#I know this is probably impossible but I had to suffer so now you do too

[thesweetcurse]

The solution lies in I AM

The solution to all my problems was realizing that I am the solution. It was also accepting that problems, circumstances and everything that stands between me and my desires are nonexistent. Was it easy to accept such a relief? No, at least not for me. In all these years, struggle was my comfort. So no, feeling relief wasn't easy. Struggling kept me alive, it gave me purpose. The problems in my life, they were like missions I had to complete. It took me years to let go of struggle. It took me years to stop myself from creating problems. Not because it was difficult, but because I didn't want to let go of it. Because what would happen if I've let my self feel relieved for once? What would I entertain in my mind then? What could I fix then, if nothing ever needed to be fixed? What would I simply do in this life? The answer is, I would simply be. I forgot so quick that I am pure consciousness having a human experience and love is my nature. How beautiful is that?

The law opened my eyes. It showed me that my inner world can be shaped by me only. And I can shape it with love. It showed me how sacred my imagination is. I can have everything here. I want a new nose? I have it. I want to be confident? I am it. I want to go to Italy? I am in Italy.

You know, there was a time where I didn't even want to imagine the things I wanted. I was getting mad when I read posts where bloggers would say things like "you just have to imagine. You want something, go within and imagine your end." It would stress me so much I can't tell you how mad I would get. But why? Why did I feel this way? Why was I so hopeless and desperate? Let me tell you why, my love: I did not see imagination as reality. But not only that. I imagined to get. I did not see whatever I did or claimed in imagination as the end. I saw it as the start. I saw it as something I have to activate in my mind, and then it would show up in my 3d. Of course I would get mad to imagine what I want! There are two things you have to accept: Consciousness is the only reality and creation is finished. So when you imagine, you are experiencing/having/being it and you are done, that was the end, you have it/ are it now. How does that make you feel? Can you accept that or are you still not okay with that? If not, is it maybe because you are still expecting something when you imagine? Do you still hope to get something?

But what? I've said it before and I say it again: If you want something in the outer world, achieve it with your outer self. Imagination has nothing to with the outer world. You are not imagining to trigger or activate something to finally experience it in the 3d. Please understand that. You are also not creating, because creation is finished. When you imagine and you have thoughts like "is this possible? I think this is so much. How would that even happen it seems a little unrealistic." then I want to ask you something: What are you doing, my love? Why would it be impossible? Why would it be unrealistic? And why are you thinking about the "how"? "How" what? It's about experiencing!!! It's about feeling what you want to feel and being who you want to be IN IMAGINATION! Put the 3d out of equation, please. You will only suffer. Imagine purely for enjoyment. Nothing else.

This is how you become your own solution. You see something in the 3d you don't like? Do not accept it. You don't have to. Go inwardly and experience your happy end. Just experience it in your imagination. You are not doing, hoping or getting, you just want to feel what you want and that's it. And when it shows up in the 3d (which it will wether you care or not) it will be quite ordinary. Because in imagination, your desire became a fact. You no longer desire. You no longer crave the materialization of that feeling.

Let's say you want to manifest a penthouse. Before you read this post, you probably had doubts manifesting one. You probably worried about the how and when. Maybe you wanted to use imagination as a way to manifest that penthouse into your 3d. But after reading my post, you know that misusing imagination to get the penthouse in the 3d is pointless and focusing on the how and when would only contradict your state. Now, the penthouse on its own has no meaning. If the penthouse had no worth or meaning why would we want one? We want the feelings that come with owning a penthouse. The feeling could be freedom, it could also be wealth or privacy. Or happiness or even responsibility. If you want to use visualization as a method, you could look up for cute pictures of penthouses. It's not really necessary because you imagine for fun not to attract anything so you don't have to visualize every little corner of that penthouse (unless you want it. It's literally your choice. You do what you want to do in your inner world). In this world of imagination, you don't need anything. It's not about making the scenes perfect. It's about fulfilling yourself. Do that by giving yourself all these feelings that you WANT to feel. I want you to take all the meaning and feeling out of that penthouse and fulfill it within. Give it to yourself in imagination. Don't forget who you are, you are god of your inner world. There is nothing you can't have in your inner reality. Every thing in your reality is so small compared to you. So everything that you do in your imagination feels good and when you imagine your penthouse, it would be weird not to feel good. I mean why would you feel bad? You simply enjoy imagining what you want which would be a penthouse in this case.

Okay, let's say you imagined what you want then looked around and asked "well, where is it then? I can't see it! It's not working.". First of all, you are misusing your imaginative power and why would you say that you can't see it? It's not about seeing, my love. It's about feeling and being what you want. And if you are feeling and being who you want to be, then it has worked, because the whole purpose of imagination is to feel fulfilled. Do you see, my love? The 3d has no place in this process, it has no role. By the time your desire has materialized, you have moved on because the penthouse came totally alone, you already took its worth and meaning and fulfilled it within.

This is what we mean when we say to only change self. It's all about you. Remember, nothing in imagination is impossible. It's your safe space, your creative power. If you feel desperate imagining than a) you don't imagine what you want e.g. you imagine negative things that make you feel bad or b) you imagine to get sth in the 3d meaning you're postponing the feeling.

I hope that you slowly get why in imagination, circumstances and problems are nonexistent. I mean, you can still make imagination your own personal hell if you want to but now you know that you don't have to. Looking back, I find it so surreal that as GOD, I chose to make my inner world suffer so much. But if I can decide hell, I can also decide heaven. I can decide love.

And so can you, my love.

[foxy-eva]

Send Nudes

Summary: Chaos ensues after you accidentally send Spencer a nude pic

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) dub-con (Spencer receives an unsolicited nude pic), embarrassment, awkwardness, tension, heavy kissing, male masturbation, oral (fem receiving), handjob, protected penetrative sex

Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient Challenge!

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Panic. Embarrassment. Shame. 

It was hard to describe what you felt when you stared at your phone, realizing that you had just sent Spencer Reid a nude picture of yourself. 

It was a mistake, of course – right when you wanted to send him a screenshot of an article, you stumbled over the mess in your apartment and selected the wrong picture. Frozen in place, you watched in horror as the read receipt showed up instantly. 

Spencer had just seen your naked body light up on the screen of his phone. 

A picture he never asked for and probably didn't want to see. It wasn’t a bad photo, some might even call it aesthetically pleasing. But you had never intended for anyone else to see it. It was just a way for you to make yourself feel good about your body. 

You contemplated your options. Burning your phone, moving across the country and changing your identity sounded intriguing but difficult to arrange. Instead you decided to text Spencer, hoping that soon you’d both be able to laugh about the embarrassing thing you just did. 

“I am so sorry about that. I really didn't mean to send that! Can you please delete the pic and forget about it?” 

You didn't get a response. Spencer was never great at texting but you had really hoped to hear back from him. It was hard to tell if he felt just as embarrassed or maybe even offended – you certainly wouldn't want to receive unsolicited nude pics either. 

You had barely gotten any sleep when you walked into work the next morning. Worst case scenarios had plagued your mind all night – from another painful workplace sexual harassment seminar to maybe even losing your job over your mishap – you had no idea what would expect you today. 

Everything seemed normal when you got to your desk, except for the fact that your favorite coworker didn't even look at you when you walked by him. Spencer usually liked sitting beside you in the conference room and also on the jet, but he did neither of those things that day. 

“Wow you really must have pissed Reid off, huh?” Luke whispered when he sat down beside you on the plane. 

“Did he say anything to you?” you wanted to know. 

“No, he didn't. What did you do? Spill coffee over his favorite chess board?” he teased. 

“Oh it’s so much worse than that,” you whined while heat rushed to your face. 

Emily decided to discuss the case before Luke could ask more questions. Spencer avoided you for the next couple of hours until you decided you both had suffered enough. 

A quiet moment in the coffee kitchen of the police precinct seemed good enough to approach him.

“Hey Spencer,” you said and noticed how he almost jumped at the sound of your voice. 

“H…hi,” he mumbled, his eyes fixated on the floor.

Stepping closer, he finally looked at you for the first time that day. The rosy shade spreading over his cheeks was impossible to ignore. 

“I’m very sorry about the… you know. I didn't mean to send it but I understand if you feel offended by it,” you sincerely told him. 

“I’m not… offended.”

You took a deep breath before you continued talking, “All I want to say is… if you want to discuss this incident with Emily or even HR, I would understand. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable in any way.” 

“No, it’s okay, really,” he lied. “We can just forget about it.” 

Spencer Reid was good at many things. Lying, however, definitely wasn’t his strong suit. You decided to drop the subject for now, aware that talking more about it would probably not make him less uncomfortable. 

The tension between you two was palpable for the rest of the workday. When you stepped into your hotel room that night, you were relieved to finally have a couple of walls between the two of you. 

If this thing didn't resolve soon, you’d have to talk to Emily about it eventually. But there was still hope that it wouldn't come to that. The embarrassment about your mishap was already bad enough as is.

The three knocks on your hotel door startled you. With your heart beating uncomfortably fast, you walked over to the door to find Spencer on the other side. 

He walked into your room without saying a word. Then he began slowly pacing up and down your room, still silent. He looked at you for a second but his sight fell to the floor immediately after that. 

“I uh…” he began before taking a deep breath. “I lied to you earlier.”

“About what?” you wanted to clarify. “Wanting to go to HR?” 

He shook his head. “I said that we can just forget about it but I don’t think I can do that.” 

Your heart felt heavy at his words. His discomfort pained you and you wished nothing more than to be able to take it back. “I’m so sorry Spencer.”

“I deleted the image off my phone but…” he paused to finally look at you. The expression written over his face was hard to read. What you didn't find was the discomfort you expected. Instead he looked… cocky?

He continued, “...it seems like it’s burned into my brain. And I can’t help but wonder, was it really an accident?”

“What?! Of course!” you squeaked. “Believe me, I would never want to send you a picture like that unprompted.”

That was when you saw a subtle smirk on his face. “Interesting choice of words.” 

You thought about it for a moment. Had you really just implied that you would want to send him nudes if he’d ask you to? 

“That's not what I meant,” you tried to brush it off. “And please don’t give me a lecture about Freudian slips.”

His presence filled the room and you felt like you couldn't take deep enough breaths to satiate your need for oxygen. His demeanor was so different from what you were used to and you had trouble wrapping your head around it.

His next question was even more surprising. “Who did you take this picture for?” 

The undertone in his voice was unsettling and you started feeling defensive. “I don’t see how that's any of your business but just for the record, I took it for myself. I do that occasionally to make myself feel good about my body.” 

It seemed as if he was content, almost relieved with your answer. You scanned his body language again and replayed his words in your head. Then it hit you all at once. Spencer was not here to scold you for what you did. 

He was jealous. And he wanted to make sure no one else got to see your picture. 

A grin formed on your face as you realized that you could play this game too.

Your tone was laced with a certain playfulness when you asked, “What did you do after you saw the picture?”

The change of your demeanor seemed to take Spencer by surprise. “I just told you, I deleted it.” 

“I don't think that's all you did.” He audibly gulped and you noticed his cheeks taking on a reddish color. Stepping closer to him, you whispered, “Did you touch yourself, Spencer?”

A shaky breath left his mouth before he confessed, “Yes.”

“Naughty boy,” You teased him. “You really liked that image, hm?” 

Nodding, he took a step forward until there was barely any space between the two of you. “I can't stop thinking about you.”

His words boosted your confidence. “I know I look great in that pic. But I think I would look even better in this lighting right here, don’t you think?” 

Before you could bring to action what you had insinuated, you felt Spencer's hands cupping your face to pull you into a kiss. The surprised gasp escaping your throat was muffled by his lips against yours. 

He kissed you with a fervor that knocked the air out of your lungs. Weakness rushed to your knees and you had to hold onto him to not tumble back. One hand pawed at his shirt while the other one held onto his shoulder. His lips felt soft yet firm against yours. 

When his tongue begged for entrance, you let it. As he deepened the kiss, you could feel heat rushing through body. A few moments ago you really thought you’d have the upper hand in this game you were playing but now realized you were just as pathetic as he was. 

Maybe sending him that image was a Freudian slip of some kind. Or maybe it was just some odd plan the universe had to bring you together. Either way, you were grateful for how things turned out. 

Your hands became curious as they wandered over Spencer’s body. The tingling in your fingertips could only be soothed by feeling his skin underneath them, so they quickly began unbuttoning his shirt. Spencer showed a similar interest in feeling more of you by the way his fingers dropped down to the hem of your shirt. 

Piece after piece both of your clothes fell to the floor, only ever breaking the kiss for as long as necessary. When you stood completely bare in front of one another, you dared to press your body against his to feel him. 

It was impossible to tell who moaned first when his length pressed against your stomach. With a firm grip on his shoulders, you moved him back until his legs made contact with the edge of the bed. You pushed down until he sat on the mattress, staring up at you with a curiosity in his eyes that made your heart jump. 

As you stepped back, his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick over his lips and you wondered if he thought about tasting you. To your surprise, he managed to not break eye contact until you challenged him, “Go on, take a look.”

His sight scanned your body, lingering on your breasts for a second before moving further down, taking everything in. You couldn’t hold back from looking at him, too. A rosy color had spread all over his cheeks and chest and when you dared to drop your eyes to his cock, you noticed how it twitched slightly against his thigh. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed when your eyes met again. 

“Better than the image?” you teased, smirking at him. 

He only nodded before looking at your body again. It was like he was mesmerized, as if a miracle had just unfolded right before him. It became obvious that he was ready to worship you if you’d let him. But first, you had something else in your mind. 

“Show me exactly what you did when you saw my picture,” you told him. 

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Wh… what?” 

“Don’t be shy now,” you snickered. “Come on, I wanna see how pretty you think I am.” 

The sweet smile on your face seemed to encourage him enough to let his right hand move towards his hardness. It was as if he needed reassurance when he found your eyes and you nodded.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock, giving himself a squeeze and you watched as precum spilled over the tip. Slowly, he began moving his fist up and down his length, swiping his thumb over the head each time he got to the top. The groan that slipped from his lips could only be described as absolutely sinful. 

You couldn’t deny how much the sight in front of you turned you on. Spencer was so incredibly beautiful and the thought that your body had the ability to make him feral like that drove you insane. 

Arousal gathered at your entrance the longer you watched him. This show was no longer enough for you, you needed more. Your hands found the curve of your chest, gently kneading them before your fingers began toying with your hardened peaks. Spencer’s eyes were fixated on your hands, his mouth hanging wide open and unabashedly moaning at the sight while accelerating the pace of his hand. 

Then suddenly, he stopped and got up from bed. Desperation was written all over his face when he looked at you. 

“Please,” he begged as he stepped closer. “I need to touch you.” 

It was everything you wanted right then, too. 

“I’m all yours, Spencer.” 

His mouth was on yours in an instant and he didn’t waste any time to move you over to the bed to push you onto the mattress. He followed quickly, towering over you as he kissed down your neck, making you moan in anticipation of what would follow. 

He moved further down your body, kissing and nipping on the tender flesh of your breasts before focusing his attention on your nipples. The sensation was almost unbearable and you could feel how your arousal began coating the insides of your thighs. 

Spencer smiled against your skin when he noticed you rocking your hips against his leg every so slightly. His confidence grew as he realized that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

“Needy,” he chuckled as he kissed down your stomach. “That’s cute.” 

Right then you couldn’t care less about being in charge, you just wanted to be taken care of. When his lips brushed over your inner thigh, you opened your legs further to give him better access. He lay down between your legs and didn’t waste any time before he began leaving feather light kisses against your folds. 

You watched as he licked his own lips, tasting your essence on them before he found your eyes. 

“You’re so wet,” he teased and let a finger move along your slit. “Is that all for me?” 

He expected a witty response, like you telling him to bring his mouth to good use for once. So it took him by surprise when you simply sighed, “Yes.” 

There was no more game to play. No more back and forth of who was in charge. It was just the two of you, equally as desperate to finally do what you both had been dreaming of for weeks.

“Good,” Spencer whispered, his hot breath tickling your core, before he finally granted you some relief. 

His tongue moved through your folds, collecting your taste before he focussed on your most sensitive spot. He experimented with different motions for a few moments, paying attention to your reactions until he found what you enjoyed the most. Your hand flew to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his curls to hinder him from moving away – even though he had no intention to do so, anyway. 

With one arm wrapped around your thigh he hindered you from bucking uncontrollably against his face while his other hand found your entrance, letting two fingers slip into you with ease. He moved with great precision, adjusting the angle and the pace according to your reactions, bringing you closer to your breaking point with every second passing. 

The sounds of your pleasure filled the room as you began dancing along the brink of euphoria. With just a few more skillful motions, he pushed you over it. Your walls pulsed around his fingers while your entire body shook. He worked you through your orgasm before he lay back down beside you, placing a gentle kiss against your lips. 

You were still panting when you found his eyes. The warm amber of his irises was almost completely swallowed by his pupils, the lust visible in his eyes contradicting the saccharine smile he showed you. 

“You okay?” he breathed as he wrapped one arm around your waist. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed while one of your hands moved down his body. 

Tentatively, you let your fingertips brush along his length, feeling his velvety skin under your touch. “Now what are we gonna do with you?” you purred as you wrapped your fingers tightly around him, making him gasp. 

With a torturously slow pace, you moved along his cock. “Tell me, Spencer. What do you want?” 

“I uhm…,” he audibly swallowed. “I have a condom in my pocket.” 

The fact that he brought a condom to your hotel room when he came over early amused you. He never had any intention of just talking to you. 

“So, you want to fuck me?” 

“Yes,” he admitted unabashedly. “If you want that, too, of course.”

With a nod you confirmed that that was exactly what you wanted as well. Right after you let go of him, he grabbed his pants from the floor to take out the foil wrapper. You watched as he ripped it open and carefully rolled down the condom. 

Then, he kneeled down between your legs, taking a moment to admire the beauty of the woman in front of him. 

“Come here,” you cooed and he leaned over you without hesitation. 

Reaching between your bodies, you guided him to your entrance. He closed his eyes when he slowly entered you, relishing the sensation of stretching you open inch by inch. When he was fully inside you, he kissed you before he began moving with slow thrusts.

Wrapping your legs around his hips, you brought him even closer. When he was sure that you could take it, he accelerated his pace, fucking you against the mattress until you were sure you would lose your mind. 

Spencer’s body began trembling and he suddenly stopped moving. 

“Sorry, I’m really close,” he whined and tried to pull out slightly. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as you kept him in place with your legs around him. “Please, I need it.”

One of your hands moved down to where your bodies were joined to desperately draw circles around your little nub, making you clench hard around his hardness. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered as he began moving again. “I can’t, ah–” 

With just a few more deep thrusts Spencer came, his cock twitching inside you as his whole body shook. It was enough to throw you over edge too, entering a state of pure bliss together with him. After you had both come down from your high, you welcomed him inside your embrace, your fingertips gently dancing over his back as he caught his breath. 

For the sake of getting cleaned up you separated for a few moments, only to lay back down together soon after. A shaky breath fell from Spencer’s lips and caught your attention. 

“So…,” he began talking but didn’t continue. 

