. Anyone who's even passingly familiar with mythology from just about any part of the world shouldn't be surprised to hear fables about humans and animals having babies or whatever. But now people are responding to those unused stories and going "OMG Game Freak is a bunch of gooners who want humans and Pokemon to have sex!! This is canon!!!" It's so fucking tiring. So much of the modern internet, particularly Twitter, is driven by people who just want an excuse to whip out their favorite shocked/disgusted reaction image and ham up their reaction to something that isn't actually all that shocking. Everyone just wants to get their funny dunks in and feign moral superiority. It's childish. And it's because of reactions like this that this stuff was never supposed to see the light of day in the first place. But fans feel like they're owed every single shred of info from the development of their favorite franchises, so these leaks happen and people run wild with them.

(It also doesn't help that this is all just sourced back to a 4chan thread, so people were posting fake shit between the real leaks and muddying the waters. And also most of it is in Japanese, so people are just sticking documents through Google Translate and going "whooooaaaa this is canon")

[reiderwriter]

Hi, so I have a request, but please don't feel pressured to write it now.

I was wondering if you could please do a scene or scenario where Spencer shouts out in desperation and panic "where's my wife" after a close call with the team on a very dangerous case.

A/N: I put a bit of a twist on your request so I hope you still enjoy it! Thank you for requesting~♡

Warnings: minor injury to canon characters, explosion, temporary loss of hearing, sight, etc.

The force of the blow was so strong that when Spencer Reid finally came to, a few seconds after hitting the ground hard, he couldn't hear a thing. 

Whether it was adrenaline, or an injury, or pure shock, his senses were numb, and the only thought in his head as he started screaming was of you. 

“Wh-where,” he coughed, shaking his head to try and focus. “Where's my wife?” 

His voice was quiet and weak at first, but it didn't matter to him. After all, he couldn't hear the words at all. He just felt his lips form the words and knew the familiar vibrations in his throat meant the sound was escaping into the wind. 

You pushed through crowds with a scream as you tried to get through to your team. Spencer wasn't the only one close to the blast. 

Emily, JJ, Morgan, and Hotch were all in various states of disarray around you as you ran back from the car across the street. You'd run back to check some files, feeling something off, and the heat and loud boom behind you was the confirmation you'd been looking for that you were right. 

After his first few attempts, Reid still couldn't see you, much less hear you or touch you or press his arms around you and not let go. He struggled to his feet and began calling again. 

“Where's my wife? Where is… WHERE'S MY WIFE?” His voice broke, and he  coughed gasped through each word, but he didn't stop. 

He stumbled forward, looking to see you through the haze of dust that had erupted from the blast site. Morgan ran to his side just as he tripped, pulling an arm under his as they stumbled together away from the rubble. 

“Where is she? She was right here, I need-” he coughed, leaning more on Morgan than he was walking for himself as his ankles twisted under him. 

“Hey, hey kid, we're okay. We need to get away from the blast, okay? Away.” 

Spencer kept rambling, though, his ears ringing as he blinked away his confusion and the panic creeped in stronger. 

“My wife, where is she? Morgan, I have to find her, she could be hurt,” he demanded, his voice stronger now as he pushed out of Morgan's grip. 

Ambulances and police cars were beginning to pull up, half of them already having been on route when your team had pulled up. 

Spencer searched through the crowd, sorting through faces until he found the one he desperately needed to see. 

Emily and JJ had been thrown back towards the cars, but both seemed to have missed big shrapnel and other injuries. He watched them clutch each other and stumble behind the cars as they called into their phones, requesting backup. 

Hotch was similarly talking fast to surrounding officers, and though he looked fine, he clutched his knee in his hand. The already dark material of his pants was somehow darker, and shinier in places, and it was only a moment later that Spencer realized a large chunk of shrapnel was jutting out of his leg, just above the knee. 

Rossi had been the furthest from the blast, bar you, and it was him that Spencer saw next, dusting off his clothes as he moved quickly to assess the scene. 

Morgan was still worriedly trailing behind him as he tripped over his feet. 

“Where's my wife? Where's my wife?” 

He finally saw you then, as you dove into the dust and smoke to assist your team. He was just about to fall to his knees when you ran to him, holding him up under his arms as he wrapped himself around you. 

“Found you. I found you, you're okay?” He asked, hands gently cradling your cheeks as he asked, tears in his eyes. 

“I'm fine, Spencer. Are you-” 

He silenced you with his lips, mouth slanting down on yours as he pushed every fear, every emotion, every ounce of adrenaline into your body. He kissed you like you'd never been kissed before, with desperation and longing and relief. 

And when he pulled away, he collapsed into your arms. 

Luckily, Morgan had been only steps away and took some of his weight off you as you stood, gasping for air and reeling from the kiss. 

You were so dazed, you collapsed to the floor, your knees giving in beneath you, and both Spencer and Morgan came down with you. The three of you were weak and traumatized, and emotions were running high, which is why you tried not to be offended by Morgan's line of questioning. 

“How long have you two been married?” He asked, and you were suddenly taken further aback. 

“What?” 

“Reid was looking for his wife. He was shouting ‘where's my wife? I need to find her.’ He was desperate. He was pushing away from me, and then he saw you, and he relaxed.” Despite the blow of the explosion and the now whirl of shrill sirens surrounding them, Morgan laid every word out carefully, like you would blow just as easily given the chance. 

“I'm not… we're not…Morgan, we're not even dating. I don't know what that was but…” 

Your hands carefully stroked Spencer's hair, gently smoothing it out of his eyes as you searched for answers in the man's unconscious form. 

You didn't stop until the paramedics arrived four minutes later, sitting unblinking as they hooked him up to an oxygen tank and carted him off to the nearest hospital. 

XXX 

The second time Spencer Reid awoke, it was dark outside, and the lights were low. But you were at his bedside, sleeping with your head by his legs, and your breathing was steady. So he let his eyes close again, not registering any of the pain the day had inflicted, and let himself sleep beside you. 

XXX

The third time Spencer Reid awoke, you were gone. He wasn't alone, though. Rossi sat upright in a chair beside the window of his hospital room, reading from what looked to be a case file. 

“Spencer, glad to see you returned to the land of the living,” Rossi said, noticing the younger man's movement and walking to his side. He pressed a button, and a doctor raced in, closing the door gently behind him. 

“Where is she? Where is-” 

“Spencer, it's okay. Everyone's okay. The doctor needs to run through some questions with you to check if you're feeling okay. Do your best to answer, okay, genius?” 

Spencer nodded, ignoring the small ache in his head, so similar to the headaches he'd been plagued with in earlier years. 

The doctor ran through standard questions, checked his blood pressure, checked his reactions, and made sure physically he was fine before moving on to more probing issues. 

“Doctor Reid, I'm going to ask you some simple questions about yourself now to assess for any neurological damage.” 

Reid nodded, regretting it instantly, but wanting to get out of the hospital as fast as possible to see you.  

“How old are you, Doctor Reid?” 

“Thirty, I'll be thirty-one this fall.” The doctor nodded and continued. 

“Where did you grow up?” 

“Las Vegas, Nevada. My mom still lives there. She's a patient at Bennington Sanitarium.” 

The doctor nodded and continued. 

“Are you married, Doctor Reid?” 

“Yes, my-” Spencer had to cut himself off as he processed the question fully. Was he married? No. He didn't remember any wedding. He had no romantic arrangement with anyone at this point in time. So why was he saying yes? 

Your face flashed into his head, and he grabbed his chest as his heart ached. It wasn't your face as he usually saw it, but that dazed and shocked expression you'd worn after he'd kissed you. 

He blanched and reclined slightly, suddenly needing all the pillows on the bed for more support as he realized the weight of his mistake. 

