#Couldn't get the more obscure ones
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front-facing-pokemon · 10 months ago
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I noticed a distinct lack of mega charizard x (unless I missed it) so here's a front-facing shot of my shiny one in Pokémon Go
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two shiny submissions today, which is the most i've ever gotten. you two had the same idea at the same time, i suppose!
now take some more asks
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this confirms the nose rater brazilian allegations, for sure
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:) you are welcome. i didn't see it as all that impressive when i first posted it. didn't even have a face. but evidently folks are liking it quite a lot
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well, i would have to imagine, being based off a gen seven pokémon, which is already a somewhat recent generation. perhaps there's not much discovered About it for wikipedia to list. although someone in the comments of that ask did mention that apparently there are a ton of other bugs that've also been named after pokémon besides just that one, which i think is just. wonderful
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this is the result that i got when i googled it afterwards! and this does track. that does look like xurkitree
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well that one was a while ago. i thought you did passimian?
oh wait that's all the asks. well! nice!
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medicinemane · 2 months ago
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There's honestly... just so many people, just so so so so so many people in this world where I'm like... aren't you people tired of this fucking... you know, I was going to call them clowns but that's really disrespectful to clowns, these people could never get their face on an egg...
Anyway, aren't you tired of this childish jackass? Don't you just want to ignore them and never have to hear about them again? If we just ignored them they legitimately would go away... don't you want that?
And this applies to... just ungodly amounts of people, from jake paul to even elon musk (just... don't touch his shit, he'll run out of money eventually with how bad he is with it), to just... name an annoying famous person and you'll name someone I've literally forgotten right now that I could never have to hear about again if people would just ignore them (unless they committed crimes, investigators are welcome to pay attention while gathering a case)
Yet the answer's always "no, we're paying so much attention to them!" and I'm just like... why? Why would you watch jake paul box? I heard about that and was like "he's still doing that shit?", and yet I guess it made a lot of money yet again and it's just like... ignore him
These people could go away, and yet
#to be blunt this is also very very very much about trump#the best part of all if he'd lost is how I'd never have had to see or hear about his loser ass again#and you people couldn't even manage that (collective you; not you personally... unless you're Pennsylvanian basically)#like he's insufferable... unless you're a die hard fan of him you know he's just stupid and annoying#why would you want to hear a washed up reality star for four more fucking years?#we could ignore these people hard enough to make them go away#and yet I'll be stuck having to hear him say shit about Hannibal or whatever for four more years cause you couldn't do that#I'm so sick of it; I honestly am#jake paul could have been ignored into obscurity like a decade ago; and yet he's able to launch a scam with mr beast#like dear god... can't you people find something better to do than watch these people? ...like watch paint dry?#it's not just people; it's every live action disney remake; it's... it's just all of it... fucking ai#can't you people fucking ignore it? can't you just kinda boo when it shows up and then forget about it?#I get someone like elon is a toddler that needs an eye kept on him to make sure he's not breaking shit but like...#we could just not buy his cars... which... like... doesn't seem like a hard ask given how badly they're manufactured#again... weirdos on tumblr; I'm doubting you're to blame for most of this#but just like... could we just for the love of god let the stupid shit die out you losers?#I'm not even... I'm not even joking here; this isn't like a goof; this is a prescription#nfts die if literally everyone ignores them; live action remakes die if no one watches them; elon goes bankrupt if no one buys from him#(also gets really sad because he's a massive attention seeker; and that's pretty funny so bonus)#why do I still have to hear about jake paul other than like... 'he's been arrested for fraud' or something reasonable?#could have been done with him years ago... like maybe if you kept around one or two bad habits but... like the lootboxes couldn't go?#tune in; turn on; drop out... this part here; I'm asking you to do the drop out part#drop out of society and stop playing their bullshit games#pay attention; be engaged with the world and your community as best you can; and just stop... stop giving this shit oxygen#but again... if this isn't hitting the void it's probably hitting the choir... you're not an oaf on twitter sucking this stuff up#but fuck me... worry over tariffs and other shit aside; concrete quantifiable worries I can lay out I might add#for the people who act like it's just sky is falling mentality; nah... I can expressly say what and why I worry about come january#but all that aside... you couldn't have voted against him just... just to never hear his annoying ass again?#not saying harris would have been good or bad or anything else... I'm saying she would have been a fuck of a lot less annoying#and like... you gave elon a win too... the two most annoying people on the planet and ya couldn't just... not
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decepti-geek · 1 year ago
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for all that I love Ghosts, I've been getting a very different kind of joy out of watching uploads of a very, very similar show on youtube - The Ghosts of Motley Hall.
Like, a setup where the ghosts actually mostly like each other from the off, so that a huge chunk of the dialogue just goes towards establishing more and more of their meandering, idiosyncratic shared history (especially because the budget was clearly about £1.50 so they have to establish most things through dialogue)... that has its own kind of charm.
#bbc ghosts#the ghosts of motley hall#I'm genuinely not sure how much overlap to expect in terms of ghosts people who have seen this#because I... couldn't find? any mention of the six idiots referencing it they only seem to talk about Rentaghost#so when I first looked into it I was expecting there to be a steady trickle in the Ghosts to finding out about Motley Hall pipeline#but not only does there not appear to be#the show is apparently just WAY more obscure than I anticipated in general?#at least in terms of its presence in any online articles/social media#anyway all this to say I think anyone who's comfortable with suspending disbelief in the name of fun would benefit from knowing about Motle#ie I think more people should#also in terms of ghosts stuff Motley Hall also has a Fanny in it!#The dialogue is just whimsical little joy after joy#'I ALWAYS do the stairs on Thursdays!'#'I don't think they are wirelesses. they have glass fronts.' 'they've got knobs on.' 'well so's a chest of drawers!'#Also one of the things I have found writing about is that Fanny was apparently a fan favourite character back in the day#and I cannot pinpoint a single concrete reason why but I GET IT he's just so entertaining to watch#GOD I just love the dialogue so much 'you think it'll go on forever?' 'nah it'll run out of horses' referring to horse racing on TV#I love Bodkin and his perpetual willingness to position himself as the arbiter of common sense based on very little actual knowledge#'what's he? a soldier?' 'nah that's a policeman' 'what do they do?' 'well they sit in the kitchen and eat jam tarts'#there's so much information contained in that response I love it
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hyaciiintho · 2 years ago
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🎼 (I offer to you Erenville and, additionally, A'aba Tia if you would like an Extremely Minor NPC challenge!)
Send me 🎼 and I’ll answer with an INSTRUMENTAL song that reminds me of your muse | 🌸。*゚+.
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Listen on: Spotify
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Listen on: Spotify & Youtube
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nobodysuspectsthebutterfly · 3 months ago
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#she had two mentions by Jamie and a dream (via @15-lizards)
Not to be an "actually..." kinda nerd, but actually, there's a lot of Dance-era fic and art that dates to pre-F&B? We had The Princess and the Queen since 2013 and The Rogue Prince and The World of Ice & Fire since 2014, and TRP/TPATQ are really not at all different when it comes to Daemon and Criston. lol heck, Daemon doesn't even exist in main ASOIAF (Criston at least got 2 brief mentions by Jaime and Arys/Arianne) so how could anyone write him if there wasn't something to work with? The only thing F&B really did was popularize the text that was previously only available to people willing to either spend $50+ on two anthologies or to pirate it.
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criston x daemon yaoi on ao3 predates fire and blood the fujo spirit is unbreakable. where is miss_m today
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bunny-jpeg · 2 months ago
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bulk
capt. john price
cw: smut/pwp, rugby au, rugby player!price, age gap (20s/40s), size difference/kink, rough sex, doggy style, headlock (slight choking), dirty talk & degrading language, breeding kink, is this ticking off boxes for anyone?
this bunny feeds on comments & reblogs! feed the rabbit!
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john price was a big man. almost ten years playing professional rugby for the english team, he had bulked up since his early years on the team.  thick muscle and a nice softness over top. he was strong, able to carry all the groceries inside of your shared flat and also get his hulking frame across the field with ball in hand. he was also hairy, patches of hair across his chest down to his belly, didn't mention all the pubic hair between his legs. it obscured a lot of his tattoos that he had gotten over the years, like your name over his heart and his jersey number at his thigh (you knew you'd get too hot if you thought about his thighs too much).  you once told him, with your tongue loose with alcohol that it was the ideal male body. that these ‘dehydrated poor excuses of men’ needed to drink water and eat some carbs. 
price was a man's man. you knew the first time you fucked him, that you'd never ever fuck with those limp dicked boys at your university. you got addicted to the feeling of a real man, one who know exactly how to make your eyes roll back and your tongue hang out, panting heavily like a good bitch you were.
post-game price was your favourite shade of john price. you could feel his electricity while in the passenger seat of the car after the match. when he pulled out of the parking lot, he placed his large hand on your thigh. he played with the edge of your skirt and kept his eyes on the road. you could tell that the wheels in his head were turning. 
  “honey?”
  “been thinkin', love.” he said as his fingers edged up your skirt a little more. like he was a teen boy rather than a forty year old man. he was teasing you, knowing that there would be no way you could both fuck in the back of his car. even it was an expensive vehicle, it would be a tight fit for such a large man and his smaller wife. 
you looked at him and said, “never a good thing for a man to think.” you giggled then yelped when he gripped your thigh suddenly. 
he chuckled a little as he continued to drive, “thinkin' about makin' a baby.” he licked his top lip, “i ain't gettin' any younger, love. and you're almost done school, so i think it's high time we start makin' a family.” his words were honey in your brain. it made you squirm. your much bigger, much older husband was asking for you to make a baby with him. 
  “someone's got baby fever.” you giggled as you placed your hand over his. the air of the car grew warmer, which made price open the window a little.  you squeaked a little bit when he gripped you harder. you felt your heart rate pick up at the feeling of his large hands on you.
he chuckled a little, as he looked at you briefly while at a stop light. he leaned in to kiss you, “of course. part of me's been thinkin' about you walking across the stage at your graduation with my little brat in your belly.” then looked back to start driving again. 
you rubbed your thighs together and felt wet at your core. you couldn't deny your husband, plus you had been subject to baby fever as well. maybe it was your body screaming for your lover. to have a part of him in you. and it wasn't like you two were being the most safe, so accidents could've happened. once back at your flat, you weren't in your clothes for long. 
price had practically ripped your skirt off of you and those large paws he called hands were groping at your plush ass with his lips on your neck.  you could feel his hard cock inside of his white briefs. the pre cum leaked through the fabric as he humped against you. he said in a heated tone, “i need it. i need her.” while made you moan then try to get your bra and panties off. you felt the heat rising in your skin, it was painfully hot for you. it excited you in ways that left you feeling hot all over. 
  “how badly, honey?”
he pulled you right up against him, his clothed cock digging into your abdomen, “more than anythin'. i need ‘er.  i need ’er stuff full. want it to smell like me for months. and if it doesn't, i'll just fill 'er up again.” he slapped your ass and watched you moan with your back arched. he groped the cheek one last time before he took his naked wife to the bedroom. 
his clothes were tossed to the side too, the t-shirt from the rugby league and basketball shorts. once everything was off, you admired your lover for a long moment. seeing all the heft and hair on him. his body that was so strong that he could easily crush you in his bicep or between his thighs. it made your core throb as you got into bed. 
  “nah, nah.” price said as he got onto the bed and grabbed your hips, “i need a deeper angle, somethin' to really show her i love you.” then patted your pussy before he gripped onto your hips once more and turned you onto your stomach. he then angled your hips up then dragged a finger across your achy slit. he chuckled, “there she is.” then leaned in to give your slick cunt a little blow, watching your hole flutter.
  “mmm please, honey.” you arched your back as you felt your husband so close to you. your hulking husband who only hours earlier was running across the field, fighting his way through the other team. his strong legs carried him and you were sitting in the stands with your thighs pressed together with need. 
price replied, “i know, i know. i know you need me” he rubbed his achy cock up against your slit, “always so good for me. knew for the moment i met ya that i wanted ya for the rest of my days.” there was an age gap between you two, but in all fairness, it turned you on even more. knowing that this handsome older man wanted to make sure that his cock was buried in you. 
when he pressed into you, your back arched. you gasped heavily into the covers as he lifted your hips further to get a better angle to sink into you. he laid over top of you, his fuzzy body up against your back. he pressed his weight onto you and kept that heavy cock of his snug inside of you. you groaned loudly, muffled by the pillows under your head. 
  “honey.” you whined as you felt the ache of his cock so deep in you. 
he got one of his hefty arms around your throat, keeping you further pinned against the bed. it wasn't hard enough to choke the lights out of ou. but enough to have pressure that made your head swim. it all felt so good and just just started. your voice was strained when price started to rut against you. his pace wasn't fast like a young stallion, but they were hard. every thrust of his hips were lazily slow but hit the back of your pussy perfectly. his cock had a thickness to it, you had carried rolls of ground beef that weighed less than his cock. not to mention the forest of pubic hair anf his breeder balls. he was a perfect man, body and all. he  took you so well. 
  “she likes me.” he said, “your pretty cunt. i bet you were thinkin' about me on the field. all dirty and roughed up, yeah. bet you wished i fucked ya right in the locker room. let the boys hear how i make my girl feel. bruise that poor pussy of yours.” he said, words hot in your heat. it made sweat settle over you.
you whimpered a little against the covers, “please, john. ah!”
he continued to fuck you, his pace was aggressive and it made you see stars. his arm was still around your throat and you could feel your pulse in your jaw. he left messy kisses on your face, leaving your cheek wet. you whimpered and clenched around his cock which only made him fuck you harder. you were such a good little wife for him. being so good to your man while he wrecked your sweet little hole. 
  "honey! please! you whimpered as you arched your back, but didn't get far due to the impressive size of your lover. you felt pinned under him, his strength. you gasped out another noise as the blunt head of his cock kept bullying your sweet insides. letting it make a huge mess of you, his cock was soaked in your wetness. it dripped down his hairy balls. he loved making his girl feel good. 
he continued to kiss your face, not quite getting your lips. his facial hair brushed against your heated skin and made you over sensitive. his mouth kept running as he kept moving. he felt hot all over, like a heat in his gut as he battered your sweet insides, “my perfect woman.  know how to take me so well. meant to take me. givin' me the privilege to make you a mama. ya like that? showin' up to uni with a little extra next semester. my dutiful little wife. keepin' up her studies while she nursing my babe.” he chuckled as he continued to keep that pussy of yours nice and filled. 
you gasped and moaned into the covers. you could be as loud as you wanted, you were in the safety of your bedroom as price rutted against you. your body was sweaty and your head was swimming. it was so painfully erotic, you felt hot all over. your heart thumped in your chest with a heavy beat as price kept moving against you. 
  “you're lucky you have the ring already. if your classmates saw you with a nice round middle, they might have gotten the wrong idea about you. that you're a dirty slag who can't keep her legs closed.” he chuckled as he licked down the sweat on the side of your neck, “dirty bird. but it's alright, we're married. you're my wife. mrs. jonathan price. about time you got a little one in your belly.” he pressed further into you and it made your head spin. his cock felt like it was pressing into your stomach. 