You propped yourself up on one elbow to find his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask if maybe–” 

“You want me to send you that pic again?” you interrupted him with a grin on your face. 

“No,” he laughed. “I mean… that’s not what I wanted to say.”

Still in a teasing mood, you snickered, “But you would like to see that pic again?”

“You know what,” he chuckled as he lifted the blanket to get a peek at your naked body. “I think I actually prefer this.”

“Good,” you chirped. “If you want to see more of me you’ll have to take me on a date though.”

Placing a soft kiss on your lips, he whispered, “Deal.”

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[vanteguccir]

chris said on the stream that he can’t go to sleep mad at his brothers so can you write something where reader and chris are mad at each other and she’s trying to go to sleep but chris won’t let her until they make up please!!

love you🤍

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤNOT GONNA SLEEP ANGRY * CHRIS STURNIOLO * BLURB

SUMMARY　::　Where Y/N and Chris had a fight during the day, and now he won't go to sleep until Y/N forgive him.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader

WARNINGS　::　None.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the dim glow of Chris's phone screen as he scrolled aggressively - probably watching only a second from each TikTok - while pointedly ignoring Y/N.

Or, well, trying to.

Because even though she wasn’t looking at him, he could feel her presence, her annoyance practically radiating off her in waves.

She was lying as far away from him as physically possible, practically falling off the edge of the bed like she was getting ready for some kind of emergency evacuation.

The only reason she hadn’t actually left was because one, she refused to give him the satisfaction of sleeping on the couch, and two, she wasn’t about to make him do it either. Even if he was being impossible.

Chris let out a deep sigh, dramatically loud, as if he were the victim here.

Y/N closed her eyes tighter, gripping the edge of the blanket like it was a lifeline. She wasn’t about to break first. No way. She had her pride. And besides, she was so tired. If she just focused hard enough, she could probably fall asleep and pretend he wasn’t there.

But Chris? Oh, Chris wasn't having it.

He shifted, tossing his phone onto the mattress beside him, and let out another long, deep sigh.

Y/N didn’t react.

"Are you seriously gonna sleep like that?" He finally spoke, voice laced with exasperation.

She didn’t answer.

Silence. A whole five seconds of it.

Until Chris poked her side.

Y/N flinched but stayed quiet, clenching her jaw.

Another poke.

"Chris." Her voice was warning, strained, eyes still squeezed shut.

Another poke.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

"Christopher."

But still, no other reaction from her.

Chris groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the pillow.

"You’re really gonna make me suffer like this?"

No answer.

Chris shifted closer. Not too close, but enough for her to know he was there, breathing down her neck, waiting for any sort of reaction.

Then, in a voice that was way too soft for the situation, he was back at talking.

"You know I can’t sleep when we’re mad at each other."

Y/N rolled her closed eyes.

"Then don’t sleep."

"Oh my God." Chris flopped onto his back, covering his face with his hands like she had just stabbed him in the heart. "You’re actually evil. I can’t believe I’m dating a villain."

She bit back a smile.

Chris propped himself up on his elbow.

"Babe." He tried again, a little whinier this time. "Just talk to me so I can sleep."

"You should’ve thought about that before being annoying."

Chris let out the most pained groan.

"I’m always annoying. That’s literally, like, my whole thing. What’s different about today?"

Y/N turned her head just slightly, just enough for him to see her squinting at him.

"Oh, so you know you’re annoying?"

Chris shrugged.

"Duh. You knew what you signed up for."

She huffed, turning back toward the side, still determined to ignore him.

Chris paused. Considered his options.

Well...

Then, before Y/N could even register what was happening, she felt hands. Strong, impatient hands digging into her waist and yanking her back with force, her body colliding into his in one swift motion, causing the bed to squeak.

A gasp left her lips as she suddenly found herself trapped, Chris’s arms locked tightly around her middle, fingers pressing into her stomach in an almost bruising grip, his broad chest flush against her back.

"CHRIS."

"Nope." He interrupted, his voice low, spoken directly into the crook of her neck as he buried his face against her. His breath tickled, warm and slow, sending a shiver racing down her spine.

Her hands instinctively flew to his exposed arms, attempting to pry them off, digging her nails on his skin, but he was relentless. His grip only tightened, his legs wrapping around hers now, effectively caging her in.

"You hate me so bad, but you’re still in my bed." He murmured dramatically against her neck, the vibrations of his voice sinking into her skin.

Y/N squirmed, still trying to maintain whatever shred of dignity she had left.

"I was here first."

Chris hummed, the sound almost taunting, before pressing his lips right against her pulse.

Y/N froze.

Chris, sensing the way her body stiffened, smirked.

"I refuse to sleep with this weird energy." He continued, voice softer now. "You know I can’t go to bed mad at you."

Y/N exhaled sharply, hating how her body had completely betrayed her, how the stubbornness she had clung to so tightly was slipping through her fingers with every passing second in his arms.

"This isn’t fair." She muttered, pouting.

Chris chuckled, nuzzling his nose against the soft skin below her jaw, his lips grazing just enough to make her melt.

"You love it."

"I don’t." She insisted, though the way her body had softened into his told a completely different story.

Chris pressed another slow kiss to her neck, his grip on her waist easing, but still firm. Holding her there. Keeping her close.

"Yeah, you do."

Y/N sighed, eyes fluttering shut.

She was so mad at how easy he made it. How quickly he could make her not mad at him anymore.

"You’re so annoying." She whispered.

Chris smiled against her skin.

"And yet, here you are."

"Well, you kidnapped me." She rolled her eyes, squeezing the skin of his arm. "... I hate when you do this."

Chris hummed, content.

"What, love you?"

She exhaled through her nose, finally letting herself melt into him.

"I love you too."

Chris grinned, pressing one last lingering kiss to her skin before finally resting his head against the pillow, arms still securely wrapped around her.

© vanteguccir

[temis-de-leon]

Pick me girls and Dateables - Part 3

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Part 1 - Lucifer, Mammon and Levi (x reader, separately)

Part 2 - Satan, Asmo, Beel and Belphie (x reader, separately)

Masterlist

CW: pick me girl behavior, suggestive, mentions of sex, mentions of violence and threats, mentions of concubines (no concubines, tho), implied marriage (??), jealous mc, some fluff, some hurt, some comfort, the most ooc out of every part of the series, Barbatos's part is based on one of his chats (A patissier's suffering?)

A/N at the end.

.

Diavolo

So the Devildom had concubines, what about it? It's not like Diavolo had any concubines. You were his only partner and, apparently, the first one in a long while. You had nothing to worry about.

Still, it was impossible not to feel so dejected when every single one of the demons in his court buttered him up so blatantly, not caring that you were next to him, arms linked and fingers intertwined.

And he smiled. Of course, what else could he do but smile? He had a duty to fulfill and that probably meant keeping certain people happy, right?

At least, that was the mantra in your head. Your heart kept hurting itself, but having a reason made it manageable.

"Well? Have you thought about it?"

You turned to your side and stared at the demoness beside you. She was mesmerizing and looking at her directly made you lose focus.

Have I thought about it? I haven't stop thinking about it.

"Remember that I'm acting on behalf of his wellbeing" she said sweetly, caressing your wrist like she wanted to flirt with you "And I guess I could make you happy too"

That made you laugh without an ounce of humor. Both of you knew she wasn't being serious about that one and you wondered why she said it in the first place. Making her Diavolo's concubine would make her his wife in everything but paper. Did she expect giving you orgasms would make you happier about it?

"Leave me alone" you whispered against your drink, not trusting your voice to act decently.

"How can you be so selfish?" she spat, leaving you speechless "This is for his own good. How long will you live, human? Do you expect him to be alone after your death? My only wish is to keep him company once you're gone and starting now would make the transition easier. He'll still love you, sure, but this way he could be happier. How can you not understand something so simple?"

A demon she was, you remembered. Had you been a regular human, you would've believed her concerned face, but to you it was obvious how impatient she was and how much she wanted to leave you there, alone and breaking, so she could finally speak to Diavolo.

"MC"

Both of you jumped, turning around just to see Barbatos's unfazed smile.

"Lord Diavolo asks for you" he informed when you didn't answer, too surprised to react. "Follow me if you please"

"If I may" intervened your companion, close to giving you a heart attack "I must speak to Prince Diavolo. It's an urgent matter"

The butler looked at you, asking for your permission, but you didn't know how to react. It seemed your throat decided to stop working at that exact moment.

"Very well, then"

The demoness eagerly jumped at his words, not wasting a second in leaving the corner you were occupying to look for the prince, who had finally stopped talking to his subjects and was sitting alone in his throne.

Barbatos stared at her before offering you his arm.

"You have nothing to worry about"

He seemed confident, so you believed him. However, the distance you walked towards the throne felt longer than ever.

Your boyfriend looked unnaturally serious at your arrival, an expression his face was not made for. It softened when he saw you, but, still, he didn't fully smile.

"My love, come here" he palmed his thigh and not in a million years would you reject that offer.

Diavolo smiled at the speed you moved, barely restraining himself from kissing you. Instead, he turned to the demoness and presented her to you.

"I believe you've met her already, MC. Did you know about her offer? Did you know she wishes to serve me?"

He patiently waited for your answer, holding you against his chest and caressing your hip bones with the pad of his fingers and the tip of his nails, making you shiver.

Serve? That's the word she decided to use? She wasn't lying, sure, but it was far from the intention she actually had.

"We talked about it" you said in the end.

There was silence for a few seconds, broken only by the sounds of people still drinking and dancing. Diavolo and Barbatos looked at each other, having a conversation no one else could hear.

"I take it you rejected her proposition?"

Obviously.

You nodded and he cupped your face with a sad frown. Your heart skipped a beat.

"That's a pity, my love"

For a moment you moved away from him, too lost in your incredulity to answer or even acknowledge the crazy smile on the demoness's face, but, not even a second later, Diavolo brought you back to him and continued.

"She would've make a wonderful lady in waiting"

Huh?

"Wait, what?"

Both of you ignored the woman, who looked like she'd been slapped in the face with something rotten, which, in her mind, was probably accurate.

"I asked to serve you, my Lord, not the human..."

"Beware your words" interrupted Barbatos, his tail swishing behind him like a whip.

She stopped talking then, very obviously swallowing her opinions. Diavolo speaked again.

"By serving you, she'll serve me. Give her an opportunity to make you happy and, if she fails, we'll get rid of her"

What did he mean, get rid of her? You opened your mouth to ask, but he jerked his leg, making you jump. His smile was wide, but his eyes held a warning.

You decided to let it go.

"Okay"

Diavolo laughed as loud as he usually did, finally hugging you and ignoring both Barbatos's reprimanding glance and the demoness's sour expression.

But wait.

Wait.

He said 'lady in waiting'. Like... Uh...

Were you getting married?

Barbatos

'I'll be waiting in the classroom'

That's what his last message said.

And you'd never be dumb enough to reject that invitation. ¿Spending time with your boyfriend and eating his homemade cookies? Hell yeah!

You just had to be careful not to catch Beel's attention, avoiding the main hallways and hiding between the taller students, which were almost everyone.

By the time you finally arrived to the classroom (you got lost, but you'd never admit that to anyone), you were fairly sure all of your classmates had already gone home.

Alas, you were wrong.

Barbatos's figure was as composed as ever, but you knew him just enough to know how irritated he actually was. Were you this late? It was never your intention!

But no, no, that wasn't the root of the problem.

You knew her, kinda. Not personally, but you'd seen her a lot of times in the castle, cleaning plates in the kitchen or clearing up the table after one of Diavolo's dinner parties. She looked weird in the school's uniform instead of the one the maids used, but you guessed they too had to go to RAD, just like the brothers did.

So why did Barbatos look so uncomfortable?

Both of them stared at you when you entered, walking towards him while staring at her in search of an explanation.

"MC! You're finally here"

He smiled at you with candid eyes, discreetly holding your hand and restraining himself from kissing you in front of the girl, who cleared her throat to break the moment and grinned at Barbatos like you weren't there at all.

Foolish mistake if you'd ever seen one.

Your boyfriend frowned before turning in her direction, clearly giving her one last oportunity before kicking her out of there and reclaiming his alone time with you.

The girl purposely made herself meek, lowering her gaze as if making visual contact with him was too much, something you could totally understand.

"Master Barbatos, please, I'm begging you. I just wish to learn"

You raised your eyebrows and waited for his answer. Instead, she kept talking.

"I'll follow every one of your orders, sir, I promise" arms behind her back and body slightly swaying, you now understood why he was in the edge of snapping "The others don't appreciate you as much as I do. I'll be your best student"

He stared at her, you stared at her, she stared at him, batting her lashes with a weirdly fake innocent smile.

Her demeanor vanished when the Royal Butler spoke.

"I recomend you stop this nonsense at once" he finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence "You're embarrassing yourself and Lord Diavolo's service's good reputation"

The poor maid gaped like a fish, although you weren't feeling bad for her.

You stayed behind him, closing the distance as much as possible while staring at her over his shoulder. If you ate a cookie now, would it be too much? He'd probably forgive you, but you'd rather not risk your chances.

"You will stay on cleaning duty as long as I say and you will stop the rumors that I know have been traveling all around the castle"

She lowered her gaze again, this time in submission and humiliation. His voice sounded venomous and you could swear the room's temperature dropped a few degrees. The air was still and smelled damped and rottening.

"If the gossip hasn't disappear by midnight, rest assured, I will make sure you keep your mouth fully shut"

The threat was clear in his words, something that shouldn't, but still surprised you. The maid trembled in response before bowing and running out the classroom.

You stared at the door in surprise, not turning around until he talked again.

"Do forgive me, my dear, but you know how much I dispise rats"

He sounded scarier than ever, letting his forked tongue slip between his teeth before he searched around the room, like he was trying to find more pests.

Then, he turned to you and smiled like nothing happened, holding a cookie to your mouth as the tips of his gloved fingers caressed your jaw.

"Let's forget about this ordeal, MC. After all, I saved these just for you"

Solomon

If there was something worse than feeling jealous, it was Solomon knowing you were jealous.

You thought you could catch a break, uh? Well, you couldn't be more wrong: your boyfriend knew the moment he saw you staring at that witch.

She was cute, you guessed? Nothing exceptional, but not hideous either. You wouldn't mind at all if not for the fact that she used her appearance like a nuclear weapon.

"Oh, you're so cute!" she'd told you once "I wish I was as cute as you!"

And at first you thought nothing of it. She was just being nice! A little weird about it, sure, but who wasn't weird in RAD?

Except, she wasn't looking at you when she said that, but, instead, at your boyfriend.

Of course, Solomon, unbothered as ever, was too engrossed in the cooking book he'd borrowed from the library to pay attention.

(Later that night you had to order takeout, but you were already counting on that).

The point was: she was trying too hard. You couldn't blame her, really, you dated Solomon for a reason; but still. She was getting on your nerves.

"I'm so dumb... I'll never get it! Solomon, can you help me with this?"

Opening a door with magic? Difficult? Yeah, right.

"I've never dated a human before... How is it, MC? I bet Solomon is a great boyfriend"

He has his moments.

"Solomon! Sit with me, I saved you a seat! Why? Oh, I concentrate better when you're here!"

Shit, could she concentrate at all?

"You're so powerful! You'll have to let me have him for a night, MC! He could teach me a couple of things..."

You closed your fist, staring at her with a frown while talking yourself out of mauling her across the table. You didn't need Lucifer's rants about impropriety and self restraint on top of all of this.

"MC and I have a lesson tonight" the sorcerer said with a polite smile, unusually kind eyes and an unreadable expression "Would you like to tag along?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, lowering her gaze in embarrassment, although you weren't sure if she was really embarrassed.

"Could we hang out alone, tho? I don't want MC to see how dumb I am. They're so much better than me! I bet I need you more than they do!"

Well, you didn't need to study with her to know she was dumb as bricks.

You looked at Solomon, opening your eyes so much in bewilderment that even the insides of your cornea were getting dry. Not a second later he turned to you, smiling with mischief, and then you remembered who were you actually dating.

"It's either this or nothing. Be in Purgatory Hall at 6, we won't be waiting for you"

The witch quickly looked at you, frustrated at his words. It wasn't ideal, you knew, thirdwheeling your crush and his partner in a study date, but what else did she expect? Every other option was plain stupid.

"Okay"

She snorted, trying to hide the disgust and disappoinment without much success. Once she left you alone, swaying her hips and her ponytail, you punched Solomon in the arm and reveled in his pain.

"MC!! Relax!"

"Don't tell me to relax!"

You tried to choke him, but he hid his neck under his shoulders before you could lift yourself to reach him better. He knew you too well.

"MC, I have an idea! You'll like it, believe me!"

"Oh, really?"

"I swear!"

Once free from your attacks, Solomon avoided your eyes and stared at his hands. It took him a couple of seconds before he could look at you again, cheeks red, while he spoke from his heart.

"I couldn't care less about her attempts, MC, but she's obviously making you uncomfortable. I won't let this keep going if I can do something about it"

"But why did you invite her to our lesson, then?"

He laughed in a carefree manner, still blushing while he took your hands in his, looking at you like he was about to uncover a precious secret.

"As your teacher, I want you to explore your potential to the maximum"

His voice lowered to a whisper and you got closer to him, letting your body shiver when his breath caressed the skin of your neck.

"Say, MC, wouldn't you like to have your very own training dummy?"

Simeon

Oh, the privileges of being friends with the most powerful demons in the Devildom.

All you had to do was pout a little and act like you were miserable, missing the warmth of the sun and the familiar scenery of the human world. Of course, all of them knew you were exaggerating, but none would take the risk of actually making you sad.

So there you were, waiting for your drinks while Simeon sunbathed outside, sitting in one of those ornate metal chairs and writing some loose ideas for his next book in a napkin. After all, you'd be crazy if you ever went to the human realm without using the opportunity to have a date with your sweetheart of a boyfriend.

If not for the brightness of his suit, he would look like a college student from an old movie, all dreamy and focused in his own world.

And, apparently, you weren't the only one thinking that.

There were a group of girls outside the cafe, all of them young, maybe even fresh out of high school, staring at Simeon like he was some kind of celebrity. Maybe it was his angelic charisma? Maybe it was just his good looks? Whatever the reason, the girls seemed ready enough to conquer the world and they wanted to start with your boyfriend.

You studied your surroundings, realizing with an uncomfortable weigh in your chest just how busy the place was. There was no way you were getting your order in less than five minutes, even being the first in line, so the only thing you could do was wait and hope the girls wouldn't bother Simeon too much.

They stayed in a closed circle for a few moments until one of them finally dared to go and talk to him. She tried to sit in the second chair, but Simeon stopped her with a quick movement of his hand, probably saying he was saving it for you.

That made you laugh, but you were starting to get second hand embarrassment. You could tell she was trying hard to catch his attention, twirling her hair around her finger and hugging her waist to make her breasts look bigger.

You couldn't see Simeon's face, but, by the way he was scratching the paper, it was obvious he was losing focus on whatever he was previously writing, which would only make him irritated.

Fortunately, and rather rudely, the waitress finally gave you the styrofoam cups and immediately ignored you again, but you couldn't care less. The girl returned to her friends just as you stepped out of the cafe, letting you know part of what happened.