“Doctor Reid? Doctor Reid, did you understand the question?”

“What? Oh, no. No, I'm…I'm not married, I guess.” 

Rossi and the doctor shared a look before the doctor took his leave, promising to check in on you again in a few hours. 

The concerned look from Rossi as his bedside was almost too much to take. 

“Stop looking at me like that, Rossi,” he said, grumbling to himself, suddenly upset at the end of his delusions. 

“Like what? I'm not allowed to look at you now?” 

“You're not allowed to pity me. Where's everyone else? They're okay?” 

Rossi took a seat next to him and sighed.

“Hotch is in surgery - non-critical. They just want to be sure the shrapnel that landed in his leg didn't strike anywhere near a nerve or an artery. Morgan survived with a few bruises and scrapes that make him look even more like an action movie hero. He's coordinating with local law enforcement to catch out bomber.” 

Reid nodded along to each revelation, but his patience was growing thin. Rossi was watching him squirm. Reid, waiting for your name to pop up in conversation so he could talk about you, think about you with a valid excuse. 

“Emily and JJ are back at the motels, Penelope met them there to help them out. Emily's left arm is broken, and she has a nasty cut on her face, JJ twisted an ankle and sprained it pretty bad, so she'll be sitting for a while. I, myself, survived with pleasantly few cuts, a boon given my advancing years-” 

“Y/N, what about Y/N?” Reid finally burst, looking pathetically down at Rossi from his hospital bed. 

“Eager, aren't we?” 

“I need to know she's okay, and that... that she doesn't hate me.” 

“You can find those answers out yourself, kid. My shift is almost over.” 

Rossi stood and grabbed his cup of coffee, saluting Reid as he strolled out of the door. 

Reid was confused until the door opened again thirty seconds later, and you rushed in, breathing heavily as you took in his appearance, checking for damage. 

“Y/N,” he said, sitting up again. “Listen, I'm so, so sorry for kissing you yesterday. My mind must've been jumbled after the explosion and- and I thought you were actually my wife, and we were married-” 

You closed the distance between you quickly, grabbing his cheeks like he had grabbed tours only a day before and planting your lips back on top of his again. 

You kissed him the way you'd been kissed once before. With desperation, and longing, and relief. And when you pulled back, there were tears in your eyes that you didn't let fall, as you pressed yourself into Spencer Reid's arms. 

“Don't. Don't scare me like that again. I thought we'd lost you, I thought you'd kissed me and then - and then died!” You ranted, your arms gesturing wildly, every few seconds pausing to rake a hand through your hair. 

“You're not angry?” 

“Yes. Yes, I am angry, Spencer. You got hurt again, I'm seething.” 

“At me. You're not angry at me for kissing you?” He asked, smiling up as you goofily, a little bit worse for wear, but still shining nonetheless. 

“Oh. No. I was confused, but I'm not angry.” 

“Good,” he said, nodding, the two of you falling into an awkward, tense silence. You picked at dust on his shoulder as he stared at you, neither of you bold enough to say another word until the tension was palpable and Spencer Reid burst open. 

“Can I kiss you again?” 

[reidmarieprentiss]

Textual Tension

Summary: You accidentally send a very suggestive text to your awkward coworker, and he replies...

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, awkward tension

Word count: 6.1k

a/n: has anyone ever sent a sext to the wrong person?? i've only ever sent them to my friends on accident and for that i am so thankful

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (fem receiving), mild breast play, soft dom spencer

You sit on your bed, the soft glow of your phone illuminating your face as you type out a rather suggestive message to the person you've been casually hooking up with. A smirk tugs at your lips as you hit send, confident that the message will hit its mark. 

I've been thinking about you… Can't stop imagining what I'd do if you were here right now. I want to feel your hands all over me, the way you’d make me moan… Let’s make fantasy a reality?

But within seconds, your heart stops as you realize the terrible mistake you've just made.

You’ve sent the message to Spencer.

Spencer.

Your coworker. The brilliant, kind, and awkwardly charming genius who you’ve always had a friendly, professional relationship with. And, of course, the one who has been harboring a massive, secret crush on you. A fact that, unbeknownst to you, has led to countless daydreams and wishes that you might feel the same.

The blood drains from your face as you stare at your phone, horrified, praying that somehow the message didn’t actually go through, or maybe, just maybe, Spencer won’t read it and will simply delete it. But you know better—Spencer is meticulous about everything. Of course, he’ll read it. You’re absolutely mortified, every worst-case scenario flashing through your mind.

Meanwhile, in his apartment, Spencer is settling down with a cup of tea, ready to dive into the book he’s been reading. When his phone buzzes, he picks it up absentmindedly, assuming it’s just a work-related message or something mundane. But as he reads the words on the screen, his eyes widen in shock, his breath catching in his throat.

His thoughts run wild, heart pounding as he rereads the text, each time wondering if it could possibly be real. Could you, the person he’s admired from afar for so long, actually want him in the way he’s secretly yearned for? The idea is intoxicating, and before he can second-guess himself, he responds with a message that matches your energy, his pulse quickening at the boldness of it.

Wow… I didn’t know you were into me like that. I’ve been thinking about you too. If you want, we can definitely make that happen.

The moment you see his reply, your stomach drops. You can't believe this is happening. You’re completely mortified, your mind spinning with the implications. How could you ever face him again? You don’t respond, the fear and embarrassment paralyzing you, leaving you in a state of panic.

The next day at work, you’re a bundle of nerves. Every step you take towards the bullpen feels like you’re walking to your own doom. When you finally arrive, you try to act normal, but the tension is palpable. You can’t even bring yourself to make eye contact with Spencer, every interaction feeling like it’s laced with the humiliation of last night’s mistake.

Spencer, on the other hand, is caught in a whirlwind of emotions. At first, he’s elated, thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance you were into him. But as the day drags on and you remain distant, the excitement turns to confusion, then a sharp sting of rejection. Did he misread the situation? Was it all just a mistake? He’s left feeling awkward and exposed, unsure of where he stands with you now.

—

The tension between you and Spencer had become a nearly tangible thing, a thread pulled taut between the two of you, ready to snap at any moment. At first, your glances in his direction were purely out of necessity—quick, fleeting looks to gauge his mood, to see if he was as affected by this as you were. But as the days passed, those glances became more frequent, more lingering.

It started innocently enough. You’d look over and notice how effortlessly his hair seemed to fall into place, the soft waves framing his face in a way that made him look almost ethereal. You’d never paid much attention before, but now you couldn’t help but admire how it suited him, how it added to his charm.

Then, it was his forearms. You’d catch him pushing up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, revealing the sinewy strength beneath the fabric. There was something about the casual way he did it, the way the muscles in his arms flexed ever so slightly as he worked, that made your heart skip a beat. It was such a simple thing, but it had a profound effect on you, stirring something deep within.

And then there was the way he licked his lips when he was focused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he concentrated on whatever task was in front of him. You couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have his attention focused solely on you, to feel the intensity of that gaze as he looked at you, not with confusion or uncertainty, but with desire.

The more you noticed these little things, the more conflicted you became. This was Spencer—sweet, brilliant, and awkward Spencer. The idea of seeing him in a different light had never really crossed your mind before, but now… now it was all you could think about. The memory of his bold response to your accidental text played on a loop in your mind, taunting you with the possibilities.

What if you responded? What if you stopped overthinking everything and just… saw where it could go? The idea terrified you, but it also excited you in a way you hadn’t expected. There was something thrilling about the thought of exploring this new dynamic, of seeing if there was something more between you and Spencer than just a shared workspace.