  “i love you.” you panted.
he finally kissed your lips, or at least the corner as he tightened his hold around your throat, “i love ya too, sweet thing. lettin' my cock bully your sweet insides. made for me, all of me. don't worry, be keepin' that womb warm for a long time. hope ya like 'em big, price boys can be a handful.” he laughed as he kissed the back of your neck. 
he was fully crowded in your space as he worked your sweet pussy. you barely had time to think before you felt the flash of orgasm through your body. it was like being engulfed in a quick heat while your body tensed up and your mind went blank. your pussy drooling on his cock, beckoning him to finish inside of you. 
a good husband always finishes in his wife. 
with a few more heavy thrusts against your limp body price finished inside of you. he pushed his cock all the way inside of you and made sure that your hips were at an angle that made it easier for you to get pregnant. he clutched onto you as he slowed down to a stop. your eyes rolled back a little as he pulled out. the loss of pressure made you whine. you weren't able to form any proper thoughts, your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as your husband rolled you onto your back and kissed you deeply on the lips. 
no need to think, mrs. price. let your rugby playing husband do all the decision making. <3
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a-ikuoliver · 6 months ago
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god is a bit of a freak, why's he watching me getting railed on the couch, staying pure for a wedding, he's got fucked up priorities — aka an ancient, obsolete god of fertility hears your prayer
pairing: fertility god!katsuki bakugou x fem!reader w/c: 2.8k warning/s: voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), references to sex rituals and safe sex lmao, i think that's everything, mostly lead up notes: sorry i wrote this fucked up from a cold lmao i hope u all enjoy either way! inspo/acknowledgements: god is a freak by peach prcty @kweenkatsuki-fics @aquadenks @peachsukii @rabbbitseason for ur interest teehee
crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox
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the ancient tongue was dead, dying a slow death as all languages did, evolving again and again with every civilisation that rose and fell, until it faded into obscurity. with the death of their language, their communication with their believers, the gods faded, too, their followers dwindling more and more as their names were buried along with the civilisations they led. once adored, worshipped, feared, now, their names only existed on scrolls, yellowed and deteriorated beneath layers of mortal history, unspoken in aeons.
katsuki kicked the door shut behind him, the bag of produce in his hand swinging back and forth with the movement. there was once a time where he was lavished with offerings of food he now had to purchase; countless altars he tended to piled with vegetables, wines, fire, soil, blood, accompanied with prayers to answer. he'd all but assimilated into living as a mortal; cooking (he was grateful, at least, for electric stoves, cooking lerthargically over a fire not quite how he wanted to spend eternity), showering, learning, exploring and working alongside the humans that once lived in his shadow.
he was one of the first to deflect from utopia, to abandon his temple, to give up on the belief that the gods, their language could return to how it was, and with it their followers. katsuki had simply grown bored of waiting alone in the stone temple, of wandering the perimeter hoping to find a lost mortal he could grant a miracle to, to find a mortal to bring meaning to godhood again. after all, what was a god without his believers?
he hadn't given up his blessings or miracles, albeit on a smaller scale than he once had, he still granted wishes as he had in utopia's heyday, the offerings he received now smiles across counters as people passed along paperwork, hoping to be one of the lucky ones, praying over pregnancy tests in bathrooms instead of in his altar. he gave up godhood, but he refused to give up his miracles, even if the mortals didn't know he was responsible.
the pot was finally at a rolling boil, his knife poised above the produce when he felt it, the sensation freezing his blood in his veins, the pull of a prayer in his veins, an echoing whisper of his name lighting his nerves alight. the god freezes, blond hair slipping into his eyes as his ears burnt, twitching at every noise, waiting to hear the sweet sound of the prayer once more.
"bakugou."
his face falls from shock to a scowl almost immediately, his pupils dilating, his skin itchy from adrenaline, his stomach twisting. it couldn't really be his name. this couldn't be a prayer. not after all this time.
the obsolete incantation runs off your tongue seamlessly; almost melodic, light as you cite the prayer carved into the stone at the base of his statue, your dialect nothing like what the prayer used to sound like, but the more you read, the harder he finds it to hate. your voice clouds his head, every word past your lips making the fog denser behind his eyes. there was a dull pain alongside it, an ache that pulsed with your every breath, the pain of a prayer.
the call of the prayer felt… foreign after so long (a millennium he thinks? maybe more, maybe less, years, decades, centuries and millenniums all blurred into one for immortals), katsuki was accustomed to the silence every god feared, the silence of being abandoned by your believers, of dwindling power and control. even with how it was feared, this almost felt worse; a single prayer cornering him in the kitchen after an aeon alone, a single spotlight in the darkness worse than the endless pitch black.
"told you it was bull." barefoot, he paces back and forth in the apartment, shifting uncomfortably as you traced a fingertip over the carved inscription, the touch feeling as if it was on the very nerves of his scalp, down the curve of his spine, catching on every bump of his vertebra. crimson eyes droop, a thick hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose, an attempt to soothe the pain of your voice bouncing around his head, the sensation of your touch on his effigy.
"hey, stop that," your giggle almost has his feet sliding against the tile, nearly tumbling backward as he stops in his tracks; his muscles straining to follow the magnetism of your voice, the melody of your intoxicating laugh while he rationalises your existence at all.
"is that why you brought me here, huh? you think being in some ancient sex temple means you'll get some?"
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perks of being a god: immortality, immeasurable strength and influence, impenetrable skin (with maybe a couple flaws). downsides of godhood? the power of their followers over them.
it was… overwhelming, the itch beneath a gods skin when a devout believer called their name, the weight of a prayer, the unshakable desire to follow the call. thankfully, the perks also included the facilities to do so; something akin to teleportation, the voice like a blinding beacon in the night, guiding the god.
once upon a time, civilisations ago, it was a lot, too much, the night always lit like it was daylight with the light his followers cast out. his temple existed for this very reason, devout believers building the god a home, a sanctuary for the light of his followers, complete with the marble sculpture of the built god. then, it was at the centre of the village he ruled over, now, you and your lover had hiked up a mountain, and back down into the valley to find it, the stone weathered and covered in vegetation, it was a miracle you'd been able to work your way inside.
dragging his finger over cold stone, every ridge and bump as it once was, katsuki reminisced about a time before the silence, before the darkness, a time when people lined outside his temple with dreams of a child. years ago, women came alone to his temple, clad in robes they'd weaved specially for the fertility ritual (sometimes gifted at their weddings), kneeling in the altar to offer anything they had in exchange for their heir; piles of gold from queens who begged for a prince, beloved and wise to rule their kingdoms peacefully, warriors armed with iron to wish for a knight, strategic and strong enough to return home from battle again and again, farmers gripping their herbs with soil-stained hands, praying for a child born with kindness and thumbs so green the village would survive the winters once more, a marble statue of the god, towering at over 9 feet tall from a sculptor wishing for a child with as much passion for the arts as their parents.
visitors now were only accidental, stumbling upon the temple in the darkness of the valley, seeking shelter, safety, protection. never a prayer tumbling from their lips for an heir (he answered their prayers nonetheless, never allowing harm to befall anyone on his blessed grounds).
peeking from behind a pillar overtaken by the vegetation, he finally spotted you.
you sucked the breath from his lungs, walking further into the temple, a cute, mischievous grin tugging on the corners of your soft lips, chasing your lover with your eyes as he spoke, "you don't think it's romantic? fucking in an ancient sex gods temple?"
"he was the god of fertility, not sex." you step onto the age worn sigil by the base of the imposing statue, brushing layers of grey dust away.
you look so similar to the countless women before who laid on his mark, the way you studied the carved sigil carefully, curiosity and stars sparkling in your eyes, a heat burning beneath your skin, adrenaline spiking in your veins. eras ago, women were bare on the sigil, stone icy against their skin as they drew runes, marking their skin with blood, dirt or ink, in the language native to the gods.
"what's the difference?" their voice was low, lips brushing beneath your jaw, biting at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, nimble fingers sliding beneath your shirt to tug it higher, higher, on your torso, tugging the material over your head with a flick of his wrist.
the god was no stranger to topless women, probably seeing hundreds and thousands of them in his prime, but the way the man in front of you toyed with the fat on your chest nearly making his eyes meet the inside of his skull. your allure was impossible to resist when your boyfriend rolls your nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, tugging on the sensitive skin to pull a delicious whine from your throat.
the silence had made him soft.
"i've been waiting all day for this," katsuki's blood rushes in his ears when you both fall to the floor, limbs already beginning to tangle together, bodies becoming one at the mouth, at the hips, at the chest. your sweet sounds echo in the temple, increasingly breathless the longer you kissed and nipped and sucked and bit at your boyfriend.
the ancient tongue was dead, katsuki knew that, knew you had no way to know what you'd read, like some naive final girl in a cliche horror film, that the very god you were laid at the base of was real, that he could see and hear you, that his cock throbbed watching you. you had no way of knowing what you'd started. carmine eyes study the beat of your heart in your chest, the way your tits look when your breathing quickens, how irresistible you look when deft fingers trace the seam of your panties.
katsuki prays himself for the first time in his long life that he's the only god to see you right now, to watch your face change the lower your boyfriend travels, dragging his tongue over your skin as he goes (katsuki's thankful for every time the mortal man bites at your skin, for the yelp it elicits anytime his canines sink into your flesh). his fingertips twitch at his sides, itching to finalise the ritual you'd started with the single murmur of his name, the first syllable of a language foreign on your tongue but you'd recited it so naturally.
you exclaim your lovers name with another sweet giggle, his hands now gripping your ass, tugging your obstructive underwear down your pillowy thighs, tossing it as far as he can the moment the garment is free from your ankles.
the god's ears scald at the way you sound when the brunet's tongue flicks against your skin, sucking at your pussy just to draw increasingly needier sounds from your pretty mouth. he's not even watching you and he already knows your hips are jumping from the stone floor, grinding onto your lovers mouth and nose to work yourself closer to an orgasm. your moans echo in the stone temple, bouncing in every corner before travelling back to his ears, tempting his attention to you.
he stays steady, sharp carmine eyes narrowing on the altar.
more specifically, the lump of material atop the bench.
your underwear is draped across like an offering of its own to him, far more lewd than gold, iron and herbs, but it made his core ache when the moonlight caught in the centre of the fabric, a small damp spot glistening in the light.
fuck, it hurts, every nerve aching, screaming to finally put an end his celibacy, unbroken for far too long. he hadn't felt a need for a mortal like this since the beginning of his existence, the pure want filling his head with fog. this is a duty, this power he has, it is what he was made for, there was never this heavy, dense fog filling his head before, no follower making his blood burn like you were. and you didn't even know what you'd done.
bakugou's gaze is finally drawn back to you, your spine arching away from the stone, fingers tangling at the base of your boyfriends skull, tugging the hair harshly as you chanted his name, your hips stuttering, grinding messily back and forth on his face, until you stopped. you were still wound tight, your thighs clamped tight around his ears while you recovered, a dopey, lovesick smile planted firm on your cheeks.
your squeal makes his dick twitch, one last flick of his tongue over your overstimulated clit, blond eyebrows furrowing so hard at the centre it makes his head pound, you were making his head hurt. a desperation to finish the ritual filled his lungs, every breath a reminder of his name on your lips, of your panties across the altar, of your naked body atop his mark.
he needed this, needed to bury his cock in a pretty cunt, to fill you until you were a babbling mess, needed you.
sitting back on his knees, your lover wiped your creamy cum from his chin with the back of his hand, spreading it from his face to his fingers, hardly doing anything to clean the mess you'd made of his mouth.
your boyfriend finally moves out of the way, giving katsuki the front row seat he deserves, your thighs shining with slick the masterpiece he'd come to see. unblinking, he thinks he's squeezing his cock through his pants, he's not sure, too hypnotised by the way your hips still twitched, chasing your boyfriends warmth. onyx and ruby eyes alike study your face, glued to the way your eyes roll into your skull when his fingers, still wet with your cum, trace your clit once more, teasing the entrance of your pussy before circling your sensitive nerves once more.
katsuki knows he's stroking his cock now, frantically tugging at the zipper still preventing him from relief, his fist moving at the same pace you grind your hips down to your lovers hand, sucking his fingers into you, squeezing your cunt around them until your thighs shook. his hips rock into his hands when your tongue lolls from your mouth, your moans getting faster and faster once more.
he has to bite his lip to stifle a groan of his own, his fist pumping faster and faster again, squeezing the base of his cock when you press a kiss as soft as silk to his lips, looping your hips around his, tugging him closer when you came again.
"fuck, baby, next time you cum, it's with my cock inside you." dark hair shields your face from katsuki's vision momentarily, your boyfriend leaning over you, searching his discarded coat for something, tugging it closer and pulling each pocket inside out.
your thighs slip from his hips as he moves, wincing as your thighs made contact with the icy stone instead of his warm skin.
"shit, i think i left the condoms in the backpack," sliding the empty jacket over your chest, you tuck it beneath your arms, clutching it close to you with one hand, the other waving your boyfriend off as he ventured back toward the entrance of the temple, your gaze lingering on his ass until he was out of sight.
another perk of godhood: the blessed ground was subject to the chosen gods whims. some gods had their temples in the centre of labyrinthian mazes, others had their temples impossible to find, buried beneath the earth or deep in the ocean, hidden between mountains, camouflaged in vegetation, some invisible until the winter solstice, or until the new moon. katsuki never quite cared for that, leaving his temple as his followers built it for him, not implementing challenges for believers to prove their dedication like others had, only protecting his hallowed ground. until now.
stone scrapes against stone harshly, the coarse sound painfully invading your ears as the temple entrance seals. you drop the jacket into your lap, rushing to shield your ears from the sound with your palms pressed hard to your ears, searching around the room for your boyfriend, for his protection, katsuki supposes, like a mortal man could save you from the god you summoned, from what you started.
stepping out from the dark corner, his figure casts a sharp, long shadow as he stands to his full height in front of the statue. like this, you look identical to the women he used to bestow his miracles on; splayed on his sigil, staring up at him with dewy eyes (your blown pupils imperceptibly widening when your gaze rakes over his large form, taking everything in; blond mess of hair, darting crimson eyes, ruffled shirt as he rushed to hold it in his mouth watching you get your cunt eaten, his still-unzipped pants and finally the impressive bulge of his cock), your lips parting when he finally relaxes his shoulders, now standing easily at the shoulder of his statue.
"you-re—" your eyes dart between the imposing statue and his steely face, your voice airy, wobbling slightly as you continued, "you're real?"
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© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.
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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 months ago
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Cold Jealousy
I am back once again with more Silco brain rot. Feeding all of you who need the content as well as myself.
Summary: Who knew jealousy was all it took for to have your first kiss with Silco?
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He hates the coiling in his stomach that arises whenever you laugh at something a patron says. It sickens him, seeing you lean in so close to another man, your lips moving as you say something and then smile, causing the table to burst into laughter. He knows you're simply close friends with them, after all they are your childhood friends, people who grew up with you, so of course you'd act overly familiar with them but he can't stop his chest from tightening, his fingers twitching.
The nib of his pen pierces through the page he was writing on and he scowls angrily at the mess, trying to drown out your voice but it's intoxicating, a melody that snatches his attention away from the numbers in his notebook. Your laughter is like a drug, leaving him wanting more every time he hears it, and the thought that it's someone else eliciting it drives him insane.
"You alright there?" Vander slides him a glass of scotch, worry clear gentle grey eyes.
"I'm fine," Silco spits back, a little harsher than intended. Of course Vander would notice something was off, Vander knew him way too well. He turns back to his notebook, trying to suppress the whispers that begin to cloud his mind and stares at the numbers, willing them into his brain.
"You know they only have eyes for you right? They don't look at anyone the same way they look at you." Vander glances over at the table where you're currently playing a game of cards, and from the looks of it, losing.
"I know," Silco scowls, stabbing the page with his pen. Vander simply huffs and turns to attend to the customer who just pulled up at the counter. Silco rolls his eyes and closes the notebook, he's done for the night. There's no way he can continue concentrating when you laugh like that, when butterflies flutter in his chest and turn to stone as he remembers you're not laughing at something he said or did.
"I'm going to get some air," he grunts, slipping out the back door.
Out of habit, he makes his way to the rooftop, sitting at his usual spot and looks out at the sprawling underground city beneath. Neon lights flash from various stores like stars, illuminating figures as people walk past but the silhouettes disappear just as quickly, fading back into obscurity. It's the same pattern every night, he's memorised some of the figures already, knows the habits of certain individuals, and has noted the important ones. He spots the lady with twin brown hair buns who frequents the brothel opposite, the two enforcers who always sneak into the nearby drug store during their nightly patrol and nearly misses the sound of your footsteps.
"Hey." You take your seat next to him.