"He said he didn't know what part of him made him look interested in me" she snarled with a hint of hurt in her voice, trying to hide it with offense "That I should find someone that actually finds me entertaining"

Her friends gasped and you had to stop yourself from laughing. He wasn't usually that snappy, but she did interrupt his daydreaming.

"I don't even care what he thinks, he's just some dude! I can catch anyone I want, you know?"

Anyone but him, apparently, but the only thing her friends could do was agree.

Shaking your head and holding one drink in each hand, you stopped the eavesdropping and hurried towards him, leaning over his shoulder to kiss his cheek and smiling softly when he raised his hands to stroke your hair. He was warm from the sun, but he still curled close to you even after letting you sit next to him.

The girls audibly gasped at your actions, clearly offended by your presence as if Simeon would change his mind if they waited enough.

You couldn't bring yourself to pay them attention. Not when he was caressing your knuckles with such love in his touch and a feeling so deep in his eyes that it made your heart violently stop.

"So what were you writing?"

He smiled and eagerly showed you the napkin. By the time you turned around, the girls were already gone.

Tagging the party: @hello-gloomy @the-sassiest-toaster @hero-nii-blog @yourlocalyin @elaemae @eliciria @darkflowerav

Author's note:

Simeon's part sucked the soul out of me (not in the good way), but at least it's well-written. Also, this will be the last part for now: I don't know Mephisto, Raphael or Thirteen enough, so they won't be in any of my posts (for now)

[mixolya]

can i request a fluff with rin where reader wants to put makeup on rin 🥲 it'd be so adorable

ᓚᘏᗢ — rin itoshi: pretty boy !

synopsis: in which you convince your boyfriend to let you do his makeup.

rin itoshi x reader ⭑ fluff / softie!rin (my fav) + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

note: AHHHH THANK YOUUU ANON i love this request omg

"stay still."

rin exhaled through his nose. "i am still."

"no, you're not. you're blinking like i'm threatening you with a knife."

"that's because you are," he muttered. "a very glittery knife."

you snorted, your free hand curling lightly around his shoulder for balance as you leaned in closer.

"you're such a baby," you whispered, tapping a dot of highlighter on the tip of his nose.

he sighed, long-suffering, dramatic but entirely fake. his hands stayed steady around your waist, fingers draped over your hips like they belonged there, which, to be fair, kind of did.

you were straddling his lap, knees tucked on either side of his thighs, your makeup bag beside you on the couch. rin sat still beneath you, back pressed against the cushions, while you carefully painted stars across his cheekbones with soft brushed and too much love.

you'd asked him as a joke, half a joke. okay, maybe not really a joke at all. just soft and teasing and full of affection. it was a lazy sunday afternoon. his head had been in your lap, your fingers in his hair and something about the way the light caught his face made your chest feel all floaty. so you blurted:

"can i do your makeup?"

you expected a no or a weird look. maybe a kiss on the cheek and a "sounds ridiculous, so no."

instead, rin blinked up at you, yawned once and said, "...okay."

which is how you ended up here, settled on his lap with a brush in one hand and his stupidly perfect face in the other.

"you have really nice eyes, you know," you said quietly, blending shimmer onto his eyelids.

he didn't respond, not out loud at least.

but one of his hands moved, slid up the small of your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades. just resting there.

you pretended not to notice. you definitely noticed.

"why are you even letting me do this?" you asked, laughing softly as you swept a warm blush across his cheeks. "i thought you'd say no and grumble about it for like an hour."

"i don't mind," he said.

"really?"

"you like it."

you froze for a second. just long enough for it to hit your heart directly.

"...you're such a sap," you mumbled.

"don't care." his voice was quieter now, more serious. "i like it when you touch me."

your breath caught. you paused halfway through reaching for lip gloss.

"oh, okay, wow. rude to just say that out loud."

he raised an eyebrow. "you asked."

you stared at him, flustered and probably getting warmer than he already was. he looked annoyingly calm about the whole thing, even with sparkles on his cheeks and the tiniest bit of mascara on his lashes.

"you're lucky you're pretty," you muttered.

"everyone keeps saying that," he deadpanned.

you laughed so hard you almost fell off his lap. your balance tipped, knees slipping and rin's hands flew to your waist, steadying you in that way he always did.

"careful, hm?" he muttered, but there was a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now. like watching you be ridiculous warmed something in him he didn't know could be warm.

"thank you... okay, final touch," you whispered, lifting the dior lip gloss he gifted you on valentines day. "pucker up, itoshi."

he rolled his eyes. "never say that again."

"say please," you teased.

he just looked at you, eyes dark but impossibly soft. then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed you. gentle and slow.

"are you done?" he murmured.

you smiled against his mouth.

"yeah," you breathed.

"okay."

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[fandomonetwo]

ain't no sunshine — steve harrington

▸summary: steve just wants cuddles. and he'll play the song on repeat until he gets them.

▸characters: steve harrington x gn!reader

▸tw: tooth. rotting. FLUFF

▸a/n: i did not die. have some happy words.

HE MUST'VE HAD the song downloaded four-hundred times on his cassette tape, because you were just about ready to bash your head in when the beginning notes played from Steve's bedroom. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, it's not warm when she's away.

You were in the living room, finishing up some writings that you had due for your classes when you gazed unamused at the ceiling. He'd been playing the song on repeat, singing along badly in order to coax you into giving him some love and affection as you always did on a Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately, this deadline was currently taking priority, and Steve was being a drama queen about it. 

You still had about four pages to write, as well as some questions to answer before anything else took over your mind, so you had to suffer. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and she's always gone too long, anytime she goes away.

You'd practically memorised the words and melody to this song, mouthing them with good ol' Bill Withers as he provided sustenance to feed Steve's dramatics. You could hear Steve's faux grieving voice as he sang along, making the song a whole heap more dramatic than the original recording. 

Wonder this time where she's gone, wonder if she's gonna stay.

Trying to persevere through the loud stereo blasting muffled music above your head is a lot more difficult than you might imagine. Ever since you had gone to his place in a tizzy that you had things to do before a deadline and couldn't afford any distractions, you had banished him to his room, and for about an hour, had some quiet. 

That changed when the second hour became the third, and the music started when the sun began to go down, reeling on loop as though it was a broken record. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

You smiled slightly, though. For all of Steve's dramatics and ridiculous behaviours, he loved you, and you loved him. All of his quirks made him special to you, and you loved to be with him no matter what was happening around the world, especially when the whole Upside Down thing began catching up to him, mentally and physically. Now, he was a cuddly baby that loved hugging you. He always said that he felt safer to sleep in your arms. 

And I know, I know, I know, I know...

He must've given up on singing, because Steve's voice could no longer be heard. Probably ran out of oxygen. Good. He needed to rest after the whole Russian situation. You only had one page left to write and a few more questions to do before you could give your Steve what he needed so desperately. 

A hug. And a fat nap.

You sighed as the tape continued playing the bridge, scrawling your pencil over the paper. You had started with gorgeous cursive, and had evolved into writing chicken scratch to speed up the time. Two questions down, half a page to go...

Hey, I ought to leave the young thing alone, but ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

Three lines, two sentences, aaaaand...

Done.

Throwing the pencil down and thudding the book shut, you pushed yourself to a standing position, practically bounding up the stairs, dragging yourself up by the handrails. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday.

You came to the first floor landing, stepping onto the carpeted floor with your socked feet and beelined for Steve's room. The door was shut, but Bill's soothing voice carried through the wood, almost getting impossibly loud as you inched closer. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

Stepping into the room as you swing open the door, the final outro of the song is echoing through, fading away. You smile to find Steve on his back, staring at the ceiling as he waits for the next loop to begin. 

You are silent as you halt the tape, crawling onto the bed and giving him a big ol' smooch. He looks at you with innocent and wide eyes, a big fat smile settling on his face. 

"All done?" he asks. 

You nod, confirming. "All done."

You yelp as he flings himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tumbling over the other side of the bed. He's quick to bring the covers over you both, leaving the bed side light on. A new habit, but it didn't bother you. 

You tussled for a little, finding a comfortable position that agreed with all parties and bones. You settled on bear hugging him as he tangled your legs together and kept his nose near your hair. 

You giggled, running your nails down his back. "You big baby." 

He grumbled. "Ain't no sunshine when you're not here."

[goofygubegubler]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬

You’re trapped with the one person who always gets under your skin. And this time, there’s no escape—just options.

wc: 4.8k |F!Reader (Intern) x Spencer Reid (BAU) | cw: enemies-to-lovers, mutual pining, locked-room tension, flirty office chaos, bratty reader x repressed Spencer, slow-burn heat, heavy innuendo, power play lite, Gen Z banter, Hotch is so done.

A/n: This is a pick-your-ending fic — at a certain point, you’ll choose between smut or fluff, each in its own post with separate warnings and word counts. If you’re into this format, let me know! It just fits certain stories, y’know? Love and chaos—MWAH 💋

The BAU was supposed to be a serious, elite unit. You had envisioned it as a whirlwind of case files, high-stakes chases, and brooding men in bulletproof vests. What you hadn’t expected was for it to be filled with this many attractive people—or for the most infuriating one to be Spencer freaking Reid.

He was unbearable. All logic and statistics and that smug little way he corrected people, like a walking, talking Wikipedia page you wanted to shove into a filing cabinet. And, of course, he always had to insert himself at the worst possible moments.

Like now.

You were halfway up the stairs to Hotch’s office, arms full of paperwork, when Spencer materialized beside you, keeping pace effortlessly.

"You look focused," he mused, sipping from his stupid World’s Best Genius mug. The Caltech logo gleamed mockingly under the fluorescent lights.

You ignored him.

"Or frustrated," he added, tilting his head like he was observing something under a microscope. "Maybe both."

Your grip on the files tightened. "Do you ever shut up?"

"I do. Statistically speaking, though, you tend to provoke responses, so the probability of silence is low."

You stopped dead in your tracks, turned to glare at him, and exhaled sharply. "Do you hear yourself when you talk?"

Spencer blinked. "Yes. That’s how hearing works."

Your nails dug into the folder. "I hate you."

"That seems like a misdirected use of emotional energy," he replied smoothly.

You inhaled sharply, clenching your jaw so tightly it could crack. Ah, yes, self-control. A beautiful, fleeting thing. Before you could hurl something at him—your files, your shoe, your entire existence—you flipped your hair with deliberate defiance and kept walking, your heels clicking a little louder than necessary against the steps.

Truth be told, you weren’t just frustrated—you were livid. Not just because of the mountain of paperwork threatening to bury you alive, though that was bad enough. Deadlines loomed, your patience was nonexistent, and apparently, the BAU believed in torturing interns via bureaucracy. But no, the universe wasn’t content with that level of suffering. No, you had to be ovulating, too.

And your body? Oh, your body had decided to make that fact impossible to ignore. Every brush of fabric, every deep inhale around a particularly nice-smelling coworker—hell, even the way Derek Morgan smiled at people was suddenly a personal attack. And then, as if the gods of humiliation weren’t done with you, there was Spencer Reid.

Unbearably smug. Infuriatingly brilliant. And, much to your horror, the hottest of them all. It was an objective fact, but one you would sooner choke on a case file than admit.

You stomped into Hotch’s office like a woman on a mission, dropping the stack of paperwork onto his desk with a satisfying thud.

Hotch barely glanced up. "Not so easy."

You groaned. "Hotch, please."

"All intern paperwork has to be proofread and signed by a superior agent," he said, sliding the files right back toward you without even looking.

You narrowed your eyes. "You didn't even check."

Hotch finally glanced up, unimpressed. "You think I don't know when something’s unfinished? The weight is off. The stack isn’t dense enough. And if that weren’t enough, you wouldn’t have dropped it like it burned you."

You inhaled sharply, then exhaled through your nose like a bull about to charge. "I know, but every time I try, they’re too busy, and besides, Hotch, you know me—"

"Reid’s not busy," Hotch cut in. "He does paperwork the fastest. Morgan even pays him to do his, not that I officially acknowledge that particular rule-breaking."

Your soul left your body. "You cannot be serious."

"It wasn’t a question." His expression remained unreadable, but you swore there was amusement in his eyes. "Reid is your assigned agent from now on."

Your hands are clenched at your sides. "Hotch, you don’t understand. That’s cruel. That’s a human rights violation. That’s—"

"Efficient," he interrupted smoothly. "And unavoidable. Unless, of course, you’d rather I reassign you to Rossi. He loves a good mentoring opportunity, and I hear he enjoys dictation."

Your mouth snapped shut. That was how he won. Every. Single. Time. He had a way of shutting you up with a perfectly placed, completely infuriating threat that left you with no choice but to storm out with whatever dignity you had left. You inhaled, exhaled, and bit back the thousand things you wanted to say.

But, of course, Hotch wasn’t done. He leaned back slightly, fixing you with that assessing stare that made your spine straighten. "And," he added, "we talked about the skirts."

You smirked, tilting your head, letting your inner party girl out for just a second. "Yeah, yeah, you’re required to say that, but let’s be real—HR only cares if it’s disruptive, and last I checked, no one’s tripped and fallen into a scandal because of my legs."

Hotch’s lips pressed into a flat line, his patience visibly thinning. "I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that."

You grinned, victorious. "Good choice, bossman."

His stare didn’t waver. "Leave."

And because you valued your job (and, fine, maybe because getting the last word on Aaron Hotchner was a dangerous game), you spun on your heel and strutted out, thoroughly pleased with yourself.

God, if you didn’t have a massive, wildly inappropriate crush on Spencer, you’d bounce on Hotch in a heartbeat. Even if he was divorced. Even if he had a kid. Even if he was old enough to be your father. Domineering, dangerously competent men were simply your type, and unfortunately, you were surrounded by them.

As you made your way back to your desk, you let yourself fantasize—just a little. Maybe, in another life, you could have both. A little Eiffel Tower moment, if you will—

"Hey, you in?"

Penelope’s voice pulled you from your wildly inappropriate thoughts. You blinked, turning to her just as she plopped down in the chair beside you. "In?"

"For going out tonight. Drinks, dancing, chaos—our usual."

You hesitated, your attention snagged by movement across the bullpen. Hotch stood by Spencer’s desk, speaking in that low, measured tone of his. Spencer, ever the picture of unbothered intellect, nodded along, his fingers idly drumming against a case file. Hotch’s brow furrowed, and something about the intensity of his gaze made your stomach twist.

"Okay, now I know you’re distracted." Penelope snapped her fingers in front of your face, making you jolt. "What’s got you zoning out like a lovesick teenager?"

You tore your gaze away and cleared your throat. "Hotch just told me I have to start running my paperwork through Spencer."

Penelope’s eyes widened. "Oof. Condolences. What did you do to deserve that?"

"Apparently, Hotch thinks I’m not cutting the ropes as a newbie," you deadpanned. "But he likes me otherwise, y’know."

Penelope snorted. "Oh, sweetheart. That is the most delusional thing I’ve ever heard—and I’ve been in a fandom war."

Before you could respond, movement caught your eye. Hotch and Spencer were walking toward you, Hotch balancing a precarious stack of files in his arms. You barely had time to brace yourself before he stopped beside Penelope, giving her a pointed look.

"Garcia. Back to work."

Penelope pouted dramatically. "Ugh, you are such a buzzkill, you know that?"

"And yet, here I am, still insisting," Hotch replied dryly. He barely glanced at her. "Garcia. Work."

Penelope gasped, clutching her chest like he’d personally wounded her. "Rude. And here I was, ready to offer my radiant presence for a night of fun. But nooo, crushed by the oppressive fist of bureaucracy once again." With a theatrical sigh, she stood, smoothing out her skirt. "Fine, fine, I’m going. But if my sparkle dims, Hotchner, just know it’s on your conscience."

"And yet, somehow, the world survives," Hotch replied flatly. Then, without another word, he plopped a massive stack of files onto your lap. "You and Reid need to redo this entire stack before you leave."

"Oh, fantastic," you drawled, shifting the weight of the folders in your arms. "Because nothing gets me hotter than redoing paperwork with my favorite human encyclopedia."

"That’s between you and HR," Hotch deadpanned before turning on his heel and walking away.

You scowled after him. "I hate this place."

"And yet, you continue to show up," Spencer mused, already pulling a file from the stack in your hands. "Let’s see how much damage you’ve done this time."

"Oh, bite me," you shot back, dropping the rest of the files onto your desk with a dramatic sigh. "Before you start spewing unsolicited critiques, just know that I put my heart and soul into those."

Spencer flipped through a few pages, his lips twitching. "You used gel pens again."

"So?"

"So, it smudged everywhere."

You rolled your eyes. "Forgive me for wanting my bureaucratic misery to sparkle a little."

"And your phrasing," he continued, ignoring your defense. "This is meant to be objective. What is ‘a concerning amount of eyebrow waggling’ supposed to quantify exactly?"

"It means the guy was sketchy!"

Spencer gave you a long, suffering look. "You are the worst intern in FBI history."

You smirked, tilting your head just enough to be insufferable. "Aw, Doctor, you say that like it’s a bad thing."

Spencer just exhaled through his nose and turned back to the files, flipping a page with unnecessary force. "If we ever have to testify based on your notes, the jury’s going to think we’re making it up."

"Oh, please," you scoffed, leaning back in your chair. "Eyebrow waggling is a known intimidation tactic."

"According to whom?"

"Me. Obviously."

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about the downfall of modern law enforcement before refocusing on the paperwork. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, marking the slow exodus of the office. First, Morgan and Emily strolled out, offering half-hearted goodbyes that suggested they were thrilled not to be stuck with this nightmare. Then JJ, then Rossi—each departure leaving the bullpen quieter, the fluorescent lights humming louder.

By 6:30, even Penelope had fled, but not before dramatically sighing, "Ugh, this is so unfair! We were supposed to have a girls' night. Or at least get you drunk enough to make some questionable decisions!"

"Oh, trust me, I am questioning every decision that led me here," you deadpanned, glaring at the endless stack of papers.

Pen just pouted. "Well, hurry up and get it done so we can still salvage the night! I have snacks, face masks, and enough gossip to fill an entire season of reality TV."

"Maybe if someone would stop talking, we could actually finish this," Spencer cut in, not even looking up from his work.

The clock ticked on, relentless and unsympathetic. 7:15. Then 7:45. Then, somehow, 8:30. The bullpen had long since emptied, the low murmur of voices replaced with nothing but the scratch of pens and the faint hum of fluorescent lights.

And, of course, the sound of your own pulse hammering in your ears every time he shifted, every time he exhaled a little too sharply. The air between you crackled with something neither of you would dare acknowledge—something electric, infuriating, and impossible to ignore. Spencer was always irritating, but tonight, the sharp edges of his voice sent heat straight to your spine. His rolled-up sleeves, the furrow in his brow, the way his fingers tapped impatiently against the desk—it was too much. And he had no idea.

You shifted in your chair, pressing your thighs together, as another agonizing minute crawled by. The warmth pooling deep in your stomach was getting harder to ignore, bleeding into every impatient twitch of your fingers, every sharp inhale you tried to steady. It was making you reckless. Every movement he made—every flicker of irritation tightening his jaw, every absent tap of his fingers against the desk—sent another unwanted jolt through your system.