You found yourself daydreaming about it, wondering how he would react if you sent him a message, if you matched the energy of his reply. Would he be as nervous as you were, or would he surprise you with a confidence you hadn’t seen before? The thought of it made your pulse quicken, a flush of warmth spreading through you.

But with the excitement came doubt. What if this was a mistake? What if you were reading too much into things, and responding to his text would only make the situation worse? The fear of making things awkward again, of possibly ruining your work life further, held you back. Yet, the thought of doing nothing felt like a missed opportunity, like you were letting something potentially amazing slip through your fingers.

As the day dragged on, you found it harder and harder to focus on your work. Every time you saw Spencer, every time you noticed another little detail about him that you hadn’t before, the urge to reach out grew stronger. It was like there was a tug-of-war going on inside you, with one side urging you to take the risk and see what could happen, and the other holding you back out of fear.

Finally, as the workday was winding down, you made a decision. Maybe you were overthinking this—maybe it was time to just go for it and see what came of it. After all, Spencer had responded positively, hadn’t he? There was a chance, a real chance, that he felt something for you too, something more than just a workplace friendship.

Sitting on your couch with your heart pounding in your chest, you pulled out your phone, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you debated what to say. You didn’t want to be too forward, but you also didn’t want to be vague. After a few moments of contemplation, you typed out a message, your hands trembling slightly as you reread it.

Hey, about that text… Maybe we should talk. Or… you know, not just talk. If you’re still interested.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, your heart racing as you watched the message deliver. There was no going back now.

The rest of the evening was a blur of anxiety and anticipation. You couldn’t stop thinking about what his response might be, what it could mean for the two of you. When your phone finally buzzed with a new message, you hesitated for just a moment before opening it.

I’m definitely interested. Let’s talk… or not just talk, whenever you’re ready.

The words were simple, but they held so much promise. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you read them, a mixture of relief and excitement flooding your senses. This was happening. You and Spencer were about to cross a line, to explore something new and thrilling.

Just as you were contemplating what to say, how to navigate this sudden and unexpected turn in your relationship, another notification lit up your screen.

Come over? Now?

The message was short, simple, and completely electrifying. It sent a jolt through your system, leaving you momentarily speechless. The implications of it were clear—Spencer wasn’t just thinking about this; he was ready to act on it, to turn this accidental confession into something real and immediate.

Your mind raced as you considered what to do next. Just minutes ago, you were agonizing over whether or not to even respond, and now he was inviting you over, as if the decision had already been made. The sheer boldness of his message left you breathless, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement.

You couldn't help but imagine what it would be like—showing up at his place, the air thick with the unspoken tension that had been building between you all day. The thought of being alone with him, of crossing that line from coworkers to something more, sent a thrill through you.

You took a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. This was a pivotal moment, and whatever you decided now would set the course for what happened next.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of internal debate, you typed out a response, your heart racing as you hit send.

I'll be there in 20 minutes.

—

You parked outside Spencer’s apartment building, your heart racing as you took a deep breath to steady yourself. The 20-minute drive had been filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions—excitement, anticipation, and a lingering thread of uncertainty. You weren’t entirely sure what to expect when you arrived, especially considering how different Spencer had seemed over text compared to how he usually was in person. The Spencer you knew was shy, adorably awkward, and hesitant when it came to personal matters. But his texts had shown a side of him that was bold, confident, and unafraid to take charge.

As you approached his door, your nerves started to get the better of you, but there was no turning back now. You lifted your hand to knock, hesitating for just a moment before finally letting your knuckles rap against the wood. The seconds that followed felt like an eternity, your mind racing with possibilities of how this night could unfold.

When the door finally opened, you were taken aback by the sight that greeted you. Spencer stood there, shirtless, the soft glow of his apartment’s light highlighting the lean lines of his torso. He wore nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants, the waistband slung low on his hips, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the defined muscles and trail of hair beneath. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run his hands through it moments before opening the door, and his eyes, usually filled with a mix of curiosity and gentle kindness, now held a smoldering intensity that you had never seen before.

For a moment, you couldn’t find the words, your breath catching in your throat as you took in the sight of him. This wasn’t the Spencer you were used to—this was the man who had responded to your accidental text with a confidence that had both surprised and intrigued you. The awkward, hesitant Spencer you knew seemed to have taken a backseat, making way for someone who knew exactly what he wanted.

And what he wanted, it seemed, was you.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched your reaction. There was a heat in his gaze, a silent challenge that dared you to step inside, to see just how far this newfound confidence could take him.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m glad you came.”

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts, but the sight of him standing there like that—so effortlessly confident, so unapologetically enticing—made it difficult to think of anything but the rush of desire that was quickly building within you.

“Hey,” you managed to reply, your voice a little breathless. “You… uh, look different.”

Spencer’s smile widened slightly, his eyes never leaving yours as he stepped aside to let you in. “Well I should hope so,” he said, his tone teasing, but with an underlying seriousness that sent your heart racing even faster.

You stepped inside, feeling the warmth of his apartment wrap around you as the door clicked shut behind you. The atmosphere between you was charged, electric, every moment filled with unspoken possibilities. Spencer moved closer, his presence almost overwhelming in its intensity. The scent of him—a mix of something clean and masculine—filled your senses, making you even more acutely aware of the heat radiating from his skin.

“I’ve been thinking,” Spencer began, his voice soft yet steady, as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “About what was said...”

Your breath hitched at the light touch, your skin tingling where his fingers had just been. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid that your voice might betray just how much his presence was affecting you.

“I don’t want this to be awkward,” he continued, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. “But I also don’t want to pretend that nothing’s changed… because it has.”

He was right—everything had changed. The air between you was thick with tension, with the unspoken acknowledgment of what you both wanted but were too nervous to voice. And yet, here he was, standing so close, shirtless and confident, laying it all out in front of you.

Taking a deep breath, you finally found your voice. “So… what happens next?”

Spencer’s lips quirked up into a small, almost mischievous smile. “I think that depends on what you want.”

His words hung in the air between you, a challenge and an invitation all at once. You could feel the pull, the magnetic attraction drawing you closer to him, and in that moment, you knew there was no turning back.

With a boldness you hadn’t known you possessed, you stepped even closer, your body nearly brushing against his as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “I want to find out what happens when we stop pretending.”

The last remnants of hesitation melted away as Spencer’s smile turned into something more—something hungry and determined. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips descended on yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. It was fierce, consuming, a release of all the tension that had been building between you.

As his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer still, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you had only begun to scratch the surface of the side of Spencer Reid you were about to discover tonight.

The world around you blurred as Spencer’s lips moved against yours, his kiss deepening with every passing second. Time seemed to lose all meaning as you lost yourself in the warmth of his touch, the taste of his lips, and the way his hands gripped your waist with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. It felt like you had been kissing for an eternity, and yet when he finally pulled back, you found yourself gasping for breath, your mind spinning, and your body aching for more.

Spencer’s eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, filled with a heat that made your pulse quicken. Without saying a word, he took your hand, his grip firm yet gentle, leading you down the hall towards his bedroom. The anticipation thrummed in your veins, every step heightening the tension between you. But just as you reached the doorway, Spencer suddenly stopped, turning to press you against the doorframe. His lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing kisses that made your knees weaken and your breath hitch.

You barely had time to process the sensation before he pulled back again, a playful gleam in his eyes as he gently but firmly guided you into the bedroom. With a swift motion, he pushed you onto the bed, and you bounced slightly, a surprised giggle escaping your lips. The unexpected shift in his demeanor—this newfound confidence, this playful dominance—left you both intrigued and a little off-balance. You’d known Spencer as the quiet, reserved, and somewhat shy genius, but this side of him was something entirely different, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by it.