"Y/N." He barely spares you a glance before looking back at the city below. The night wind whistles through the air, sending shivers through his body and he curls up, hugging his knees to his chest. Dammit, he forgot his coat. The air here is chillier at this time of the year, being so far away from the hustle and bustle of the city's nightlife, but it brings a sense of peace that he treasures, especially when it's with you. Tonight, it just feels cold, probably from his lack of a coat, but there's a numbness he can't explain.
The clink of glass snaps him out of his thoughts and he glances up to see you produce a bottle of wine as well as two glasses.
"Sorry, I couldn't swipe a bottle of scotch so I grabbed the next best thing before anyone could catch me," you smile at him and pop the bottle open. The red liquid sloshes in the glass as you fill it up and hand it to him, "peace offering?"
He wrinkles his nose but takes the glass anyways, mumbling a thank you before letting the liquid slide down his throat. It doesn't have the same burn as scotch does, but there's still a pool of warmth that sits in his belly, although it does little to alleviate the chill he feels.
You smile and pour a glass for yourself, taking a sip, following the direction of his eyes. Silco swirls the red liquid around in his glass, biting his lip. The silence is awkward, but he won't be the first to break it, his pride won't let him. Fortunately, you shift closer to him and shrug your jacket off, wrapping it around his shoulders.
"Don't catch a cold on me."
He snorts in response, tugging your jacket tighter around himself. It smells nice, smells like you with a hint of his cigar's smoke. He can pick out the scent of wine, the smell of the soap you use to wash the jacket, the remnants of Piltover's smell from your afternoon stint and a small smile makes its way onto his face as he remembers the way you threw yourself at him, clutching a bag of freshly baked bread, laughing as you yelled at him to run for his life. The pool of warmth resting in his belly spreads to the rest of his body, sending tingles up his spine as he buries his face into the jacket's fabric. The fabric is worn but still maintains a certain level of softness, and it feels as nice as it smells.
He watches as you finish your glass and exchange it for the bottle, remembering his own unfinished glass and takes another sip. Scotch was still the best drink, a shame you didn't manage to filch a bottle of it. You down half the bottle in one go, sighing in satisfaction and gesture at his glass.
"You don't have to force yourself to finish it, you know?"
He scowls, and finishes the rest of his wine, all the while staring right at you. "As if I'll let you have any of mine."
You laugh, and he finds that your laughter sounds better when it's because of something he said than when it's because of something someone else said, besides, there's the added bonus of giddiness that fills him. He smiles, for the first time tonight and sets the glass down next to yours. The awkwardness has been broken, much to his relief and he feels as though he can breathe easier.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" You gesture towards the myriad of lights. "Piltover's lights can't compare to this."
"That's because most of their lights are the same colour," he snorts, "but yes…it is beautiful."
You beam, taking another swig from the bottle and set the bottle down, leaning back on your hands. The night breeze ruffles through your hair, playing with its strands and Silco watches as a couple of strands fall between your eyes, causing you to huff and puff at it until it falls off your face. The next gust of wind is stronger and you shiver, shifting closer to him. He shakes his head and throws the left half of your jacket over your shoulders so it covers the both of you.
"Don't you catch a cold on me either."
"Thank you for sharing my jacket." You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. He nudges you back, the back and forth going on for a while until the jacket slips off your shoulder and he leans over to pull it back on. Electricity crackles from where his skin brushes against yours and he feels his heart leap into his throat when he looks up at you, realising how close the two of you are.
Sure, the both of you know how the other feels, knows the unspoken truth but continue to dance around each other, fearful of what acknowledging the feeling would bring, but tonight just feels right. He feels your hand intertwine with his and he leans in, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. You lean in as well and your lips meet for the first time.
The feeling is addicting, Silco quickly learns. The way your lips lock with his perfectly, the way you lean in as his fingers run through your hair, the way your free arm wraps around his waist, pulling him closer, all of this makes him wish this moment will never end. Unfortunately, the both of you need to breathe and so he reluctantly parts from you, pressing his forehead against yours. It feels natural, to feel your warmth, to hold you underneath your jacket, and from the way you're looking at him with such adoration in your eyes, you feel the same way.
It doesn't need to be said, nothing needs to be said, the only thing he needs to do is close the gap once more and taste the wine on your lips, savouring the sweetness of it all. This is the one time he will admit that wine tastes good, but he still prefers scotch.
Your hand gently cups his cheek and he finds himself leaning into the touch. Your thumb runs over his skin, brushing along his cheekbone and he sighs, surrendering to your warmth. A small smile graces your lips and he can't help but smile back, although his smile is rather lazy.
"We should head back before Vander has to come and haul us away," you murmur and Silco reluctantly extracts himself from your touch.
"And before he closes the bar up so that we don't have to wash the glasses." He picks said glasses up, nudging the empty bottle towards you. "You are still going to throw the bottle away, I'm not touching that."
"Why? You were so eager to touch my saliva just moments ago," you tease, mirth decorating your features.
"I'm not about to deny you your responsibilities." He ducks out of the way as you try to shove the empty bottle into his arms, quickly making his way back into the bar before you can succeed in making your problem his. He hears your annoyed shouts behind him and laughs, sliding into the bar's counter.
Vander raises an eyebrow as Silco places the glasses in the sink and darts off, then shakes his head as you come barreling in, demanding that Silco help you as payment for the wine he drank. He grabs the both of you by your collars and drops you both at the sink. "I believe washing everything in the sink will suffice as payment for the bottle of wine."
You groan when you see the amount of empty cups in the sink and Silco laughs, turning on the water tap. At least you're trapped in this with him, the washing should go by faster.
As the both of you hunch over the sink, you give him a little nudge with your elbow. "Next time, if you're jealous, just step in. I'll leave with you, I promise."
"Jealous?" He splutters. "I wasn't jealous!"
"Sure you weren't, Mr 'angrily stabs an innocent piece of paper with his pen'. Keep trying."
He huffs, turning his attention back to the glass he's currently wiping dry. "I wasn't jealous."
"Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that. I doubt that changes facts though."
"Nobody said that was a fact."
You lightly punch him in the shoulder with your damp fist and he mock glares at you, smacking your arm with the drying cloth but can't stop the smile that's forming on his face.
"Don't ever doubt yourself," you say softly. "You mean everything to me."
And you mean everything to me too.
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avelera · 19 days ago
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A strong case could be made that Jayce is actually the sapiosexual one.
I think the fact that Viktor and Mel are objectively two of the most people beautiful people in the world kind of obscures this, but Jayce first heart-eyesed at Viktor when he said he wanted to help Jayce's research, he first gave Mel a rather stunned/considering look when she likewise bought in enough to Hextech to be willing to buy them a night to prove it.
But Jayce didn't sleep with Mel until after he called her a, "good teacher" and expressed how he was impressed by how she taught him to work the room at the opera, how he couldn't have done it without her.
Obviously, I think looks are a factor too, how could they not be with two stunning people like that.
But I can't help but wonder if for someone like Jayce, I dunno, he's so gorgeous himself I kinda wonder if he really doesn't see appearances as much? The people he wants to spend time with aren't, "the beautiful people" of Piltover, he wants to spend time with people who believe in Hextech and who are as smart as him if not smarter.
I also think from a fanfic perspective, it would be kind of objectively hilarious if Viktor wishes he was only sapiosexual but he isn't sapiosexual, he wants to lick Jayce's muscles so bad it sends him into a full villain arc, and it's Jayce who is the demi one who is just really into smart people who get him and that he can talk to, so all this time Viktor's been measuring himself up against this impossible standard of male beauty that is Jayce fucking Talis, he doesn't realize that it never mattered to Jayce at all, he could have looked like anything (or even like the Machine Herald?) and Jayce would have been into it because he really does love Viktor's brain more.
(I also think this would be rather hilarious in a heartwarming way for Objectively Most Beautiful Woman in the World Mel Medarda to learn that Jayce liked her looks ok, but it was really her being into Hextech and being smarter than him that won him over. I genuinely wonder how she'd process that or if it would lead to a whole extra spiral of, "Oh no he's actually a really nice person and I'm kind of falling for him what have I done?")
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rationaliity · 8 months ago
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new lesson | aeon! dr. ratio x f. reader ( 18+ )
not a continuation post but more like a horny extra sideplot you're welcome you freaks /j in which our aeon ratio has come to learn that he, too, has human desires. he's perhaps a little too fond of his emanator, and perhaps his emanator is a little too pretty for him to be able to control himself. my aeon ratio plot here tags : face fucking, mind break, power play, mind control, consensual nonconsent that turns into to consent, painful sex, womb penetration, dacryphilia, asphyxiation, begging / whining / crying, use of the term 'girl', religious imagery sorta, ratio has a huge dick and it hurts, he also doesn't know the limits of the human body and pushes you way past yours, coercion almost, obsession, mention of stalking, yandere ratio, reader almost loses consciousness twice, struggling, afab anatomy, finger fucking, possessiveness, mean ratio calls you a failure once god x disciple word count : roughly 4000
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the aeon of dissemination has taught you plenty while you were underneath his tutelage. so many whispers of the cosmos that others would fail to hear, so many secrets untold, shared only by those in the know. an all-powerful being with much more power than you could ever hope to know, yes, and yet.. during your private lessons together, you found yourself bearing witness to his more human side more often than not. your time together was much less a deity whispering incomprehensible knowledge to his devout pupil, and much more a civil conversation between humans. almost.
you were his emanator, which meant that you derived your power directly from him. this caused you to be able to reach heights previously unknown to you, but it also became your shackles. you were bound to his word, for his word was law. if he told you to bark, you would bark. you had no choice in the matter. if he told you to, by any chance, strip down and worship naked at his feet, well, you couldn't deny him that, either.
ratio had grown to enjoy his time with you. no, rather, he had grown fond of you. you learned quickly, you asked the right questions, you were beautiful, and kind. you were everything he wished for in a companion. even aeons get lonely too, surely you understood that. he found himself curious about you while you were away from him, often opting to lose his corporeal form and watch you from the shadows. he had always preferred doing things from the shadows, anyways, so this was nothing new.
you were beautiful. not just in your mind, but your body, too, something that ratio hated to admit. he had assumed, wrongly, that he had no attraction to human bodies, only human minds. but yours.. it stirred something in him, made him question himself. his motives, his.. desires.
and he desired you. he wanted that to be clear, and yet he bided his time, waiting patiently in the shadows of your home for the next time he would summon you before him, something coming up rather soon.
as you arrived within his domain - a huge, expansive, never ending library filled from top to bottom of books on everything in the universe. no matter how obscure, you could find the information you were seeking in front of you, from the tiniest of details of the most unknown planets to the biggest complexities of the cosmos.
" dr. ratio, it's good to see you again, " you called out, approaching his throne, sat in the center, surrounded by bookshelves covering every side by the front. there, ratio was sat, his legs crossed with an old book in his hand. " i pray you're doing well ? "
" i am, " he nodded, his demanding gaze flickering from the book to you, taking in your every single move. ratio snapped his book closed, his eyes never leaving yours, leaning forward in his throne. " i have been reading about human pleasure. it has been a subject previously untouched by me, but as you know, one must encapsulate all things to be able to full grasp the complexities of life. "
you stopped in your tracks, stunned. he had been reading about.. human pleasure ? you swallowed thickly, allowing yourself an awkward, small laugh, your hand coming up to the back of your head as you tried to figure out what to do with yourself under his gaze. " oh ! i.. see. it's surprising that you've just uncovered this now, considering your knowledge in human psychology. "
" would you say that those two things overlap ? " he asked, the book resting on his lap now, completely forgotten about now that he was in your presence, the human that had made the aeon of dissemination question himself.
" well.. they're definitely related, " you started, thinking about how to properly explain yourself before you said anything further, a quality that he admired. " human desires are just the culmination of inherently desirable qualities in a partner, right ? those who take a more submissive role often desire dominant partners in all aspects of their life, not just in the bedroom. of course, there are exceptions, but it could be used as a rule of thumb for understanding how humans interact with one another in a romantic and sexual sense. "
your explanation earned you the briefest of nods. " would you say that you yourself are in this broad generalization ? or are you an exception ? " he asked, his words low and gruff, like he was waiting on your answer to his question. " you, who dominates so much of your life. you teach the willing, guide them towards knowledge. not many would be above you in status, i presume. would you consider yourself in need of a partner who you can take control of, too, or would you rather.. be controlled ? "
you hesitated, something that he noticed. were you not willing to share such details with him ? was it because of his status, or simply because of your nature ? you were rather introverted, although not necessarily completely since you could command a room with just the tone of your voice. well, almost every room. this was one room that you had no control over.
you were confused, but mostly, you were curious. why did he want to know ? what was he gaining from learning such private and intimate details about yourself ? this was the first time that he had asked such revealing questions to you, although you weren't unaware of his recent curiosity with your life outside of the walls of this library. this was the first time he had actually shown any type of interest in you, and to be quite frank, it unnerved you a little bit. but if ratio asks a question, it gets answered. that much, you knew. " i.. find myself leaning towards the submissive role in bed. i prefer if my partner could.. command me, sometimes, and take control whenever possible. "
dr. ratio didn't say anything for a while, his eyes narrowing slightly, his legs uncrossing as he examined you from top to bottom, taking in your attire, and taking it off in his mind. he needed to know why he felt these desires towards you. he needed to know why you, specifically, out of everyone that he had interacted with within the cosmos, earned his gaze in a way that no others did. he didn't even know that he had these baser, more carnal instincts.
" now, who would be able to control you ? you, an emanator of the dissemination, a being with knowledge vast beyond most mortal comprehension, " his eyes sparkled with something as he beckoned you forward, signaling for you to get on your knees in front of him, something that he very rarely did. and yet you complied, and his interest in this situation only grew. " who could control you.. other than myself ? "
kneeling down in front of him, and looking up at his eyes, you sucked in a breath, your heart beginning to race in your chest as you thought about the implications of his words. were you truly interpreting his words correctly, or was this another one of his many wise warnings that he often bestowed upon you when you have strayed too far away from your chosen path ? and yet, you could see the smirk on his otherwise stoic face, and you knew that you weren't misunderstanding his words.
" strip for me, girl. " you felt that throbbing pain in your head that momentarily disorientated you, your hand rushing up to grab your forehead as you swayed slightly. you swore you could feel every single nerve in your body standing on end, a warning for what was to come. yet, this was not the feeling inside of you that you got when he was commanding you to do something that you had no choice in the matter of, you knew this for a fact because he had done that to you a few times while trying to guide you towards the correct path. you had no idea what this was, other than to perhaps remind you of his power over you.
nevertheless, even while bursting with embarrassment, you obliged, first taking off your purple blazer, undoing the buttons of your white dress shirt and slipping it off of your shoulders, before finally your skirt, something that made you more nervous than revealing your chest in front of him. you stood up onto your knees, bringing yourself in between his legs as you pulled your skirt and underwear down at the same time, letting the fabric pool beneath you at your knees.
" good girl, you're such a good girl, " he whispered, his hand reaching out, gently petting your head before combing through your hair, his gaze revealing nothing about his intentions, only the hunger inside of him. you'd only ever seen this look in his eyes whenever he was learning, and perhaps, in a way, he was learning something. " come closer. i trust you're experienced in this area, or should i teach you the basics ? "
you shuffled closer, your hands on your thighs as you didn't dare touch him. " i.. have a little experience, but not a lot. my apologies, i.. my lifestyle doesn't exactly allow me to often indulge in these kinds of.. activities with others. " you were just inches away from him, your face so close to his body, his crotch. you had so many questions. was this all just an elaborate test of sorts ? did he truly intend to teach you how to pleasure him ?
did he even have the anatomy for such a lewd idea ?