And you were nowhere near done.

You propped your chin in your palm, elbow sinking into the desk, twirling a pen between your fingers in a half-hearted attempt at distraction. But the numbers on the page swam uselessly in and out of focus, blurring into meaningless symbols. How were you supposed to concentrate when the biggest source of your frustration was sitting just feet away—close enough to feel, close enough to rile you up with nothing more than his presence?

Spencer’s voice was sharp, his presence sharper, and despite the fact that you supposedly couldn’t stand him, your body clearly hadn’t gotten the memo. You were existing in a frustrating limbo—exhaustion pressing at your skull, attraction setting fire to your nerves. Your skin felt too hot, too tight, hypersensitive to every minute movement across the desk. You could feel the weight of his eyes even when he wasn’t looking at you. If you weren’t careful, this night was about to get a whole lot longer in more ways than one.

It took exactly one sharp exhale from across the desk for your tenuous grasp on focus to fully snap. Spencer, who had been nothing but an irritatingly efficient machine for the past two hours, finally looked up. And oh, he was irritated. The pen in his hand hit the desk with a clatter, and he leveled you with something caught between exasperation and begrudging patience.

“Are you even paying attention?”

You blinked slowly, head tilting. “Hmm?”

Spencer sighed, dragging a hand through his already slightly tousled hair. “Your lack of attention to detail has ensured that we need the regional case file, not this—a duplicate copy.” He gestured at the offending document like it had personally insulted him. “Which means, thanks to this mistake, we need the actual original file.”

You stretched your arms over your head, arching your back slightly just for the principle of it all. His eyes flickered downward before snapping back up, his jaw tightening, but you pretended not to notice.

“And?”

“And,” Spencer said tightly, voice teetering on the edge of patience, “Garcia’s already gone for the night, so we can’t just pull it from the digital archives. That means I have to go to the file room and physically retrieve it.”

You raised an eyebrow, lazily dragging your gaze back to him. "Cool. Have fun."

His expression darkened. "The file room is in the basement."

“Sounds like a you problem.”

His jaw flexed. "The file room is on sublevel two—buried under concrete, terrible ventilation, not a single camera, and if that door shuts behind you? You're stuck until someone remembers to check."

You blinked at him, unimpressed. "So, what I’m hearing is: a perfect setting for a horror movie."

Spencer's lips pressed into a thin line. "It’s a security feature."

"It’s an oversight. The FBI, an organization that prides itself on preparedness, has a room where someone could just get stuck until an unsuspecting soul wanders down there?"

He exhaled, slow and measured. "Yes."

You grinned. "That’s insane."

Spencer, to no one’s surprise, did not grin back. "That’s protocol."

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair, stretching deliberately slow. His gaze flickered downward for the briefest second before he forcibly dragged his eyes back to your face. Oh, he noticed. And that little detail sent something devious curling inside you.

“Well, since you’re the one so concerned with protocol, go get the file."

His stare was unimpressed. "You made the mistake. You go."

You scoffed. "Oh, please. If I hadn’t made a mistake, you’d have found another reason to be insufferable. You were just waiting for an excuse."

Spencer inhaled sharply, like he was holding something back. "That’s not true."

You smirked. "No? Then what was that little lecture just now? Don’t tell me you just enjoy talking down to me. That’s kind of kinky, Doctor."

His fingers flexed against the desk, a telltale sign of irritation but also something else. His voice came out quieter, a touch too taut. “The file name is ACB-714. Basement archives, second cabinet on the left."

You gave him a lazy salute. “Consider it handled."

Truthfully, you needed an excuse to step away. The way he’d spoken to you—sharp, clipped, just on the edge of losing control—had sent your brain spiraling into places you did not need to be right now. It was bad enough working alongside him when your body was already betraying you, but the fact that he sounded that good when he was frustrated was unbelievable. Unnecessary. Unfair.

And the way he looked at you? Like he was barely keeping himself in check? Like he was two seconds from saying something neither of you could take back? That was dangerous.

You pushed back from your desk, the sharp click of your heels against the tile the only indication of certainty when everything inside you was anything but. Maybe the basement’s clinical chill would help, its walls lined with forgotten case files and the ghosts of bureaucratic neglect grounding you back into something solid. Maybe the hum of the fluorescents, cold and impersonal, would smother the slow, insidious heat crawling beneath your skin—the heat fed by too many lingering glances, too many tension-laced arguments that never seemed to resolve.

The door groaned as you stepped inside, its weight swinging shut behind you with an eerie finality, unnoticed in your distraction. The file room stretched ahead, a silent graveyard of paperwork, thick with dust and the acrid bite of industrial-strength cleaner. Overhead, the fluorescents flickered erratically, their jittery glow casting restless shadows against the endless rows of filing cabinets standing like sentinels in the dim light.

Your mission was simple—retrieve one file, ACB-714, and get out. But the second you stepped into the file room, your focus was already shot to hell.

Spencer Reid was ruining your life.

Okay, maybe that was dramatic, but at the very least, he was ruining your concentration. He had rattled off instructions with that sharp, impatient cadence, his fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose like he was physically restraining himself from strangling you. The worst part? It wasn't just the irritation that got to you. It was the way he watched you, the way he always seemed locked in on you, even in exasperation.

You wanted to be annoyed. You wanted to let it roll off your back. But your body betrayed you, heat curling at the base of your spine in a way that was neither productive nor appropriate for a professional setting.

Your fingertips skimmed over the metal cabinet labels, your eyes skimming but not really seeing. Was he always like this? So insufferably exacting? So unwilling to let anything slide? It wasn’t just the way he corrected you—it was how he did it. Precise and controlled, like he knew exactly how to get under your skin and lived for it.

It was honestly impressive.

You blew out a breath, pushing your hair out of your face as you rolled your shoulders back. Focus. Find the file. Get out. But instead, you leaned lazily against a filing cabinet, barely noticing how the movement nudged the doorstop at the threshold.

The sharp click of metal shifting barely registered before it was too late.

Your stomach dropped.

The door.

Oh, you had to be kidding.

Panic didn’t hit immediately. No, it crept in slow, slinking up your spine like a cold hand tracing your vertebrae. You turned on your heel, already knowing what you’d see before you even reached for the handle.

Locked.

Of course it was fucking locked. Because why wouldn’t the government’s precious archive room operate like a goddamn haunted house? You stared at the heavy metal door, willing it to magically swing back open. It didn’t.

Your hand flew to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose as you exhaled. This was just perfect. You had let your brain wander off into Spencer Reid–induced nonsense, and now you were locked in an FBI basement because you couldn’t be bothered to properly secure a doorstop.

And you weren’t just trapped. You were trapped while ovulating, which meant your body was already in a state of desperate, hormone-fueled hysteria. Which meant you had spent the last fifteen minutes alternating between rolling your eyes at Spencer’s condescending attitude and staring at his hands. His long, unnecessarily pretty hands, which had absolutely no business looking that good while shuffling through case files.

Great. Now you were locked in a basement, overthinking, and horny.

You slid down against the filing cabinet with a groan, head thumping back against the metal. How long would it take for someone to notice? Would Penelope come looking for you, or would she just assume you finally gave in and quit? Maybe Spencer would realize something was off. Maybe he’d put the pieces together, retrace your steps, and...

No. No way. If anything, he’d think you were just slacking off. He’d probably roll his eyes, make some condescending remark about how you were the worst intern in FBI history, and move on with his night. Because that’s what he did—he got under your skin, poked and prodded and found every little thing that made you tick.

And the worst part? You let him.

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling, determined to push him out of your head.

Then, just as you started to resign yourself to a long, embarrassing night of solitude, a noise broke through the thick silence.

Footsteps. Slow. Purposeful.

Then—finally—the sound of the door handle turning.

The door swung open, and there he was, framed by the dim hallway light, looking every bit as exasperated as you knew he would. His gaze flicked over you, arms crossed, mouth already pulling into a disapproving frown.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, stepping inside with an exasperated shake of his head. "You, of all people, got yourself locked in a room that explicitly warns you not to let the door close behind you. I even told you."

You scoffed, pushing up from the floor. "Wow, Spence. So good to see you, too. Did you miss me?"

"Not particularly," he deadpanned, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on you for half a second too long. Then, with the same distracted precision he applied to everything, he grabbed the doorstop and wedged it beneath the heavy metal frame.

"There. Now, let's get—"

The sharp, metallic click of the door lock echoed through the room.

Silence.

Spencer froze.

You blinked.

Then, slowly, terribly, you turned to face each other.

"Reid," you started, voice calm in a way that meant you were absolutely about to lose it. "Did you just—"

"No," he said immediately, but his voice had gone slightly higher. "No, I didn't."

Your arms crossed, mirroring his stance. "Then what was that noise, genius?"

Spencer inhaled sharply through his nose, then reached for the handle, twisting it once, twice, then yanking with just enough force to confirm the worst.

Locked.

You stared at him. He stared at you.

"You," you said, pointing an accusatory finger. "Just locked us both in."

He opened his mouth, then shut it, jaw tightening. "Technically—"

"Oh, no. No, technically, Spencer. You just pulled a me."

His eyes narrowed. "Pulled a you? I think not."

"Oh, I think so!" You threw your arms up. "Because last I checked, I was the one who got us into this mess and you were supposed to be the responsible one!"

Spencer let out a long breath, adjusting his stance like he was physically restraining himself from escalating. "Okay, well, panicking isn’t going to fix anything."

"Who’s panicking? I’m not panicking." You were definitely panicking. Not because you were locked in—no, you could handle that. But because it meant you were stuck here. Alone. With Spencer. For God knows how long.

And you were already on edge.

Already warm, restless, caught in some ridiculous hormone-induced haze that had made your brain hyperfocus on things you had no business noticing. Like the way Spencer’s shirt sleeves were pushed up, revealing the lean, tense muscles of his forearms. Or how his hair was just slightly mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. Or the way he smelled—like old books and something subtly sharp, like cedarwood and coffee grounds.

God, you needed to get out of here.

"This is your fault," you muttered, pacing a tight circle.

"Oh, so it’s my fault you got distracted and let the door close on you?" His voice had that smug edge again, laced with something else—something almost amused, like he’d warned you this would happen and was now relishing in being right. It made you whirl on him, irritation flaring hot beneath your skin.

"Yes, actually! If you hadn't been hovering over me like some insufferable know-it-all, I wouldn't have lost my train of thought."

Spencer scoffed. "Hovering? I was doing my job. You were the one lost in your own head, probably thinking about something ridiculous like—I don’t know—lip gloss flavors or whatever occupies that overly cluttered brain of yours."

You gasped, shoving at his chest. "Oh, bite me, Doctor Condescension! Not all of us have an eidetic memory to store every single useless fact known to man. Some of us have normal human brains that get distracted when we’re trying to multitask!"

Spencer barely budged from your shove, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smirk. "Right. Multitasking. You mean twirling your pen and zoning out?"

You opened your mouth, ready to snap back, but the reality of the situation hit you again like a truck. The file room. Locked. No way out. You groaned, dragging your hands down your face.

"Okay, genius, how do we get out? Since you're so brilliant and never make mistakes?"

Spencer crossed his arms, the smugness practically radiating off of him. "We wait. Someone will come looking."

You threw up your hands. "Oh, great! Because getting caught in a locked basement with you is exactly how I wanted to end my night."

He rolled his eyes. "You act like this is some unbearable torture."

"It is!" You gestured wildly. "I could be out right now, drinking with Penelope, having a girls' night, doing literally anything else but this! But no, I’m stuck in here with you, arguing over whose fault this is when we both know it’s yours."

Spencer let out a sharp breath, tilting his head. "You’re exhausting."

"You’re infuriating!"

"You’re impossible."

"You—" You jabbed a finger into his chest. "—are the bane of my existence!"

"And yet," he said, voice dropping just enough to send something shivering down your spine, "you can’t seem to stop talking to me."

You faltered for half a second before scoffing. "Oh, please, don’t flatter yourself. If I had any other option, I wouldn’t waste my breath on you."

Spencer stepped closer, his presence suddenly suffocating in the small, stale room. "Funny. Because despite all your complaining, you never actually walk away."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. This was new. This was dangerous. The air shifted, tension curling like a live wire between you, and you hated that some deep, embarrassing part of you liked it. Too much.

You swallowed, forcing out a breathless laugh. "What, and let you think you’ve won? Not a chance."

Spencer studied you, his gaze flickering down to your lips so fast you might have imagined it. Then, just as quickly, he scoffed, a deliberate shift in his expression that screamed of warning more than dismissal. "See? Impossible. I told you."

Something inside you snapped. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the sheer absurdity of this situation. Maybe it was the fact that you were ovulating, and his stupid smug face was the only thing in your line of sight. But before you could even process the words spilling from your lips, you blurted out, "God, I hate how much I like you."

The silence that followed was deafening. You barely even registered what you’d said at first, not until Spencer’s entire expression shifted—his usual composure cracking just enough to reveal something startled, something unguarded. His lips parted slightly, his breath hitching just enough for you to catch it.

And then, like a freight train hitting you at full speed, the realization crashed down.

You panicked. "I mean—not like like, obviously. Just, you know, tolerate. Barely. In a work acquaintance kind of way. Like an annoying gnat I’ve learned to ignore, except I can’t ignore you because you never shut up, and—"

Spencer surged forward and kissed you.

The force of it backed you against the filing cabinets, steel biting into your spine as his hands found your waist, gripping just hard enough to steal whatever breath you had left. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was months of pent-up frustration, sharp and heated and all-consuming.

You barely had time to process it before you were kissing him back, fingers tangling in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto. Like letting go meant losing whatever the hell this was.

Spencer pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "Shut up, for once."

You would’ve argued. You really would have. But then he kissed you again, and suddenly, there was nothing left to say.

PICK YOUR ENDING

➤ [Ending 1 – Smut]

➤ [Ending 2 – Fluff]

[damnfeelings09]

Style - Shadow's version

A.N: this one closes the little story, I'm not really good writting explicit content but I tried my best. Also I'm not sure if you wanted to stay human or mobian so I kinda keept it vague so you could decide.

“Midnight, you come and pick me up, no headlights.”

You got out of the shower, the steam flooding your room, creating a warm and pleasant atmosphere. Carefully, you walked to your bed where your pajamas were already laid out, while the drops of water fell on your shoulders. You loved your days off. You used to spend the whole day at home, making the most of the time with... ah... there he was again, in your thoughts. You still hadn’t decided what you would do about his message. It had been three days, and all you could do was stare at the screen, wondering what would be the most appropriate response. Maybe a “hello” or “what’s up,” or “I love you” or your personal favorite “screw you, idiot, you broke my heart.”

“This is impossible,” you said. “What am I supposed to do now? It's not like I can just... ignore him?” You knew that was the most cowardly option, but you couldn’t face the situation. You didn’t want to face it. The same day you had received the message, you talked to Dylan and let him know that you weren’t really interested in him and that you only saw him as a friend. It had been hard because you really liked him, but you weren’t in love with him. How could you be when your heart only beat for one person? You finished getting dressed, wearing a long blouse as a nightgown, and leaving your hair loose while looking for the hairdryer. You were halfway into your closet when you heard a ring—it was a new notification. Quickly, you picked up your phone, and once again, his name appeared.

Shadow: I’m outside.

Damn it! Why? What did Shadow think he was doing outside your house?

"It’s been a while since I’ve even heard from you," you thought. Carefully, you approached the living room window and peeked through. You could see his car parked right in front of your door. Another notification made you step back from the window. You quickly read the message.

Shadow: Come out.

"I should just tell you to leave 'cause I know exactly where it leads, but I..."

Slowly, you opened the door, finding Shadow leaning against the passenger door. He had his arms crossed, his inhibitory rings glowing in the moonlight, and his eyes… those red eyes, like two rubies, staring at you intensely.

"You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style"

With every step you took towards him, your heart beat even faster. If it weren't for your training as a GUN agent, you probably would’ve suffered an arrhythmia and died right then. Shadow kept his gaze fixed on you, analyzing every move you made. With each step you took, he fought the urge to pull you into his arms. He knew it wasn’t a good idea, that you were angry with him, and although he had promised himself not to bother you again, here he was, once more, in front of your door. But this time, he had the courage to call you. When you were close enough, Shadow stood up and opened the passenger door, nodding for you to get in.

"So it goes He can't keep his wild eyes on the road, mm"

Shadow drove in silence, while you couldn’t stop intertwining and releasing your fingers. Saying you were nervous was an understatement; there wasn’t a word in your vocabulary that could describe the avalanche of emotions you were feeling. You tried to control your breathing, not wanting him to notice, even though it was a stupid thought—there was nothing about you that the ultimate lifeform didn’t notice. You glanced at the dashboard clock. It was past midnight, and you had no idea where Shadow was taking you. You directed your gaze to the hedgehog, but when his eyes met yours, you quickly turned your gaze to the door. If it were possible, you would’ve jumped out of the car right then. Shadow slightly increased the speed, making his car roar as it sped down the tree-lined road. His eyes darted between the road and your face, noticing that you were nervous, and something more—the reddish tint on your cheeks gave you away, and he couldn’t wait to kiss every part of you.

You inhaled and, gathering your courage, broke the silence. “I heard, oh, that you've been out and about with some other girl,” you said, looking down. That was what everyone had been talking about—the new girl who had quickly gained Commander Shadow the Hedgehog’s trust. At first, you didn’t want to believe it, but then you saw the pictures, where he was next to her, a smaller hedgehog, with bright yellow eyes and white fur. You wouldn’t admit it, but that night, you had cried in the bathtub.

Shadow looked at you as he slowed down the car. You had left the city miles behind, and now, you were ridding up the hill. Hesitant, he took the steering wheel with his left hand while placing the other one on your leg, gently caressing it. “What you heard is true, but I can’t stop thinking 'bout you and I.” he said.

“I’ve been there too a few times,” you said without thinking. You didn’t expect to give that response, but Shadow always managed to bring out your true personality. Right there, in his car, with his body so close and his caresses on your skin, you could barely think straight. You looked at him. Shadow had always seemed so damn handsome to you, but seeing him under the moonlight was definitely a religious experience. The sound of the engine accompanied every turn he made with the steering wheel, but it was his gaze that truly dominated the moment. His crimson eyes, deep and mysterious, fixed on the road, while his dark quills seemed to blend with the shadowy interior of the car. If it weren't for the reddish tips, you would’ve sworn they had grown out. His hand never left your leg; instead, his thumb made small circles on your soft skin, and you swore that with that little touch, you swore you could reach the heavens.

"You got that long hair, slicked back, white T-shirt And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt (a tight little skirt) And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style (we never go), we never go out of style"

The ride lasted 15 more minutes until Shadow finally stopped the car at the hill’s lookout. You knew this place; it was where you had your first date, where he first said “I love you,” and where... where you both had spent your first night together. With every memory, the heat increased, and your face felt like it was going to explode.