As you lay there, still trying to wrap your head around this change, you found yourself blurting out a question that had been lingering in the back of your mind. “Do you do this a lot, Reid?”

Spencer chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending a ripple of warmth through your body. He shook his head with a smile that was equal parts reassuring and teasing. “No, not ever really,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady, as he reached for your ankles and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, positioning himself between your legs. His hands rested on your thighs, the warmth of his touch seeping through your clothes, grounding you in the moment.

“Call me Spencer,” he added, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, his gaze locking onto yours with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. There was something intimate about the way he said it, as if this wasn’t just about physical attraction, but about letting you see a side of him that no one else had. 

Your heart skipped a beat at the request, the simple act of calling him by his first name in this context making the moment feel even more personal, more real. 

“Spencer,” you repeated, the name slipping from your lips like a secret, a promise. His smile widened, a spark of something almost wicked flashing in his eyes, and you realized that you were about to discover a side of him that you’d never imagined existed.

Spencer leaned in, his hands sliding up your thighs, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I’ve been wanting this for a long time, you know. I just never thought…” He trailed off, as if realizing that words weren’t enough to express what he was feeling. Instead, he captured your lips with his again, his kiss searing and insistent, as though he were making up for lost time.

Spencer's hands, warm and steady, slowly trailed up your sides, his fingers grazing the soft fabric of your t-shirt as they moved. When he reached the hem, he hesitated, his touch gentle but deliberate as he curled his fingers around the edge. He looked up at you, his expression a mix of desire and tenderness, but there was something else too—a careful consideration, a need to ensure that you were just as willing as he was.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. The intensity of his gaze held you captive, his eyes searching yours for the reassurance he needed.

For a moment, you were too caught up in the heat of the moment to respond, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he looked at you, with such raw want and yet so much care, made it hard to think clearly. You nodded quickly, your eyes wide with anticipation, but Spencer didn’t move.

His grip on your shirt tightened slightly as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I’m going to need you to use your words, sweetheart.”

The way he said it—his voice rough, almost gritted out with barely restrained desire—made your head spin, the sheer force of his need for you sending your pulse into overdrive. There was a command in his tone, but also a gentle reminder that this was your choice, that he needed to hear you say it.

You swallowed hard, your voice catching in your throat as you tried to find the words. The air around you felt thick with tension, every second stretching out as you stared up at him, the look in his eyes making it impossible to deny him—or yourself.

“Ye—yes, please,” you finally managed to say, your voice a little breathless, but full of the same want that you saw reflected in his eyes.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with satisfaction at your response, a small, almost predatory smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he began to lift your shirt. The fabric slid up your torso slowly, the cool air of the room hitting your skin as he revealed more of you. He took his time, savoring the moment, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside.

For a brief moment, you felt exposed, vulnerable under the weight of his gaze. But the way Spencer looked at you, with a mixture of awe and hunger, made all your insecurities melt away. His hands roamed over the newly exposed skin, his touch both soothing and electrifying, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity and desire, as he leaned in to press a kiss to your collarbone, his lips lingering against your skin.

You had forgone a bra that night, thinking nothing of it when you slipped into your comfy clothes after a long day at work. After all, you hadn’t planned on anything like this happening. But now, with Spencer’s hands on you, his eyes filled with something that looked a lot like awe, you found that you didn’t care in the slightest. If anything, it added to the intimacy of the moment, the rawness of it, making you feel closer to him than you ever thought possible.

His touch was slow, deliberate, almost as if he was savoring every moment, every reaction he elicited from you. His fingers brushed over your skin, exploring you with curiosity and desire, as if he was trying to learn every detail, every response, to what he was doing. When his hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, you couldn’t suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips, your body arching towards him instinctively, craving more of his touch.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper, but filled with so much emotion that it felt like a confession. There was something in his name, in the way it rolled off your tongue, that made the moment feel even more intimate, more real. It wasn’t just a name anymore—it was a declaration, an acknowledgment of what was happening between you, of the connection that was quickly forming.

Spencer’s eyes flicked back up to yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race even faster. There was something almost primal in the way he looked at you now, a hunger that was barely restrained, but also a tenderness that made your chest tighten with emotion. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this… how long I’ve wanted you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the sheer weight of them. It wasn’t just lust in his voice—it was something deeper, something that made you feel cherished, desired in a way that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The realization that Spencer had been holding back, that he had wanted you for so long, made your heart swell with emotion, your need for him growing even stronger.

He kissed you again, his lips capturing yours in a way that was both gentle and demanding, his hands continuing their exploration of your body. Each touch, each caress, was filled with passion and care, as if he was trying to show you just how much you meant to him without needing to say the words. And with every kiss, every brush of his fingertips, you found yourself falling deeper into the moment, your own desire for him becoming overwhelming.

You reached up, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel the heat of his body against yours. The way he responded, the way his hands gripped you tighter, as if afraid to let go, made it clear that he was just as lost in the moment as you were. There was no more hesitation, no more awkwardness—just the two of you, finally giving in to the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Spencer’s hands were warm against your skin as he gently laid you back on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he hovered above you. The intensity in his gaze was almost overwhelming, his pupils blown wide with desire, but there was something else there too—curiosity, maybe even a hint of vulnerability. His fingers trailed down your sides, the touch sending shivers through your body as he slowly leaned in, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your chest.

“Tell me, Y/N…” His voice was a low murmur, filled with an edge of something deeper, as he kissed his way down your chest, taking his time, savoring the feel of your skin beneath his lips. “Did you think about me too?”

The question hung in the air, making your breath hitch as you squirmed beneath him, the sensation of his kisses igniting a fire deep within you. Your mind was spinning, every nerve in your body on high alert as you felt his breath ghost over your skin, his lips moving lower, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“I did,” you admitted, your voice a little breathless as the confession slipped out. It was the truth, after all—you had thought about him, more than you ever wanted to admit. The idea of Spencer, sweet, awkward Spencer, being the one to push you to this point had always been a secret fantasy, buried deep within you. But now, with him here, in this moment, it was no longer just a fantasy—it was real.

Spencer’s lips curved into a smirk against your skin as he reached your hip, his teeth nipping playfully at the delicate flesh, making you gasp. The sensation was a mix of pleasure and surprise, and you couldn’t help but arch your back slightly in response. His hands moved to your shorts, his fingers hooking into the waistband as he tugged them down slowly, teasingly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he did.

“That text wasn’t for me though, was it?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement as he watched your reaction. The smirk on his face was something you’d never seen before—confident, almost cocky, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on you.

You froze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat as the realization hit you. You hadn’t expected him to catch on to that detail, but of course he had—Spencer was nothing if not observant. The thought that he knew the text wasn’t meant for him, but was still here, still wanting you, made your pulse quicken even more.

“Uh, no, it wasn’t,” you admitted with a whine, the words slipping out before you could stop them. There was no point in lying—not when he was looking at you like that, his gaze full of heat and understanding. “But I’m glad I sent it to you,” you added quickly, your voice filled with sincerity and a hint of desperation.

Spencer’s smirk softened into a small, almost tender smile as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your navel. “Maybe your subconscious wanted you to,” he suggested, his voice low and smooth, each word making your head spin. The idea made you dizzy, the thought that some part of you had always wanted this, had always wanted him, even if you hadn’t fully realized it until now.

“Uh huh,” you breathed out, your voice floaty and airy, your mind clouded with desire. The sensation of his lips on your skin, his hands on your body, was intoxicating, making it hard to think clearly. All you could focus on was the way he made you feel—alive, wanted, and completely lost in the moment.

Spencer’s fingers continued to work on removing your shorts, sliding them down your legs with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something almost worshipful in the way he touched you, as if he was savoring every second, every inch of skin he revealed.