" it's okay, " he answered, as if hearing your thoughts, which he likely did. he was a being of immeasurable power, after all. and yet here he was, exerting his control over you and yet at the same time, losing his cool like a lovesick fool unable to keep himself together in the face of a beautiful person. " i'm rather fond of willing students, so don't worry. you'll learn, i am sure of that. you're a very capable being, after all. "
" this body is human in all capacities, " he continued, his hand still on the back of your head, subtly pulling you closer. " i originally believed it to be human in all ways except for the brain, but i believe i have been incorrect. it seems this form, no, i retain many of humanities baser, more carnal instincts. i would like you to service me. you may begin with removing this trousers from me. i will guide you, but i'll warn you, i won't be gentle. "
all you could muster was a small nod, your hands finding their way to his pants, shaking with nervousness, and also maybe just a twinge of excitement. here, you would have an aeon underneath your touch, begging for you. surely this was a pleasure that not many got to partake in. you could see it straining against the fabric of his pants, begging to be released, and you couldn't help but purse your lips together nervously, taken aback by its size.
finally working up the courage, you unzipped his trousers, pulling them from his hips down to his legs, letting the fabric fall beneath him onto your lap, leaving him in just his underwear, his cock pressed up against his leg, the bulge in his underwear now impossible to ignore. you looked up again at him for confirmation, to which he just nodded. " proceed. show me your worthiness to be at my side. take me into your mouth. if you don't think you can do it, i will guide you. "
you bit your bottom lip, your nervousness slowly turning into palpable excitement as you finally pulled his underwear off of him, freeing his cock from its confines once and for all. he was bigger than you'd expected, with precum messily coating his bulbous tip. he was huge, so much bigger than anything you've ever seen before, making all other sexual situation you'd been in before this one become meaningless in comparison. ratio's grip on the back of your head tightened, almost painful as he leaned you forward, giving you virtually no choice but to comply with his demands.
nervously, you kitten licked the head of his cock, one of your hands holding the base of it so you could bring it to your mouth. determination to prove yourself filled you, along with undeniable arousal, but you knew that there was simply no way to take all of him in your mouth without pitifully choking, and he must've been aware, too. you began to bob your head up and down his length, feeling an unfamiliar sting in the back of your throat every time the head of his cock hit the back of your throat.
you continued this for a moment, earning contented groans from his lips, until you found your throat constricting involuntarily at the intrusion. you gagged, pulling away from him completely as you coughed, feeling your stomach do backflips.
if you couldn't take it properly without struggling, he decided, then ratio would just have to force you to take his cock to show you how it's done, even if you gag around him. his expression darkened as he pulled your head towards him, forcing himself deep into your mouth. you gagged almost immediately, your hands grabbing at his thighs as he controlled your head, forcing you to take more of his cock.
" you can't handle my size ? you're pathetic. a failure, " his voice was filled with disappointment and anger, and you could do nothing but look up at him, tears forming in your eyes from his bruising pace as he fucked your face without mercy. you couldn't breathe properly, struggling against him weakly, your nails digging into the flesh of his thighs, not out of disobedience for him, but because when humans feel as though they're dying or they can't breathe, they often try to fight to get their airway back, struggling uselessly.
" i'll show you how to please me properly, " ratio's hand pulled and pushed your head with your hair, his hips thrusting his cock deeper into your throat. your gagging is ignored as you choke around him. " fuck. yes, that's it. take it. learn to swallow my cock. learn to love it, " he threw his head back, groaning underneath his breath. " you can be so good at this, i know you can. "
he wasn't stopping, especially not when he was finally starting to feel good because of you, the pleasure building up inside of him. tears began to streak down your reddening face, your eyebrows creased together as you struggled. ratio fucked your face relentlessly, thrusting inside of your mouth and using you like his own personal fucktoy. finally, the resistance in your throat gave way after a particularly harsh thrust, and he penetrated your throat, his cock so deep inside of you that you couldn't breathe at all anymore. your eyes widened, your heart beating against your chest, the painful lesson beginning to take root.
despite the treatment, your slick was pooling between your thighs, creating a puddle of it beneath you. his rough treatment turned you on more than you'd ever thought possible.
ratio seemed to notice this, his tone holding a hint of amusement as he used your face, your nose pressed up against his pubic bone, his balls resting on your chin. " can't breathe ? perhaps you prefer i choke you completely like this ? you're enjoying it, craving it like a drug now. i must say, i find myself captivated by your abilities, too. "
you could feel your own helplessness, the power that he held over you surpassing even what you thought possible. you understood this lesson, although you could feel your head starting to fog up with the lack of air. you were trying desperately to find a way to breathe around his cock, but he was too deep in your throat, clogging up your airway. his guide on your head became painful as ratio invaded your body.
your eyes rolled back, your hands falling down to your side as you almost lost consciousness. finally, before you could truly lose yourself to the black abyss, he pulled your head up off of him, letting you gasp and choke, all of the spit that he was keeping in your mouth slipping down your lips, covering your chest and lap as you coughed up the air, blinking rapidly to familiarize yourself with being able to breathe again. your stomach was churning, and you damn near threw up everything that you had eaten for breakfast that morning. you felt weightless and incredibly heavy at the same time.
" you're a good girl. you learn quickly, " he smirked, his voice filled with satisfaction as he watched you catch your breath. finally, he stood up, his cock still throbbing painfully, ready to finally take what he'd wanted. " turn around, girl. "
that painful feeling in your head came back, causing you to wince in pain as he commanded you to turn around. finally agreeing, you turned around on your knees, looking away from him. his large hand pushed at your back, knocking you onto your hands, your ass up in the air for him to see. ratio had made himself comfortable with being in between your legs, his eyes admiring your naked form, seeing your pretty folds glistening with so much slick it was dripping down your thighs.
" such a pretty little thing. human bodies are beautiful beyond compare, even in the eyes to an aeon, but yours ? oh, yours is magnificent. truly, you are worthy of being by my side, " his voice was low as two of his fingers penetrated your wetness, testing your readiness for what was to come. he savored the feeling of your tightness around him, the way your muscles gripped his digits.
you gasped, letting out a whiny, pathetic little noise as you moaned, your back arching as his fingers hit that special spot inside of you, caressing it in such a way that had you drooling like a dumb mutt on your knees in seconds. his fingers moved rhythmically, his gaze on where they disappeared and reappeared from your body. the anticipation was building within him, and he found himself fucking you faster with his fingers, enjoying every tiny little mewl and whine of pleasure as it came from your bruised throat.
your cries of pleasure fueled him, the sight of you writhing, begging, and ultimately submitting to him was almost as satisfying as the power he held over you. " that's it. you're such a good girl. " without warning you, he pulled his fingers out from you, your body clenching around nothing as your moans quickly turned into gasps. " you're going to take me now, yeah ? submit to me, and i promise you a lesson that you'll never forget. "
your eyes widened, even though you knew ratio couldn't see it, and you felt your anxiety spike. " y-you can't..! i-it's too big, it'll break me, please ! " you begged, but your voice was falling on deaf ears as one of his hands gripped your hips, guiding his shaft to your entrance.
" your body is resilient, and i'm confident it'll accommodate me, " with a swift motion, he pushed into you, his cock stretching her wide. you cried out, your body tensing as he slowly withdrew and thrust again, just testing the waters of what you could and couldn't take. as his entire length disappeared inside of you, he couldn't stop his hips from snapping up, pounding his cock into you.
your scream of pleasure filled this vast library, a symphony of pain and pleasure. " a-ah, fuck..! your cock, i-its- it hu-hurts, 's too big.. " you sobbed, babbling on like an idiot, your words incomprehensible, your voice hiccupping in your throat. you were feeling like you were being split in half from him, like your body wasn't yours anymore. just like you suspected earlier, no other human man you'd had sex with previously compared to him, and you'd never quite be able to get fucked like this again if it weren't ratio.
ratio leaned down, his body pressed against yours, whispering in your ear, " you love this, yeah ? its painful, but it feels amazing. " his hips pumped faster, your cries echoing through the library with each thrust. your protests turned into pleas, your words lost in your ecstasy. " i want you to come for me. you'll cum again, and again, and again, until you belong to me entirely. you'll cum for me, and say my fucking name, " he promised.
you cried out, your sobs and moans mingling together as you struggled to figure out what you wanted to do, whether or not you wanted to pull him closer or force him away all at once. you were going to cum, and there was nothing you could do about it other than let him fuck you like he wanted to. pain and pleasure mingled together, but not so much as when he slammed into you with all of his body weight, the tightness of your body giving way as the head of his cock breached your womb. " v-veritas..! " you moaned out, and it all exploded within you, your pussy clenching around him as he fucked you through your orgasm, the pain of him breaching your womb and the pleasure of his fucking being far, far too much for you to take.
ratio grunted, feeling your walls squeeze around his cock as she came, milking him, too. the sensation was exquisite, his thrusts becoming frantic as he fucked himself into you as your arms gave out from underneath your, your face planting into the cold tile below. at this point, he was focused solely on his own gratification, pumping into you as your hips met his, your moans like a beautiful lullaby to his ears. " g-goddammit, " he swore, his balls drawing tight, his orgasm imminent at this point. he pulled your hips into his, his cock pulsing deep within you as his orgasm washed over him in waves, filling you completely with his seed, causing you to mewl out pitifully in response.
finally, he pulled out, his cum spilling out from your pretty pussy, dripping onto the floor beneath the two of you. he helped pick you up, cradling your body in his arms as the two of you rest at the foot of his throne together. you were nestled against his chest, your breathing coming out raggedly as you looked up at him, your eyes half closed and your body weak. ratio had breached you completely, filled you up in ways that you didn't even know possible. such was the ways of an aeon, you thought, unable to fight back against him even if you wanted to.
" you've taught me a lot about the human body, " ratio whispered, content just to hold you there, his voice holding a hint of vulnerability. " no, the human body, and perhaps the human mind, too. my own mind. thank you for this lesson, dear emanator. "
perhaps being an emanator didn't always mean that you held all of the power. after all, there will always be a being with more power than you.
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moonchild9350 · 3 months ago
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Still Life and Nude Surprises
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Summary: you need to prep for an art show and sign up for a class for extra practice. the model you’re assigned however turns out to be someone you know very well.
Pairing: best friend!Felix x fab!reader
Genre: friends to lovers au, fluff, smut-18+MDNI
Word Count: 4.8k
Warnings: nude modeling, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, mention of overstimulation, clit play, unprotected sex (don't), creampie, implied multiple rounds
Notes: another fic from when I was feral sorry not sorry lol this was fun to write though and it’s Felix so…. lol
If you enjoyed please consider a like, reblog, or comment as it keeps me motivated ♡
Divider by @cafekitsune
Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)
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"Hold still!"
You chastised the blonde who was at the moment wiggling around in his seat, his eyes focused on his computer screen as he blasted god knows what on the latest game he acquired.
"Y/n! Lemme just finish this round, then I'll do anything you say," he responded as he showed off his biggest pouty face.
You sighed, not being able to say no to that face. Felix smiled and went back to his game, his fingers tap tapping on the keyboard.
Felix is your best friend, he has been since you were neighbors as a kid. You've done everything together, from attending dances as each others dates, sleepovers as kids, endure heartbreaks, and even live within the same building as adults.
You couldn't live without him, your relationship going beyond your wildest dreams.
Now, you were trying to sketch your best friend as you were trying to improve your still life skills, preparing for an art show that you had signed up for. Everything was going well until he received a text from a gamer buddy, wanting to go for a round on a new game he recently started.
You set your sketch pad down and watched your friend as he scrunched his face in concentration, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he shot down enemy after enemy. It was pretty humorous to watch, as everytime he missed his target he'd scream "noooo!" before concentrating once more.
You knew it was a lost cause, understanding once he started gaming, it would be hours until he would stop. You gathered up your stuff, packing it into your bag.
You got up and walked over to Felix, ruffling up his hair, obscuring his view of the computer screen.
"Y/n!" he exclaimed as he blew his hair out of his face, the strands framing his face haphazardly as a result.
"I'm gonna go home, it's getting late. I"ll see you later ok?"
Felix took a chance and looked away from the screen to you, "I'm sorry, I'm a horrible model."
You chuckled and slapped his arm, the boy yelping at the sting. "No you're not, you just get distracted easily."
You continued to laugh as you walked to his door, listening to Felix mutter under his breath something along the lines of "that's not true."
Closing his door, you walked the few doors down to your apartment, dropping your bag on the hallway table. You really did want to practice your skills as the show was getting closer day by day and you were banking on using Felix to start.
You grabbed your laptop and plopped on the couch, propping your feet on the table in front of you. Opening up the search engine, you began to look for classes that you could attend to help you practice.
You came across a particularly promising site, the company offering a variety of classes from group sessions to private ones. You clicked on the private session info bar, as the prospect of it just being you and the model seemed appealing.
You noticed they offered private nude modeling sessions as well, your eyebrow raising in interest. This would be the perfect opportunity to study the human body and to improve your skills on drawing it.
The company had a few sessions open over the next few days which would be perfect as you were free. You clicked on the time slot for tomorrow's private session, your mind running over the pros and cons.
You've never sketched anyone nude, the prospect seeming a little embarrassing to you, but how would you get better if you didn't step out of your comfort zone? Plus, these models were trained for this, and it was with a reputable company.
The cost of the class wasn't much either, definitely within your budget. You filled in your information, whatever they asked for. Once done, your hand hovered over the book button, as you considered what to do.
"Fuck it," you said, bringing your finger down to press book.
A confirmation page popped up saying your session was successfully booked and they'd see you tomorrow. You let out a breath and closed your laptop.
This was really going to happen. You wondered if you'd have a male or female model, noticing there was no option to choose. Shaking your head, you decided not to think about the session until the time came, opting to go in with a fresh and unbiased mind.
You went about the rest of your night, prepping everything you would need for tomorrow. Settling into bed you pulled the covers up to your chin.
You were ready for tomorrow and whatever it were to bring.
--
It was a beautiful day, the sun shining, the weather warm but not too hot. The walk to the art studio wasn't too far away, the building being within walking distance.
You were giddy with excitement, your anxieties gone about the details of the session. You texted Felix to let him know you would be occupied today and would be over later on. He didn't mind as he apparently had something to do as well.
You approached a chic building, the outer walls appearing old yet charming to fit the town. You opened the door and walked in, met with the scent only an art studio can provide, from the scents of paints to fresh canvases. The scent of coffee drifted in the air as well, as there was a fresh pot that seemed to have been brewed in the corner of the reception area.
You approached the front desk, greeting the worker behind it.
"Hi, my name is y/n, I'm booked for a private session at 10:30?"
The lady looked in a book on the desk, her manicured fingers running down the page to the appointed time. She tapped her fingers on the page, finding your name as expected.
"We have you all set, would you like to pay now?"
You nodded and pulled out your card. She took care of the payment and then smiled.
"Have a seat, someone will be with you shortly to take you to the studio."
"Thank you," you said, walking towards a comfy looking chair in the corner.
You sat down, cradling your bag to your side. The atmosphere was quiet, the occasional sound of chatter meeting your ears. You watched as people walked to and from, their focus on getting to their destination.
Not long after sitting down, a young woman appeared calling your name. You hurriedly grabbed your bag and walked towards her.
"Ready?" she asked with a smile.
"Absolutely," you responded as you followed the lady down the hall.
She stopped at a door, the placard reading studio eight. It was more secluded than the other studios, the room being near the back of the hall. The lady opened the door and stepped in, you following right behind her.
As you crossed the threshold, you took in the surroundings of the room. It wasn't too small but not too big. The walls were covered with sketches and paintings, portraying various body types. Each painting was beautiful, the artist capturing the details of the human body in intricate detail.
There was a ceiling to floor mirror along one wall, the whole room visible in its reflection. In the center of the room, there was a chair next to a series of boxes, linen draped over it to make a makeshift bed. You eyed the stool next to an easel, which you assumed is where you would be sitting.
"So, this is where your session will take place. You have this space for four hours. If you need assistance of any sort, just press this button here and one of the staff members will assist you."
You followed her hand as she pointed to a blue button next to the door. You nodded and faced the lady again, waiting for her to continue.
"You have opted for a nude model for your session correct?"
"Yes, I have," you replied, feeling your cheeks flush at her question.
"They will enter after I leave. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, you can ask them to robe again, they will not mind. I think that's all. Any questions?"