“I’m sorry,” Shadow murmured, halting the flow of memories that your mind was traveling through. His gaze was fixed on you, his expression had changed. That cold façade he showed the world crumbled before you. “For... everything.” Shadow had never been a fan of apologies. He always tried to find a way to be right, not because he was stubborn or made many mistakes—after all, we were talking about the ultimate lifeform—but he always took responsibility when it came to you. “I know I made you suffer. You have to understand that I... I... wanted to keep you safe, and I only managed to push you away. I didn’t know how. I still don’t... And I know you don’t want me close, I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I can’t... I don’t want to be without you.”

That was all it took, his confession to you was all you needed to hear. The air was charged with electricity, and every part of you was begging for his touch. You both stared at each other for a second, and without thinking any longer, you threw yourself at him. Your lips collided with intensity, as if you couldn’t wait any longer, as if time no longer existed. There, in the warmth of the car, only you two existed. Shadow took a second to react, the surprise on his face was undeniable, but it quickly turned into need as he took you by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if he was trying to fuse your body with his. Hands gripped, mouths opened, and the kiss turned into something wild, impetuous, where nothing else mattered.

"Take me home Just take me home"

You placed your hand on his chest, caressing his soft fur gaining a soft growl from the hedghog, you took a chance and pull yourself away from his hungry lips for a second. “… just take me home…” you said as you caught your breath. Shadow pressed his lips together one more time, then pulled away from you, making the engine roar. He drove quickly, the trees blurring into a smear. Throughout the drive, his hand remained intertwined with yours.

"Oh, you got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like"

When you arrived to his home, your home, Shadow opened your door and took you in his arms bridal style, carrying you inside. Your clothes quickly abandoned your body, decorating the living room, the hallway, and the bedroom.

"And when we go crashing down (now we go), we come back every time"

He carefully laid you on the bed, admiring the view as he positioned himself above you, as if trying to engrave your image in his memory forever. He approached slowly, leaving a trail of kisses from your collarbone to your lips, saying how much he loved you after each one. A silent promise was born between you both that day—never again would you be apart... never.

"Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style"

[ellealyssum]

keep my heart warm ✦ zayne x reader ✦ fluff ✦ 700 words

"Nightmare?" He nods, not meeting your gaze. "I didn't want to wake you, so I came out here."

nightmares, insomnia, comfort, zayne needs a hug, zayne secretly likes being called baby, gn!reader

I'm always writing about Zayne comforting you but then I remembered he suffers from nightmares and insomnia and he needs comforting, too. I love him.

also on ao3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 Waking up cold has to be one of the most annoying feelings in the world. You toss and turn beneath the plush comforter, curling into yourself in a futile attempt to conserve your body heat. The thought of getting up for an extra blanket briefly occurs to you, but you really don't have the energy for that right now. You squint at the alarm clock, the dim red digits reading 02:07. Zayne had said he'd be in bed by midnight. You sigh, bracing yourself for the cold of the outside world and quickly jump out of bed, stuffing your feet into your slippers and wrapping a throw around your shoulders. You didn't want to have to get up, but there was no way you'd be getting to sleep if you had a missing doctor to worry about.

 You're surprised to find him in the kitchen and not his office. He's already in his pyjamas, sat at the kitchen island with a mug of tea, flipping aimlessly through a book. Probably some kind of medical text.

 "Zayne?" His eyes meet yours and you see a flicker of shame in them at being caught.

 "Something wrong?" His voice is slightly hoarse. He sounds tired.

 "Yes." You put on your cutest pout. He may be one of the smartest men in the world, but you knew how to play him like a fiddle when you really needed to. You only leave him hanging for a second, feeling bad at the slight panic you see take hold of him. "I'm missing a certain snowman. The bed is far too cold without him."

 His shaky sigh of relief doesn't escape your notice. "You'd think having a snowman in your bed would only exacerbate the problem." He teases you with ease, because that's what he always does, but you can sense there's something else lurking under the surface.

 "Some may think so." You walk over to him and lean your head against his shoulder. "But this snowman is very special."

 "How so?"

 "He's the only snowman in the whole world that can be warm and cold at the same time." His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly.

 "I'm sorry, love. Why don't you take a heat pack with you and go back to bed? You're tired. I'll be there in a bit."

 "That's what you said three hours ago." You clasp his hand in yours. It's cold, but not uncomfortable. "I won't be able to sleep until you're beside me."

 He pushes his mug away from him with a resigned sigh. It takes him a minute to speak, and you hold his hand patiently.

 "I... lost control. Again." You stroke the back of his hand with your thumb. No wonder his hands were cold.

 "Nightmare?" He nods, not meeting your gaze.

 "I didn't want to wake you, so I came out here."

 You let go of his hand and bring your palm to his cheek. You just want him to look at you.

 "I want you to wake me, Zayne." His eyes are tired, but they finally meet yours.

 "You need your rest," he insists. You sigh. Your big, impossible snowman. Always taking care of everyone but himself.

 "So do you." He's about to argue but you don't give him the chance. "You deserve a restful night's sleep, baby." He softens at your use of the pet name you know he secretly loves. You can feel the walls coming down. "Besides, I can't sleep properly without you, anyway. You can wake me up whenever you need if it means you don't leave me all on my lonesome."

 "I just don't want you to get hurt because of me." Just that one little sentence almost rips your heart from your chest.

 "I know, darling. I know it scares you." You run your hands through his hair, trying to soothe him. "But I trust you, more than anyone else in the whole world. And I can't bear to see you in pain. Please, let me help. I want to help you."

 He reaches for your waist, pulling you between his legs and into his embrace. You stroke his back. He doesn't cry, he very rarely ever does. He just takes deep breaths into your shoulder.

 "Okay." His voice is barely a whisper. "I'll try." You can't help but hold him a bit tighter.

 "That's all I could ever ask."

[rip2mycarradio]

champagne coast .

just a lil thang, makin’ out with harry by the pooool siiiideeeeeeee!! suggestive content ahead ;)

༺☆༻

the sun hung high and proud in the sky, casting a golden shimmer across the rooftop like it had nowhere else to be. the clouds were thin and barely there, like faint brushstrokes across an endless blue canvas, and the sky itself looked like it had been freshly washed—so bright, so impossibly clear it almost made your eyes water. the pool glistened like glass, the water a perfect jewel-toned blue, rippling softly in the breeze. even the city below seemed quieter today, distant and hazy, like the world had agreed to give you a moment of peace.

potted palms swayed gently at the corners of the rooftop, and the air smelled faintly of chlorine, sunscreen, and something sweet—probably that overpriced mango cocktail someone had left sweating on a lounge chair. it was the kind of day that felt like it belonged in a movie, like the universe had hand-wrapped it just for you.

and to top it all off—it was your day off on tour. a rare gem.

which meant exactly one thing: you and harry had every intention of spending the entire day in this rooftop pool, ordering takeout, avoiding everyone, and soaking in every second of calm before the chaos started again tomorrow.

you were stretched out on an inflatable lounger, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose, fingers trailing in the water as harry swam up beside you, pushing his wet curls back from his face.

“how’s it feel being the most spoiled person in this entire city?” he asked, arms folded on the edge of your float, chin resting there like he had nowhere better to be.

you smirked, peeking at him over your shades. “you tell me. you’re the one doing all the work. i’m just floating and looking hot.”

he laughed, soft and raspy, water dripping down his cheek. “true. you’re definitely doin’ the heavier lifting here.”

you dipped a finger into the pool and flicked water at him. “so, what’s the plan for later? tacos? ramen? that super greasy pizza place you swore you’d never eat at again?”

“i’m a changed man,” he said seriously, but his eyes were dancing. “i think i could be convinced to suffer through it for you. but only if you promise to split the last garlic knot this time.”

“no promises,” you teased, letting your foot bump gently against his chest beneath the water.

he grabbed it without hesitation, pulling you off the float and into the water with a dramatic splash. you came up laughing, hair plastered to your face, only for harry to smooth it back with both hands, eyes soft and close and suddenly not so playful anymore.

“you look … really pretty right now,” he murmured, voice lower now, quieter, the kind of tone that always made your chest feel too small.

you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he leaned in before you could. his lips met yours underwater-warm and slow, tongue brushing yours with the kind of practiced ease that only came from knowing each other too well. his hands stayed at your waist, thumbs pressing gentle circles into your skin, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, melting into him as the world blurred around you.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry. it was just soft, unhurried, like the day itself—like he had all the time in the world to kiss you right.

his mouth moved with a slow, aching kind of intention—the kind that made your stomach flip and your knees go weak, even in the water. he kissed you like he had all the time in the world to figure you out, and he planned on savoring every second of it. his tongue brushed yours again, deeper this time, coaxing a quiet sound from the back of your throat that you didn’t even realize you’d made.

you could feel him smiling against your mouth, but it didn’t stop him. if anything, it pushed him closer, like he wanted more. his hands slid along your back, slick with water, pulling you flush against him until you could feel the firm line of his chest pressed right to yours. the cool of the pool was nothing compared to the warmth of him, the way he kissed you like he needed it—like it wasn’t enough to be close, he wanted to be all the way there.

your fingers tangled in his wet curls, tugging just a little, and he groaned—low, rough, and right into your mouth. the sound lit something deep in your stomach, a rush of heat that made you press harder into him, legs wrapping loosely around his waist in the water.

his lips never left yours for long—just enough to catch his breath, to look at you with those heavy, dark eyes, and whisper, “you do something to me, you know that?”

and then he was kissing you again, messier now, deeper, his tongue teasing against yours in slow, dizzying strokes, his grip tightening like he didn’t want the moment to end. and honestly, neither did you. not with the sun on your shoulders, his mouth on yours, and the city so far below you that it almost didn’t feel real.

he continued you like it was the only language he spoke, slow and warm, like the sun sinking into the horizon. every time his mouth left yours, it was only for a breath, a pause, like he couldn’t stay away for more than a second. and neither could you.

your arms stayed wrapped around his neck, bodies swaying gently with the water, one of his hands slowly slid down your back, all the way down to your ass, like he was learning the shape of you all over again. it wasn’t entirely urgent—it didn’t need to be. the whole world felt like it had slowed down just for this. the quiet splash of water, the hum of the city far below, and the gentle heat of the sun clinging to your skin even as it began to dip behind the buildings.

“don’t think i’ve ever seen you look this happy,” harry murmured, his forehead resting against yours now, noses brushing. “’s like you were made for days like this.”

you smiled, cheeks flushed, fingertips gliding along the base of his neck. “i could say the same about you,” you whispered. “you look… nice.”

he chuckled, eyes crinkling in that sleepy way that made your chest ache. “i am nice.”

your lips met again, slower this time, like a sigh. his tongue brushed yours in a lazy, tender glide, and your heart fluttered at the way he held you—like you were something delicate in a storm he didn’t want to break. every kiss was a promise, every touch a quiet kind of worship.

the float drifted a few feet away, forgotten. the pool was yours. the sky was painted in pastel orange and lavender, and time didn’t exist—not with harry kissing you like this, not with his hands tracing your waist like it was art, not with the sun melting into the water and your heart completely, irrevocably his.

༺☆༻

every time i ask nobody answers heh but lmk if you guys like this. or don’t. ok. yes. bye!!!!

[wolfiesmoon]

I can't sleep

Ran x good girl!reader

Do i want a bad boy (literal criminal) bf? Yea but i would probably cry if he insulted me or got into trouble in any capacity at all

(i am totally not unironically vibing to pretty little psycho while writing this)

edit: i made a part 2!!

"I dare you to kiss Haitani Ran." Your friend nudged you.

You knew you shouldn't have agreed to this stupid game of truth or dare. You knew your friend was going to make you do stupid stuff like this.

"Like... the big scary delinquent guy?" You asked, hoping you heard her wrong.

"Yeah, that Haitani Ran." Your friend smirked mischeviously.

"How about I don't do that?" The last thing you'd want to do is get involved wth any delinquents or gangs. You have no idea how dangerous Ran could be and even if he wasn't you'd still refuse to kiss a good for nothing delinquent.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" you followed up, realising just how bad this dare could end up.

"You do know that refusing this dare means that you have to do anything I say for a week, right?" Your friend had a horribly evil look on her face. You don't even want to know the things she would make you do if you refused this stupid dare.

But is kissing Ran any better? Pick your poison, you suppose.

"Fine, I'll do it." You said behind clenched teeth, not at all happy about this outcome. You've never even kissed before, and now you have to kiss freaking Ran Haitani. You might actually die.

Why did you agree? What is wrong with you?

This might just be the worst day of your life.

You ended up being a little unfocused in class, making your teacher worry.

.

"Haitani-san." you call out to him, your voice dying off slightly at the end due to nerves. You're the only ones left in the classroom, with your friend watching from behind the door to make sure you actually do it. He looks back at you and you feel a shiver run through you.

Oh my god, you're actually doing this.

He stops, waiting to see what you want with him. You move closer to him, and his eyes narrow slightly, as if he's getting a good look at you.

"Now, what could the class president herself possibly want with me?" his tone was slightly mocking and you would have showed him you're not to be messed with but honestly you'd probably be the one losing in that scenario.

You inhaled sharply, pulling him down by his braids and planting a kiss straight onto his lips. This feels like a bad shojo plot, the "good girl" falls in love with the "bad boy" and kisses him all of a sudden. Except there's no romance involved here. Just a dare.

Is this how you kiss? Why does it feel so strange? That should be enough, right? You can feel your parents shaking their heads dissaprovingly already.

Ok, now you're just kissing him for way too long. It's time to let go. And you try to, you really do. Since when were his arms wrapped around your waist, anyways? And why isn't he letting you go?!

You can feel your friend's evil stare burning into your back. This is not amusing!

He laughed a little into the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer. Oh, so they're both going to enjoy your suffering now, you see how it is.

Still, kissing him isn't half ba-

Ok, you're actually losing it. You need out and fast.

You wriggled out of his grasp, running away as fast as your legs could take you. You heard both Ran and your friend yell something behind you but you honestly don't care.

Why did you ever agree to do this?!

.

That same thought persisted even as you tossed and turned in bed that night.

"Oh god, he's going to send his goons after me and I'm gonna die... And then I won't ever get to become successful..." you muttered to yourself.

"Or maybe he's gonna come and kill me myself after school tommorow... Ugh..." you can't come to school tired, you won't be able to pay attention in class that way. You can't ruin your perfect record by falling asleep in class.

Who cares about the perfect record?! You should be worried for your life!

"And what is that stupid noise, anyways?" you muttered, grumbling and getting up to inspect the source. Another stone hits the window, making you jump slightly. You walk to the window and open it, narrowly avoiding a stone that was thrown your way.

"Sorry!~"

Wait. You'd recognise that voice anywhere.

It's Ran.

"What are you doing here? How did you even get my adress?" you half yelled, not wanting to wake up your parents.

"You shouldn't sweat the little things. Come downstairs." he was smiling calmly, but you still couldn't tell if he was threatening you. Actually, is that his motorcycle parked next to him?

"You should probably put on a jacket too. It's real cold." he added on, and you nervously closed the window, quietly sneaking downstairs and putting on a jacket. Your pyjamas are not the most presentable, but you really don't want to test his patience right now.

You met him outside. What is he going to do to you now?

"Get on." he pointed to his bike, catching you off guard.

"Not without a helmet, riding a motorcycle without one can be really dangerous and you could lose your life." you couldn't help but bring up safety regulations. It's in your nature.

"I told you, don't sweat the details and just sit down." he completely ignored you, pushing you in the direction of the bike. You complied, sitting down on it awkwardly, not sure what to expect. He doesn't seem violent...

He sat down behind you, revving up the engine and just driving off without a care in the world.

"W-Wait!" you were shocked at the speed, grabbing onto him by instinct and missing the way his lips curved up at that.

"Where are you taking me?! I never consented to this!" you had to yell over the sound of the engine, shutting your eyes. He was right, it really is cold when you're riding on a motorcycle.

"And you know what I didn't consent to? That kiss." he replied and your face scrunched up a little, cringing at the not so distant memory. "But that's fine, because that means you're mine now."

"Huh?!" you finally opened your eyes, looking up at him. His expression was a little hard to make out since the only thing illuminating it was street lights that you were speeding past. Is he even following the speed limit?

"I value my sleep, you see. And that little stunt you pulled made me unable to fall asleep. So I figured I might as well give you a little visit." he placed a hand over you protectively, making you worry about your safety even more.

"Who would have thought the top of the class good girl would fall for me?" he looked down at you.

"I did not fall in love with you! It was a dare!" you shot back.

"Oh well, doesn't matter. You're my girl now. And that's that."

[ashen-char]

the altar is her hips 🔞

my masterlist, to check out my other works, is here

ship: anora mikheeva (anora) x fem reader

summary: it's finals week but ani convinces you into taking a sexy break with her.

word count: 2700+

notes: i had a strong urge to name this one "this is me swallowing (my pride)" but false god fit better than back to december lmfaooo. student fem reader suggested here, service top reader and ani loving to tell her what to do suggested here <3 thank youuu

You barely register the sound of heels on the linoleum, steadily clicking their way towards you. The library is packed, after all. With exam week coming up, there's more people here than there have been all semester. Everyone who had been pushing back their coursework is now suddenly cramming it in. You hate studying when it's too quiet anyways, you can't focus that way. Your eyes are glued to the textbook in front of you, words blurring together as you try to make sense of the impossibly dense material. The only thing keeping you going is the half-empty energy drink beside you, the chocolates you had instead of a proper dinner, and the distant promise of sleep - whenever that might happen.

Then, a familiar presence slides into the chair next to you. She must have come to visit straight from work, because it's damn near 5am. Ani's chewing some gum, snapping it between her teeth.

"Wow," Anora drawls, propping her chin on one hand as she surveys the mess of notes, highlighters, and sheer academic despair spread out across the table. "This is tragic. When's the last time you slept, baby?"

"Fuck. I don't know. I don't even think I got proper rest yesterday," you admit. You were tossing and turning all night, the only sleep you got being fitful at best. "I was reciting case study names in my head so I don't forget any. With AI bullshit, the uni's cracked down on making all exams closed-book."

"I can tell. Even your eyebags have eyebags." Ani, amused by her own joke, blows a bubble and it snaps. You roll your eyes, but that makes her smile, reaching over and running her thumb across your cheek. "Don't worry, they're designer. My baby's got Prada eyebags, for damn sure."

You hum in acknowledgement. "Yeah, thanks." Barely listening, unfortunately, even though you want to give your girlfriend all your attention. It's for both of you. All your efforts, your good grades, will culminate in a better life for the both of you. That's what you tell yourself when you have to blow off date night for a deadline anyhow.

Ani shifts closer, pulling out her bag. "I could put some BB cream on you at least," she offers.

You turn a page. The paragraphs are blurring together and while you swear you've read this before, it also looks brand new at the same time. You sigh, rubbing your temples, willing the information to stick. When you reach something you didn't remember from your lectures, you jot it down on your lined paper, highlighting the key words. "It’s exam week. I don’t have time to be cute."

"Good thing I’m cute enough for both of us, then." She grins, stretching her legs out so her foot nudges yours under the table. She’s wearing ripped jeans and a cropped hoodie that definitely isn’t hers - it’s probably yours, stolen at some point and now claimed as her own.

"Whisper at least, babe. If you're insistent on talking in the library." You gesture to all the other stressed-out students, your peers in suffering. While various courses have their exams spread out so there are no clashes, the energy of finals is potent in the air.

"Boring." You glance at her, but she’s already plucking one of your highlighters off the table, twirling it between her fingers like she’s contemplating doing something devious with it.

"How long have you been at this?" Anora asks. She picks up the stack of papers from your other classes, flipping absently through your notes and you watch in case she highlights something. "Because I’m gonna guess… too long."

"Since this morning. And all day yesterday."

Anora whistles. "You know, there are laws against self-torture."

You huff a tired laugh. "Not in Professor Raye's class."

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. "OK, here’s the deal. You take a break. Like, a real fuckin' break. No ‘just one more chapter.’ No ‘let me just finish this section.’ You step away from this table, right now, and I will personally reward you with something better than whatever caffeine-fueled nightmare you’re living," Anora says, poking your metal tumblr that was once filled with iced coffee - probably melted and watered down now.

You narrow your eyes at her. "And what exactly is this reward?"

She smirks, tapping a manicured finger against the table. "Guess you’ll have to find out."

You exhale slowly, staring down at your textbook like it might physically pull you back in if you look too long. But then Anora nudges your chair with her foot again, insistent, and there’s something warm in the way she’s watching you - amused, fond of you, but also knowing. Like she’s seen a hundred people burn themselves out and decided you won’t be one of them.

You sigh, shutting the book. "Fine. Five minutes. But then I'm continuing this in my dorm. And I have to check this book out."

"Ten minutes."

"Seven."

"Nine."

"Eight and a half."

"Deal."

She grins like she’s just won something. It reminds you of the time Anora took you to Coney Island because you said you'd never been. That night was magical, and you two had so much fun taking turns winning each other prizes. That proud-of-herself gleam in her eyes as she presented you with a stuffed tiger. Anora stands and holds out her hand to you, the butterfly charms glued onto her pretty nails seeming to glitter under the cold library lights.

Snapping your textbook shut, you take Ani's hand when she holds hers out for you, with her standing up in a shot and grabbing her purse. "That's my girl," she purrs. "Grab your jacket, sugar. We're going somewhere that'll make you forget all about... whatever boring ass shit you were studying."

When she pulls you up, she doesn’t let go. She leads you out of the quiet, fluorescent-lit library and into the bustling campus streets. The cold air is sharp, but Ani seems unperturbed, skipping slightly as she walks. Her heels click against the pavement, drawing the occasional glance from passing strangers.

"You really think you can make me relax in eight minutes?" you ask, curious about her plan. You'll give her the benefit of not taking travel time into your little deal though.

"Oh, you'll love it. Promise, babe."

xx

Luckily, the location she had in mind was apparently your dorm room. Ani lies back on your bed with its cheap sheets, her long dark hair splayed out around her. The tinsel in it really makes her shine, if the body glitter isn't enough. When she's unbuttoning her jeans, you tease her, "if making me fuck you was the break you had in mind, remember you've still only got eight minutes."

"Eight and a half," she reminds. "Don't rush this. And get your shirt off."

She's wearing a lacy black bra and a matching thong that leaves little to the imagination, her pale skin glowing in the dim light of your room. She looks up at you with hooded brown eyes, biting her plump lower lip as she beckons you closer.

"Get that pretty face between my legs," Ani orders, her breath hitching with anticipation. "And don't you dare stop until I tell you to. Think of it like studying for that exam - except instead of boring old notes, you've got a girl in your bed. Lucky you."

You like when she tells you what to do. How to kiss her, fuck her, lick her. It's a dizzying push-pull of control, where you're the one bringing her to ecstasy but she's the one commanding you to get her there.

"C'mere, baby," she purrs, voice dripping with desperate desire. Her accent slips out when she's not thinking about it, too focused on getting you where she wants you. "I want your mouth on me. Now."

"Yes, ma'am."

Anora spreads her legs, revealing the damp spot clear on her panties. The sight makes your mouth go dry, your heart pounding in your chest. You've seen Ani dance, have felt her body pressed against yours, but this is different. This feels more intimate, more vulnerable. The time limit you've set on this also adds to the thrill.

"Start by kissing up my thighs," Ani instructs, her voice breathy. "Nice and slow. I want to feel those lips of yours."

You obediently lower your head, pressing soft kisses along the inside of her thigh. You can smell her arousal, musky and intoxicating, as you work your way up. Ani shivers beneath your touch, her fingers tangling in your messy hair.

"I like when you tease me, baby."

"Mmm," you hum against her skin. "I know."

"Fuck, just like that," she gasps, guiding you higher with her hands. "Don't stop, baby. Keep going until you reach-" A little gasp when your tongue flits out for just a moment. Tasting the sweat on her skin from hours under HQ's bright lights, from working hard.

You continue your ascent, kissing and licking every inch of her soft, creamy skin. When you reach the apex of her thighs, you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and tug them down slowly, revealing her glistening folds. Ani lifts her hips to help you remove them completely, leaving her bare before you.

"Look at me," she commands, tilting your chin up with her fingers. "I want to see your face when you taste me for the first time. I want to watch you lose yourself in my pussy."

"Position me then." You'll lose yourself in between her thighs over and over if it means Ani's directing you. "You guide where I go."

Her eyes darken. You know she loves the control, it's what she appreciates about dancing at the club and getting suckers falling for her movements. Her grip tightens on your hair, guiding you downwards until your face is mere inches from her glistening folds. The scent of her arousal fills your nostrils, sweet and musky. It's almost overwhelming, in the best way possible.

"Start by kissing up and down the lips," Ani instructs, voice breathless. "Get them nice and wet with your mouth first. Show me how much you worship this cunt."

You lock eyes with her, your breath catching in your throat as you lean in close. Your first lick is tentative, a soft swipe along her slit to test her flavor. Ani tastes sweet and tangy, her arousal coating your tongue. It's intoxicating, and you find yourself wanting more.

Trailing open-mouthed kisses along her lower lips, you relish the silky smooth skin and the taste of her excitement. Knowing that it's all yours. You made her like this. You can feel Ani squirming beneath you, her grip on your hair tightening.

"That's it, baby. Just like that," she encourages, her hips rocking subtly against your face. "Now, focus on the clit. Suck on it, flick it with your tongue. 'til you feel it throb."

You do as you're told, capturing her clit between your lips and suckling gently. You flick the sensitive bud with the tip of your tongue, feeling it swell and stiffen from the stimulation.

"Ah fuck!" Ani gasps, her head falling back against your pillows. "Don't stop, nngh - just like that. Your tongue feels so fucking good." She's almost ranting mindlessly now, sounding so out of it as you keep going.

You can feel her growing more and more aroused by the second, her juices coating your chin and dripping onto the bedsheets below. You don't mind though. You'll buy a spare set some other time, after exam week has come and gone. The taste of her is intoxicating, and you know you could spend hours worshipping her like this.

"Mmm, you're a natural at eating pussy, ain't ya?" Ani giggles as her thighs clench around your head, trying to sit up to look at you know. "I knew you were hiding some skills under that nerdy exterior."

"My favourite meal."

"Oh fuck," Ani whimpers, her head falling back against the pillow as you start to eat her out in earnest. "Don't you dare fucking stop, babygirl. Put that tongue to work, baby. Bury it in my cunt. Show me how badly you want to please me."

You feel a rush of pride at her words, determined to impress her even more. You drag your tongue back down to her entrance, pushing past the lips to thrust your tongue inside, fucking her with the slick muscle.

Everything starts to become a blur. It could have taken hours, maybe minutes. You delve in deeper, your tongue plunging into her hot, tight center. Ani's walls clench around you, like her cunt is trying to pull you in even further, eager for more. Desperate. Aching. You lap at her greedily, savouring her taste and scent, relishing in the way she writhes beneath your touch. You squeeze your own thighs together, your own center throbbing in response.

You relentlessly thrust your tongue in and out, curling it to hit that spongy spot you know drives her wild. Ani is writhing underneath you, fisting the sheets and writhing against your probing, relentless tongue.

"I can't believe how good you're making me feel," Ani confesses, "No one's ever worshipped my pussy like this before. Like they actually gave a fuck about making me, oh God, making me cum."

You glance up at her, seeing tears glistening in her brown eyes. You slow down your movements, gentling your licks as you take in her expression. "Hey, hey... don't cry," you murmur, pressing a tender kiss to her clit. Slowing it down. Letting her acclimate to it all. "I'm here. I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."

"You really mean that?" Ani asks, her voice choked with emotion. "Because, fuck, I mean... no one's ever said they loved me like this before. Like I'm a real person, not just-not just a warm hole to fuck or something."

You feel a lump form in your throat and you blink back your own tears. "I mean it," you promise her fervently. "I love you, Ani. I love every fucking part of you, from your fierce spirit to your broken places to this perfect, greedy little cunt."

Their words seem to be what Ani needs to hear to reach that delicious, mind-ruining peak. She comes undone with a sharp cry, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her pussy spasms and clenches around your tongue, gushing her release into your eager mouth. She tastes hot and wet, a little sweetness to it. You lap it up greedily, humming in satisfaction as you work her through her high.

As her tremors subside, Ani goes limp on the bed, her chest heaving with exertion. "Holy shit," she whispers, a dazed look on her face. "That was-I can't even..."

You crawl up her body and gather her into your arms, holding her close. Ani buries her face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of your skin. You stroke her hair soothingly, letting her come down from her intense orgasm.

"Thank you," Ani murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw. "Thank you for seeing me. For not just wanting to fuck me and then throw me away. I'm not used to feeling so - I dunno, shit - appreciated? Worth something?"

You tilt her chin up and press your lips to hers in a deep, tender kiss. 

"You're worth everything," you tell her. You'll tell her over and over again until she believes it.

Ani kisses you back just as passionately, her tongue sliding against yours. Tasting her own cum in your mouth and all over your face. It's filthy and yet still so romantic. When you finally break apart, you see her cheeks are streaked with tears.

"I love you too, you know," Ani declares, a fierce look in her eyes. "You're stuck with me now. Hope you know that."

And it's true for your sex, but especially true as you build your lives together. So you repeat, "you guide where I go."

Anora shoves your shoulder for that, but you can tell she loves it. Eventually, she goes limp against the sheets, panting and flushed. She looks down at you with glazed eyes and a lazy grin. "Not bad for a study break, huh?" she giggles breathlessly. "We make a good fuckin' team."

Looking at the clock, you're not surprised to see you've gone madly overtime. Her pussy just does that to you. Burrowing in Anora's sweat-slicked chest, you groan. You're too exhausted to study now. "I'm gonna fucking fail this exam."

[lila-lou]

✨His second exception - Pt. 33/33✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, FLUFF, LAST CHAPTER GUYS-Pls read the A/N at the End <3

Word Count: 6347

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 33 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙

With that, the door finally shut behind them, leaving the house in peaceful silence. Just you, Ben, and Aria.

Ben exhaled deeply, shifting on the couch as he got comfortable. His boots were already kicked off, his supe jacket unzipped, but he made no move to get up—just leaned back, stretching out and cradling Aria against his chest. His massive hand ran over her tiny back, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles.

“You’re still all scrunched up, huh, chicken?”, he murmured, smirking down at her tiny legs, which, as always, remained curled up against his chest. He nudged them lightly with a finger, only for Aria to wriggle and pull them back in, making a soft little grunt in protest.

Ben huffed a short laugh. “Stubborn. Just like your mom”.

You chuckled from where you stood, watching him settle in. “She’s comfortable like that. You’re not gonna win this fight, you know”.

Ben glanced up at you with that lazy, lopsided smirk you knew all too well. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning on losing, either”.

You rolled your eyes, walking over to stand beside the couch. “You know what else you’re not planning on doing?”. You leaned down slightly, wrinkling your nose. “Skipping a shower after being gone for a hole week”.

Ben arched an eyebrow, still rocking Aria lightly in his arms. “What, you don’t like the smell of blood, gunpowder, and pure testosterone?”.

You snorted. “Not on my baby”.

Ben let out a low, amused hum, shifting Aria slightly to free one of his hands. He reached up, grabbing your wrist, and tugged you just a little closer. “Yeah?”, he murmured, his smirk deepening. “But you don’t mind it on you, do you?”.

His voice had dropped into that lower, teasing register, the one that always made your stomach twist in that annoying, predictable way. His fingers ran up the inside of your wrist, his touch feather-light but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to be unimpressed, even as heat crept up your neck. “Ben, you literally just got home”.

He leaned back further into the couch, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “And I seem to remember a certain someone saying they missed me”, he drawled. “You sure you want me to take that shower alone?”.

You scoffed, shoving at his shoulder—not that it moved him in the slightest. “You’re impossible”.

Ben smirked, shifting Aria slightly as he looked up at you with that infuriating, cocky glint in his green eyes. “Still”, he murmured, voice low and smooth, “I won’t shower alone”.

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the corner of your lips twitched. “Ben”.

“What?”. He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “I’ve been gone for a week. You really gonna make me suffer through some boring-ass, lonely shower?”.

You huffed, reaching down to take Aria from his arms, careful not to disturb her as she dozed against his chest. “I would”, you said, carefully cradling her to you, “but I don’t trust you not to fall asleep standing up in there”.

Ben let out a low chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. Now that he’d finally let himself relax, the exhaustion was catching up with him, weighing down his movements just slightly. But even still, that damn smirk stayed in place. “You saying I’d pass out in the shower? Nah. You’d just have to keep me awake”.

You shot him a glare, rocking Aria gently in your arms. “Ben, I swear—”.

He pushed himself up from the couch with a deep grunt, rolling out his stiff shoulders. Then, before you could react, he leaned down and kissed you, slow and unhurried. His lips lingered against yours, the heat of him wrapping around you, and for a second, the world shrank down to just the two of you.

Your lips barely parted from his as you mumbled, “What about Aria?”. The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin as Ben smirked, his hands bracketing your waist, his touch firm but not overbearing.

“She’s out”, he murmured, glancing down at the tiny bundle resting against your chest. Aria was still fast asleep, her soft little breaths even and steady. “And I don’t hear her complaining”.

You sighed, already feeling your resolve slipping, especially when his rough fingers skimmed along the small of your back, trailing heat in their wake. “Ben”, you whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was meant to scold or encourage.

You sighed, pressing your forehead against his chest for a brief moment, trying to keep a straight face. But, of course, Ben wasn’t about to let this go. His large hands slid lower, pressing against your hips, his touch both teasing and possessive.

“We just put her in the crib and take the baby monitor with us”, he muttered, his voice low, rough with impatience. Then, with a smirk, he tapped the side of his ear. “Not that I need one”.

You narrowed your eyes at him, even as warmth spread through your body. “Ben—”.

“C’mon, babe”, he whined in that deep, gravelly voice, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, just below your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips trailing lower, slow and deliberate. “My balls are about to fucking explode”.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible”.

Ben pulled back slightly, looking down at you with those sharp green eyes, dark with something dangerous, something insatiable. “And yet, you love me", he murmured, smirking. “So, what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? You gonna make me suffer after I’ve been gone a whole damn week?".

You bit your lip, trying to stay firm, but the weight of his body against yours, the way his fingers flexed slightly against your waist, made it impossible to think straight.

“…Five minutes”, you whispered, finally giving in.

Ben’s grin was pure satisfaction. “Sweetheart, that’s all I need”.

In your bedroom, he wasted no time, stepping back from you just enough to let you gently place Aria in her crib. You moved carefully, ensuring she was snug and peaceful before reaching for the baby monitor on the dresser. Just as you grabbed it, you felt Ben behind you—his chest pressing against your back, his large hands settling on your hips.

"See?", he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Problem solved".

You exhaled sharply, clutching the monitor as his fingers trailed down your sides. "Ben", you whispered, a weak attempt at resistance.

He smirked, nuzzling into your neck, letting his stubble graze your skin. "I missed you, sweetheart", he rasped, his voice rough and low. "Need you".

You swallowed, heart pounding, as he guided you toward the en-suite bathroom. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, he was on you—his hands, his mouth, his heat. His lips crashed against yours, deep and claiming, his fingers gripping your waist as he pressed you against the counter.

"You’re lucky I actually need a shower", he muttered between kisses, reaching past you to turn on the water. "Or I’d say screw it and take you right fucking here".

You shivered as he tugged at the hem of your shirt, peeling it off with an urgency that made your skin burn. "Ben", you breathed against his lips, tangling your fingers in his hair.

He groaned, his grip tightening on your hips. "Say my name like that again, and this five-minute deal is off the table".

You laughed softly, tilting your head up to kiss him again, letting yourself melt against him. "Then I guess we’d better hurry, huh?".

Ben smirked. "Sweetheart, I don’t hurry—I make it count".

Inside the shower, the moment the warm water cascaded down Ben’s broad shoulders, he wasted no time. His strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing, maneuvering you until your legs were draped over his strong shoulders. Your back pressed against the cool tiled wall, the sudden shift in position making your breath hitch.

“Oh, shit”, you whispered, your hands instinctively flying into his damp hair, gripping the thick strands.

Ben smirked against your skin, his grip tightening under your thighs to keep you steady. “What?”, he drawled, his voice dark with amusement. “Never had me down here before?”.

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming wildly in your veins. “Just… Where the hell is this coming from?”.

Ben chuckled, low and deep, his breath warm against your core. “Week away had me thinking”, he murmured, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Had me starving”.

Your breath stuttered as you tried to adjust, your hands still buried in his wet hair. The height, the sheer power in how easily he held you up—it sent a mix of excitement and nerves racing through you. “Ben, this is… really high”, you murmured, your thighs twitching slightly.

Ben let out a low chuckle against your skin, his breath hot as he teased, “That’s ‘cause you’re so damn small”. His grip on your thighs tightened slightly, his fingers digging into your flesh just enough to remind you how easily he was holding you up. “Or maybe I’m just too big for you”.

Your breath hitched, your fingers threading tighter through his hair as his lips inched closer to where you needed him the most. The teasing smirk on his face never faded, but there was something else in his expression now—pure, hungry intent.

“Ben—”. You barely got his name out before his lips finally met you, slow and deliberate, taking his time like he had all the patience in the world. The heat of his mouth sent a shiver through your entire body, your back arching against the cool tiles.

Ben groaned against you, the deep vibration shooting straight through you as he worked you open, his grip keeping you steady even as your legs twitched around his broad shoulders. “Fuck, you’re already shaking”, he murmured, pulling back just enough to look up at you, his green eyes dark and gleaming. “You sure you can handle this, sweetheart?”.

You barely had the breath to glare at him, your fingers tugging at his hair. “I swear to—ahh—”.

Your words cut off into a gasp as he dragged his tongue against you again, slower this time, drawing it out just to hear you whimper. The way he was holding you, the way he kept you pinned like you were weightless—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

Ben chuckled against you again, clearly enjoying how easily he was unraveling you. “Gonna have to hold on tight, baby”, he warned, his smirk audible. “I’m just getting started”.

Ben took his damn time, dragging his tongue in slow, lazy strokes that had your entire body shuddering. He wasn’t rushing—not even close. If anything, he was deliberately teasing you, keeping the pressure featherlight, just enough to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy.