As he finally discarded your shorts, leaving you completely exposed to him, he took a moment to just look at you, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and admiration. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned in to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

The words made your heart swell, a wave of warmth washing over you as you reached out, your fingers tangling in his hair. There was nothing left to hide now, nothing left to hold back. This was exactly where you wanted to be—where you were meant to be.

“Do you always skip out on bras and panties, Y/N?” Spencer’s teasing comment sent a ripple of laughter through you, the sound mingling with the rapid beat of your heart. The playful banter between you only intensified the electric connection that was already sparking between you both. His bite on your inner thigh was both a tease and a promise, igniting a fire that made every nerve in your body come alive.

“N–no, only at home,” you managed to scream out, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The combination of his touch and the vulnerability of the moment made it impossible to hold back any longer.

He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, echoing softly in the room as his fingers continued to explore your skin. “But you didn’t put any on before coming over?” His tone was light, yet there was an undeniable edge of desire that underpinned his words.

You took a moment to catch your breath, the playful challenge in his eyes urging you to respond. “Are you–are you complaining?” you asked, your voice wavering between breathless laughter and the growing urgency of your emotions.

Spencer shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not at all, although–” His sentence was cut short as your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him fully into you. The sudden, decisive movement left no room for hesitation, and the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, entwined in each other’s embrace.

“Oh my god, Spencer, just shut up,” you laughed, the sound filled with a mixture of amusement and desire. “Put your mouth to use.”

His response was immediate, his lips finding your core with a fervor that matched the intensity of your own longing. The way he ate you out was everything you had been waiting for—passionate, deep, and downright filthy. His hands left their place on your thighs, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence that made you feel both cherished and desired.

As he sunk his mouth deeper, sucking your clit into his mouth, Spencer guided you gently but firmly onto the bed, the softness of the sheets a stark contrast to the heat that radiated between you.

“Spencer,” you moaned, the name slipping out like a sacred vow, sealing the moment between you. His response was a dirty smile, his mouth shining with your juices, making your pulse throb.

He paused for a moment, just enough to look into your eyes, “You’re fucking delicious,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”

As Spencer’s mouth continued to work its magic on your core, a whirlwind of sensations overwhelmed you. Each touch, each stroke of his tongue, sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything but the intense feeling of being completely consumed by him. The way he moved, so skilled yet so attentive to your every reaction, left you breathless, your hands clutching at the sheets as your head swam in a sea of ecstasy.

But amidst the pleasure, a fleeting thought crossed your mind—how close you had come to letting this moment, this incredible opportunity, slip through your fingers. You couldn’t believe that you had almost dismissed the idea of responding to his bold text, that you had almost let fear and hesitation keep you from experiencing this side of Spencer. A side that was confident, passionate, and utterly devoted to your pleasure.

How could you have been so close to missing out on this? On him? Spencer, who had always been there, quiet and thoughtful, had somehow managed to unlock a part of you that you hadn’t even known existed—a part that craved the connection and intimacy he was now offering with every caress of his lips.

You let out a soft moan, your hips arching towards him as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable level. The sounds you made only seemed to spur him on, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pulled you closer, his tongue working with a precision that left you teetering on the edge. Every nerve in your body was alive, the world narrowing down to the feel of his mouth on you, the heat of his breath against your skin.

“Spencer,” you gasped out, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. It wasn’t just the pleasure he was giving you—it was the realization that this was Spencer, the man you had known for so long, who was now showing you a depth of care and passion that you had never imagined.

The way he responded to your every movement, the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed, made you feel cherished in a way that went far beyond the physical. It was as if he was attuned to your very soul, using his touch to communicate something deeper, something that had been building between you for far longer than either of you had realized.

As you felt the tension within you coil tighter and tighter, ready to snap, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easily you had fallen into this moment with him. All the hesitation, the uncertainty, had melted away, leaving only the pure, unfiltered connection between you and Spencer. A connection that had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to be brought to life.

And now that it had, you knew you could never go back to the way things were. Spencer had opened a door to something new, something beautiful, and you were ready to step through it with him, no matter what the future held.

With a final, skillful flick of his tongue over your clit, Spencer sent you tumbling over the edge, your body trembling with the force of your release. The world around you seemed to dissolve into a haze of pleasure and warmth, your mind barely able to process the overwhelming sensations that flooded through you.

As you came down from the high, Spencer’s hands and mouth softened, his touch becoming gentle, almost reverent, as he coaxed you through the aftershocks. When he finally pulled back, he looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a sincerity that left no doubt about how much this moment meant to him. He crawled up the bed to join you, his body pressing against yours as he captured your lips in a slow, languid kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips.

You smiled against his lips, a sense of contentment and excitement washing over you as you whispered, “I’m glad I’m here too, Spencer. So glad.”

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[krosiefics]

i wanna see you naked • yang jeongin

M D N I 18+

Synopsis: You and Jeongin decide to play two truths and a lie, taking shots of soju as a punishment. Who knew that with all the drinking Jeongin would confess his fantasies about you.

WC: 2k

Tags/Warnings: afab!reader, softdom!jeongin, bsf!jeongin, pure smut, pwp, intoxicated sex FULLY CONSENSUAL, piv, unprotected sex (DON’T DO THAT…also pee after sex guys), creampie, breeding kink(?), grinding, cunnilingus (clothed cunnilingus), fingering, hair pulling, doggystyle, light spanking, not proof read

a/n: YES THIS IS INSPIRED BY HIS SOLO STAGE BECAUSE WTF WAS THAT…Baby Bread nuh uh more like Daddy Toast…sorry-look I know Jeongin’s saying “call you my hallucination” (????) I think…it’s something hallucinations- but let’s all admit we ALL heard ‘I wanna see you naked’

“Ugh, I’m so bored!” You groaned, tossing your head back. You sat on the floor in front of the sofa while your best friend played and braided your hair behind you. “Hey, isn’t me doing your hair fun?” The black hair boy with a bleached spot commented. You turned your head, shooting him a playful glare. “You’re the one braiding it.”

“Fine, fine. What if we play a game?” Jeongin hummed, a piece of your hair unbraiding itself when his fingers loosened. “Ooh, two truths and a lie!” You say excitedly, giving him the strand of hair that had fallen against the nape of your neck, “I’ll start!”

“You suck at braiding hair. I don’t like your weirdly spotted hair…and,” you begin to ponder a third statement, “and I think your dimples are cute.”

You smile to yourself, a small tug of your hair causes you to scowl, “Hey!”

“I do not suck at braiding hair, I’m just learning!” Jeongin scoffs in a jokingly offended tone.

You turn over your shoulder again, Jeongin’s grasp on your hair seizing yet again. You give him an unamused look, shaking your head.

“What’s the lie Innie?” You prompt him, “I dunno…you’ve never called my simple cute before so that’s weird. And you haven’t really cared about my hair…I’m gonna say it’s the hair one?” Jeongin stated in a questioning manner, shrugging as he attempted to restart the braid- again. You pull your hair away, swiveling your body to face Jeongin.

“Correct, I do like your weirdly spotted hair. What do you want?” Jeongin gave you a confused look, “What do you mean ‘what do I want’?”

“Well you won that round, what do you want?”

“Oh we’re getting penalties?” Jeongin hummed in amusement, his interest peaking in this game, “Go get me one of those mochis you hide, I know you have some.”

You frown at him before getting up from your spot on the floor to retrieve the doughy dessert. A few more rounds of the game went on before the two of you decided to turn it into a drinking game, a shot of soju for every loss. You’ve lost track of how many rounds have gone by, your mind too fuzzy from the alcohol to recall.