You shook your head no, as everything was pretty straight forward.
"Great! Go ahead and get settled, your model will be in shortly!"
You thanked the lady and walked over to the easel. Setting your bag down, you began to pull out your sketch book and various pencils, setting them up accordingly. You sat on the stool, crossing your legs as you waited for your model to arrive.
It didn't take long until a different door than you came in opened, a person stepping in within the room. It was a flurry of movement as they walked into the room with their head down.
"Sorry, I'm a little late," the person said in a deep voice.
Wait...you knew that voice. Shocked, your head snapped up to look more closely at the person. You couldn't believe it, that person was...
"Y/n?!"
"Felix?!"
Your model was Felix? Your best friend? What the fuck?!
You were confused and shocked. Felix seemed to be as well as he stared at you with his mouth wide open.
You eyed your friend who was prepped in a white robe, the material seeming soft and cozy on his skin. His long hair was in a ponytail, framed away from his face, his numerous freckles on display.
"What are you doing here?" you asked in disbelief.
"I could ask you the same thing," Felix responded as he came closer to you.
"I uh...I signed up for a class to work on my skills since you know..." you said, your voice trailing off at the end.
The atmosphere was tense, neither one of you knowing what to do. You never expected to see your best friend here, especially since he never mentioned he modeled for an art studio...nude at that.
Felix nodded at your response, "I work here as a side gig...make some extra cash you know?"
You nodded, accepting his answer.
"Why did you never tell me you did this?" you inquired, curiosity getting the best of you.
Felix fiddled with the strap of his robe, his gaze anywhere but yours. After a moment he cleared his throat.
"Well, I thought you'd find it weird. I mean I'm naked in front of people and they draw me in the nude. How would I bring that up with you?"
He had a point. That would definitely make for an interesting conversation. Now the question becomes do you go on with the session? Sketch your best friend nude? You could make him keep the robe on.
"Do you...do you still want to proceed with this?" Felix asked, his hands gesturing toward the makeshift bed in the center of the room.
"I'm ok if you are," you said shrugging.
Felix cleared his throat, surprised at your answer. Recovering quickly, he said, "Of course."
You nodded and watched as he padded toward the bed, stopping in front of it for a moment. His hands went to the strap of his robe, his fingers fiddling with the knot before he stopped.
"You ok with sketching me nude?"
"Yes Lix, I've seen you naked before."
You really have and with years of being best friends, it was bound to happen.
Felix nodded before he grasped the strap again, this time untying the knot.
You watched as the knot fell away, the straps now dangling at his side. He brought his hands up, to grab the soft material and slide it off his shoulders. With a flurry of movement, he let the robe fall, the fabric pooling at his feet.
You gasped, your eyes glued to your best friend as he stood in the center of the room, his back to you. Taking the chance, your eyes roamed his back, taking in his muscular frame, down to his lithe waist, which you've always admired. You smirked at seeing his ass wanting to reach out and smack it.
Felix took a deep breath and slowly turned around to face you. You watched with bated breath as he now stood facing you, his eyes on yours.
Your eyes drifted down his torso, eyeing his nipples, the pinkish-brown buds perky in the cold room. You eyed him further down, down, down until you came to his pelvis, a happy trail of hair leading down to his cock.
You subconsciously licked your lips, your eyes glued to his soft cock lying amongst a smattering of hair, his balls hanging nice and delicate. You couldn't help but admire his cock, wondering how it would feel in your hands, how it would feel...
"Earth to y/n! My eyes are up here pervert!" Felix exclaimed while snapping his fingers to get your attention.
You snapped your eyes up to his face, feeling your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You definitely were just checking out your best friend, the feeling in your panties a little more wet than when you came in.
You cleared your throat and gestured toward the bed, "Umm, wanna get started?"
Felix nodded, "How do you want me?"
"You can just lounge on the bed for now."
Felix nodded again and sat on the bed, swinging his legs up to rest on the linens. You walked over to your best friend and stopped in front of him, your hands reached out. You hesitated for a moment, looking into his eyes asking silent permission to touch him.
"Go ahead, position me how you want," Felix chuckled.
You took his hand in yours and draped it across his face, his fingers dangling delicately on the side of his cheeks. You angled his head to look toward where you would be sitting. You looked at his legs, taking a breath before propping one of his legs up.
Once finished, you quickly took a step back, eyeing your work. Satisfied, you sat down on your stool and grabbed your sketch book.
You picked up a pencil and began to sketch, easily getting lost in your work. You looked up at Felix every now and then, to get some details solidified in your head before you translated it onto paper.
It was silent in the room, neither one of you speaking. It was not as awkward as you thought it would be, but rather comforting.
Time passed and you got more of your sketch done, the outline being nearly complete.
Felix was staring at you, watching your hands dance across the page, sketching his frame. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, admiring how you got lost in your work, that not even your best friend posing naked for you can distract you.
He loved how you let out a small smile when you got a detail just right or how you scrunched up your face and bit your lip when something did not seem right.
You were beautiful, that he couldn't deny and you were even more beautiful in this moment, sitting on a stool in an art studio underneath the dim lights.
Felix started to feel warm, despite laying right under the air conditioner, the feeling spreading down his belly and settling at his cock. He could feel the blood slowly fill out his cock, the appendage slightly harder than before, laying haphazardly against his pelvis.
He willed himself to breath, to cool down, not wanting you to see the effect you have on him. He could never live that down. He tried to look everywhere but your face, especially when your head was down. But to no avail, the feeling increased, his cock twitching slightly in response.
You looked up at your friend to get another look at his torso for shading the area on your sketch, but froze at what you saw. Felix seemed to be in turmoil, his breath shaky, his eyes darting everywhere around the room.
Your eyes traveled to his cock, noticing how it seemed to have hardened some since you last took a look at him. You thought you would feel embarrassed, however, you felt quite the opposite.
You lingered on his cock a little longer, a a pleasurable shock traveling down your body and straight to your core. You pressed your thighs together in response, feeling your slick slowly seep into your panties.
You cleared your throat and went back to your sketch, not wanting Felix to catch you staring, not let him know that you were aware he was hard while you sketched him.
Felix was turned on, that was the brunt of it. He tried to stop his reaction to you, but he just couldn't do it. He felt his cock hardened until it stood fully at attention, the tip pressing up against his pelvis.
It was torture laying there, only a few feet away from you, his cock so hard it was starting to hurt. He wanted to touch himself, relieve the ache, and maybe just maybe you could help him out too.
He watched as you lifted your head up once more, gasping at the state of him.
You were in shock, noticing now that Felix's cock was fully hard, the member seeming angry and red at the lack of attention it received. You could see something shiny glistening on the hairs littering his pelvis. You watched as a drop of pre-cum oozed from his tip, the liquid dripping down his shaft until it reached the hairs, getting caught in the thickness.
Looking at Felix's face, you could tell he was miserable, as he breathing was shallow and he was clenching and unclenching his hands. You knew he wanted to touch himself to relieve himself of the ache he was feeling.
"Felix?" you questioned, your eyes reaching his. "Do you wanna touch yourself?"
Felix's eyes widened at the question, disbelief written on his face.
"I'm..I'm sorry y/n, I just couldn't help it," he stuttered, lowering his eyes in embarrassment.
"It's ok," you responded with a smile. "You can touch yourself, make yourself feel good. I'll continue to sketch."
Felix stared at you for a moment more before he took his other hand that was at his side and placed it on his chest.
You watched as he gripped his aching cock and gave it a squeeze as he moaned lowly. He shifted his hand upwards, his thumb pressing on his slit before gathering up some of the leaking pre-cum.
He began to stroke his cock, steady but slowly, his fist reaching the base just to travel back up and circle around the head. Felix kept eye contact with you, your sketching forgotten, as you took to watching your best friend pleasure himself.
He increased the speed of his wrist movement, wet sounds from the aid of his precum filling the room. With each moan he let out, you felt your pussy clench over nothing. You were soaking wet, your panties stuck to your skin by now, your clit throbbing to be touched.
"Y/n," Felix said, his voice raspy as he continued to stroke his cock. "Can you touch yourself? Pleasure yourself for me?"
You looked into Felix's pleading eyes, watching as he licked his lips and swallowed. You didn't give a moments thought at your friend's request, instead ridding yourself of your leggings.
You stood before Felix, your fingers going to the band of your panties. You watched Felix's eyes drag to the piece of cloth, his eyes widening at the wet patch present on your panties, the material sticking to your skin, leaving nothing to the imagination as the outline of your lips could be seen.
You slowly slid your panties down your legs and set them aside. Felix let out a groan at the sight of your pussy, his cock twitching in his hand.
You sat back down on the stool and spread your legs, your wet folds separating to show him your entrance. He kept his eyes glued to your pussy as you brought a finger to your clit, flicking the bud and the rubbing it gently.
You sighed out as you dipped a finger lower into your hole, gathering your slick that was pooling there before bringing it back to your clit. You circled it gently, applying the slightest pressure, a jolt of pleasure causing your pussy to clench.
Time passed as you both sat there, eyes on each other as you pleasured yourself, the room filled with wet sounds and the mix of both of your moans.
You matched Felix's pace as he stroked his cock, harder and faster, his hips bucking up into his hands. You let out a whimper as you felt the tightening within your belly, the coil tightening, filling your core with warmth.
"Felix, m'close," you moaned as your fingers slipped and slid around your clit, your pussy getting wetter by the minute.
"Yeah? Cum for me? Will you cum for me like a good girl?" Felix cooed. "I'm close too, fuck."
Your breathing increased as the coil expanded in your belly, the feeling getting larger and larger until you tipped over the edge, your walls spasming, clenching down rhythmically as you rode out your high.
You didn't stop rubbing your clit, watching as Felix let out a groan as he bucked his hips, spurts of cum landing on his belly creating a painting with its pearly white sheen.
You pulled your hand away, the feeling of overstimulation settling in. You looked at your best friend, both of you breathing hard as you came down from your highs.
You chuckled as you noticed Felix was pretty much in the same position you put him in, his resolve at staying true to his role admirable.
"You um...you can keep sketching if you'd like," Felix said, his voice soft with uncertainty.
"We literally just got off together and you want me to continue sketching?" you asked incredulously as you cocked your eyebrow.
Felix cleared his throat, his body slighly shifting on the makeshift bed causing his softened cock to jiggle.
"Well...yeah, you paid and all..."
You stared at your best friend in disbelief. You hated that he had a point, you did pay a pretty sum to be here today. But here you were, nude from the waist down, your nether region a mess. You sighed and picked up your pencil, moving your hand to start sketching again.
There was silence once more as you got into the zone, focusing on shading in your sketch. You began to hum to yourself, adjusting yourself sligthly on the stool.
Felix returned to staring at you, watching you get lost in your work. He tried not to remember that you were naked waist down, your pussy seconds away from being on display if you decided to open your legs.
The thought caused arousal to seep through his body once more. He cursed silently as he felt his cock twitch. Why does he have to be turned on by you? He's never had this reaction before for any other client.
Maybe it was because they were strangers, people he didn't know, while you were his best friend, his life line.
He couldn't help it as his thoughts wandered, wondering how you would feel wrapped around him. He wondered how you would sound as he pounded into you, making you feel better than any of your little flings ever could.
He peeked down to look at his lower half as he silently groaned noticing his cock was fully hardened, resting against his belly once more.
You looked up to gather reference and noticed Felix's cock was hard, more of his precum leaking out and onto his belly. You squeezed your thighs together at the sight as your tongue darted out and licked your lips.
"Fuck this," you said, tossing your sketch book to the side.
You stood up and walked towards Felix, lifting your shirt up and over your head in the process. You unclasped your bra and let it fall to the floor, your tits spilling out and on view for your friend.
Felix scrambled up quickly and grabbed you by the arm, pulling you toward him until you stood right in front of his face. He grasped your waist and smashed his lips to yours, letting out a moan as your lips moved with his.
Your hand reached down to grasp his cock, giving it a squeeze. Felix moaned against your lips, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.
"Can I fuck you y/n?" Felix asked with hope in his eyes.
You've both come this far, why stop now you thought.
"Sure," you agreed as more arousal gushed out of your pussy and onto your thighs at the thought of his cock filling you up.
Felix helped maneuver you onto the makeshift bed as he hovered above you. He spread your legs and pushed them upwards, giving him a clear view of your wet pussy, your slick coating your folds and dripping down your ass.
He brought his thumb down to press against your swollen clit that was peeking through your folds. You let out a whine at the sensation, your pussy clenching around nothing.
"I've waited for this moment for a long time y/n," Felix said, his eyes lifting up to your face.
"Me too," you confessed, your heart swelling at the thought that you both have liked each other probably for years.
He really was your person, your everything, and you would love nothing more than to give yourself fully to him.
Felix smiled down at you before swiping his finger over your clit again, watching as you wiggled your hips at his touch.
"I'm gonna give you my cock now," he grunted, grasping the appendage at the base.
He rubbed his cock through your folds, collecting your slick before pressing against your entrance, his eyes glued to how his head disappeared within your hole.
You mewled as he withdrew his cock just to press into your entrance again as he fucked you with just the tip.
"Felix, please," you whimpered, holding your legs open even more.
"Want my cock hm?" Felix asked, his eyes on yours. He watched as your mouth hung open, soft moans falling out as he teased you, spreading your folds open with just his head.
He was faring no better as he felt a shutter run through him, every time he sunk his tip within your warmth.
"Fuck me," you commanded, your eyes snapping open and staring Felix down.
You reached for his cock, your hand wrapping around the shaft. You wiggled your hips attempting to take more of his cock, ignoring how Felix was laughing at you.
"Ok, ok, don't get your panties in a twist," Felix chuckled. "Oh wait, you lost those hours ago, so desperate for my cock y/n."
Without any other warning, he slammed his hips into yours with a groan, sinking his length within your walls until bottomed out.
"Fuck, so warm and tight," he grunted as he began to thrust his hips into yours, withdrawing his cock just until he was all the way out and pushing back in.
You pussy clenched around him, the feeling of his cock stretching you out causing waves of pleasure to settle in your pelvis.
Felix grasped your legs, pushing them further to your chest as he pummeled his hips to yours, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. He couldn't believe how tight you were, how your walls molded around his cock perfectly, like you were made for him.
His moans mingled with yours, as you both chased your highs. Felix licked his fingers and brought them back down to your clit, the digits slipping and sliding along the nub, causing shocks of pleasure to wreck your frame.
"Shit, I'm close, gonna cum. Can I come inside?" Felix panted, his thrusts becoming more erratic.
"Please, need your cum!" you whimpered as your pussy contracted at the thought of his cum within you.
Felix slammed his hips into yours once more before stilling, ropes of his cum flooding your walls.
"That's it, take my cum," Felix cooed as he continued to finger your clit.
You let out a loud moan as you came, your arousal seeping out of your pussy, coating Felix's cock as he thrusted his hips into yours a few more times to help you ride out your high.
Felix peered down at you, his eyes searching yours as you panted, your hands running down your body. He slowly withdrew his softening cock, his eyes glued to how his cum leaked out of your pussy, a smile gracing his face.
He leaned down to press a kiss on your lips once more as he whispered "I love you."
You carded your fingers through his hair, eagerly returning the kiss.
"And I love you Felix," you cooed.
You both laid there a little longer, exchanging soft kisses, neither one of you in a rush to move.
After a while, Felix perked up, mischief in his eyes.
"Wanna keep sketching? You still have another hour."
You smirked at the suggestion, knowing exactly where it will lead, and that was definitely ok with you.
"Sure thing, let's go for another round," you teased with a grin.
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Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght
503 notes · View notes
notlongtolove · 2 months ago
Text
in eternal lines
spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. but when the deadlines are looming, it takes everything in you not to snap. because while you’re good at literature because you have to be, spencer's great at it because, well, he’s spencer. 
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)
genre: angst, comfort, fluff... i don't know anymore
content: student!reader gets kinda pissy and snappy but she has a 3000 word essay due and a fever so go easy on her. and spencer is spencer, so patient, so kind :'
word count: 5.2k
note: as a literature major this was extremely self-indulgent... i'm sorry. i love lit student reader and i hope you guys do too! also aptly titled after the one and only sonnet 18 because it was the first poem we were given read in uni <3 (reader is basing her essay on george macdonald's 'the princess and the goblin' and isaac watts' 'divine songs' if anyone is curious; but don't read too deeply into her lines about it because i submitted that essay weeks ago and it's been relinquished it from my mind oops)
a line: You’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.
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When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - william shakespeare
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You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would sift through pages of Whitman’s dense poetry with you or debate whether Rossetti was really referencing Eve’s bite of the apple in Goblin Market? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place.
So yes, you love your boyfriend. But when deadlines are looming, and submission dates are bearing down on you, it takes everything in you not to snap. Because while Spencer can dissect poetry and prose with an ease that seems almost otherworldly, you sometimes feel the weight of comparison pressing on you. You’re good at it too—of course you are, you have to be. You’re pursuing a degree in it forgodsakes. But Spencer? He’s great at it because, well, he’s Spencer.
And while you can hold your own most days, a fair challenger when you come back from a particularly intriguing lecture too layered to dissect by yourself, there are times you feel like you’re running to keep up. Spencer will pull references from texts and obscure sources you haven’t even heard of, leaving you struggling to connect the dots. And that’s just literature. When he dives into his other passions—you don’t even bother to compete. Instead, you resign yourself to the couch, nodding and asking questions during the rare moments you can sort of follow the thread of his thoughts.
Having an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory does have its perks. Everyone knows that.
Your friends see it too. Like today when one of them stopped by between classes to return an essay you’d been stressing over for days.
“Well, don’t you look fantastic,” she teased, smirking. “Guessing those leftovers weren’t as ‘fine’ as you thought?”
​​“Don’t even start,” you mutter, weakly grabbing the paper from her hands as you lean on the doorframe. You flip through the pages marked in red ink quickly with the little strength you have, eyes scanning briefly through the comments before you’re on to the next page, next page, next page. They’re not what you’re looking for. 
And then you see it. There on the last page, a definite red circle around it: B+. 
You’d expected it of course. B+—your ever-reliable benchmark. It's a mark of consistency you've been forced to be contented with. It wasn’t horrendous. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. But you’d worked hard on this one. You’d hoped, maybe, for something more. You’d expected it, and yet, you don’t know why you still feel a pinch of disappointment.
“How’d you do?” you ask grimly, fighting the nausea creeping up your throat.
“Same,” she replies nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone.
You nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d seen your grade before you did.
“Oh, you know it’s always the same,” she adds with a wry smile. “Solidly subpar, as per tradition.” 
The phrase stung a little more now than it had when you’d coined it back in your first year. Back when, after a string of middle-of-the-road grades, you’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through. 
“Whatever, it was only 20% anyway,” she shrugs.
“Yeah…” you reply weakly, though the disappointment still gnaws at you. You can’t quite shake it. Maybe it’s because deep down, you know you do care—no matter how often you tell yourself you’ve accepted the fate of being perpetually average. You still want, so quietly, so desperately, to be something more. You’ve always had a love for literature: the way words flow across a page, imbuing meaning into simple phrases, transforming them into art. You’ve always admired the beauty of it. But passion doesn’t translate to academic brilliance, and appreciation doesn’t equal A grades. It’s a hard truth you’ve come to learn.
“How was class?” you ask, trying to steer your mind away from its current spiral. “We still on Faerie Queene?”
“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling her eyes. “Kristoff’s still rambling on and on about virtue and chastity. Ha. Imagine me living in those times—at the rate I ghost men, I’d be a certified whore.”
“Well, actually, they’d probably get to you first,” Spencer interrupts as he steps out of the bedroom, his tone slipping into that familiar, matter-of-fact cadence. “Virtue and chastity were considered to be absolute truths in the 16th century. A woman’s value was intrinsically tied to her perceived purity, which of course, was a reflection of her family’s honor.” 
If you weren’t so ill, you would’ve laughed at her face—eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.
“And then there’s the public shaming,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets already miles deep into his thoughts. “In fact, the entire allegory of Book III revolves around chastity as a cornerstone of moral virtue. Witch trials in the late 16th and 17th centuries often targeted women who were thought as sexually deviant or independent, framing their ‘sins’ as some sort of evidence that they were consorting with the devil—”
He pauses, glancing between you and your friend. “So yeah… considering all that, if you’d ‘ghosted’ a few men back then, they probably would’ve gone straight to accusations of witchcraft or worse.”
Your friend stares at him, “...Right. Good to know,” she says, blinking slowly.
“But you know, Edmund Spenser intended The Faerie Queene to be a moral guide for young men,” he adds as an afterthought, realizing he’s just indirectly affirmed your friend’s self-deprecating joke. Spencer shifts awkwardly but can’t help himself by continuing, “It was meant to instil chivalric virtues to shape a model English gentleman. So technically, your interpretation is, um, modern at best.”
Her expression—equal parts baffled, impressed, maybe even a little scared—almost makes you forget how sick you feel.
“So…” she says after a pause, “I’m guessing you’re Spencer?”
“I am,” he replies simply.
“Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” 
Spencer offers a smile, “Likewise.” 
“Anyway… I’m off.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, “Essay’s not gonna write itself. This one’s 30% by the way. God, I hate Kristoff but Burton’s a close second for sure.”
You wince at the reminder, the weight of your unfinished work pressing on you. The brief called for at least three secondary sources, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.
“Feel better soon, sweetie,” she says, offering you a sympathetic look. You manage a weak smile in return.
“Bye Spencer,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”
“Will do,” he says curtly, giving a small wave as you close the door behind her.
A moment later, your phone buzzes. He’s cute, her text reads. Another follows immediately: And basically a walking Wikipedia.
You start typing a response, but another text pops up before you can send it: Don’t dog on us for using ChatGPT now. You huff and click your phone off instead, tossing it aside. 
Therein lies another source of stress. Spencer is always happy to help you untangle a difficult text or interpret a dense poem, but he draws the line when it comes to your academic work. He never interferes directly. You’ve seen it yourself—The first time you handed him your laptop to review an essay, he’d made his comments verbally, pointing at sections on the screen while explaining his critiques in detail, but never actually touching the keyboard. You’d brought it up during an argument once, after a particularly crushing grade. Your frustration had spilled over: You’re smarter. You type faster. Why can’t you just fix it? But Spencer had only responded with something about “academic integrity” and the importance of maintaining the “code of conduct.” The conversation ended there, and after that, you stopped asking. 
Even yesterday, when you managed to scrape together 300 words for a draft, you’d handed your laptop to him, and again, he was careful to keep his boundaries. Too drained to make edits in real-time, you’d expected—maybe hoped—that he might step in more directly. Instead, Spencer quietly switched the document to “suggesting” mode, marking up your draft with precise yet detached annotations, never infiltrating or overstepping your own words. Spencer Reid is and always will be a stickler for rules. You try to hold yourself to the same standard. You steer clear of AI, no matter how tempting it might be. You know better. Well, that and because Spencer would never let it slide. 
But now it’s late and the thought of letting some website churn out polished, perfectly phrased sentences for you in seconds has never felt more tempting. The nausea has faded, leaving behind a fever in its place. Spencer’s in the living room, reading. You’d banished him to the couch—even the faint sound of pages turning, not to mention the speed at which he reads, was enough to derail your already fragile train of thought. You’d felt bad of course; he’d made soup for you earlier, fed it to you and everything. But with this essay worth 30% of your grade and your 300 words barely scratching the surface of the 3,000-word requirement, you don’t have it in you to be oh-so-sweet and ever-so-grateful. Not right now. You’ve nailed down the introduction—a quick overview of historical context, a sweeping statement on the authors’ intents. But now, the real challenge looms: The thesis. And you’re utterly stuck.
This essay argues that…  that…
You groan in frustration, flopping back against the pillows. So much for children’s literature. You’d chosen this class thinking it’d be an easy ride—fairy tales and picture books, how hard could it be? Yet here you are, being tasked with dissecting the significance of form and language. Now, the simple language and pretty pictures are anything but your friend, doing nothing to help further your argument. Your head throbs, your mouth feels like sandpaper, and the brilliant points you’d thought of in last week’s class are nowhere to be found, lost in the haziness of your mind. With a defeated sigh, you peel back the sheets and shuffle out of the bedroom, laptop in hand, every joint aching in protest. Spencer looks up from his book as the rustle of sheets catches his attention. His heart aches slightly when he sees you in the doorway, clutching your laptop and looking every bit as pitiful as you feel. He sets his book to the side. 
“How’s it going, honey?” he asks sympathetically, even though he already knows the answer from the state of you. 
“It’s barely going,” you admit with a yawn, tears prickling at your eyes from the force of it. They only add to your overall air of defeat as you cross the room and crawl into his lap, laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. “Brain’s foggy, can’t think straight,” you murmur in incomplete sentences. 
“Finalized your thesis yet?” he asks again, his voice gentle but patient. You shake your head, sinking deeper into his chest—It’s a silent surrender, as if giving in to the exhaustion and frustration that’s been building up. Spencer notices, brushing your hair gently away from your face, his hand cool against your hot skin. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, hon,” he says softly, voice full of concern. “Why don’t we get you to bed, take a break for tonight, hm? You can work on this tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. The thought of putting everything off feels like both a relief and a burden. The idea of sleep has never seemed more appealing. But then, the thought of letting this drag on for another day—of pushing the finish line even further out of your reach fills you with dread. But you know you’re not in any state to be working on anything right now, let alone something worth 30% of your final grade. You know that you can’t focus, not when your body feels like it’s ready to give up and when your mind can barely hold onto a coherent thought. “Tomorrow, okay?” Spencer prompts again, calm and gentle. You know he’s right, so, despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind, you nod. “Okay.” 
Spencer doesn’t push, just gives you a small, reassuring smile as he stands. Every movement feels like a chore as he guides you back to bed but the warmth of the blankets and the prospect of rest is more than enough motivation. He tucks you in, his touch comforting and steady. You feel like a weight has been lifted, albeit temporarily. Either way, it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, the thought of picking up where you left off tomorrow seeming almost bearable. 
You wake to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. It takes a moment for your brain to adjust to the new day, the stress of yesterday not entirely gone. But as you sit up, stretching slowly, mind less hazy and joints less achy, you feel a renewed determination, a flicker of focus that was nowhere to be found last night. Your mind is still whirling with fragments of ideas, half-formed arguments, and theoretical connections when Spencer strolls in with a cup of something warm for you.
“Tea.” he announces, handing it to you with a small, triumphant smile. “Decaffeinated.”
You frown, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Need coffee.”
“Studies say caffeinated beverages stimulate the colon,” he counters matter-of-factly.
“Eww,” you groan, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?” 
“Exactly like that,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone precise and measured. “You’ve just recovered, and everyone knows caffeine is a gastrointestinal irritant.’
You huff, taking the mug from him. “Fine, but if I don’t finish this essay, it’s on you.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered by your protest. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”
You grumble under your breath but take a tentative sip of the tea anyway. It’s not what you wanted, but you can’t deny that he’s probably right—he usually is. The warmth seeps through the mug into your hands, grounding you just enough to pull your laptop over from the bedside table. Its practically empty screen blinks back up at you, as though it’s been waiting patiently all night. Hi again. Still here. Still empty. 
Spencer takes a peek at your screen and you can’t help but glare half-heartedly at the mug in his hands. Of course, it’s coffee. He’d get to enjoy caffeine while insisting you couldn’t. Typical.
“So, I was thinking…” you start, deciding to let the injustice slide for now as you scroll through your document.
“Hmm?” He looks up, his gaze meeting yours over the rim of his cup.
“What if I say that MacDonald’s pedagogy was more effective for children because Watts’s text was too directive. That works, right?” You look up, scanning his face for some form of agreement.
“That’s hardly arguable honey,” his words land softly, but you still feel your shoulders sag. “It’s an observation.”
"But—look at the words they use! It's so different. Here, look at the tone," you insist, nudging your laptop toward him. "There has to be something to be said about that, right?"
Spencer leans in, glancing at your screen before looking back at you. His expression is calm, composed, and maddeningly reasonable. "Watts’s text was meant to be read as a textbook. Of course it’s directive. You know that." 
Do you? You think you don't know much at this point. You don’t know what you know, and you don’t know what you don’t know. You groan, dragging your hands down your face as if you could physically scrape the frustration away. Darn you, Isaac Watts. Darn you, pedagogical learning. Darn you, whoever had the audacity to name this course a simple exploration into the history of children’s literature. 
Before you can wallow further, Spencer slides your laptop away. “How about we brush our teeth before crying over educational theories for children in the 18th century?” he suggests, his voice light. You sigh dramatically, dragging yourself to your feet like it’s some Herculean effort. When you shuffle back from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from washing your face, Spencer has taken over your spot on the bed, laptop resting on his legs as he scrolls through some article. He glances up when you flop down beside him with an exaggerated sigh.
"Feel better?" he asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips.
"Not at all," you grumble. You don’t let him know that the brief pause in frustration has given your head just enough space to try again. 
It’s been hours, but you’ve finally narrowed down your thesis. It’s not amazing—far from it—but it’s something. It’s arguable, at least. Spencer’s been relegated back to the living room, his presence a vague hum in the background as you attempt to focus. You’d claimed you worked better in bed, though Spencer’s tried (and failed) to prove with statistics and studies that it’s just a placebo effect, a lie your brain insists on believing.
But right now, none of that matters. You have a thesis and on that note, an essay to begin. Or, at least, the faintest glimmer of one. And that’s when you hit a wall. Again. You sit cross-legged, laptop perched on your knees as you stare at the cursor, blinking like it knows you’re stuck. You wish it would stop judging you. You drag yourself—and your laptop thats become an extension of your body at this point—into the living room like a child seeking comfort. Spencer barely looks up from his article when you slump into the couch next to him.
“What about this?” You straighten your back, determined to sound confident this time, even if you're not sure where you're going with it. “What if I say that MacDonald’s use of fantasy is critical because it creates like, an emotional bridge and that makes it more effective for moral teaching and—”
“Well, yes," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer doesn’t even look up from his article. "But that’s kind of a subpoint, honey.”
You stiffen, irritation rising like bile in your throat. “It’s not a subpoint. It’s a point.”
He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up, finally meeting yours. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it might as well be. “How is that significant? What does it build toward?”
You grit your teeth. “Ugh, you sound like Kristoff.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him. You know it’s not fair to snap, but your patience is paper thin. You can feel the fever creeping back into your skin, and you’re not sure if it's the heat or the mounting pressure, but suddenly everything feels like a little too much. 
“Fine,” you say, swallowing your frustration, trying again. “What if I say that MacDonald’s narrative style is more progressive because it like, engages the reader’s emotions directly? And that’s why Watts’ text feels scarier?”
Spencer pauses. For a moment, you think you’ve finally hit something solid, his eyes narrowing just enough to show he’s intrigued. “And how are you planning to argue that?”
“Well, um… um—I… I don’t know!” You exhale sharply, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You sink back against the cushions, frustration seeping into your bones. “Something about how MacDonald’s vibe is all nice and charming while Watts is all like, ‘learn this or else’. 
“Sure I guess…” Spencer acknowledges, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’ll need more than vibes and a strong dislike of Watts to support it sweetheart.”
“Gee, thanks,” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.
He chuckles softly, a sound that’s too calm, too collected, and somehow that makes it worse. He’s not wrong, but you’re still pissed off. You take a breath, steeling yourself for the next round of dissection. “Okay, then what if I say that MacDonald lets kids think for themselves, and Watts... doesn’t. Because of his moral authority and intellectual agency and whatever.”
Spencer’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, but it’s enough. You feel a flicker of something—relief, maybe? It’s hard to say. His voice has shifted, just slightly, less detached now, more engaged. “You can build on that.”
“Really?” you ask, suddenly more hopeful than you’d like to admit.
“Really,” he confirms, leaning back in his chair. But then he tilts his head and furrows his brows in a way that makes you want to throw your laptop at him. “But you’ll need to define those terms and back it up with examples. Otherwise, it’s just a claim.” Of course. 
“God, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!” you snap, the irritation rising in your throat. “I get it, okay? I need examples. But you’re not even letting me work out a point before you just, I don’t know, shit all over it.” Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a second, you almost feel bad for snapping at him. 
“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently, but there's something in the way he says it—just a little too patient—that makes you bristle. You hate how right he always is, how calm he always looks, how much care he always has in his eyes even when you’re acting out. 
“You’re trying to help?” you repeat incredulously, shaking your head. “You’re poking holes in everything!” Even in your feverish haze, you know you’re being cruel—but you just can’t help it. All you can think about is how everything is slipping away, how your thoughts won’t line up, how your head is starting to hurt again. You’re not even sure if you’re angry at him anymore, or just angry at everything else. 
Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He glances at your screen again, a mess of quotes and bulletpoints. “I just want to make sure it’s solid, honey,” he says finally, his tone softer.
You scoff. “Yeah, well, you tore apart whatever solid lead I thought I had after two hours of work in just about five minutes, so thanks for that,” words tumbling out before you can stop them. Spencer’s silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speak. “Just… just let me get through this.” 
Spencer sits there for a moment, just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension shift in the room. “I’m not saying you can’t get through it. I just want you to get through it right,” he says carefully, his voice quiet but insistent. “That’s all.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just care.
But the heat, the fever, it’s all swirling inside you, and you can’t hold it together much longer. “Of course you are…” you mutter bitterly, already regretting everything you’ve said. It feels like every step forward just leads you straight into another wall, and you’re just too tired to keep going. It’s not that you want to push him away or that you don’t appreciate his help. You’re just too irritable, too exhausted. You just want the whole damn essay to be done—and you wish you didn’t need his help to make it happen. You want to yell, to throw something, to demand that the world stop spinning long enough for you to catch your breath. But all that comes out is a hollow, defeated sigh. 
You feel like you're drowning and you don’t want to drag him under with you. “I’m just…” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, trying to gather whatever little strength you have left. “I’m just so tired.” 
Spencer looks at you, eyes full of concern, but it doesn’t help. You don’t want sympathy. You want to be better—to be able handle all of this. You want to be able to write this damn essay on goddamn children’s books without falling apart. And it doesn’t help that you’re falling apart in front of Spencer. The same Spencer who can recite verses from Paradise Lost at the drop of a hat. You’d almost burst into tears the last time he did it after it had taken you an entire week just to decipher and analyze a single chapter with any real confidence. You can’t help but feel that pang of inadequacy every time he breezes through something you’ve struggled with, even if he doesn’t mean to make it look so effortless. You hate yourself for it. You can’t find a way to shake the feeling that you’re not doing enough, not good enough. Not for yourself, not for him. You feel the sting of it, it’s pressing on your chest, suffocating.
“I just… just feel like I can’t keep up with any of it.” You don’t say it with any anger, just exhaustion. It’s not even directed at him anymore—it’s just the fact that you feel so stuck, so far behind where you should be, where you so badly want to be. “Like I can’t keep up with you.” 
Oh. Spencer feels his heart sink. He’s always prided himself on being able to read people. He should’ve known better. He’d been so focused on helping, so intent on pushing you to reach the level he knows you’re capable of, the level he knows you want to be at—even if you keep telling yourself you don’t. The fever, the deadlines, the constant pushing—he should’ve known that it was all too much. 
“You don’t have to keep up with me honey, I’m right here with you,” he says, trying to get you to look up at him. You can’t meet his gaze. You feel guilty for snapping, for letting the frustration slip out, but you’re not rational enough right now to pull yourself out from this spiral of self-pity. It’s easier to stay here, in the anger, the frustration, than to face the embarrassment of it all. 
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” Spencer takes your hand, cautiously, testing the waters. He knows you don’t exactly want to be touched right now. He knows it makes you feel coddled. He pauses, waiting for your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he gains the confidence to cradle your face gently. You don’t resist, your tired eyes meeting his, heavy with sadness and Spencer thinks he can actually feel his heart break.
“You’re doing just fine sweetheart. You’re not falling behind. You’re just stressed. And sick.” He knows you’re feeling fragile, like any comfort might smother you so he threads forward lightly. “This essay? You’ll get it done. I promise.” It sounds right, and yet it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t stop the doubt that’s eating at you, the sense that you’re just not measuring up to everything you want to be. You feel like you’re barely treading water, no matter how hard you swim, the shore never gets any closer.
But for now, Spencer’s words are enough to quiet the panic—a buoy in your sea of sadness threatening to pull you under. You cling to it, knowing you’ll have to start swimming again soon. But for this moment, you allow yourself to stop. A beat. A pause. A breath—Just for now.
It’s only the next day that you manage to get the words on the page, not in any smooth, brilliant way, but they’re there. The sentences form, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with more confidence, until the essay is painfully but finally done. Not perfect, but it’s done. Relief washes over you, even as exhaustion lingers. 
The moment you hear the front door open, you practically leap up, laptop in hand, meeting Spencer before he can even take his shoes off. He raises an eyebrow, setting his bag down as you both settle onto the couch. Without a word, you hand over the laptop, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You wait with bated breath as he begins to scroll, your laborious effort displayed in black and white. The sound of the touchpad clicking feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He asks a few questions, here and there—clarifications, mostly. Questions you answer with ease, surprising even yourself with the confidence in your responses. He nods along, his expression thoughtful, but not critical. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer looks up, eyes bright, a proud smile on his face. “It looks great, honey. You did a really good job.” 
You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at his praise. “Really?” Spencer leans in, cupping your cheek gently, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Really.” When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You worked so hard on this,” he murmurs. “So proud of you.”
Your chest tightens, but in a good way, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the comfort he always seems to bring. “Now," he pulls away just enough to smirk, "can I have my bedroom back, or should I just start setting up camp on the couch?” You laugh, rolling your eyes, but it’s full of affection. “Don’t even start.” Spencer chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tension of yesterday long forgotten.
When you get your paper back, you flip through the pages, one after the other, looking for the feedback, waiting for the corrections, the marks that tell you where you inevitably went wrong.
Next page. Next page. Next page.
And then, there it is. On the last page, in a definitive red circle, unmistakable: A.
It’s an A. 
A goddamn A.
It doesn’t feel like a one-time fluke, not exactly, but you can’t shake the thought that this might be the only time you break through the glass ceiling you’ve spent so long looking up at. And who knows, maybe you’ll never push past it again. But for now, you allow yourself to relish in this singular moment of triumph. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. 
Because now you know that the other side is real, and that you can get there. But Spencer, the genius, the enigma, who’s always been a step ahead of everyone in everything academic, has always known.
And while everyone knows that an A in an essay that’s only a partial percentage of your overall grade isn’t anything compared to what he’s achieved, nothing compared to the academic milestones he’s already crossed—Still, he’s here, celebrating with you. You can see it in his eyes, even if he knows you’re not one to make a big deal of these kinds of things. His quiet joy is evident in the way he grins that little grin of his, the one that’s only for you. 
So, in summary, in essence, in all the words and ways you could possibly use to phrase a conclusion—You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would read through your entire syllabus for the semester (frustratingly quickly), just because he knows you understand better when you can talk things out? Who else would patiently stick around, exiled to the couch in their own home, while you’re exhausted, irritable, and buried in deadlines? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—though brilliant and boundless—isn’t the only reason why you fell for him. 
Because when the world feels too heavy, when the never ending lines of poetry and prose become too difficult to untangle by yourself, Spencer’s there reminding you—ever so gently, ever so steadily—that you can make it through, one word at a time.
⋆✴︎˚。⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!
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chuluoyi · 1 year ago
Text
found you
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- gojo satoru x reader
in a world in which he isn't the strongest and you're the high school's sweetheart, fate brought you to him once again
genre/warnings: reincarnation au, fluff/comfort
notes: a sequel to everything, but not anything
general masterlist
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Everyone knows you. You hold most of the popular guys' hearts in your hand and either break them unknowingly or innocently, and despite that, they still don't have it in them to hate you.
And of course, the school's clown, Gojo Satoru, knows you too. He knows you by name and face, but never had the chance to really talk to you directly.
Why? First, he just simply didn't bother, and second, because there was already another girl plaguing him—the girl of his dreams.
And he didn't mean it figuratively... there's indeed a girl haunting him every once in a while in his dreams. A girl whose face was always obscured from his mind, whom he couldn't picture outside the realm of his slumber. Most of the time it was a happy dream, enough to bring a smile to his face every time he woke up.
But sometimes, it was the most disturbing nightmare.
There would be blood, the girl's empty eyes and still body, and him screaming out at her to not die. But then he couldn't do anything—or even see her open her eyes—as he fell into an abyss and awakened in pure terror.
Satoru was convinced someone held this massive grudge on him for pranking them that they resorted to curse him with voodoo or something. Why else would he keep having these dreams about the very same girl? It was clearly a work of something greater.
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You were just not interested in romance. At least not with the guys who were after you up until now.
Or perhaps, because there was this guy in your dreams that captivated you so much that you chose to ditch those real guys for him. This imaginary person.
You were going insane. You were sure of it.
When you explained your affliction to your best friend Riko, she shot you a very bombastic side eye but tried to get you to describe the boy in your dreams regardless.
"He..." you faltered. His face was always blurry in your mind's eye. There were little things that you were sure of. "He has a really cute grin? Crinkling eyes? Like he just likes to smile?"
"Y/N, did you hear yourself?" Riko asked you incredulously. "Are you sure it isn't one of the guys in your anime shows? I'm telling you, watching them too much makes you delusional."
And so your girl talk with her ended up with her pushing you to try this hit dating app that guarantees you to go on at least one date due to its many fascinating features. You tried it on sheer whim and didn't even use your real name. You had been swiping right and left, before suddenly stopped when you saw whose profile popped up in your screen.
Gojo Satoru.
He was in your grade, and he was hard to miss. The school's biggest troublemaker who held the highest record of being sent to the disciplinary room. You never got to talk to him, and before today you were sure you wouldn't even look at him twice. So he plays these things too?
Your type definitely wasn't delinquents or attention-seekers. But why is it that the more you gaze at his profile picture—of him with this widest grin and that funny round glasses—the more you are intrigued?
In the end, you swiped right.
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Just because he didn't bother to be in a serious relationship or had a girl who held onto him in his dreams, it didn't mean that he was shying away from real life girls. Satoru, as much of a headbanger as he was, was popular. Some girls were into him and he didn't exactly let his chances to fool around pass.
Girls with questionable virtues though. Suguru, whose popularity was as much as him just in the right way, would always say that his tastes were bad. Shoko would straight up mock him as a wimp, for not having the courage to go after the right girl, such as you.
And so when on one of his boring days that he played with a dating app he found a profile who swiped him right with a picture that was you but a name that wasn't, he was taken by surprise and twice as curious.
For one, he knew it was you. And hey, you were interested in him?
Satoru took up on that offer. Taking advantage of it as now he had the chance.
The two of you exchanged messages in the dating app. He'd tell you his thoughts or crack funny jokes, and you'd reply with these many laughing emojis and stickers.
Until one day, when your conversation went like this...
you: really? but girls must be lining up for you and you could've had your pick from them gojo: nah most of ‘em all boring you: what a red flag. after a while surely you'll find me boring too gojo: you? haha no. boring people don't do things you do you: ...what do you mean?
You and him had this texting thing going on for more than a month already, but you still weren't aware that he knew that it was you.
gojo: you're y/n
And he figured that it was time to go face-to-face. Because he wanted to get to know you beyond this phone screen because who knows what more you faked other than your name?
After he busted you not so gently, he demanded that you'd go on a date with him. You could only lament—you couldn't say that you hadn't seen this coming, with how poor your disguise was. Then again, did you even intend on hiding from him in the first place? Now that you thought about it, no. You were quite alright even when he knew who you were.
On the said day, just right after school ended, he went to the agreed place to take out out to a famous cafe in Shibuya. Only to find a guy from basketball team bowing his head before you.
"I really like you!" the guy declared with sincerity and steadfastly. He was tall, quite famous too. By all means, the two of you would've made a fine pair.
Satoru just frowned. Suddenly he didn't like the sight before him. This wasn't the first time he saw someone confessing their feelings for you—you were famous for that. And anyway, the two of you were just friends even though you've been texting for a long time now. He shouldn’t be upset.
"Ah," you let out a small sigh, your face lit with realization. Your voice was soft to Satoru's ears. Too soft. It resembled something someone had told him a long, long time ago.
"Don't ever leave me, okay?" "Of course."
That voice held the same softness as you did just now.
"I'm sorry," you proceeded to say, giving a look of sympathy to your admirer. "I'm very flattered, and I thank you for that. But I have no room for—"
"Y/N-chan!" Satoru didn't know where this immense impulse came from, he just went with it and it terribly spooked you. You jumped and whipped your head at him, eyes widened in total surprise.
But he merely sauntered towards you, only with his winning grin and nothing else, until he was right next to you, staring down the basketball guy with so much mirth in his blue eyes.
"Hello to you." Satoru addressed him, then put his arms on your shoulder, ignoring how you immediately stiffened. "Too bad, today she is going with me."
You couldn't believe what he just said and before you could rectify anything, the guy who just confessed to you bolted away in humiliation. You immediately untangled yourself from his arms, ready to be cross.
Or at least until you stared straight to his cerulean blue eyes.
And he too, saw his reflections in your orbs.
Suddenly everything didn't matter. You were lost into his eyes as he did yours. As the lines of dream and reality twisted and turned.
Suddenly, Satoru could put a face to the girl he'd been seeing on his nightly wonders. Her smile. Your smile.
And you could see the boy who loved you to death in him. The one who took your heart with him, and agreed to go with you for the second time.
All it took was gazing into these eyes of yours to make the connection. Everything seems right. So right.
As if the two of you are destined for this very moment. As if you’re given everything to understand why you should meet him now.
I found you.
As sudden as it came flowing to your brain—all these images that overlapped with your dreams—it ended. You came back to reality.
“You’re insufferable,” you hissed at Satoru, pushing away the fog in your mind.
“Am I?” a shit-eating grin formed at his glossy lips. “But it’s true, you’re on a date with me today.”
And so you went to your very first date. Satoru was every bit the same as the guy who messaged you on that dating app. He was outspoken, effortlessly funny, but still, a bit annoying here and there.
It was strange how comfortable you got around him, even though it was practically your first interaction.
Soon the number of dates increased. Two, three, four—and so on. Soon, everyone knows. Riko questioned you if you were sure to pick him out of all fishes you could’ve picked. In a way, you weren’t sure. It depends on this question: what are you to him anyway?
Meanwhile, on Satoru’s side, everyone either cheered for or envied him. Suguru patted him on his back, thinking he finally got the right senses. And he found himself to like you very much. He couldn’t go a day without thinking what you were doing or messing with you. You were kind, cute and pretty, and as he said it himself, he likes pretty things.
So it came as a surprise when you blurted out that burning question, sounding so unsure and overall out of your character, whereas you should already know how he put his heart on his sleeves for you to grab.
“Are you messing with me?” he gawked. But when he saw hurt crossed on your face, he was thrown into panic. “No—I mean…”
He exhaled sharply. He wasn’t used to this confessing thing at all because usually he didn’t need it.
“I really like you, okay? You do know that I like you, at the very least?”
With that, your relief was visibly palpable, like a sun that went out of its hiding. The hopeful gleam in your eyes—Gods, Satoru wanted to protect that forever.
“With that being said…” he wanted to look cool, he didn’t want to mess this up. And so he extended his hand to you, opening his palm.
“Would you go out with me?”
It was probably the first time you saw him so sincere. He was playful, flippant and overall just a menace, but when he asked you this, he looked as if he brought out his heart for you to see.
When you breathed out a “Yes”, and intertwined your fingers in his, he was over the moon, smothering you with kisses.
From that point onwards, your romance book was brimming with moments that sparkled, ranging from the sweet to the passionate. Each experience with him felt like a first, yet there was an inexplicable sense of familiarity, as if you had known him somewhere from a long time ago.
Those dreams of you and him from somewhere at another time brought the two of you together once again. With their purpose fulfilled, you no longer had to traverse the realm of dreams to be with the boy who had always provided you comfort with his presence. Likewise, he was no longer haunted by the recurring vision of you fading away before his eyes.
Because now, you and Gojo Satoru have a new life. A life where both of you can find happiness together.
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royal-wren · 11 months ago
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A little appreciation for the domains of a deity that don't get much attention/recognition. I'm making this because I do think it would be lovely if the aspects mentioned below got more attention, and additions not mentioned are welcome so long as it's an obscure part of them. This was going to be just a few and then I got carried away and did the main Twelve Olympians
A little love for:
Apollon as the God of Foreigners (the Arcadian friendship's harmony with Hermes being the god of travelers/way-god couldn't be any louder)
Aphrodite as a Goddess of the Arts (anything love-themed falls to her by default)
Ares of Civil Order, Defender, and Of Courage
Artemis as the Goddess of Dancing and equal Leader of the Mousai
Athene as the Goddess of Carpentry, Metalwork, and Sculpting
Demeter as Friend of Peace and Law-Giver
Hephaistos as the one with a delicate touch that creates beautiful works of art (It isn't so much unknown but honestly the thing I love most and not the first thing one thinks of with his talents/image)
Hera as the Skillful Bender of Language, Bender of Oaths and Promises
Hermes, God of Peace/Diplomacy, Divine Protector of All, as well as a God of Poetry and Knowledge (rightfully the other half to Athene)
Hestia of the Earth, Earth Dwelling and Delighting in the Works of Man, The One That Made Buildings
Poseidon of Fertility, the Plant Nurturer, and Holder of the Earth
Zeus of the People, Gracious and Merciful, Of Refuge, Counsellor
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parkerslatte · 2 months ago
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Azriel x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1.9k
Warnings: none
Summary: A failed attempt at making bread leads to an overdue conversation.
Requested: Yes. The request was deleted from my inbox :(
A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist
•••
When Y/N awoke from her nap that evening, the left side of the bed was empty and cold. A small smile made its way onto Y/N’s face as she remembered Azriel coming back to her bedroom tired after a whole morning of training and all he did was strip off his training clothes and collapse onto the bed. They were both asleep not long after. 
Slipping out of the warm covers, Y/N padded her way over to her wardrobe and pulled out a robe. She quickly slipped it on before securely tying it around her waist. Her hair was a mess but she didn’t bother to correct it at all, only brushing away any stray strands that were in her eyes. 
With a yawn, Y/N opened the door to their bedroom and she stilled. The smell of burning wafted into the room. It wasn’t pleasant in the slightest. Y/N frowned and quickly walked through the house she shared with Azriel until she stood in front of the kitchen doors. Her hand hovered above the handle and just as she was about to push down, she heard a quiet mumble through the door. It was undoubtedly Azriel’s voice. 
Y/N slowly pushed open the door and smoke wafted out, obscuring her vision. While fanning it away, Y/N’s eyes landed on Azriel who was wearing her yellow floral apron and had flour dusted on his left cheek and forehead. If she didn’t know Azriel and someone told her that standing before her was one of the most feared Illyrian’s in Prythian, she would have laughed.
Y/N stifled her laughter. “It seems as if you’ve been quite busy.”
Azriel’s head snapped in her direction. “Y/N!”
The smoke began to clear as Y/N stepped further into their kitchen and closer to Azriel. “So you thought it would be a good idea to burn down the house while I was sleeping?”
A faint blush grew on Azriel’s face. “I was making dinner for you. I tried to make that bread that you like to go with it but that happened.” He gestured to the bread resting on the side that was pitch black and crumbling before her eyes. 
Y/N covered her mouth with her hand to stop her laughing, however she couldn't help when one slipped past. “Perhaps we can gift it to Feyre? She did mention once that she wanted to try drawing with charcoal.”
Azriel groaned and slumped down on a chair. “It’s not funny. I wanted to do something nice for you.”
Y/N slowly slid so she sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You always do nice things for me.”
Azriel’s arms locked around her waist and he rested his chin upon her shoulder. “I haven’t in a while. I have noticed how tired you have been after you returned from your research trip and I wanted to bring you dinner in bed and we could read that book you have been telling me about.”
Y/N pressed a kiss to his forehead. “And you have been tired too. Just today you have spent ten hours training without a single break.”
A gentle kiss was pressed to her shoulder. “I have been neglecting my training recently.”
A small smile made its way onto Y/N’s face. “And we both know why that is.”
Despite his defeated demeanour, Azriel smiled and pressed his lips against Y/N’s. Y/N kissed him back with the same amount of force and sighed happily. His hands slowly made their way to the knot keeping her robe together– he slowly began to pull it. Y/N pushed his hands away. 
“I don’t think so,” Y/N said. “Even though you nearly burnt down the house, it is still quite cold.”
Azriel’s lips attached to her neck. “I can warm you up.”
Y/N titled her neck, getting lost in the feeling as Azriel began to slowly pull at the tie once more until her warm robe was now revealing her body to the cold air. Y/N gasped and pulled it closed, pulling the knot even tighter. She slipped off Azriel's lap and stepped away from him. Azriel only reached out to her. 
“Come back,” Azriel said, his voice quiet and needy.
“No, we can continue that later,” Y/N said. “Now what did you plan to make me for dinner?”
Azriel stood from the chair and met her at the counter, situating himself behind her, his arm slipping around her waist to pull her against his chest. The shadowsinger had never been a particular touchy person. Even before he had confessed to Y/N, he had never gone out of his way to touch her or hold her hand. Now he could barely keep his hands off of her. Y/N enjoyed it, even she had picked up the habit of always reaching out for his hand when they stood next to one another or wrapping her arms around his torso and pulling him close just like he was doing to her now. 
“It was that soup you offered me when we accepted our bond,” Azriel said. “The bread wasn’t technically part of it but you mentioned liking it once so I thought I could make it. It turns out I cannot make bread.”
Y/N laughed and Azriel’s shadows danced with the sound. It only made his face light up. “Well, I am sure we can do without that bread for now.”
As Y/N served the soup into two bowls, Azriel never let go of her, keeping her pressed firmly against his chest. Before they confessed their feelings to one another, Y/N never thought Azriel would be so clingy– not that she was complaining. 
“I’m sorry. This was meant to be a surprise for you,” he muttered.
“You don’t need to apologise to me, Az. You made me my favourite soup and from the looks of things, it is perfect.” Y/N leaned back in his touch. “Although I am surprised that for someone as stealthy as you, you made quite the mess in here.”
Azriel scoffed and pushed her away and Y/N only laughed. He picked up the two bowls of soup. “I’ll have these to myself then.”
Y/N rolled her eyes before following Azriel to the dining table. He placed the two bowls out on the placemats and pulled out a chair gesturing to Y/N to it. 
“What is with you being so gentlemanly?” Y/N asked as she took a seat. 
“Why? Do I need an excuse?” Azriel questioned. “Perhaps it is only because I love you.”
“I love you too,” Y/N replied instantly. 
Azriel smiled before he took his seat, his hand finding hers as he linked their fingers together. 
“I never thought I would be content with this life,” Azriel said. “Domestic. Easy. Loving. Even though it is only for a few days of the week. I always thought I would hate it.”
Y/N pressed a kiss against his knuckles. “It is only because I’m here with you.”
“It is,” Azriel replied, love shining within his eyes. “If it were anyone else, I am sure I would have murdered them in cold blood by now.”
“Even if it was Cassian,” Y/N questioned with a small smile. 
“Especially if it was Cassian,” Azriel replied.
Y/N smiled and looked at the linked hands and back at the dining table. It wasn’t too big but there were still eight empty places, dust even settled on the seat from lack of use. The idea was for the rest of the Inner Circle to use them if they were ever invited over. Y/N could count on one hand how many times everyone had come over at once. 
“Hey,” Azriel said, catching her attention. “Where did you go?”
Y/N gently shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
With a squeeze of her hand, Azriel cocked his head slightly. A signal Y/N knew that he didn’t believe what she was saying. Before continuing she sighed. “Don’t you think this house is quite large for the two of us?”
Azriel shrugged. “You fell in love with it when we found it.”
“I know that, but now looking at it, don’t you think five bedrooms is too excessive for two people?” Y/N asked, avoiding the true intention of her question. 
“The others sometimes stay the night,” Azriel stated. 
“True, but I—” Y/N cut herself off. “Nevermind. It’s silly.”
Azriel smiled at her. “Nothing you say is silly.”
The look in Azriel’s eyes was encouraging and it always made Y/N believe she could do anything. It had been like that ever since she met him. With a deep breath, Y/N spoke. “With all of this room, it seems a bit silly that we have it all to ourselves. Maybe we can share it with someone– perhaps someone who was made out of love two individuals share for one another.”
The grip Azriel had on Y/N’s hand tightened but he didn’t say anything. For a brief moment Y/N felt her heart drop before a surge of love danced down the bond. Y/N looked hopefully into Azriel’s eyes.
“Are you saying that you want to start a family with me?” Azriel asked, hope shining in his eyes.
“Yes,” Y/N said. “We have been together for nearly two hundred years, Az and mated nearly seventy. Rhys and Feyre have been together not even a quarter of the time we have spent together and they already have their family. Nesta and Cassian and Elain and Lucien even less.”
“I never thought that I would even want a family,” Azriel confessed. “But I knew that the moment I fell in love with you that I wanted it all. I just never thought you wanted a family, you never mentioned it.”
“You never mentioned it either!” Y/N defend. 
Azriel chuckled. “How have we been together for two centuries and the topic of children has never come up?”
Y/N smiled. “I am unsure, my love.”
Azriel winked and sat back in his chair. “Your brain simply goes to mush around me, I’ve always had that effect on you.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Have you now?”
“You know I have,” Azriel smirked. 
Y/N copied his facial expression and stood from her chair. Azriel watched her every movement. 
“What are you doing?” Azriel asked. 
As she stood before him, Y/N slowly undone her robe and allowed her bare body to be displayed in front of Azriel. His eyes racked up and down, his speech caught in his throat. Y/N bent down and pressed her mouth to his, dominating the kiss. A small whine came from Azriel’s throat. His hand reached out to pull her closer. They were only capable of the briefest touch before Y/N pulled away. 
She picked her robe back up from the floor and tied it around her before securing the knot. 
“Wha-what are you doing?” Azriel asked, his speech slurred as if he had become drunk on her kiss. 
“Finishing my dinner,” Y/N said, playfully. “You should too before it gets cold.”
Azriel tucked his chair closer to the table, doing exactly what she said. Y/N only chuckled. 
“Whose brain goes to mush again?” Y/N asked.
“Shut up.”
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crookedteethed · 10 months ago
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BIG SHOT polaroid | e.m.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem reader
Summary: In which you and Eddie have a picture book where you both store your sex pics. <3 💕
Warnings: 18+ Cursing, a little Smut (p in v), Oral (fem receiving), Praise kink, body worship(?), pet names, nudes
Word count: 1k
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If you pushed past the mounds of dirty laundry intertwined with disposed candy bar wrappers and a few empty shoe boxes, underneath Eddie Munson's bed lies the picture book. 
The picture book was your idea, but the pictures themselves were all Eddie's perverted idea. 
"Lemme take a picture of you, yeah?" Eddie said, taking a break from his delicious never-ending assault on your clit. Your juices dripped down his chin, some droplets stringing the tips of his hair, his lips all red and puffy covered in slick, and his eyes a little crazed and tinted in admiration. 
He kissed the supple plush of your thigh in a diagonal line; your hands stayed grazing his curls, body supine on the foam of Eddie's mattress. Eddie's lips make love to your thighs, to your tummy, from your breast to your neck, and eventually to your lips; where'd you gotten to taste yourself for the first time.
Eddie quotes Shakespeare. "Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry. Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie." He says, glossy lips forming a smile.
"Lemme get a picture of you.” He asks again. “I want to savor my pretty girl in this moment," he says with that boyish smile and those adoring chocolate eyes.
Fuck, those eyes. Even if you were thinking of saying 'no' to Eddie, you simply couldn't. It was the way Eddie's eyes gazed at you every time you made contact. It was as if he was put into a dreamlike trance.
If Eddie had been a cartoon, his eyes and pupils would have turned heart-shaped.
You agreed to the picture, but just one.
Eddie sprung up from the bed, his naked pale body sprinting around the smallish trailer.
You hear a few thuds and ruffling coming from the next room. You imagine Eddie tearing his home apart to find his Polaroid camera.
When Eddie comes back, he returns holding a big-shot Polaroid. He says it was his mother's. He and Wayne don't use it often, so there should be enough film on it.
You try to sit up as Eddie crawls onto the bed, but he lightly pushes you back down, telling you you shouldn't have to move a finger, lie back, and be his muse.
You felt an uneasiness plummet in your stomach as you felt the cold lens of Eddie's mother polaroid aimed at your cunt; it was similar to the feeling you get when your doctor has to check beneath your folds for any signs of ovarian cysts or cancers at your yearly checkups.
And though Eddie had seen your bare cunt a multitude of times (just like your doctor), this particular time made your body shutter. Just as Eddie goes to snap the picture, he notices your sudden twitchiness.
"Hey," he says, palming the plum of your cheek. He lightly pecks your lips. "You trust me, right?"
You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip; of course, you trusted Eddie.
"Good." He nearly mumbles, eyes fixated on your glistening folds.
Eddie resume.
The Polaroid covers half of Eddie's face. With his right eye peeking through the eyepiece and his left eye squeezed tightly, Eddie aims the lens close to your cunt.
He places his thumb onto one of your folds and pulls back on the skin, snapping the picture in one snap. Seconds later, the blackened photo ejects from underneath the film shield.
With a few anticipated shakes from Eddie, the photo started to fade in, and you and Eddie stared at it with wide bug eyes and gaping mouths.
It wasn't the fact that Eddie could date back to this photo and jack off to it later that turned him on. Eddie was turned on because you let him do it; it turned him on even more that you trusted him to do it.
It turned you on because there was something obscure about seeing another aspect of your body, other than your face, on a Polaroid picture. In a way, you felt like you were Eddie's personal playboy bunny.
"Can I take another one?" Eddie asked in a daze, just as you went to ask him to take another, and then another, and then another, until you eventually ran out of film.
Taking pictures of you and Eddie's naked bodies would become almost like an addiction to both of you.
It became a ritualistic practice for you two before sex, grabbing the Polaroid (which now rested on Eddie's bedside table, along with packs of film) and taking turns snapping pictures of one another mid fuck.
Eddie would take the Polaroid from you and snap a picture of his cock plunging into your tight wet cunt; once he has his picture, then you'll take the Polaroid and snap a photo of your foot pressed against his pelvis, just above his happy trail. The cycle would go on and on until you were both covered in Polaroid pictures and cum.
It gets to a point where Eddie's bedside dresser, the current home for your photos, gets filled up, and you both have to resort to putting your photos in a picture book.
Making the picture book would be fun for both of you. You would sit on the trailer's living room floor, surrounded by glue, glitter, and markers; it's like a little arts and crafts project.
It'd be nostalgic for you and Eddie to return to your first photos all those months ago until now.
Eddie gets that gooey mushy feeling, getting wrapped up in the trust and intimacy of the photos--love, he thinks the feeling is called-- watching you watch a picture of yourself with a mouthful of his cock, and scrapbooking secret photos preserved for just his and your eyes only.
Eddie wants to tell you he loves you but doesn't yet; now isn't the right time. So he runs to his room, returning with his mother's big-shot Polaroid camera, and takes a snapshot of you.
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