Your fingers tightened in his damp hair, tugging, but he didn’t budge. If anything, it just made him smirk against you. “Impatient?”, he murmured, the vibration of his voice sending a shock through your already-overstimulated body. “You’re the one who let me starve for seven weeks”.

You whined, your head tilting back against the cool tile as your thighs twitched against his shoulders. “Ben”, you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please”.

His grip on your thighs tightened just slightly, his breath warm against you. “Please, huh?”, he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement.

You bit your lip, resisting the urge to snap back. He knew exactly what he was doing—pushing you to that perfect edge, taking his time just to watch you unravel.

Then, finally, finally, he gave you what you wanted. His tongue flicked against you with just the right pressure, his movements slow but deliberate, tasting you like he was savoring every second.

Your entire body jerked at the sensation, your fingers digging into his scalp as a desperate moan slipped past your lips. Ben groaned against you, his grip tightening, his mouth working you open as he set a pace that was agonizingly slow, but devastatingly good.

“Fuck”, you gasped, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “Ben—”.

He didn’t stop. If anything, your reaction only encouraged him. His tongue moved with precision, slow enough to make you whimper, but deep enough to have your legs trembling around him.

“Better hold on, sweetheart”, he murmured between strokes, his voice low and gravelly. “I’m not letting you down until you break”.

Your release crashed over you hard and fast, your body tightening, shuddering against Ben’s relentless mouth. Your fingers clenched in his damp hair, your thighs trembling around his shoulders as pleasure pulsed through you in waves.

Ben groaned against your heat, savoring the way you came apart for him, his grip firm as he held you through every second of it. Slowly, he eased his pace, letting his tongue drag over you one last time before he pressed a final, lingering kiss to your inner thigh.

Then, with effortless strength, he shifted you, lowering you down onto his hips. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his broad shoulders for balance, your breath still ragged as your chest pressed flush against his. The heat of his body surrounded you, his erection thick and heavy against your stomach, a solid reminder of just how much he’d been holding back.

Ben exhaled sharply, his large hands smoothing over your waist, his grip steady but hesitant. His green eyes locked onto yours, his usual arrogance tempered by something more careful—something rare.

Ben let out a rough breath, his green eyes dark with something deeper than just desire. His hands settled firmly on your hips, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just above your thighs as he pulled you even closer, your bodies pressed flush against each other.

His smirk returned, lazy and cocky, though there was an edge to it—something more controlled than usual. “Seven weeks, huh?”, he murmured, tilting his head slightly as he let his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “Think you’re ready to take me again, sweetheart?”.

You shuddered at the way his voice dipped, at the way his grip tightened just enough to make your pulse spike. “Ben…”, you started, breathless, but he cut you off with a low chuckle, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Gotta make sure”, he muttered, voice thick with restraint, but his fingers were already moving, trailing down between your legs, teasing at your slick heat. His touch was slow, deliberate. Testing.

He groaned as he felt how ready you were, how your body was already responding to him, clenching with anticipation. “Fuck".

Ben let out a deep, shuddering groan as he slowly lined himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance. His grip on your hips tightened, his control hanging by a thread as he felt how warm, how impossibly tight you were around him. “Shit”, he rasped, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. “You’re even tighter than before, sweetheart…”.

But just as he was about to push in, you suddenly tensed beneath him. “Ben”, you whispered, looking up at him, your expression shifting from pleasure to something more hesitant.

He blinked, his brows knitting together in brief confusion. “What?”. His voice was gruff, breathless, thick with need.

You bit your lip, a tiny, cheeky grin forming despite the flush on your cheeks. “You need to wrap up”.

Ben immediately froze, his entire body going rigid. His green eyes flicked up to yours, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and pure, unfiltered irritation. “You’re joking”.

You shook your head slowly, biting back a laugh at the sheer look of offense that crossed his face. “Nope”.

Ben groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against. “You gotta be fucking kidding me”, he muttered. “You want me to—after seven weeks—you want me to—fuck”.

You giggled, reaching up to stroke his damp hair. “I know you hate them, but come on, Ben. Unless you want another little chicken running around in nine months…”.

Ben’s face twisted into something that looked both horrified and turned on at the same time. He inhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers digging into your hips. “You’re evil”, he muttered. ��You know that? Fucking Evil”.

You only grinned wider, leaning up to kiss his jaw. “So? What’s it gonna be, big guy?”.

Ben let out a long, suffering exhale, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was physically restraining himself from throwing a full-blown tantrum. Then, with a gruff mutter of "Fucking hell", he set you down on shaky legs, his grip lingering just long enough to make sure you were steady before he took a step back.

“Go get one”, he grumbled, clearly annoyed but resigned, his large hands running down his face before he tilted his head back under the hot water. His fingers curled into fists like he was trying to keep himself in check, his cock still standing thick and heavy against his abs.

Before you turned, he reached out and gave your ass a quick, sharp pinch.

You yelped, giggling as you swatted at his arm. “Behave”, you teased, stepping carefully out of the shower.

Ben huffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he watched you tiptoe naked and dripping wet toward the bedroom. “Yeah, yeah”, he muttered, eyes locked onto you like a predator tracking its prey. “But hurry the fuck up, or I’m saying screw it”.

You smirked, shivering slightly as the cooler air hit your damp skin. Moving quickly, you padded over to the nightstand, snatching a foil-wrapped condom from the drawer. As soon as you had it in your grasp, you turned on your heel and walked back toward the bathroom, holding it up between two fingers.

Ben arched an unimpressed brow as you stepped back inside, steam curling around your body. “You look way too fucking smug right now”.

You grinned. “Oh, I am”.

Ben rolled his eyes, muttering something about how he should be the one getting rewarded for his patience. But the second you climbed back into the shower, his hands were on you again, pulling you flush against his chest.

"Hand it over", he grumbled, his voice a low, commanding rasp as he reached for the condom. But before he took it, his lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in punishment for making him wait.

"You’ll see how much better it feels without one”, Ben grumbled against your neck, his breath hot and heavy, the frustration thick in his voice. “So get rid of your fucking grin”.

Before you could respond, he nipped at your skin once more, his teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver down your spine. The sharp contrast of the cool air and the heat of his body pressed against yours had you gasping softly.

Then, with an almost annoyed huff, he turned away from the water, shielding his dick from the hot spray as he tore open the foil wrapper with his teeth. His fingers worked quickly, rolling the condom down his thick length with an almost begrudging efficiency.

You watched, still breathless, pressing your back against the shower wall, your body already buzzing from anticipation. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed, as he finished, his large hand stroking himself once before his eyes snapped back up to yours.

Ben let out a deep, frustrated grunt, his fingers adjusting the condom . “Squeezing the shit out of me”, he muttered under his breath.

You bit your lip, trying—and failing—not to laugh at the obvious discomfort on his face. “Maybe you just forgot how to wear one”, you teased, your voice dripping with amusement.

Ben’s green eyes snapped to yours, sharp and unimpressed. “Or maybe”, he shot back, rolling his hips just enough to press the thick length of him against your slick heat, “you bought the wrong damn size”.

Your smirk only widened, knowing exactly how much that would get to him. “I dunno”, you hummed, tilting your head. “Looks like it fits just fine to me”.

Ben let out a dry chuckle, his large hands gripping your thighs tighter as he lifted you higher against the shower wall. “Yeah?”, he muttered, his voice low and edged with warning. “Feel free to keep talking, sweetheart. See where it gets you”.

You opened your mouth, fully prepared to push him further, but before you could get a word out, he shifted his hips, pressing the thick head of his cock against you, stretching you ever so slightly without fully sinking in.

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening against his shoulders. Ben smirked, seeing the change in your expression. “That’s what I thought”, he murmured, pressing a slow, taunting kiss to your throat. “Now, let’s see if this thing holds up, huh?”.

Ben groaned deeply as he eased into you, his thick cock stretching you inch by inch, his grip firm on your thighs as he held you steady against the cool tile of the shower wall. His breath came out in a sharp exhale, his jaw tightening at the overwhelming heat of you around him.

“Fuck”, he muttered, his voice gravelly, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck. “So fucking tight. Seven weeks and it’s like you missed me, sweetheart”.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders. “Maybe… maybe I did”, you whispered, barely able to get the words out between gasps as he pushed in deeper, inch by agonizing inch.

Ben chuckled darkly, his smirk pressed against your jaw. “That so?”, he taunted, rolling his hips just enough to make you whimper. “Didn’t seem like it when you were making me suit up like a damn rookie”.

You let out a breathless laugh, but it quickly turned into a moan as he finally bottomed out, filling you completely. Your walls fluttered around him, adjusting to the stretch, and he let out another low groan, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Shit", he muttered, his grip on your hips tightening possessively. “Gonna have to work this condom off you if you keep squeezing me like that”.

You gasped, half-laughing, half-moan. “Ben—”.

He smirked, rolling his hips in a slow, deep thrust that had your head falling back against the tile. “That’s right, sweetheart”, he murmured, nipping at your throat. “Say my name real nice. Let me hear how much you missed me”.

You barely managed a response, your breath hitching as he rolled his hips just right, hitting that spot that sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. Your fingers dug into his damp shoulders, clinging to him as he kept a steady, punishing rhythm, dragging himself almost all the way out before pushing back in, making you feel every stretch, every inch of him.

“Come on”, he gritted out, his grip firm on your waist, his voice dark and teasing. “Seven weeks, and this is all I get? No begging? No telling me how fucking good I feel?”.

You let out a breathless moan, tilting your head back against the cool tile, trying to gather enough words to fire back at him. “Cocky asshole”, you managed, but the insult barely carried any weight with how wrecked you already sounded.

Ben chuckled low in his throat, clearly pleased with himself. “Damn right I am”, he muttered, sucking at the sensitive spot just below your ear. “’Cause I know no one else could fuck you like this. No one else could make you fall apart just by stretching you open”.

His words sent a deep, aching heat straight through you, making you clench around him involuntarily. Ben groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Shit—just like that, sweetheart”, he breathed, his control slipping just a little. “Keep doing that, and this damn condom’s not gonna be the only thing I ruin”.

You whimpered, tightening your legs around his waist, forcing him deeper. “Ben—”.

“Say it again”, he muttered, his pace picking up, harder now, rougher.

Ben growled low in his throat, his grip tightening as he slammed his hips forward, driving himself deeper into you. “Say it again”, he demanded, his voice rough, almost desperate.

You gasped, your nails dragging across his broad shoulders as pleasure built higher, hotter. “Ben”, you whimpered, clenching around him again, making him hiss through his teeth.

“Fuck, sweetheart”, he groaned, pressing you harder against the cool tile, his hands gripping your hips so tight you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. His rhythm was relentless now, each thrust sending shockwaves through you. “You feel that? How perfect you fit around me?”.

You could barely think, let alone respond, but he didn’t need you to. He already knew. He could feel it in the way your body responded to him, in the way you were already so close, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Ben leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he muttered, “Look at you—already so fucked out, and I’m not even done with you”.

A sharp moan tore from your lips as he angled his hips just right, dragging another wave of pleasure from you. Your legs tightened around him, locking him in place, needing more, needing everything.

His smirk returned, though it was strained, his own restraint slipping. “That’s it”, he groaned, his pace growing erratic. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you”.

You didn’t stand a chance. The pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body trembling against his, his name falling from your lips. Your nails raked down his back, your walls fluttering around him as your climax hit so hard you momentarily forgot how to breathe.

Ben let out a deep, guttural moan, burying his face in your neck as he followed, his entire body tensing as he spilled into the condom with a final, shuddering thrust. His breaths were ragged, his chest rising and falling against yours as he came down, still holding you against the wall as if he never wanted to let you go.

For a long moment, the only sound in the shower was your heavy breathing and the water cascading around you.

Then, Ben let out a slow, satisfied chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss against your collarbone. “Yeah”, he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion and smug satisfaction. “That was worth the wait”.

You huffed out a breathless laugh, your fingers still tangled in his damp hair.

Ben slowly eased you down, but the second your feet touched the tile, your legs wobbled. He let out a low chuckle, gripping your waist to steady you. “Shit, sweetheart”, he muttered, smirking as he kept you against him. “Did I fuck the strength outta you?”.

You shot him a tired but amused glare, your fingers tightening slightly against his forearm for balance. “Shut up”.

But before he could throw another cocky remark your way, his head tilted slightly, his sharp green eyes flicking toward the door. His smirk faded into something softer, something focused.

“She’s waking up”, he muttered, voice quieter now.

You blinked, still catching your breath. “What?”.

Ben tipped his chin toward the bedroom. “Aria. She’s squirming. Smacking her lips like a fucking fish”.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Of course you can hear that”.

Ben’s smirk returned, though this time it wasn’t teasing—it was fond, almost proud. “I hear everything when it comes to her”. Then, with a final squeeze to your waist, he grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapping it around your body before reaching for another to dry himself. “C’mon, sweetheart”, he murmured, voice low and warm. “Our little chicken’s hungry”.

You barely managed to wrap the towel around yourself before you had to steady yourself against the doorframe, your legs still wobbly from what had just happened in the shower. You shot a glare toward the bedroom, half-amused, half-exasperated. Ben had done this on purpose. No way was that just him getting carried away—he wanted you to feel like you couldn’t walk straight after.

Smug bastard.

Still, as you pulled the towel tighter around you and carefully padded into the bedroom, you found Ben already ahead of you—still completely naked—lifting Aria from her crib before she could even let out a full wail. His broad arms cradled her tiny body effortlessly, and as soon as she was settled against his chest, her little mouth made a soft, suckling motion against his skin, searching.

“Hungry little thing, aren’t you?”. His voice was gruff but warm, and he ran a large hand over her tiny back in slow, soothing circles.

Ben smirked down at Aria, watching as her little mouth suckled instinctively against his bare chest. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Sorry, chicken”, he muttered, adjusting his hold on her. “Ain’t gonna find any food in these”. He gave his chest a playful slap with his free hand. “Flat as a damn board”.

You snorted as you settled back onto the bed, adjusting the pillows behind you. “Well, if she keeps trying, maybe you’ll magically start producing milk”.

Ben shot you a flat look, but there was amusement lurking behind it. “Yeah? That how it works, doc?”. He turned back to Aria, rocking her slightly. “Sorry, sweetheart. Your old man’s not built for the job”.

Aria let out a frustrated little squeak, her tiny fingers curling against his skin as she wriggled, still searching. Ben exhaled through his nose, glancing back at you. “Alright, alright”, he grumbled. “You win”.

He moved toward the bed, sitting down beside you before gently passing Aria into your arms. You let your towel slip just enough to guide her toward you, and the second she latched, her fussing stopped instantly.

Ben huffed, leaning back against the headboard, still very much naked. His green eyes dropped to where Aria was nursing, and after a long moment, he let out a deep, irritated groan.

“This is bullshit”, he muttered.

You arched an eyebrow, biting back a smile. “What now?".

Ben gestured vaguely toward your chest, his gaze flicking between you and Aria. “She gets to suck on your tits all night, and I’m still sittin’ here rock hard”.

You glanced down, and sure enough, Ben was very much rock hard again, his cock resting against his thigh, thick and heavy. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smirk as you looked back up at him. “You weren’t kidding”, you murmured, amusement lacing your tone.

Ben huffed dramatically, throwing his head back against the headboard. “Yeah, no shit”, he grumbled. His hand dropped to his stomach, fingers twitching slightly like he was resisting the urge to do something about it. “You think I was just talking to hear myself?”.

You chuckled softly, shifting Aria slightly as she continued to nurse, her tiny hands resting against your chest. “Well”, you teased, voice light, “looks like you’ve got a real problem”.

Ben turned his head toward you, his green eyes dark with something equal parts frustration and amusement. “You think this is funny?”, he muttered, his voice lower now, rougher. His free hand trailed along the edge of your towel, teasing at the skin of your hip. “You sitting there all bare, feeding my kid, while I’m sitting here—like this?”. His eyes flicked downward pointedly, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your hip.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you adjusted Aria slightly in your arms. “How is that even possible?”, you teased, casting a glance at Ben’s still-throbbing erection. “You just—literally minutes ago—shot your shot”.

Ben let out a gruff scoff, rubbing a hand down his face before grumbling, “It’s like you just met me”. His green eyes flicked back to you, smirking despite his obvious frustration. “You really think once is enough after a seven weeks break? Sweetheart, I don’t even know what ‘satisfied’ means when it comes to you”.

Sure enough, the second Aria had finished nursing and drifted back to sleep, Ben wasted no time. He carefully laid her in the crib and wheeled her in the bathroom, his movements surprisingly delicate for someone so naturally rough. The moment he turned back to you, however, his restraint snapped like a thread pulled too tight.

“Finally”, he muttered under his breath, his hands already tugging at the towel loosely wrapped around you.

You barely had time to react before he had you pinned beneath him, his massive frame pressing you into the mattress, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that sent heat straight through you. It wasn’t slow, wasn’t careful—Ben had been holding back for too damn long, and now, he was making up for lost time.

And he didn’t stop at once.

Even after the first time, when your body was still shuddering from the aftershocks, Ben wasn’t finished. He barely gave you time to catch your breath before he had you again—his grip firm, his pace relentless, his voice a low growl against your ear, telling you exactly how much he missed this, missed you.

The second round bled into a third, and somewhere in between, you were barely coherent, your mind foggy from pleasure and exhaustion. You weren’t sure when you finally passed out, only that the last thing you felt was Ben’s strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his chest as he let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

You woke up hours later, still tangled in him, his arm slung possessively around your waist, his breathing deep and steady. Even in sleep, his grip on you never loosened—as if even now, he wasn’t letting go.

Ben never thought he’d get here.

Not in a million years. Not after everything.

His whole life, he’d been told what he was—what he was made for. A soldier. A weapon. Indestructible, untouchable. Love? That was for men with the luxury of normal lives. Family? That was for people who weren’t designed in a lab, for people who weren’t engineered to be a symbol instead of a person.

He was meant to fight, not to feel.

But then, there was you.

His only exception.

The one person who had seen him—really seen him. Past the legend, past the propaganda, past the violence that had built him up and broken him down a thousand times over. You hadn’t flinched, hadn’t turned away, hadn’t seen a monster when you looked at him.

You had seen Ben.

And somehow, impossibly, you had made him believe that he could be more than just the wreckage of the past.

And then, against all odds, against all reason—there was her.

Aria.

A baby he never thought he could have. A baby no one thought he should have. Proof that whatever the hell was in his DNA, whatever was in yours—it worked. Something that shouldn’t have been possible, and yet, there she was. A miracle born from all the things he thought he could never have.

But none of it had come easy.

Nothing in his life ever did.

You had nearly died bringing Aria into this world. And for the first time in his life—his long, brutal, war-torn life—Ben had felt helpless. Not the kind of fear that pumped adrenaline through his veins, not the kind that made him throw the first punch just to make sure he got the last. No, this was the kind of fear that had nearly broken him in half.

The kind that came from standing there, useless, watching you slip away, watching doctors scramble. And for all his strength, for all his power, for all the fights he had survived, he couldn’t fight for you.

But you made it. Aria made it.

And now, years later, as he stood on the porch of your home—Aria’s tiny hand gripping his index finger, her soft chestnut curls bouncing as she tried to match his long strides—he knew what peace felt like.

Not the silence after a battle. Not the weightless nothingness of another mission completed. This.

The sound of Aria’s laughter, the warmth of your gaze as you watched them, the way his world had finally stopped spinning just long enough for him to hold it in his hands.

You stood a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest, a knowing grin playing at your lips. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger”, you teased.

Ben scoffed, but his hand instinctively tightened around Aria’s. “Nah”, he muttered, glancing down at her. “She’s just lucky I like her”.

Aria giggled, her green eyes—so much like his—glowing with mischief. She had your heart, your warmth, but that sharp, unrelenting attitude? That was all him.

“You ready, chicken?”, Ben asked, smirking down at her.

“For what?”, she chirped.

Ben scooped her up effortlessly, holding her up high, ready to swing her around the way she loved it as he turned to you.

But then, his sharp green eyes flicked to your stomach before settling on your face, and just for a second—his smirk faltered.

There it was again.

That feeling. That realization. That fucking exception.

Because there was going to be another one.

And suddenly, his second exception?

Didn’t seem like his last.

-The End-

------------------------

A/N:

And just like that, another chapter of Ben’s story—the one he never thought he’d have—closes. But that doesn’t mean the story is over.

Not yet.

Because life isn’t wrapped up in neat, final endings. It’s made up of moments. Little glimpses of laughter at the dinner table, whispered conversations in the middle of the night, arguments over whose turn it is to change the diaper, and stolen kisses when no one is looking.

And there’s still more to tell.

They’re still not married—because of course, Ben being Ben, he drags his feet on that, even though it’s inevitable. There’s another baby on the way, another exception he never saw coming. Aria is getting older, showing more of that sharp wit and stubborn attitude that is so clearly inherited from both of them. And Ben? He’s still figuring out how to be the kind of man who deserves all this.

So consider this story open-ended.

I’ll be adding occasional updates, little moments from their lives—some sweet, some messy, some absolutely chaotic, because let’s be honest, a life with Ben will never be boring.

After all, for a man who never thought he’d have exceptions, he sure keeps making them.

So one last time for now... Please let me know what you think. 🥰

-

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom @mochminnie @laaadygisbooornex3 @fallout-girl219 @whump-loverz @fallout-girl219

[asterkatt]

MAJOR ISAT ACT 5 SPOILERS

(DO NOT MENTION ANYTHING PAST DORMONT PLEASE!!)

okay so. wowie. just started act 5 of ISAT and my goodness do I have some thoughts. wowie. wowzers. while I was playing I didn't really get the chance to voice my thoughts because if you've played act 5 you know there is no time to do so. you are getting hit with one emotional train after another. no time to think no time to breathe only time to suffer. but the power of doing a let's play gave me time to think while editing so I jotted down some thoughts that you're now getting. you're welcome. (these will not be coherent at all just. as a heads up. sorry in advance) okay so. first friendquest I did was Mira's (which makes sense considering she's the first one that you run into). one of the things that really stuck out to me is that she - not just now, but even pre-game - has only tolerated the teasing from everyone. She has to remind herself that they're not being mean. she has to remind herself that they're not being mean. I just... she shouldn't have to do that. and that's one of the things I love about this game - the characters are so in depth and so well written that yeah, sometimes they unintentionally hurt each other. we see it over and over and over again with Siffrin. their family will tease them, they'll brush it off, but we'll see that he never really lets go of it. I have a feeling it's the same with Mira. she's okay with Siffrin teasing her, because "it's fine, everyone does." then continuing to say that she probably just has the "kind of personality where it's easy to want to tease me"?? MIRA NO- augh. my heart breaks for her. she struggles with her identity and purpose just like. well. just like everyone else in this game actually. that's. okay. (bookmarking that realization for later). something that's really interesting about Mira's friendquest in particular is how much she seems to be projecting onto Siffrin. I feel like out of everyone, she's looking for someone who can validate her struggles the most. It goes further than looking for someone who can relate - she wants someone who can relate and tell her that everything will be okay.

so, when Siffrin says what he does, she lashes out at them. the thing I found most interesting (and heartbreaking) about how she responds is that she isn't just putting Siffrin down - she's putting herself down at the same time. I'd even argue that she's calling herself out with her line of "always talking as if you're better than me! as if you know me!" because I feel like she struggles with not knowing who she is either. after all, who is she if she can't change in the way that her belief as a housemaiden calls her to??

and of course, this is all solidified in what she says next: "you're just as lost and useless as I am!!!"

because yeah. Mirabelle. Mirabelle. feels lost and useless. she doesn't know who she is if she can't follow the change belief in the way that is required of her. she doesn't know why the head housemaiden burdened her blessed her. she doesn't feel like she's capable. she wasn't able to stop the King before, how is she supposed to do it now?? she overthinks and worries about everything and I'm sure that includes all the choices she makes. I'm sure she's had doubts about all of her family members in one way or another - but she's chosen to trust them. to trust them to help her on this impossible, hopeless, last chance quest. and Siffrin just made it clear that she was wrong to do so.

watch me collapse into a inconsolable heap on the floor because of this game

[rin-sith]

*That* scene in Six Hundred Strike is not about vengeance, it's about vulnerability ... because the Vengeance saga isn't about vengeance

To think all of this started because I was trying to determine why it feels so natural to read intimacy into the torture scene in Six Hundred Strike ... See, I'm personally not someone who reads an angle like this into things easily, but this time I found myself doing it too. And I just needed to know why.

It just made no sense for a while, because if you look at it superficially, it shouldn't make sense; it's a freaking torture scene. But I don't know, somehow, I must have felt that there was something there ... and I think I figured it out.

See, the reason why it feels so natural to read intimacy into this scene is because ... it actually is incredibly intimate. Not in an actually sexual way, but more so in a, "Imagine you were suddenly able to read someone's mind, and they yours" kind of intimacy.

It's really easy to just assume Six Hundred Strike is literally about vengeance, but it isn't. Now, please stick with me for a bit because we are going on a bit of a tangent here, but I promise we'll get back to this eventually.

The tangent I want to explore first is (as you've probably seen in the title) that the whole Vengeance saga is, ironically, about the unnecessity of vengeance and how destructive grudges and resentment can be. Think about it:

In Not Sorry For Loving You, Odysseus lets Calypso rant and then walks away without confronting her or accusing her, even telling her what she wants to hear one last time. I already discussed why Odysseus is an incredibly non-judgmental, non-resentful person in my Monster essay, and here is another excellent example of that.

Charybdis (I'm skipping Dangerous because he doesn't encounter any enemies there) is the first "monster" enemy he leaves alive since Polyphemus (Scylla doesn't count because he still "kills" for the sake of getting past her, even if it's in the form of sacrificing his men.) While one might argue that he had no choice since Charybdis is virtually impossible to kill, I think placing this encounter here might be an intentional choice especially since it differs greatly from the way that Charybdis is in the Odyssey. There has to be reason behind this change.

In Get In The Water (my beloved 🫶) we are explicitly shown that Odysseus offers Poseidon (the god who killed his whole fleet and is responsible for most of his suffering) forgiveness. The reason Odysseus has to torture him in the first place is Poseidon's own refusal of this mercy—he's literally torturing Poseidon in order to make him finally release the grudge because he has proven that this is the only way to actually get through to him. It actually shows perfectly that Poseidon's own inability to release his resentment became his downfall in the end, disproving his own "ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves" motto as his own ruthlessness bit him in the a** this time, as I talked about in this post.

... And there is no resentment or vengeance in Six Hundred Strike either.

On one hand, it's easy to assume phrases like "For every comrade, every one of my friends, almost all of whom were slaughtered by your hand" or "How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to know pain?" indicate resentment, but ... not really.

We already know that Odysseus doesn't want vengeance, or he wouldn't have tried to lead from the heart one song earlier.

And then make yourself aware of something else: Not once during any of their encounters is Odysseus actually accusing or resenting Poseidon for anything.

"Almost all of whom were slaughtered by your hand" is an objective fact. It's just true. Someone vengeful may have said "I'll make you pay for all of those you slaughtered" or "All of their deaths are your fault" ... Odysseus just says, "for every comrade". He doesn't specify what he's doing for his comrades ... and it sure as hell isn't that he's (trying to) cause Poseidon pain or harm for them (which would be vengeance.)

For every comrade, he is fighting Poseidon, in order to finally reach his goal. For every comrade, he's doing everything that he has to do in order to get home, and in order to end this feud.

And then we get to the torture scene and it's ... actually so incredibly freaking intimate. Because it's not actually about vengeance, it's not about accusing Poseidon, or making him pay, or suffer more than necessary. If Odysseus were speaking from a genuine vengeance angle, he'd probably sound more like, "You killed my friends, now you pay for it. You did this to me and now it is your time to suffer." But he doesn't.

The torture scene in Six Hundred Strike is actually ... just another, much more extreme, repeat of Odysseus' lines from Get In The Water (my beloved 🫶): "Aren't you tired, Poseidon? It's been ten years, how long will this go? We're both hurting from losses, so why not leave this here and just go home?"

Odysseus tried saying it nicely ... now he's stabbing him with his own trident, hoping, practically begging, that he finally listens and accepts. Just lets them both go home.

And the thing is, this time, he isn't just saying "we're both hurting from losses" ... All you have to do is repeat to yourself Odysseus' entire monologue that he unleashes while he's stabbing him in a calmer, gentler tone and you'll see that what he is actually yelling out at Poseidon are all of the reasons why he is hurting. Sharing with him all of the pain that he probably hasn't shared with anyone ... ever.

"How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to know pain?" -> How does it feel to be vulnerable? I've felt vulnerable for so long without anyone to talk to or because no one truly understood me or what I'm going through.

"I watched my friends die in horror, crying as they were all slain. I heard their final moments, calling their captain in vain." -> This is why I am hurting. These are my losses.

"Look what you turned me into. Look what we've become." -> Look what I could be if I actually followed your lessons. Is this what you really want? Why can't you understand the harm that this is causing both of us?

"All of the pain that I've been through ... haven't I suffered enough?" -> Aren't you tired, Poseidon? It's been ten years, how long will this go? We're both hurting from losses, so why not leave this here and just go home?"

"You didn't stop when I begged you." -> I asked you to "Stop this, please" mere minutes ago. You didn't stop. That's why I'm doing this.

"(You) told me to close my heart. You said the world is dark. Didn't you say that ruthlessness is mercy?" -> I'm doing what you said you wanted me to do. Do you really want this? Do you really believe this? Can something like this really be mercy?

The first time I heard this, I firmly believed that Odysseus was actually crying during this part, and honestly, I believe that to this day. The canon visuals don't show us his face and I want to almost say that's intentional.

This whole scene is about vulnerability. Forced vulnerability, in a lot of ways, but raw, real vulnerability nonetheless.

This isn't just a torture scene; it's actually one of the most intimate scenes we've ever seen Odysseus share with anyone on screen. Seldom do we see him this honest in front of others (the vulnerable scene with Circe at the end of There Are Other Ways is the only other example I can think of.) Otherwise, all of his honest, raw songs are his solo songs (Monster, Just A Man, ...)

But here, Odysseus is essentially using the symbol of Poseidon's invulnerability—his trident—to force him into the most vulnerable position that he's probably been in centuries, if not ever ... and at the same time, he is being incredibly vulnerable himself. He's opening up to Poseidon in a kind of absolute way that we have actually never seen him open up to anyone.

... If that is not intimacy in its rawest, most painful, uncomfortable, and yet cathartic forms, I don't know what is.

As if that weren't sad enough... The saddest part about all of this is actually Poseidon's "Monster!" ... Because it tells us without a doubt that he is actually incapable of receiving or understanding those words from Get In The Water (my beloved 🫶). He is incapable of understanding vulnerability. All he can see is the "monstrous" act that accompanies it because that is something he knows and recognizes.

Although I believe, in the end, Odysseus did get through to him, and did get him to drop the grudge, I believe it happened on a kind of subconscious level rather than genuine acknowledgment or agreement. It's further proof of how Odysseus is capable of growth while Poseidon isn't (yet.)

Poseidon remains stuck in his ways, in his "ruthlessness" philosophy, because he isn't ready to acknowledge its flawed nature, essentially making it his own cage that prevents him from growing or moving forward. Meanwhile, Odysseus is walking away, walking ahead.

... Part of me almost wants to claim that he started begging Odysseus to stop so quickly not because of the physical pain, but because of his words. Because the vulnerability forced on him was hurting in a way that physical injuries, even from his own trident, never could. Because deep down, very deep down, he must've ... "felt" what Odysseus wanted him to understand and feel anyway.

Remember how I compared this type of intimacy to the sudden ability to read someone's mind before? I chose this analogy for a reason. What is intimacy if not using the very source of a god's invulnerability, essentially putting yourself into his divine shoes, doing what you know he would do to you ... in order to force him to connect to your mortal feelings and pains, even if he can still not truly understand them?

Here is where we see, for the first time, maybe ever, what even Odysseus and Athena couldn't do (yet), and the core reason why their partnership broke apart: a mortal and a divine genuinely understood each other's perspectives ... saw themselves in the other, even if only for a moment.

Given all that ... there is absolutely nothing I can say against kicking my feet and giggling excitedly over this scene.

[panerasbox]

—TALK TOO MUCH; 10 Days To Go

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader.

Genre: light smut (dryhumping, thighgrinding)

Word count: 1,200.

summary: You’re ranting. Melissa’s done listening. She shuts you up—with her mouth.

30 DAYS OF MELISSA SCHEMMENTI MASTERLIST

You’re pacing the length of Melissa’s classroom like you’ve had 4 cups of coffee—and you probably have.

“…and then Ava tells me the science lab budget went to a smoke machine for the talent show, so now we’re doing the volcano experiment with baking soda and vibes, and I’m just saying, this is why—”

Melissa’s watching you with that amused, long-suffering expression she’s perfected over a lifetime of listening to nonsense. Except this time, the nonsense is coming from you. And she doesn’t mind. Not really.

But she does wish you’d shut up long enough to let her do something about the way your mouth moves when you’re worked up.

“Sweetheart,” she interjects calmly, sipping her coffee.

You keep going.

“I mean, who even signs off on this stuff? You know how long it takes to get reimbursed for anything? I’m about to start charging the school interest. Or, like, emotional damages. Whichever one gets me enough for new glue sticks.”

Melissa’s eyes trail from your lips to the curve of your neck, and she leans back in her chair, letting your voice wash over her. Half listening. Half planning

“You know,” she says, her voice a low hum, “there are easier ways to get my attention.”

“I’m not trying to get your attention,” you argue, still pacing, hands flailing. “I’m trying to prevent a complete meltdown of the educational system—again. And Ava’s out here pretending to be a pop star with a fog machine while the rest of us are drowning in permission slips and expired Expo markers!”

She hums again, sounding impressed, though the glint in her eyes says otherwise. “You finished?”

You pause, blinking. “Uh, no? I still haven’t even gotten to the part where the copier jammed and Jacob tried to fix it with a ‘positive affirmation.’”

Melissa stands.

She doesn’t say anything. Just crosses the room slowly, deliberately, like a lion deciding whether to pounce. She stops right in front of you, just close enough to make your heart stutter.

Her voice drops to that low, dangerous register you’ve only heard when she’s really had it with someone—or when she’s flirting like it’s a full-contact sport.

“You talk too much, hon.”

You open your mouth to reply—some combination of excuse me? and rude!—but you never get it out.

Because Melissa Schemmenti kisses you like she’s been waiting for the perfect moment.

It’s laced with the kind of pent-up tension that only comes from months of stolen glances and lingering touches that never quite crossed the line.

Your back hits the classroom door with a soft thud. Her hand is on your waist—tight. Her mouth is claiming yours, and your thoughts go fuzzy as your hands fist in her blazer, pulling her impossibly closer.

You whimper. Actually whimper.

That earns you a pleased noise from her chest, and then she’s tilting her head, deepening the kiss like she knows exactly what she’s doing; which, of course, she does.

When she finally pulls back, lips kiss-bitten and eyes dark, you’re left breathless and dazed and absolutely not thinking about the copier anymore.

She smirks, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

“There. Much better.”

You swallow hard. “I—what just—”

“That’s what happens when you don’t stop talking,” she says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Now sit down before I really show you how much you’ve been driving me crazy.”

Melissa’s mouth is back on yours, demanding and rough, and it’s like the rest of the world just…falls away.

She kisses like she fights—sharp, precise, and absolutely in control. Except now, she’s letting herself lose some of that control. For you.

Your hands are everywhere—clutching at her hips, sliding up the back of her blazer, dragging her tighter against you like your body needs hers. She tastes like coffee and something unmistakably her.

“You gonna be good for me now, hon?” she murmurs against your lips, voice low and wrecked.

You nod, but she tugs your bottom lip between her teeth, teasing. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you gasp, barely coherent. “Yes, please—fuck, Melissa—”

She groans like that did something to her, like you did something to her, and then she’s pressing you harder into the classroom door, her thigh sliding between yours.

Your hips buck before you even mean to. It’s instinct. Need. You can feel her smirk against your jaw, her breath hot as she trails kisses down your neck.

“You were driving me crazy, you know that?” she mutters, hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, palm flattening over the small of your back to keep you flush against her. “Pacing around, flapping your mouth, looking at me with those big eyes like you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t—”

Another slow grind of her thigh between your legs cuts you off with a strangled whimper.

“Yeah, sure. Real innocent.”

Her hands slide to your ass and pull you tighter, and suddenly you’re rocking against her leg, shameless and desperate. The friction is obscene, delicious—heat building with every movement, every groan, every kiss that’s more teeth than tongue now.

You feel drunk on her. The way her body fits against yours, how solid and sure she is, how present. It’s overwhelming…in the best fucking way.

“Fucking finally,” Melissa grits out as your hips roll again, your breath hot and broken against her collarbone. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?”

You moan, nails digging into her back as you chase every bit of pressure she gives you.

“Touch me,” you whisper.

“I am touching you,” she growls. “You want more?”

You nod frantically. She slides a hand under your skirt, not quite where you need her, just enough to tease. Her fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, keeping your legs spread around hers as she starts grinding you down on her, slow and rough and completely unrelenting.

“Come on, baby,” she urges, lips brushing your ear, voice thick. “Be good for me. Take what you need.”

You whimper, and your rhythm stutters, thighs shaking. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s perfect.

You’re not even sure who starts it, but suddenly she’s kissing you again and it’s messy, open-mouthed, teeth clashing. One of you moans into the other, and it’s lost in the wet, dizzy tangle of lips and tongue and desperation.

You’re so close.

Soaked through your panties, rocking against her thigh like a woman possessed, chasing it.

Melissa moans your name and it tips you over the edge.

You come with a cry muffled by her shoulder, your whole body shuddering as she holds you firm, still grinding you through it. Not letting up.

She’s panting too. Forehead against yours, breath ragged, lips swollen and red.

When you finally still, breathless and trembling in her arms, she kisses you once more, but gentler this time.

You blink up at her, dazed. “Okay. So. I guess I was talking too much.”

Melissa snorts, presses one last kiss to your cheek. “You ever do it again, I’ll shut you up the exact same way.”

God help you—you hope so.