“Okay, my turn again!” Jeongin grinned, he wasn’t nearly as drunk as you, having given you insane scenarios to choose from and getting almost every round of yours right. “I’ve seen you naked.”

“What?!” Your eyes shoot open, Jeongin’s statement sobering you slightly. “You want to see me naked.”

Your cheeks flush red, cause it’s true- though you’d never admit it. You must be a madman to not think that your best friend is hot, and that fact alone has made you have some thoughts about him.

“And, I wanna see you naked.”

Jeongin’s cheeks had a pink hue, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol. “What?” You breathed out shakily, you could feel yourself become aroused, you blamed the soju for that.

“I…I wanna see you naked.” Jeongin repeated himself, his face turning a darker shade of pink now.

You had no clue what possessed you to strip yourself of your loose t-shirt, but you blamed it on the alcohol. Jeongin watched your every move as you rid yourself of the material, his lip caught between his teeth. The sight alone sent arousal straight to his hardening cock, twitching in his pants.

You tossed the shirt somewhere onto the floor nearby, barring your bra covered chest to Jeongin. The black haired boy stared at you, his eyes grazing every bit of your exposed skin. He hesitantly brought his hand up before trailing his index finger along your bra strap.

Jeongin’s fingers trailed along the top trim of the bra, following the curve of your breast. Your breath hitches and he stops, Jeongin gives you a knowing look, you simply shake your head assuring him to go on. “Can I…can I take this off?” He stared up at you with flushed cheeks and a lazy soft gaze.

“Only if you,” You say, you bring your hand up to the hem of his white t-shirt implying your want, “take this off too.” Jeongin happily complies, a wide grin plastered across his face as he lifted and tugged his shirt over his head. “So I guess you do wanna see me naked.” He grins, you let out a playful huff.

Jeongin watches as your chest heaves and your thighs rub together under his eyes. Jeongin shifted closer towards you, “Is this okay?” His breath fanned across your cheek to your ear, you simply nodded in response. Jeongin’s fingers unclasped your bra from the back, the straps falling off your shoulders before the full undergarment was discarded.

The boy in front of you just stared in awe at your body, his eyes ranking up and down each curve of your breasts and waist. Growing timid under his gaze, you cross your arms in front of your body.

“Are you uncomfortable?” He asks, his hand reaching to rest gently on your knee.

“No,” You breath out shakily, “I dunno…I know it’s weird but…I want it so bad- fuck I want you so bad.” You ramble, your trembling hands cupping his face. Oh how you wanted to lean in and kiss his pink lips. “Fucking hell.” Jeongin breathed out before connecting your lips together.

His lips were rough against yours, every ounce of lust and desire fueling the kiss. You raised from your spot on the floor, climbing onto Jeongin’s lap, straddling his thighs. Jeongin’s hands are immediately on your body, trailing them along your hips to your waist. His hands trailed slowly towards your ass, but never quite grabbed you.

Out of frustration you took his hands in yours and placed them on your ass, letting him know that it’s okay. Jeongin’s rough hands squeezed the fatty flesh before rubbing the area. You moan into his mouth when you feel his erection poking your clothed cunt.

“Fuck,” You bite your lip, pulling away from the kiss and resting your head against his. “Wanted this for so long, Innie.” You whine as his hands cup your breast, his fingers flicking your hardened buds. “Shit baby, I’ve wanted this too!” Jeongin says, his hips bucking into you.

Your hands fumble to his waistband, trying to desperately free him of the clothing. Jeongin’s lips attached to your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin there. Once you tugged at his slacks, he lifted his hips, letting you slide the pants along with his underwear down.

“Fuck, can I?” You say, pulling away from his lips once more as you stared at his erected cock. “Next time babe.” Jeongin said, watching you with amusement as you drooled over his cock. He swiftly flipped you onto your back, his fingers going to the waistband of your loose shorts.

You helped Jeongin slide them down your shorts, as you were gonna reach to pull your underwear down, he stopped you. “Don’t.” Jeongin simply stated, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

He maneuvered himself downwards till he was settled between your legs. Jeongin left kisses along your thighs up towards your heat. As he stared at your panties, he noticed a wet patch of your arousal stained on them, a sense of pride swelled over him knowing that he was the cause of it.

Jeongin suddenly leaned in and licked a stripe up your folds, a gasped moan falling from your lips as he continued lapping up your covered cunt. “Ah, Innie…they’ll be ruined.” You could feel the vibrations of his chuckle against your throbbing cunt, “I’ll buy you new ones, yeah?” He said, his hand making its way between your legs, slipping them under your panties and circling around your entrance.

“Ah, fuck Innie.” You moaned out as his finger nudged your panty to the side allowing his younger to finally meet your leaking pussy. Jeongin worked his finger in and out of your hole, stretching you by pushing another in, curling them at the right angle.

“Innie-“ You whined, neediness taking out your body, “Jeongin- stop!” And he did, Jeongin looked at you with round eyes, worried that he did something wrong or that he hurt you. “Are you okay?!” He says, pulling his finger out and wiping it on the couch cushion.

“I’m fine Innie, but if you don’t fuck me right now, so help me God.” Jeongin let out a sigh of relief before a small chuckle escaped his lips, “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He said climbing up to your face and leaving a kiss on your cheek.

You felt your face flush, “I- Jeongin…don’t just say stuff like that I- what?!” The words you formed in your head went numb on your tongue. Jeongin simply bit his lip cockily. “You…ugh.” You groaned, pushing his body off of yours, straddling his hips once again before taking his cock in your hand and dragging it along your wet folds.

“Oh fuck.” Jeongin hissed, his hands flying to your hips, gripping tightly. Every trace of his cockiness was wiped away. You could feel him throbbing underneath you, the veins along his cock protruding at the need for friction. “Babe, don’t start something you can’t finish.” Jeongin warns, squeezing the flesh at your hip.

“Who says I can’t finish it?” You taunt, a playful smirk on your face. Before you could blink, Jeongin had flipped you over the couch, your hands pinned above your head with one of his hands as his other guided the tip of his cock to your entrance.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Jeongin smirks, barely pushing his tip in before pulling out again. “This is still okay right? You don’t need me to stop-“ “Yang Jeongin! I swear if you ask me that one more time- if I want you to stop I’ll tell you, just fuck me already.”

With your confirmation, Jeongin flushes out against your ass as he pushes himself into your warm heat. Erotic moans falling from both of your mouths. “Shit, you’re so tight baby.”

“Fuck, I feel so full.” You whine as Jeongin starts thrusting into you.

Jeongin watches as your tits bounce with each thrust he gives. His eyes linger on your ass as it smacks against his pelvis. A sudden smack echoed throughout the living space, followed by a sting of pain on your asscheek. Jeongin watched as the flesh moved under his touch, how it reddened so quickly, how you moaned as he spanked you.

“You're so pretty like this, bent over and taking my cock like this.” Jeongin’s words go straight to your cunt, that familiar knot forming in your stomach.

“Holy fuck I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered as Jeongin continued pounding you from behind. You were suddenly pulled back by your hair, forcing you to look up. “You gonna cum on my cock, doll?” Jeongin mumbled, his grip on your hair loosening so that he doesn’t hurt you.

“Mmm, fuck yes Innie! Please can I cum.” You cried out as your climax neared. “Cum on my cock baby, you got it.” He encouraged, his pace never faltering. A few more thrust and you orgasmed, a watery liquid wetting the two of you. “Fuck, you’re so sexy- you’re clenching so hard on me, doll.”

“Shit I’m gonna cum- where do you want it?” Jeongin grunted, his fingers retreating from your hair and wrists, gripping your hips yet again for support. “Inside.” You whimpered due to the overstimulation. Jeongin groaned as he filled you up with his seed, resting his head against the back of your shoulder as he emptied out inside of you, “You’re milking my cock so well baby.”

After pulling out and washing up, the two of you just layed there on the sofa in a daze. “So what was the lie?” You broke the silence. Jeongin looked over at you with a small smile, “That I had seen you naked- which I guess now isn’t necessarily a lie anymore.”

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

PAPA SUKUNA

Note: scenario based on this smau

Masterlist Discord

“Again! Again!” The little boy shouts from his place on the highchair, with a voice full of excitement. 

Sukuna lets out a dismissive scoff as he wonders to himself why the child isn’t scared of him. After all, almost everyone was. But then again, this little bundle of energy was his, so it made sense. 

“This was to get you to eat, it’s not a show…” Sukuna flashes the child an annoyed expression.  He points to the untouched bowl of mashed veggies sitting in front of the boy. “You aren’t eating.” 

“Papa! Again!” the boy shouts again, smiling cheerfully at the antics of his father, his little red eyes filled with mischief. Sukuna sighs, he despises that he would do anything for the brat. But something about his child’s smile and giggles cut through his icy exterior.

“Fine… Last time…” Sukuna grunts, putting his hands together to form a ball of fire. It flickers between his palms like a dance that casts a warm glow, illuminating both of their faces. Your son watches his father in awe, his eyes widening in pure wonder. 

As the fireball twirls in his large hands, Sukuna steals a glance at his son, who is utterly captivated by the show infront of him. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride wash over him, seeing the joy that this brings his son. 

The fireball suddenly vanishes into thin air, disappearing from the boy's view. He pouts, his eyes landing back on his father. “Okay now eat…,” Sukuna tells him with a firm tone, reaching for the spoon and scooping up some smashed veggies. 

The little boy’s nose wrinkles at the sight of the veggies. It always shocked you how your son resembles his father, not just in his appearance but also in his mannerisms. The way his eyebrows arches and lips pouted, mimicking Sukuna’s face down to the finest detail. 

“Papa…” his little voice trails off with a groan. He clearly did not want to eat his veggies and it looked like Sukuna had more convincing to do. 

“Don’t you want to be big and strong like me?” Sukuna attempts to encourage him, moving the spoon closer to his little mouth. The boy gives his father a skeptical expression, almost as if he was judging his father. The look, so piercing that it almost offends Sukuna, who finds himself frozen at a loss of words. 

“Really?” Sukuna mumbles under his breath. His child’s expression only reminded him of his own. What could he do? 

With a small sigh leaving his lips, the boy eats up what’s on the spoon with a bored expression. Not entirely thrilled by his meal, but ready to get his annoying father off his back. 

“That’s my boy,” Sukuna finds himself with a toothy smile, a feeling of accomplishment spreading through his body. He finally got his son to eat his food. Sure, it took a lot of bribing and convincing but it was honest work. He did it all on his own today, without your help.

[entitled-fangirl]

Apologies.

Jason Todd x deaf!reader

Summary: Dick says something too far to the reader, prompting Jason to kick his ass.

A/n: cursing, blood, teasing about being deaf

Masterlist

...............................................

"I'm not kidding, baby. Move."

Y/n stood between Jason and Dick, her hands out in a pleading motion against Jason's chest.

It started out innocent. Dick and Y/n had always gotten along. The two truly clicked like siblings. But like everything else, the teasing became too much.

He kept his eyes on the tear stains on her red cheeks- his motivation to beat Dick's ass.

She was always so lighthearted about the ordeal: having hearing aids. They were obvious on her head but after a while, they blended in. And Jason still had moments when he forgot they were needed. Mostly when waking in the morning next to her, accidentally frightening her when his arm snaked around her half asleep body.

But this was the line.

Dick had said a joke that was just a step too far. Jason watched something snap inside her, a wall finally caving in. Her eyes dulled and she excused herself.

That was twenty minutes ago. And now…

"I swear, I didn't mean anything by it," Dick pleaded from the other side of her.

Jason's jaw set harshly. "That's not a good enough reason for me, Dickybird." He stepped a bit further against Y/n to menacingly glare at Dick.

"Hey, hey," he pleaded.

"No. No." Jason knew she had left her hearing aids in the bathroom down the hall, so he held a large hand over her eyes to keep her from reading his lips. In a different scenario, that would be more amusing than it was now. "I'll fucking gut you."

"Tim, please tell him," Dick begged. "Help me out here."

Tim leaned over the side of the couch and craned his neck to see them. He watched for a moment, taking in each person. "Nah."

Y/n's hands patted Jason's chest to bring his attention back to her. Her voice came out in a slow, breathy whisper. "S-Stop." 

The brick wall that was Jason Todd paused. His hand rested on her cheek. His thumb brushed away the watery pathways the tears had left behind. He wanted to beat the shit out of Dick. He really did. But he'd do anything to cease the hurt look in her eyes. He reluctantly nodded.

Her eyes filled with relief. She leaned against his chest completely. 

He sighed and grabbed her hand that rested on his chest. He brought it up to his lips, kissing the palm softly.

…

A few hours later, Dick stood in front of Y/n, who was just trying to watch TV in the living room. Her body instinctively leaned over to try to see more of the TV but she soon realized he meant to talk to her. She opened her phone and disconnected her hearing aids from the TV to give Dick her full attention.

Dick stood with a defeat in his shoulders, a guilty look in his eyes, and a small ring of red around the inside of his left nostril. And now that she was really looking at it, there was a pink path soaked into his skin under that nostril as well. Like a past nosebleed.

"I know an apology does nothing but I can still try." He awkwardly rubbed his bicep. "I took my words too far. You're different from teasing Jason or Tim or Steph or…" his voice trailed off. "I just mean that I overstepped. You're like a sister to me but I still need to respect the fact that you're not. What I said was hurtful. Please forgive me."

He sounded so sincere. Like a hurt puppy. It would be hard to not forgive him when he's like this. 

"Course, Dick. I know you meant it as a joke. You'd never mean to hurt m-"

"-oh thank god," he collapses in front of her in pure relief. "Okay, I gotta thank you. I really do. I think he would've really killed me otherwise."

Brothers were so strange. "He wouldn't go that far."

"He'd go pretty far, Y/n. You make him nice."

She smiled. "No, I don't. He's just nice when he wants to be."

Dick's eyes almost fell out of his head his eyes became so wide. "Jason was NEVER nice. Not even before. You make him gentle."

…

"There you are," Jason mused as he entered his bedroom in the manor. 

She was lying on his old bed, a book in her hands. She was entirely engrossed in it. Only then did Jason realize her hearing aids were off. 

"Baby?" He cautiously stepped to her and pressed a hand on her shin. 

She jumped, almost throwing the book. Upon seeing him, she relaxed with a mockingly annoyed expression. 

Jason smiled and mouthed 'sorry' before grabbing her hearing aids off the nightstand. He tilted her head to the side. His fingers gently placed one on her before leaning in and kissing her cheek. "Dinner's in ten," he spoke softly against her skin.

She smiled and gave him a small peck to his lips. 

He was so glad her mood had shifted. As his hand placed the other on her, he asked. "How long have you been in here?"

She hummed. "Hour or so."

"Thought you wanted to watch TV," he pointed out. "You were on the couch when I left ya and now here you are." He was fishing for something.

She sat up a little more. "I had an odd conversation with Dick."

His brows shot up amusingly high. "Oh?" He asked. "And what did he say that was so odd?"

"He apologized."

"Hm. Good for him. Glad he came to his senses."

Leaning into him, she continued to feed him everything he wanted to hear. "It was rather sweet."

He nuzzled his nose into her hair, muffling his voice. "Just glad you feel better about it."

She let out a breathy chuckle, grabbing his hand and running her fingers over his knuckles. "Does it hurt?"

His shoulders tensed slightly. "'S what hurt, baby?"

"Your raw knuckles. From punching Dick in the nose."

He smiled widely at getting caught. It was all amusing to him now that things had passed. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Right," she huffed. 

"Dinner's soon. C'mon," he tutted, pulling her up from the bed.

…

At dinner, things continued as if nothing had happened. The tension was gone from everywhere but Jason's shoulders.

Y/n had remarked something quick-witted against Dick, prompting him to huff out, "C'mon! Listen to yourself!"

The entire table went from all laughs to dead silent, watching as if their favorite soap opera had just come on.

Jason's gaze hardened, his head tilting.

"Woah," Dick realized. "That wasn't even- That was just something I always say! Jason? No, Jason!"

Jason reached around Y/n's head, pulling her hearing aids off and keeping them safely in his hand. He stood over the table and pointed a finger at Dick, yelling god-knows-what at him.

Y/n looked to Cass for an interpretation, but even she shook her head with wide eyes.

She'd be expecting another apology from Dick later.

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[prythianpages]

Be Safe | Azriel x Reader

summary: you are on your way to Day Court when Azriel stops you. After the two of you fall victim to Cassian's and Mor's teasing, Azriel realizes why he can't just let you go.

warnings: fluff and a hint of suggestiveness at the beginning

note: I saw this tiktok and decided to write it into a little scenario because I loved it so much.

“Oh, you’re going to love the Day Court,” Mor purrs with a grin. “And it’s High Lord. Helion…let’s just say his pegasus isn’t the only thing you’ll want to ri–”

“Oookay.” Cassian chimes in with a chuckle, placing his hand over Mor’s mouth to keep her from finishing her sentence. “Settle down, Mor. We don’t want her to love it too much!” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back,” you respond and then laugh as Mor bites Cassian’s hand. "Besides, Rhys will be there and he’s, you know, my boss. This trip is purely professional.”

The three of you stand in the foyer of the town house, Cassian cradling his hand to his chest with a pointed look at Mor, who merely rolls her eyes. You were heading for Day Court, where Rhysand already waited for you.

Cassian and Mor had stopped you, insisting on wishing you well before leaving, even though your mission was amicable. The only danger you could possibly encounter on your trip, it seems, would be Helion’s chambers. A welcomed danger, if Mor’s insinuations were to hold truth.

“I should go now. I told Rhys I would be there within the next half hour almost an hour ago.”

As you gaze at your friends, a subtle ache tugs at your heartstrings, a silent yearning for another’s presence. Though you know he's currently engaged in a mission, you can't help but wish he were here beside you too. 

You turn away from your friends, preparing to winnow to the Day Court. It's as though the Cauldron itself heard your unspoken longing. Just as you're about to step forward, a hand emerges from the depths of the shadows, halting you in your tracks with a gentle yet firm touch.

You turn back around, watching as the darkness seems to part for him, revealing those warm hazel eyes that could pierce through the darkest of nights. “Azriel,” you greet in pleasant surprise.

His eyes lock onto yours and you suddenly find it hard to breathe. “Be safe,” he murmurs, his voice deep yet sweet like honey. The way he looks at you, full of concern and something more, sends a delightful warmth seeping into your heart. 

Azriel’s gaze flickers down toward your intertwined hands and you notice the subtle tension that comes from his scarred hands before he abruptly lets yours go. It’s a moment of vulnerability that makes your chest ache. You want to reach out for his hands again but he comes to stand by your side instead.

His arm brushes against yours. The dark tendrils dancing around his shoulders revel in your proximity, slithering down his arm and coiling around you in a cool embrace. You welcome his shadows, smiling softly when you feel them tug you closer to their master, deliberately enchanting you with the scent of cedar and night chilled mist. It’s as if they don’t want you to leave his side either.

“I will,” you finally respond, your voice a mere whisper as you look up at him

Azriel’s gaze softens. The tension between you dissipates into something lighter, something magical. The world around seems to fade into darkness, leaving only the two of you suspended in a moment that feels both infinite and fleeting.

No words are spoken yet so much is said.

Meanwhile, Cassian and Mor exchange a knowing look of their own. The mutual crushing between you and Azriel has been evident to everyone for years. Well, everyone, except for you and Azriel. Mor and Cassian will give you grace, as Azriel can be unreadable at times.

But Azriel? The spymaster of the Night Court? How he cannot see your unmistakable crush on him is beyond them.

“Be safe,” Cassian says, mocking Azriel’s tone. There’s a mischievous gleam in his hazel eyes as he gazes down at Mor, pouting his lips in an exaggerated manner. 

Mor’s eyes light up, mirroring Cassian’s mischief. She leans in toward Cassian’s shoulder–the very same way you’re doing with Azriel. Except, she wraps her arms around Cassian’s larger one, resting her head on his chest. “I’ll be so safe,” she cooes, voice like velvet.

Azriel feels the heat rising to his neck. He turns to Cassian and Mor, gaze darkening with an icy glare. “Stop,” he warns but it only encourages the two further.

They continue to hug each other and make kissing sounds. A blush creeps up your cheeks and you seek solace in Azriel’s arm, burying your face against it. Azriel’s wing instinctively curls around your form in a protective manner. Were you being that obvious? Your answer is immediately given as your hands gravitate towards each other once more.

 “Stop it! Or I’m going to kill you!”

Cassian pulls Mor even closer. His brows furrow, softening his expression as he directs his pout toward Azriel. “But how would that keep us safe?”

None of you will be safe if you keep delaying y/n. Helion does not like to be kept waiting, echoes an all too familiar voice–Rhys’s– through your minds. He leaves your mind as quickly as he entered it, lingering only in Azriel’s long enough to add: Let her go.

Azriel blinks, not realizing that throughout the teasing, his fingers had intertwined with yours. He turns his attention back to you, reluctantly releasing your hand. A sheepish expression takes over his features as he brings the hand that had been holding yours to rub the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t help but worry when you’re not home,” Azriel admits quietly.

Mor and Cassian both let out a sound that Azriel is quick to stifle with his shadows. 

“It’s only for a week,” you assure him as you open the door and step outside. You feel a flicker of anticipation tingling in your veins as you prepare to winnow. You turn back to face Azriel and your friends one more time.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

But I miss you already, Azriel thinks as he feels a strange stirring awakening deep in his chest. His shadows buzz around him in excitement. 

“Bye, y/n. Have fun but not too much fun!” Cassian calls out to you in mock warning over Azriel’s right shoulder.

Mor peeks out from Azriel’s left shoulder and winks at you. “But if you do find yourself having too much fun, call for me, okay?” 

“Sure,” you agree and Azriel fails to notice the reciprocated teasing in your tone.

He’s too busy glancing between Cassian and Mor, hazel eyes wary. His shadows whisper to him, confirming the suggestiveness of their words. Uneasiness settles into his stomach, causing his entire body to tense up.

He’s familiar with the flirtatious nature of the High Lord of the Day Court. Too familiar that he can already dreadfully anticipate the sweet words Helion will shower you with. His shadows stir, excitement morphing into panic. What if you fall victim to Helion’s charm?

Suddenly, he hates the idea of you going to Day. 

As your gazes meet once more, an unseen force seems to settle into place. His eyes widen in realization, his mouth parting to utter your name, but it’s too late. You’re already winnowing away and he lurches forward, after you, pulled by the golden threads that have wildly unfurled within his chest.

Mate. You're his mate.

note: I hope you enjoyed! <3 Part two can be found here

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria