#I know a lot of it is intertwined but there's still a lot there

[cobbled-peach]

proposal(s)

aka: the four times Spencer thinks about proposing to you, and the one time he does

a/n: this is my first time writing/posting here pls be kind to me I just love him and I love books and I hope you love him and love books too !!!!! this hasn’t been edited much so apologies for sp mistakes cw: brief mention of sex, but nothing explicit. Fembau!reader. Lots of literature references (with books named at the end). I think this constitutes as fluff? Pre-prison Spencer, but no specific era. wc: 2.3k

darcy and elizabeth

The first time Spencer thinks about proposing to you, it’s the day you meet him.

The newest agent on the team. You’re emotionally intelligent in a way he can only dream of being.

You cradle a mug of coffee in your hands. His mug, which stuns Morgan into silence mid-sentence, his conversation with Garcia derailed by the sheer surprise of what he’s witnessing. Your mug had smashed thirty minutes earlier, an unfortunate casualty in the first-day desk unboxing. Spencer, seeing your disappointment, pulled a plain white mug from his top drawer, REID printed on the side.

He held it out tentatively. A peace offering. ‘Until you get a new one,’ he’d murmured, offering a small smile.

He’s always been wary of germs, but somehow didn’t care this time.

He watches your hands wrap around the mug. Soft, delicate, holding the item like its something precious. He wonders what it would be like to hold your hands himself. Then scolds the thought. Coworkers, Spencer.

You bring the cup up to your lips, humming in contentment after the first sip. Yor lipstick – or maybe lipgloss? He’s unsure of the correct term – leaves a gentle pink stain on the rim. He secretly hopes that it won’t wash off. He stares for a moment, and wonders, quite randomly, is this how Darcy felt when Elizabeth first touched his hand?

You set the mug down (Morgan still gaping in the background, like you’ve declared war on the Bureau’s hierarchy of personal property) and smile at him.

‘Thank you. Seriously. I desperately needed that caffeine.’

‘It’s not a problem. Did you know that caffeine sensitivity is actually inherited?’ A pause. To see if you’re listening. You are, and he suddenly wonders how appropriate it would be to stain his lips with your lipstick-lipgloss in a kiss. Not very, he concludes. ‘It’s all to do with polymorphisms in your enzymes. Its genetic; they tested it on twins.’

‘You sound well-versed in your coffee knowledge. A fellow connoisseur?’

‘I think the term “addict” is more fitting, actually. And I don’t know how much of my consumption is due to genetics over stress and lack of sleep.’

A laugh from you. He feels the sound in his chest and his stomach flips.

‘Good to know what’s in store for me,’ you tease.

‘Coffee addictions and sleepless nights,’ he replies. Then, hesitating. ‘Maybe I’ll let you use my high-quality espresso beans when it gets really bad.’

‘Literally marry me,’ you joke.

He almost says, I will.

He doesn’t, just stares at the mug like it holds the future.

2. the black cloud

The second time he thinks about proposing is your third-technically fourth date. (The first didn’t count, at least not to you. ‘You asked me to dinner to “celebrate closing the case,”’ you’d later said. ‘That’s not a date.’ He insisted that it was; he’d paid. You said so did JJ, once. Case closed.) They’re also technically not “dates” because dating within the team is prohibited, but Hotch showed some leniency.

Coffee in the park. A foolproof plan, not much room for error. He buys your drink, and you sip it beside him on the bench while he spews obscure facts about the tree you’re sitting under, intertwined with quotes from Ovid and Darwin. He offers to get you a refill as soon as you finish.

‘You haven’t even finished yours yet,’ you tell him.

‘I know. I can still get you a new one.’

‘Just drink your drink, Spencer.’ Accompanied by a fond smile.

You wander together. Conversation flows. He can’t quite explain why its so easy, why he feels so comfortable.

He’s puzzled by the anomaly, so he does what he does best: theorises. He’s been hypothesising for the past three-technically-four dates. Cross-referencing data points. He runs through the evidence, and draws the only viable conclusion:

Love.

Premature, maybe. But true.

You suggest dipping into a second-hand bookshop. He agrees eagerly, following you in like Orpheus descending. He’ll go anywhere, so long as he can find his way back to you. You disappear into your aisle; he into his. Mathematics, physics. The realm of science and fact. Only two minutes pass before you appear again, book clutched in your hand.

‘This is so you,’ you say.

It’s The Black Cloud. Fred Hoyle.

He blinks. Then again. Takes the book from your hand and turning it over like you’ve just handed him the world.

‘You’ve probably read it,’ you say. ‘But you’ve never mentioned it, and I know you like mid-century sci-fi.’

He has read it. Of course he has. But its not about the book. Its about you, thinking of him.

And you say it so casually. Like this isn’t the most intimate thing someone’s done for him.

‘You picked this out… for me?’

‘Yes.’

He turns it over again, shocked. He wants to hand you his heart, neatly wrapped in paper and ink.

‘Oh…’ he breathes out, the sound so quiet. He feels like he’s been winded, in the best way possible.

‘Not to your taste?’

‘No–’ he shakes his head. ‘No, its exactly to my taste. I think I have an older copy, but not this edition.’

‘Do you want it?’

‘Yes.’ The answer comes out before he even registers it. He does want the book. Not because he needs it, but because you picked it out for him.

You smile, gently take it back, and go to the register. He watches lamely, feels compelled to place a hand over his chest an steady his beating heart.

He thinks of Dante first catching sight of Beatrice. Of Gatsby staring across the bay. Of Gabriel and Bathsheba, paths destined to intertwine.

In the middle of the bookshop, he almost gets on one knee.

3. the hour of the star

The third time he thinks about proposing is directly after sex.

Not the first time, or the second. Somewhere in the quiet middle.

You’ve been officially together for six months. You transferred to a different department, and he asked the moment you were in your new office. (‘No interdepartmental fraternization,’ he’d quoted, followed by a nervous, ‘so, can you officially be my girlfriend now?��)

You’re both tangled beneath the sheets in your apartment, the place half his by default now. His toothbrush lives in the bathroom, his go-bag in the hallway, his own mug in your kitchen.

His copy of The Black Cloud lives on your bookshelf, annotated. He took it straight home, writing his thoughts in the margins, little notes to you. Fred Hoyle writes “There is a coherent plan to the universe” and beneath it, in Spencer’s barely legible font, is yes, and I think its you.

The book had been kept out of your sight for seven months, before he “sneakily” slipped it onto your shelf. “Sneakily,” because you watched every movement through the kitchen doorway. You’d read the whole thing that night, cried, and set to work annotating a book of your own for him.

The books are a love language themselves. If he could frame every annotated page on his wall, he would.

He’s reading aloud to you now.

It’s become a ritual. You, soft limbs and warm skin. Him, thumbing through whatever book is on the nightstand, voice a little hoarse. Sometimes it’s a play, sometimes poetry. Once, quantum physics (he didn’t take it personally when you instantly fell asleep to that).

Tonight, its Clarice Lispector. The Hour of the Star. Skin still flushed, he clears his throat and reads aloud, backed by your steady breaths. Each turn of a page is a pause in which he can press a kiss to your skin. Shoulder, cheek, temple. Wherever he can reach.

‘“Things were somehow so good that they were in danger of becoming very bad, because what is fully mature is very close to rotting.’” The sentence hangs in the air. Heavy. His voice stops, like he’s contemplating the words he’s just read.

You turn your head against his chest.

‘Everything okay?’

His quiet. Thinking, as always, a crease between his brows.

‘Mm.’ His arm shifts to wrap around your shoulders. ‘It’s just… interesting, isn’t it? How even the best things are fragile, maybe. Decaying.’

He doesn’t need to say “us” for you to catch what he’s referring to.

‘You think we’ll decay?’ you ask, propping yourself up on one elbow. He looks at your eyes, soft, unworried, and thinks again.

‘I think that… real things are vulnerable. We’re real. And I think that makes us susceptible.’ He hesitates, brushes some hair from your face absentmindedly. ‘Entropy. Everything tends towards disorder.’

‘Only if you don’t control it,’ you say. Factually incorrect, but he appreciates what you're saying.

And perhaps that’s it. Your unwavering faith. You’re a realist, not a romantic. Offering certainty in a world of disorder.

‘Decay isn’t death,’ you point out, continuing. ‘Its transformation, right? Compost to soil. Stars collapsing and becoming galaxies. Things can break and become something beautiful.’

His world shifts in that moment. He looks back at the line, reads it maybe 20 times in the span of five seconds.

‘We’re not going to rot, Spence.’

‘We’re not going to rot,’ he repeats. He knows it’s the truth as you press your lips to his chest, over his frantically beating heart. ‘Do you want me to keep going?’ he asks, lifting the book slightly.

‘Please.’

You adjust your position, curling into his side. He resumes his reading. He’s turning the page again when you mumble quietly.

‘We’re not going to rot, because I love you.’

Every syllable brands itself into his soul. He’s heard those three words before, but there’s something more to them in his context. He almost drops the book, catches I before it hits your head. He wants to tell you that you are his Eurydice, the person he’s always been trying to reach.

Instead, he says:

‘I love you, too.’

It falls easily. Inevitable, as always. No drama, no prelude. Just the truth, spoken to you many times before and many more to come.

He almost attaches a “marry me” to his words but instead kisses your hair and returns to the book. He’ll wait.

He already knows the ending will be worth it.

4. metamorphoses

The fourth time isn’t once. It’s every day.

You hand him coffee in the morning? Marry me.

You nurse him through a cold, unconcerned about coughing and sneezing, just wanting to be near to him? Here’s a ring fashioned out of Kleenex.

You coo over Henry in one of JJ’s photos? Let’s make one of our own. Just marry me first.

He asks Rossi for advice. (‘You’ve been married a lot, statistically speaking.’)

Garcia catches on quickly. Spencer Reid combined with search history is a concoction for whatever the opposite of “stealth” is. He looks at rings on his lunch break, tilting his computer screen like its classified information.

Pretty soon everyone knows. You remain oblivious – or pretend to be.

It’s simply a matter of when.

5. darcy and elizabeth

It’s a Tuesday. Raining.

Not a dramatic kind of rain. Unassuming. Soft and relentless, quietly soaking the world, a constant tap against the window of his apartment – now permanently shared with you.

He wonders if the rain is a piece of pathetic fallacy. A warning against his plans.

It’s four years to the day since he met you.

He had a plan. Of course he did. He was Spencer Reid. A riverside walk in the park. Take a picnic, surrounded by ducks. Bookmark a page in Much Ado About Nothing with the ring. But the weather has altered his plans, made him go off script.

But maybe that’s a good thing. Gentle touches and heartfelt gestures over big declarations, that’s what he’s always preferred. He just needs a moment.

You’re making coffee. Barefoot, hair damp from the rain that interrupted his plans. Wearing an old shirt of his effortlessly. A perfect picture of home. His home.

He stands in the doorway with a book in his hand. Pride and Prejudice. Not his favourite. Nowhere near his top ten. But it’s your favourite. You’ve worn it down with love, left your own story between the lines with annotations. And that makes it his favourite now, too.

His mismatched socks shift awkwardly on the floor.

‘Hi,’ he says, calling your attention.

You look up from the mugs with a pre-formed smile. Yours, a copy of the mug you’d smashed on your first day. His, the mug with your lipstick, now washed, but imprinted with you forever.

‘Hey,’ you respond. ‘Dry from the rain?’

He doesn’t respond. Crosses the kitchen and holds out the book. Why does it feel like a brick?

‘This is… mine?’ you say, unsure.

‘Yes,’ he confirms. ‘I added some annotations. For you.’

You open the cover. His handwriting – messy, familiar – sits below your own in black ink.

You know I am not very good with words. So, I thought I’d borrow someone else’s. Please turn to page 301.

He watches your breath hitch. Watches as you carefully flip the pages.

There’s a line. Circled not once, but many times over, holding the weight of what couldn’t be said with words.

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”

Beside it, tentative but certain at the same time, his writing: but if you ever choose to be bound to someone, I hope it’s me.

He’s already on one knee when you glance up. Ring held out in his hand. A quiet promise, forged from the pages of books you’ve shared and the one you’ve written yourself.

Your hands are cradling his face. He’s crying. And you’re crying.

‘I will always choose you.’ Quiet, definitive. A fact.

He slips the ring on and kisses you. Pride and Prejudice lays open in the background. Page 301. A circled sentence. A note in the margins. A love undoubted.

hi I’m super awkward but I hope you enjoyed yippee!! I thought I’d quickly mention all the books I referenced/have implied references to because I love them all and if you like literature you should read them teehee (in order because I’m super sweet) (also I know darcy doesn’t touch her hand in the books pls don’t come for me <33) Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen Metamorphosis, Ovid The Origin of Species, Charles Darwin The Black Cloud, Fred Hoyle The Divine Comedy, Dante The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald Far from the Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy The Hour of the Star, Clarice Lispector Much Ado About Nothing, Shakespeare Hamlet, Shakespeare

[magicaloneandmystery]

blush

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

summary: the five times Bucky made you blush and the one time you did.

warnings: AU where all Avengers are alive and live together as a family because I say so; lots of fluffy couply things because I'm In A Mood™; this is NOT proofread!!

1.

the two of you were new to this... relationship. not that it was an exclusive one. you were still figuring out whether you wanted to be a superhero's girlfriend and Bucky was still figuring out what modern dating looked like.

today was your third date, an evening to the new observatory, both of you excited to look at some stars together. New York could be suffocating without the glitter in the sky.

you were wearing a blue, full-sleeved top with a sweetheart neckline, paired with dark trousers. when you met Bucky in front of your door, he gave you a once over before a charming smile spread over his lips.

"I'm not sure whether I'll be able to focus on the stars if you look like that, doll."

it was the first time he had called you by a nickname. his words paired with him calling you doll in that low, teasing voice made heat crawl up your neck and face, your bashful smile directed at the ground as a sudden wave of butterflies swarmed your belly.

"th- thank you?" you said, not sure how to respond.

he chuckled warmly, holding out the helmet for you.

"and if you keep reacting so cutely, I'll have to call you doll more often," he remarked, meeting your eyes and winking at you.

damn him and his disarming smile.

2.

after an exciting time at the observatory, both of you were walking down the New York streets together to get some food to eat. his bike was still parked at the observatory, you two deciding to walk to the nearby quaint cafe instead.

walks with Bucky were one of your favourite things. despite his long strides and natural tendency to walk fast, he would consciously slow down to stroll behind you, your hands animatedly talking about a random topic and his staying in his pockets.

when a rowdy friend group suddenly crowded the sidewalk, Bucky's hands immediately found yours, pulling you close to him as you two passed them.

it was the first time he had held your hand, his big, calloused hand almost enveloping yours. somehow, they fit perfectly, like two jigsaw pieces.

it was a weird sensation holding his hand. good weird.

you could feel his steady hold grounding you to the present despite the way your insides were melting at the contact.

when the path cleared, you expected him to let go of your hand.

instead, it loosened slightly but still held on, now a more casual grip than the protective one it mimicked earlier.

you continued to talk about your favourite Latin phrases while he walked on as usual, the other hand in his pocket.

your hands intertwined together felt natural.

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3.

you had heard about the glamourous, over the top Tony Stark Galas. everyone had heard of them. never in a million years would you have thought you'll be invited to one.

so when Bucky asked "would you be my date for the Stark thing?" it took you a few moments to understand what he was saying.

"Stark thing? like, the Tony Stark Charity Gala?" your voice had raised by two octaves, excitement bleeding from your voice.

"yeah, that," Bucky's nonchalance gave way to amusement at your reaction.

you squealed in delight. "will Captain America be there? I mean Steve and Sam both. Black Widow? Thor?"

you started pacing in front of him, his eyes following you.

"I don't know what to wear, but wait- what if I make a fool in front of them?"

"you do realise these are all people I work with."

you turned around with a flurry that had Bucky concerned about whiplash. "wait so... we'll be going together?"

"... yes?"

"no, like. together together?"

"doll, you need to be clearer."

you shook your head, standing directly in front of him, your feet touching his as you looked up to him.

"I'll be your date." you stated, as if that was supposed to clear things up for Bucky.

"yes," he nodded, still giving you a confused smile.

"you'll introduce me as your...?"

"date?" he responded, his eyebrows scrunching in a cute but dumbfounded way.

you groaned. "Bucky this is the first time I'll be meeting your friends!" exasperation laced your tone. "that's... that's a huge step for us, right?" your hands found each other, fiddling with each other.

"do you not want to?" he asked, suddenly nervous. had he pushed you too far? Sam had given him the 'don't take things too fast' talk when he had ventured into dating in the 21st century.

"no, I want to," you clarified quickly. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page. you're ready for this, yeah?"

"of course," he stated, tugging you closer by your hands, his arms wrapping around your frame. "I get to show you off and prove to Romanoff that I can get girls to go out with me."

the sentence brought you back to your earlier predicament. "oh my god Bucky I don't have anything to wear! and my hair! and makeup! this is an Avengers affair! what if I embarrass myself?! what if I embarrass you!"

"doll," he tightened his hold on you, kissing you to shut you up.

your mind came to a stop, your focus shifting on his lips.

"it'll be fine," he promised. "you'll be great. you'll look pretty - there's no way you could look ugly even if you tried - and I'll make sure to punch anyone who dares say anything against you. yeah?"

"okay," you said in a daze, looking up at his eyes, finding comfort in the ocean staring back at you. "but no punching."

"no promises."

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when the big day was here, you were surprised at how good you looked. after all the panic and indecision, the begging your girl gang to help you get ready, the shopping and the borrowing of dress, accessories, and everything else, you were satisfied when you looked in the mirror. you looked pretty.

you hoped Bucky would think the same.

so when you opened your apartment door and saw him standing outside in a dark blue suit, the jacket hugging his biceps, the shirt underneath outlining his chest, and the tie adding a delicious flair, with his thick thighs being on full display with the slacks...

your breath hitched. you felt familiar heat up your neck, a blush forming on your face by just looking at him.

you didn't have energy to focus on your insecurities when you could focus on Bucky and how downright decision he looked.

"you look exquisite, doll," he said, a single white tulip in his hands. you had strictly banned him from getting bouquets for some time, after he filled your apartment with flowers and you were running out of vases. but he couldn't not get you a flower. especially for an occasion such as this. your first public appearance together.

"Bucky, you look..." you breathed out, mind working in overdrive to find a word that would describe the effect he has on you. your mind was also distracted by his slicked hair and clean shaven face, the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at you, the way his muscles bulged when he moved his arms. "simply delicious." you settled.

well, so much for being coherent.

he chuckled. "I could say the same about you."

4.

he held out the flower in front of you, giving you a wide grin as you narrowed your eyes at him.

"you said no bouquets," he winked.

you sighed, shaking your head.

he assessed your hairstyle before you could take the flower, deeming it good enough for his next actions.

he tucked the flower behind your ear.

Bucky Barnes, the feared assassin, tucked a tulip in his date's hair.

like a lovesick fool.

you blushed even more profusely at his actions.

"it goes well with the dress," he concluded, giving you a once over, taking your hand in his. he pulled you closer, his other hand settling on your waist. "did I tell you how beautiful you look?"

"yes," you said, still in awe of the man in front of you. "did I tell you how handsome you look?"

he chuckled, kissing you, careful of your lipstick.

"are you two ever getting out of here? I have a takeout box and Netflix waiting for me at home," your best friend said from behind you.

"right," you pulled away from Bucky, turning around. "thank you for the help," you hugged her goodbye.

5.

the gala was... overwhelming. both in a good and bad way.

the Avengers were everything you hoped for. a delight.

the attention, on the other hand...

but Bucky was always there, a hand on your back or around your waist. if he left, it was to bring you a drink or talk to someone about some superhero-y thing. classified and top secret. but he was never out of your reach for too long.

in the rare moments he was, his team members kept you company.

Steve and Sam were teasing but respectful, trying to get you to tell them embarrassing stories about Bucky. Wanda and Natasha were friendly, letting you be comfortable in their presence and dishing out gossip to you as if you three were a clique. Pepper and Jane occasionally joined the three of you. Thor was... booming. loud. his presence demanded attention, which made sense. he was a god, after all. Loki, on the other hand, was a shadow. he would occasionally prank someone in a small way, but nothing too major or serious. he was a refreshing presence. Tony was the star, the one that got everyone to act like a group. a united front, and all that. he was both charming and disarming, intimidating to an outsider like you at first, but his warmth was noticeable after some time.

the team welcomed you into their group easily. so much so, they even welcomed you at the after party.

when Bucky returned with your drink, he heard the end of your conversation with Tony.

"think about it, we could use a mind like you," Tony was saying, nodding his head at Barnes in acknowledgement.

"are you poaching my girl, Stark?" Bucky asked, pulling you closer.

"just offering her a better pay, right sweetheart?" he said.

you laughed, nodding. "I'll think about your offer."

"you know where to contact me," he raised his glass, swiftly siding away in response. you frowned in confusion.

"I actually don't know that..."

"are you having fun?" Bucky asked.

"yeah, your friends are nice. do you think they like me?" you played with the lapels on his coat.

"you're their new darling," he said, stealing a kiss. "I think they'll be fighting me for your attention."

"Bucky!" you said, slapping his shoulder. "don't kiss me, we're in front of the Avengers." you whispered the last phrase.

"so?" he laughed. "I'm one of them."

"yeah but you're... you. I know you."

"do you, now?" he raised his eyebrows. you could practically feel the teasing remark on his lips.

"I know you well enough to know you're not gonna stop kissing me in front of your friends."

"damn right," he said, leaning down to give you a proper kiss. the one that left you in a breathless daze afterwards. with a slow motion of your lips, the taste from your drinks mingling with each other. faintly, you could hear Sam shouting a teasing remark that only made Bucky pull you closer to his chest.

when you pulled away, your lipstick was smudged on his lips, but he seemed to not mind.

you could barely meet anyone's eyes for the next ten minutes, cheeks and neck flushed at the memory of Bucky's very public display of affection.

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6.

you were sprawled out on Bucky's chest, the movie playing in front of you, but it was well in the background of your perception. your mind was clouded with new information about your relationship with Bucky, unable to focus on anything else, not even the way his fingers made patterns on your back as he held you.

he could sense you were distracted.

"is everything okay?" his voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

you wondered whether to share the information with him or not. would it help your relationship? it could make or break your future, effectively changing your life forever.

your thoughts were a jumbled mess.

"I came across some new information about our relationship," you said, finally.

that made Bucky sit up, pausing the movie to give you his full attention.

"I think this could make or break us," you repeated your thoughts out loud.

"okay..." Bucky said slowly, not sure what you were getting at. "what kind of information?"

"feelings," you said simply, looking at him expectantly.

"feelings?"

you nodded.

"you've stopped making sense again," he stated simply.

"the information has to do with feelings," you clarified.

"uh... still not making sense."

"I think I love you," you clarified further.

"you- what?" Bucky spluttered, not expecting that.

"I think about you all day, I dream about our future. you make me feel safe, warm, and excited about life. you've made it really hard to not fall for you, you know that? from your compliments to your gestures to your looks. it's a little frustrating how perfect you are."

for the first time, you saw a blush creep up Bucky's neck, a pink tint to his skin.

it was a beautiful thing - everything about this man was - the way his eyes darted around with a sheepish smile, the way his hand wrung together with nerves in a way you've never seen him. Bucky Barnes didn't blush or lose control.

apparently, he did now.

"do you mean all of that?" he said, his voice a whisper you had to strain to listen.

"yeah. every word. I love you, Bucky," you repeated. "you can take your time to say it back, or whatever, I don't really know. I- I just don't want this to ruin what we-"

your words were cut off with an oof escaping your lips before they were covered by his. this time, his kiss was deeper, his tongue fighting with yours for dominance before you gave way. he languidly explored your mouth, his hands gripping the side of your face, his fingers stroking your cheek.

your hands were on his neck, feeling his heat.

when you both broke away, you smiled at him.

"Bucky, you're blushing," you gushed, kissing his cheeks, adoration swelling in your chest.

"shut up," he grumbled, no real heat behind his words.

"make me?" you said.

he kissed you again. and again and again.

when the two of you were done kissing each other, he rested his forehead against yours. he was looking at you, eyes intense and focused only on you.

"I love you, too," he said finally, letting his walls crumble around you, letting you hold him safely.

tears welled in your eyes, the rush of feelings washing over you.

"I love you, Bucky," you repeated.

you spent the night intertwined with each other.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! thank you so much for reading :D

[giuli4nna]

SUNDOWN

☀︎ 13 : DAY SEVEN

you’re not just the horizon he sinks beneath. you’re the gravity that pulls him back each time.

inside the house, the group is beginning to stir. the kitchen fills with the scent of coffee, and the low murmur of conversation breaks the morning stillness - until everyone’s attention quickly shifts to the large window that overlooks the dock.

there, just outside, you and hamzah lie together, completely unaware of the group’s quiet observation. you’re still wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies laid out across the dock, faint sunlight catching the curve of your faces.

your heads are tilted toward each other, the space between you no longer filled with tension but with the comfort of something deeper, something unspoken but understood.

you’re at peace, your breathing slow and steady, a stark contrast to the restless nights that came before this moment.

martin, standing next to mandy, grins as he takes in the sight. “huh,” he exhales. “guess they figured it out.”

mandy, with a knowing look in her eyes, gives a soft chuckle. “i knew they would,” she says, nudging him playfully. there’s no judgment in her tone, only the warmth of someone who’s happy to see things finally aligning for her friend.

chase, still a bit confused, leans in to get a better look. “wait.. no fuckin’ way they slept outside - together?”

“uh-huh,” claire replies, her voice light with amusement, a smile decorating her face as she watches you two.

the group falls into a comfortable silence, watching the two of you, still lost in the quiet, early morning calm. everyone can sense that something has changed. a difference that’s subtle yet monumental. the uncertainty that hung in the air for days has evaporated, leaving behind something undeniably real.

the weight of everything that’s transpired - the emotional struggles, the arguments, the final honesty - seems to settle in. maybe you and hamzah still have a lot to figure out, but for now, you’ve made it through the hardest part. you’ve found your way back to each other.

“good for them.” martin says quietly, his eyes softening as he watches you two.

mandy smiles, her heart full. “yeah. they’ve been through a lot, i think. they weren’t exactly hiding it well.”

and with that, the group lets the moment linger, quietly content for the two of you. the peaceful silence is eventually broken when chase, always the one to speak his mind, grins and claps his hands together.

“so, who’s making breakfast?” he asks, his lightheartedness cutting through the moment. but even his voice feels warmer today, as if the tensions of the past few days are finally starting to lift.

as the group begins to prepare for the day, they share knowing looks, happy to see things between you and hamzah falling into place. it feels right, in every possible way - like the storm has finally passed and everyone can breathe a little better.

out on the dock, the sun continues to rise higher, casting a golden light over everything. slowly, you stir in your sleep, the warmth of the rays coaxing you awake. hamzah shifts next to you, his hand still resting on your waist.

when you finally blink your eyes open, you meet his gaze, and there’s something different in the way he looks at you. it’s not the guarded, distant look from the past, but something softer. more genuine.

you smile, and he returns it, though his expression is still tinged with the vulnerability he’s spent so much of this trip avoiding.

the day begins, the promise of a fresh start hanging in the air, and the two of you slowly sit up, your fingers still intertwined.

as you make your way back to the house, the sunlight dances across the water in a sparkling mirror of reflection - reflecting the shift that’s occurred between you two. a shift that’s set you on the right path.

the house feels quieter today. the hum of activity that had filled the space over the past few days now replaced with the soft sounds of packing, the shuffle of bags, and the occasional clink of dishes being put away.

everyone is moving at their own pace, preparing for the journey back home. the morning light streams in through the open windows, and the air is warm, carrying the scent of pine and earth from the surrounding woods.

you’ve spent the past hour packing your things, a strange mix of sadness and relief filling you as you fold your clothes.

the trip was everything you’d hoped for - and yet, everything has changed. your connection with hamzah is different now. it’s no longer just physical. it’s something deeper, something far more intimate than either of you had anticipated.

you step out onto the balcony, feeling the wood of the railing under your hands as you stare out at the lake.

the view is beautiful as always - that seems to be the only thing that’s been left unchanged during this trip. the calm water shimmering in the sunlight, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. that’s all the same.

your mind is elsewhere. it’s hard to focus, to stop thinking about him. about how different things are between the two of you. how it feels like the first time you’re actually seeing him for who he really is.

the sound of the sliding door opening behind you catches your attention. you turn, your heartbeat stuttering in your chest when you see hamzah standing there, ever the one to interrupt your moments of quiet, his gaze locked on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

he doesn’t say anything at first. he just watches you, his eyes soft but filled with something unspoken. for a moment, it feels like time stops. the noise of the outside world fades, leaving just the two of you standing there.

you break the silence first. “i’m almost done packing. just, um, need to grab a few things..” you trail off, not sure what else to say, unsure if the words even matter anymore.

another beat passes. it feels like a million things are hanging in air, like everything that’s been said and unsaid in the past week is finally being pushed to the brink.

his lips curl into a small, knowing smile, and without another word, he crosses the short distance between you, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

the touch is overwhelmingly gentle, and for the first time, you feel like he’s really there with you. fully present, no walls or defenses.

when his lips meet yours, everything else fades away. there’s no urgency or pressure. just pure, slow intimacy. it’s nothing like before - the kisses that were rushed, filled with tension and hunger.

his hands move slowly, tracing your back before sliding to the front of your shirt. he pulls it over your head, and you don’t stop him, instead reaching for his shirt in return.

it’s a careful process. you’re both savoring each moment, each piece of clothing that’s removed is bringing you closer to something more than just physical.

when you’re both nearly bare, standing in the warmth of the sun, he steps back just slightly, his eyes taking in the sight of you.

he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time - like he’s memorizing every curve, every inch of you. there isn’t an ounce of shame in his gaze. just admiration.

in a way, it is the first time he’s seeing you like this. you’ve been so used to late-night connection with him that’s tucked away in the shadows.

but now? it’s literally in broad daylight.

“i didn’t know i could feel like this,” he admits quietly, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “i don’t know how to explain it.”

your heart skips a beat, but instead of pushing him away or retreating, you take a step forward. “you don’t need to explain it,” you whisper, your voice shaky but confident. “i feel it too.”

and then, without a word, he picks you up, his arms strong and firm around your waist as he carries you to the edge of the balcony.

the heat from his body presses against yours, and for a second, you feel almost weightless in his arms. he lowers you gently to the railing, your legs straddling his waist as he looks down at you, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

hamzah’s hands settle on your hips like he’s scared to press too hard. like you might break or disappear if he moves too fast. he’d never let you fall, though. that goes without saying.

the wood of the balcony railing is chilly against the backs of your thighs. hot body is searingly hot between your legs.

everything’s simmering down to a thick, honey-sweet sensation.

you’re breathing him in - pine and smoke and the salt of sweat from the morning sun. he’s already flushed, cheeks pink, hair tousled, breath a little shallow.

neither of you rush. there’s no point. not anymore.

his fingers slip beneath your thighs, tracing mindless patterns into your skin. he leans in, forehead resting against yours for a long second before kissing you again - all open-mouthed, slow, and lazy.

you tilt your hips up instinctively, just to feel more of him against you. his cock is pressed between you, hard through the thin fabric of his boxers. he shudders when your bodies draw nearer.

you smile against his mouth. he groans into yours.

his hands wander your skin. one up your spine, one on your waist. his lips drag lower, down your throat, nipping lightly until you’re gasping quietly in tune with the morning breeze.

when he pulls back to look at you again, his pupils are blown wide, his brown irises nearly swallowed in black.

“you’re so pretty,” he whispers, almost like he’s mad about it. like it’s hurting him.

you don’t even answer. you reach down, pushing his boxers lower, until you feel his bare length brush against your core

he’s already leaking, the head of his cock flushed deep red. you wrap a hand around him, causing his hips to buck helplessly, a broken gasp spilling from his lips.

“fuck,” he groans, his head dropping forward onto your shoulder.

you simply hum, guiding him to you, letting his tip drag between your folds. you’re already soaked. you both shiver.

hamzah presses a kiss to your temple, then your neck and shoulder like he can’t bear to not be touching you everywhere.

“you okay?” he asks, voice soaked with need.

you nod.

with another soft kiss to your collarbone, he pushes in.

it’s painfully slow.

you both exhale shakily as he sinks into you inch by inch, stretching you open. it fills you with a once familiar ache that feels so different now.

you’re both gasping when he bottoms out, his hips meeting yours. he doesn’t move.

“god,” he mutters against your neck. “you feel - fuck.”

you whimper, thighs tightening around his waist, hands clutching at his shoulders.

the earth feels huge around you. open air, lake sparkling, woods whispering.

but hamzah is all you can feel. all you can breathe.

he rocks into you once, deep and slow. you moan, head tipping back, baring your throat to the sky. he thrusts again. and again.

each roll of his hips sends more heat into your belly. each grind of his body into yours feels like it took this whole week, all the fighting, all the crying, just to find your way here - and you never want to leave.

hamzah lifts his head, kissing you again, messy and needy. “fuck, m’so stupid,” he pants. “i need you to stay. want - mmh, want you all the time.”

you whimper something into his mouth. something that sounds like yes, always, please.

he’s not moving fast. not hard. just so deep. every inch of him is buried inside you, every thrust making you gasp. your nails scrape down his back as he clutches you tightly, holding your entire body weight securely.

it’s everything, yet simultaneously not enough.

“inside. my bed.” you pant against his ear.

he nods wordlessly, simply lifting you and carrying you back through the door and into the house where everything changed.

hamzah lays you down like you’re something sacred.

the sheets are rumpled. the windows are wide open, sun pouring in soft and golden. outside, the lake glitters quietly. a breeze carries the scent of earth and water into the room.

but none of that affects you.

it’s nothing compared to the weight of him above you, or the look on his face as he presses your back into the mattress.

when he gazes down at you, you can tell what’s persisting in his head - he’s seeing something he doesn’t think he deserves.

“god,” he whispers, voice cracking. “you’re so fucking beautiful.”

he crawls over you slowly, his hands dragging up your thighs, your hips, your waist. and when his cock presses back into you, it’s different. needier, like he’s losing restraint.

you both gasp when he sinks in all the way. his forehead presses into yours. his body’s trembling.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers. you know what he’s implying. “i’m so fucking sorry.”

you cup his face. “i know,” you breathe. “but all of that is over right now.”

still, you don’t tell him it’s okay, because, again - it’s not. you’re not sure if it ever will be, but you’re sure that by now he’s willing to get down on his hands and knees to beg for you, and that’s good enough for the time being.

“no,” he says, thrusting into you again, deeper this time, his voice shrouded with guilt. “should’ve gotten my shit together. should’ve - fuck - should’ve told you. should’ve treated you right, the way you deserved.”

you whimper, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. he’s fucking into you so deep, your whole body feels like it’s buzzing under him.

your hands slide up his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin, and he shudders.

“you’re.. fuck, everything i need,” he mutters against your mouth. “i didn’t know. i didn’t know how bad i needed you.”

you moan into his mouth, hips tilting up to meet his. every thrust rocks the bed gently. the headboard creaks against the wall.

“god, i - i almost lost you. s’never happening again.”

the air between you is sticky with sweat. the sound of your bodies moving together is obscene. hamzah presses his forehead to yours again, his eyes wired shut.

“you feel so good,” he breathes. “so fuckin’ good - m’not gonna last, i can’t - you’re too much, you’re everything-”

you grip his face, pull him back down to kiss him harder. he groans into your mouth, hips falling out of rhythm, cock twitching inside you.

but he slows himself. he forces it for you. you feel every twitch of restraint in his muscles. he presses his face against your shoulder.

“thank you,” he whispers like a prayer. “thank you for not giving up on me.”

you arch up into him. “i would never,” you whisper, half-whimpering.

he groans deep in his chest, thrusting faster, making you cry out. you clutch at his back, dragging your nails down to his waist.

he catches your mouth with his again, kissing you with desperate hunger, like he’s trying to pour everything into you. the apologies, the love, the promises he doesn’t know how to verbalize yet.

you’re close. he can feel it.

he tilts his hips just right, grinding into you, and you lose control - crying out in mindless repetitions of his name. your whole body clenches around him, pulling him deeper like you’re begging him to stay there forever.

when you cum, it’s like your frame has shattered and there’s a million little beams of light slipping through the cracks in your skin. he fucks you through it, hips rolling worshipfully.

and when you finally start coming down from the high, he buries his face in your neck, groaning like he’s ripping at the seams, and cums inside you with a shudder and a moan that wracks his whole body.

long after you both regain a steady flow of breath, he still stays buried in you, hips grinding slow, even as he softens.

he kisses your neck. your jaw. your cheeks. your eyelids. little, desperate kisses. you run your hands through his hair, tugging gently, bringing him back to earth.

he collapses onto you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, and you don’t mind. you just hold him.

both of you breathe in sync, sunlight washing over your tangled, sticky bodies.

for the first time, it doesn’t feel like an ending.

it feels like a beginning.

there’s no goodbye. no slipping quietly out of the room.

hamzah doesn’t let go of you for a long time.

his arms stay wrapped tight around your waist, chest pressed to yours. you feel the damp heat of his forehead against the crook of your neck, the nudge of his nose when he kisses the spot just under your ear.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

the whole room feels thick with the weight of everything that just passed between you, the way it cracked both of you open and stitched you back together at the same time.

the lake’s breeze flutters through the open windows, making the curtains sway.

hamzah finally picks his head up, just enough to look up at you.

his hair’s messy and sticking to his forehead. his cheeks are flushed, lips kiss-bruised, his whole body still damp with sweat. he looks gorgeous.

he smiles. it’s small. crooked. the type of face martin makes at mandy when she’s dressed all fancy for dinner or even just lounging around with their pets. like he’s so fucking gone for you he doesn’t know how to hide it anymore.

“you’re not real,” he says.

you laugh under your breath, brushing your fingers through his curls. “i’m literally right here,” you murmur.

he just smiles wider. shifts closer. presses a soft kiss right over your heartbeat.

“still don’t believe it,” he mumbles against your chest.

you close your eyes, basking in it all.

his hand drifts lazily up and down your side, tracing every curve, committing your body to memory.

you can feel the words piling up in his mouth within the silence. the ones he’s scared to say. the ones he already said with his body.

you don’t push him. he’ll get there.

you just keep stroking his hair, dragging your nails lightly over his scalp. he melts further into you with each movement.

after another long stretch of silence, he speaks up.

“when we get home..” he starts, then trails off.

you hum, urging him to continue. his arm tightens around you. he clears his throat and starts again.

“when we get home, i wanna.. keep this.”

you open your eyes. he’s looking up at you now. all yours.

“i don’t wanna fuck it up again,” he says in a whisper.

you smile, so softly it has his mind reeling, just from how beautiful you look in that very moment.

“you won’t.” you tell him, only because you’re fully confident in that answer.

you’re already tangled together. physically in the sheets, and metaphorically in the mess of everything that came before - and everything that’s still waiting for you when you go back home.

you hold his gaze, and he leans in once more.

he kisses you like he’s the sun.

wild and burning and inevitable.

like he’s spent his whole life rising, just to fall into you.

you’re not just the horizon he sinks beneath.

you’re the gravity that pulls him back each time.

the force that gives him purpose.

without you, there’s no sunup or sundown.

read the final part here

xoxo giulia

taglist: @gulicore @sturniyolo @slushingmynoob @testdrivethv @ecstqzy @slushyboob @ldrvinyl @xoxoange1l @sleep9times @chrissvalentine @str8fromttpd @elysiumb @hamzahsbiggestfan @ilovezah @screamertannie @i-miss-summer24 @willowpeaks @slushedup @harrys0nlyange1 @venus-planetof-love @milkteabish @xarerie @gabwilliams @slushypoopz @isathefantastic @modernbaseball17 @rock678 @hoe4hamzah @anginluv @slushingkoala @simonegrimes @marixoa @brlwla @cupidsbrainrot

[rabotimagines]

"First ILY" GN BOT Reader x Optimus, Jazz, Soundwave, Starscream

Summary: Who says "I love you" first in your relationship?

G1 Characters: Optimus, Jazz, Soundwave, Starscream

Genre/Theme: Romantic

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Notes: N/A

Optimus absolutely says it first. You mean so much to him, and his frame is so full to bursting with affection for you that he can't help himself. It would happen during a quiet moment between you two. Whether, it's when you bring him a cube of energon when he's overworking himself in his office and hasn't refueled yet. Or when you're in his habsuite on his berth laying against one another and softly talking.

The warmth swells in his chassis, and his spark throbs in response. Optimus closes the distance between the two of you and presses his helm gently against your own. His em field promptly tangles together with your own, and he offlines his optics, simply enjoying the encompassing feeling of you. "I love you." Optimus murmurs and enjoys the emotional flux in your field it causes.

If you say it back to him, Optimus chuckles and pulls you closer against his own frame. His em field warming somehow further against your own. If you don't say it back, he simply pulls back to online his optics with a smile that makes his optics crinkle. "Please don't forget that." He's not offended by any means. Optimus had said it for his sake after all.

-

Jazz, surprisingly, will not say it first. Don't get it twisted. Jazz does care about you- he cares about you a lot. He's never been this serious with another mech or femme before in his function. And Jazz is affectionate with you physically and verbally he just won't say... it. So it's completely up to you to break that particular boundary in your relationship.

So when those words come out of you directed at him- Jazz has to stop whatever he was doing to focus completely right on you. Oh- oh. Affection blooms across his chassis, and it's so strong, Jazz can feel his fuel tank bubble a touch over the heat of it. Jazz is closing whatever distance between you two in nano-klicks. Doesn't matter if he's across the room or if there's obstacles. Jazz is right in front of you almost immediately. And he grabs both sides of your face before yanking you into a kiss.

Once he breaks the kiss, Jazz grins, a laugh coming out of him. Before he rests his helm against your own, letting your optics meet his visor. "I love you too" Jazz finally lets himself tell you that. His servos are still cupping the sides of your faceplate, and his digits softly brush along your kibble. After that, Jazz is letting you know he loves you often, and he's not shy about it neither.

-

Soundwave says it first. It'll be one of the days he comes back from a mission utterly exhausted. And instead of his own habsuite, he detours to yours and lets himself in. Which is how he winds up on his back with his helm in your lap. You've got a datapad in one of your servos, and the other is absentmindedly tracing his kibble from his helm to his glass. Soundwave can feel your em field gently pressing against his own frame alongside your wandering digits.

And Soundwave can feel his own spark pulsing in time with when your field reaches out to trace along him. Your expression relaxed and unbothered as you stared at your datapad. And Soundwave realizes then and there that he does love you. "Love you..." He doesn't preamble he simply states it. And your optics widen, and your attention turns down towards him.

If you repeat it back to him, Soundwave can't stop his visor from brightening. Soundwave grunts, and one of his servos finds your own, and he intertwines his digits with your own. Before he holds your cupped servo against his glass. So it's resting right above his pulsing spark. If you don't say it back to him, Soundwaves genuinely worried he'd miscalculated in his tired state. Though, in all honesty, all you need to do is either keep petting his frame and or lean down to kiss him on the temple or mask. And his worry flattens back out just like that.

-

Starscream won't say it first, and there's no chance in pit he will ever say it first. In fact, when you end up saying it first, Starscream freezes and has to take a klick to process it. And something heavy settles under his canopy and directly under his throat. And Starscream feels like he's being choked by the saccharine sensation that's suddenly breached his armor.

And you're staring right at him, waiting for his move. So Starscream does what he always does when he's outmatched and outgunned.

Starscream runs.

It's a cycle and a half before you see him again- well before he shows up again. He didn't even greet you. He simply wrapped his arms around you from behind and pressed his chassis up against your back. And he speaks.

"Say it again." You can try to play dumb or not play along, but Starscream just repeats himself.

"Say it again." You can feel the heat tether in his tone, but he doesn't get louder than before. So you do. You tell him you love him again. Starscream's em field curls over your own frame. The flush of it seeps against the dips of your plating. You can feel Starscream's engines purring softly against your back. And you know it's as close to an apology you'd be getting from him.

[bumblingbabooshka]

I love Milchick...I love how he seems incapable of not lying and manipulating other people (Sending Irving the 'You're gonna get murdered if you keep getting cozy with Burt' painting without informing Cobel beforehand is when he first got on my radar) and how he wants the innies to be treated better but it seems like he only wants that so they'll be more complacent and productive and everyone on every conceivable side (Innies, Outies, Families, Kier himself) hates him for whatever he's doing or not doing and no one respects him and yet he persists even when it's pretty clear that whatever he's doing isn't even effective anymore because I don't think he knows what else to DO. It paints a picture of someone who's dedicated himself to Lumon and who knows how Lumon says it would like him to act and has no backup in case that fails. What is Milchick's personality? Though we see him outside Lumon, we never see him not working. Really the only thing we can say for certain about Milchick is that he is an extremely hardworking, persistent, and (forcefully) patient person. (Forcefully = It's implied he has HAD to be patient with others in order to advance. Think of how comfortable Drummond was with disrespecting and belittling him.) I know some people want him to be a 'Good', Kind, Benevolent Guy who sees the Innies as his friends because of his Kindness Reform thing but I'm wary of that mentality bc I know if he's not a paragon of virtue it's going to lead to a lot of negativity because black characters aren't thought of as being complex and Human in the way white characters (think Cobel, Helena) are. I really do wonder what his life looks like. You could argue that the character he most closely resembles (other than Natalie, who at this point is more tertiary) is Helena - not in her enormous privilege but in her enforced emptiness. Cobel's life was consumed by Lumon-Business work but she also had the Religion-Kier and that horrific slight working to pull her away from it all and keep going when all was said and done. I separate Lumon & Kier because...in my opinion, though they're deeply intertwined, they do seem like two different heads on one beast. Cobel had a Kier shrine, not a Lumon one. Think of how much Cobel mentions Kier as opposed to Milchick. It's of COURSE different but I think of those who leave the church while still believing in God as an example of deeply intertwined yet still different. Both Helena and Milchick are shown to be emptier than other characters. They're alike in their total lack of...displayed personhood, despite Helena's assertion that she IS a person, not Helly. How much of what she says and does is through her own will? Then, Helena sees (through Helly) her body being daring and loved. This is when she splits away from Milchick, she has found Something Else. Milchick has nothing to divide him. There's the racism and disrespect he experiences at Lumon but he's lived under that for maybe his entire life. Does he even believe in Kier? What I'm saying is that there's no other grass he can see. Cobel can dream of burning Lumon down for what they did, Helena can dream of a romance with Mark, Milchick has NOTHING without Lumon as far as we know right now. I've seen some people be of the opinion that "Milchick chose this, if he hasn't pulled away by now then let him suffer" but I don't think that's correct. I don't think it's incomprehensible or indicative of him being Evil. Think of Miss Huang, who in one episode says they shouldn't treat the innies as Human and in the next apologizes to Dylan, near tears. Think of Cobel who treats Mark like a science experiment/stupid child yet also says she cares for him. To me Milchick is a very mysterious character. Friendly and frigid, polite and unsettling. I want to know about him!! I want to see a bit of his true face and I'm sure it'll be ugly in the way many Severance characters are. And also beautiful, in the same way.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

欲情ハネムーン (フランシス・ドレーク)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Rush translation. Not proofread. 18+

We were on a train, headed to a faraway town for our honeymoon.

Since we were scheduled to arrive late at night, we figured we'd just go straight to the hotel.

(Once we get to the hotel, I wonder if we'll end up doing it.)

(Ugh, what am I even thinking?)

Shaking off the indecent thoughts that popped into my head, I glanced toward Drake, who was sitting across from me by the window.

The moment our eyes met, I realized—he'd been watching me.

Drake: "You've been blushing and fidgeting this whole time. Got a lot on your mind, little fawn?"

Mitsuki: "I-It's nothing! Oh—hey, it's a bit early for dinner, but wanna head to the dining car before it gets crowded?"

Drake: "Hm?"

The dining car didn’t have many seats, so if we went during peak hours, we’d not only have to wait, but we’d feel rushed knowing other people were waiting on us.

(Nice save, Mitsuki. That was a solid topic change!)

Drake rested his elbow on the armrest, then nodded.

Drake: "Talking about food is making me hungry. Let's go."

But just as he stood and reached for the door to the next car—

Drake: "Huh? It won't open."

Mitsuki: "What?!"

According to him, the lock might've jammed because of the jolt from the emergency brake earlier.

Mitsuki: "W-What should we do?!"

Drake: "Relax. The conductor will come by soon. We'll just ask him to unlock it."

Mitsuki: "R-Right, that makes sense."

Still a little uneasy, I let out a small sigh of relief.

Then he sat down next to me.

Drake: "Want me to hold your hand, little fawn?"

(He's trying to calm me down.)

Mitsuki: "Thanks. Yes, please."

I moved my hand from my lap toward him, and his large hand gently wrapped around mine.

But he didn't stop there.

Mitsuki: "........."

His fingertips slowly traced the back of my hand and intertwined it with mine.

Drake: "Hey, since we're stuck here, how about we pick up where we left off yesterday?"

(Huh?)

He was talking about our wedding night—the very first one we spent together.

------------Flashback-----------

Drake: "Hey, you feel that? Your hips are moving."

Drake: "You're matching the rhythm of my fingers. You want this so badly, don't you?"

As he pressed his arousal against my thigh through the fabric, I couldn't help but gasp.

Drake: "But… not tonight."

Mitsuki: "H-Huh?"

Drake: "Leaving it like this might make things even more fun later."

---------Flashback Ends--------

His fingers slowly traced over my hand, reigniting the heat from last night. My breath grew heavier with every touch.

Then he guided my hand between my legs.

Drake: "Remember what I did to you right here last night?"

Drake: "Your face was bright red earlier, too. Were you maybe expecting something?"

Mitsuki: "N-No!"

Drake's smile deepened in response to my reaction.

He turned his back to the aisle and repositioned himself to shield me.

Then, he took off my shoes, placed one of my legs on the seat, and traced his fingers over my underwear, peeking out from my lifted skirt.

Mitsuki: "The conductor said he'd be doing his rounds…"

Drake: "Hmm? We can have fun until then. As long as you hold back your voice, no one will notice."

My body, already teased since last night, trembled as he rubbed my most sensitive spot.

Mitsuki: "Ngh..."

Before I knew it, I was overflowing with wetness, and his fingers picked up the pace.

I knew this was wrong—especially in a place like this—but a sharp wave of pleasure surged through me.

Mitsuki: "Hah...nn...ah, hah..."

Drake: "Hey, hey. If you don't keep your voice down a little more, the people in the next car are gonna hear us."

Even as he said that, his fingers never stopped.

Mitsuki: "That's... no... Ahh!"

Just as I reached my peak, he covered my lips, muffling my sweet cry.

My strength gave out, and I slumped against him.

He leaned in close and whispered in my ear.

Drake: "Relax. The train noise will cover most of it."

Drake: "Well, that last one was a close call, so I had to shut you up."

Mitsuki: "You're the worst."

He really was—the way he played with me in a place like this, told sweet little lies just to get a rise out of me, and pushed me until I couldn’t take it anymore.

Drake: "Come on, don't be mad."

Drake: "After teasing you this much, I'll make it up to you at the hotel. I'll hold you until you're about to break."

A shiver ran through me, my core tightening with anticipation as his gaze locked onto mine—intense, ravenous.

It wasn't until after I had been held and ravished repeatedly in the hotel that I found out that the door had never been locked in the first place.

ღ Collection Events

[sirenscradle]

Devil’s catch | K.HJ

[character sheets: pt.i]

pairings: exorcist!hongjoong x psychic!racially and bodily diverse reader (some ot8 x reader but heavily focused on hongjoong, trust that everyone will be intertwined though.)

genres: religious horror, supernatural-fantasy, suggestive (possible eventual smut and more intense displays at intimacy). (18+)

summary: “the order” is a secret organization of exorcists blessed with special abilities dedicated to expelling higher class demons—located in a ancient crypt hidden beneath the vatican. when an exceptionally gifted child is followed by prophetic omens and falls into possession of an unclassified s-class demon—kim hongjoong, considered one of the greatest exorcists of the 21st century, is dispatched under the mysterious order of convincing an enigmatic psychic hiding away in a metropolis to accompany he and his team in what might be their most daunting exorcism yet.

series warnings: strong language, religious allegories, lots of talk about religious trauma (some of it may be sacrilegious in nature, so if you aren’t comfortable with that please keep that in mind before reading!) exorcisms, possession, sacrificial rituals, alluded mentions of ableism (specifically regarding blindness, as one of the main characters discusses his experiences as a blind man/his background and talks about the process of losing his sight in detail), light mentions of alcohol, suggestive content, horror, angst, child possession, intense imagery, hallucinations, light amount of self inflicted wounds, violence, blood, and gore. additional warnings will be provided for each chapter. (story is marked as 18+ due to the descriptive elements of horror and suggestive scenes.) there may be eventual smut— but nothing planned as of right now.

taglist: @cypherluv (let me know if anyone else wants to be tagged!)

this is part two out of five of my character sheets. these are detailed descriptions for each of the exorcists gifts and every post will contain three randomized characters (though, i’m saving hongjoong’s for last ;) ) chapter ii will be posted later today or tomorrow (i’m obsessed with writing this.

masterlist, architecture moodboards, character sheets i, character sheet ii, character sheet iii, character sheet iv, chapter i.

important notice: wanted to note that reader descriptions/ strega are remaining racially ambiguous and there will be little to no anatomical descriptions regarding her body type, skin color, and hair texture/type! since this is a reader insert, i want it to be as inclusive as possible. :) i encourage you to use your imagination!

jung wooyoung: the scalded hand.

name: jung wooyoung

age: 26, born early november

abilities: due to his fluctuating emotional nature, wooyoung’s abilities are still being sharpened into perfection. he was the last to join their clergy and was much older than the rest of his incoming class upon being initiated into the order—wooyoung was already fourteen when he unknowingly became an infernal host, which put him at a disadvantage to the rest of his team who had been trained since the age of four or five. (in which was also when they all unknowingly underwent the ‘ritual of infernal trial’ —after it was successfully completed, the memories of the ritual were wiped by an exorcist who is the bearer of a memory oriented gift.) his gift is nicknamed “hell-fire” due to the fact that his flames are the only ones that have the ability to permanently burn a demon and because of his lack of control over his ability— it can be proved lethal to the object of possession, as it takes too much of a toll on the human soul and can kill them along with the demon they host.

choi san: the pale blue eye.

name: choi san

age: 27, born sometime early summer.

abilities: san bares the most insecurity regarding his ability—giving that he does not have an inherently offense based gift. san gradually lost his sight at an early age but is gifted with the ability to see the world from his third eye, such as heat signatures, energy prints, etc. and later finds that he can track anything with his senses. (i.e if he hears a sound once, he can locate the source of it by tracking its energetic print and frequency) san doesn’t have access to the full extent of his powers as his predecessor hasn’t passed away yet. we are under the impression that he is the successor of the eye, which is a confidential ability passed down to one successor of each new generation of exorcists who act as infernal hosts. the path of succession is not inherited by blood and it’s still unknown how it chooses the bearer of its gift.

park seonghwa: the fragile weapon and bearer of the plights of a right hand man.

name: park seonghwa

age: roughly 29 but does not know his exact date of birth.

often has to clean up after hongjoong’s eccentric decisions and gets caught up with him at the worst times. looks cold and is the embodiment of a living weapon but is quite fragile.

abilities: seonghwa has the ability of a weapon maker and can craft spiritual weapons from his bone mass to form weapons containing his spiritual energy. though he also has the ability of manifesting them into physical forms, it’s a taxing ordeal and he usually ends up sleeping for days on after, as it takes an immense toll on both his body and spirit. with the exception of hongjoong, no one knows the nature of seonghwa’s backstory, as he and hongjoong were the first ones initiated into the order out of the group and it remained that way until yunho joined a year later, and so on so forth. seonghwa’s attitude is widely renown throughout the vatican as “the man with a stick up his ass that can only be pulled out by the greatest exorcist of the twenty first century.” (aka hongjoong) he is unaware that it was actually jongho who started that trend shortly after joining the order. seonghwa is still trying to hunt down the man who started it without knowing it was his own roommate. (hongjoong knows but opts to say nothing about it to protect his peace)

[oliviaxwestons]

Olivia: I honestly completely understand that. If it hadn't been so intertwined into my childhood, I probably wouldn't have ever even bothered. If I'd known then what I know now, I wouldn't have had any interest in the series. Olivia: You make a GREAT point about Rick Riordan, though. I've read almost all of his books growing up, and I read them with Fi while she was growing up too; she loves them. She prefers The Lost Heroes instead of PJO, but still. Olivia: I can say with quite a bit of certainty that my love of Greek mythology greatly outweighs my love for almost anything else. He's such a great writer, and the fact that he's so knowledged in more than just Greek mythology? That just makes him even better. I am 90% sure that I would probably be in Athena's cabin, but my daughter would be in Hermes' for sure lol. Olivia: Damn, I can't say I was never an asshole just to be one, I completely was, but I don't think it wasn't my mission to make people cry lol. Not consciously at least. It was more of a 'if you can't keep up with me, then stop wasting everyone's time and get the fuck off my team' thing. And I was outright cut throat when someone missed practice or a game. I'm sure I made some of them cry, now that I think about it. There was a lot of pressure and anger built up when I was a teen though, thanks to my parents, so looking back I do feel a bit bad for the shit I put other teens through. I was pretty single-minded for quite a while. Olivia: That's what I've been trying to make sure she knows as she grows up. She can come to me about anything, especially if someone's bullying her. Between myself, Brody, Blaine, Del, and a few others, I don't think I have to worry about her taking anyone's shit at least. But I also made sure she knows that violence should be a last resort.

Mack: She's said that she sees any interaction people have with the material as supporting her, whether they're paying for it or not, and at this point in my life, I don't see a need to even offhandedly support someone like that. Mack: And if I'm looking for stories about people overcoming adversity and finding acceptance with others of magical ability, I'm gonna support Rick Riordan. Which has genuine representation of many different kinds of minorities. Mack: I mean, from what I know vaguely about Slytherin, it's about ambition. Mack: I was captain of my school's show choir, a position I took by force my freshman year and made it my mission to make people cry, because if they couldn't take my criticism, how would they survive in a cut throat environment like entertainment? Even though I knew full well I personally would never go that direction myself, I knew many of them did want to go that way. Though I certainly did it for my own amusement than to actually help them. Mack: A fair worry to have, but I think decent parenting and actually teaching her that the people saying and doing those things likely have a lot of shit going on under the surface, should help. On top of the whole, teaching her to not take their shit. Do not harm, take no shit.

[fromtheseventhhell]

The more I think about it, the more I believe that Arya has to have one of the highest chapter counts in TWOW

[flowersforthemachines]

What home smells like (Crossroads comments)

Note: judging by the audio I extracted and the conversation file, Bellara and Taash don't have lines for that event (if they actually have lines and I missed them, pls lmk).

Rook: That scent… I can't place it. Neve: For a moment… it smelled like Dock Town after it rains. Lucanis: Coffee. Like Illario and I smelled in the kitchen where we grew up. But that cannot be right. Harding: That's my ma's apple cake! But… how? Davrin: That's smoke from my old clan's campfire. But… how do I even know that? Emmrich: It's reminiscent of the mortuary's perfumes, but… ah. Of course. Emmrich: There's small enchantments around this place. From the old elves, welcoming their kindred home.

My DAVG Extracted Audio Masterlist

[corrodedparadox]

Do you have any plans to make more tshirts with your artwork? I love it all so much and wish I could wear it

YES actually I plan on doing quite a few shirt preorders within the next few months! I’m currently preoccupied with ordering phone charms n stuff, but after that I’ll be reaching out to my shirt manu to work out some designs

If y’all have any specific designs you’d want as shirts you’re more than welcome to request them, no promises but it does help me gauge interest

[fluffydeoxys]

the urge to talk about OCs unfiltered superseded by various degrees of shame and the overwhelming internal voice of booooo be quiet (throws tomato)

[lieutenantselnia]

How long do you want your title to be? Historical non-fiction: y e s

Last year I actually started making a proper list of films, series etc that I want to watch - something I've been wanting to do for a long time but never did. That probably caused me to forget about things more than once😂

I mainly started it for historical movies at first, because my history phase that I had when I was about 14 or 15 came back big time, and there's been some things I've wanted to watch since then already but still didn't! I knew about Downfall since like 2017 or so but didn't watch the full movie until last year😅 I'm having a lot of fun with it though since I've of course grown and developed through these past few years and have now more knowledge in general, more experience on how to do research and also a more reflective and mature thinking. Of course not all historic/history-inspired media is accurate (and I don't think it has to be for every purpose, like Hogan's Heroes is still incredibly funny even if the timeline doesn't always makes sense or ranks and uniforms don't match up). But I think it can be a great starting point for getting interested in a specific person or event and then delving into more detailed research about it.

I've also added some newer ones though that I didn't know about back then, or that didn't even exist yet. The list is really a great help for organising my brain. I've also started to add in things not related to history though (like Arcane - I still haven't watched season 2 rip - or The Dragon Prince). I wasn't sure if I should make a separate list for them but at least for now I just threw everything together in one. It helps a lot especially for series because I try to always write down which season and episode I'm at (I just didn't include that column in the screenshot) because sometimes I get distracted by something else and don't continue for a while and then forget where I was at😭

This was just a bit of random babbling but like this is kinda what I've been up to. I haven't actually continued on that many things in a while because I was too stressed with university, but I hope to continue soon. Also if you have more recommendations you're welcome to let me know👀 I'm currently mostly interested in the World Wars (there's so much to be learned about both but I think I really want to broaden my knowledge on WWI), the Weimar Republic/interwar period in general (also Austrian interwar history of course but to be honest I don't know if there's actually ANY movies on that), but also pre-WWI Austria-Hungary and the German Empire and like generally the 18th/19th/20th century (other countries too of course, but with these two I have many historical sites basically in front of my door, and as a native speaker a lot of primary sources are also relatively easy accessible to me). There is so much interesting stuff in history as a whole (I love watching historical documentaries about like any time period or country, there's always something fascinating to learn), these are just the ones I'm most focused on at the moment and want to study in a bit more detail!

[nativejedi]

Sooo today is my second year anniversary of being on HRT. That's cool.

[evilmenenjoyer]

there's something to be said about how in the entirety of the show mujin and jiwoo only ever touch when they're being violent (whether in training or actually beating the shit out of each other like in their final fight) and they still have stronger chemistry than every canon ship i can think of combined

[eir-parade]

Station: Nightingale

Nightcord at 25:00 Adjacent Music Circle

A group of online users that uses the app Nightcord to communicate in order to create songs that can hopefully save someone and maybe even themselves

Kanade Yoisaki (K) - Composer. Blames herself for what happened to her dad, and so has cursed herself to create songs that will save people.

Tenma Saki (Nozomi) - Lyricist. Spent her Middle School years in hospital where she found K’s music and started writing lyrics to the songs. She hopes that her lyrics will speak and reach out to people.

Kamishiro Rui (Chrono) - MV Creator. Ostracized due to his eccentrics, Rui started attending night school to avoid his old classmates and spends all his free time creating Music Videos from his heart to try to get his feelings out.

Aoyagi Toya (Yato) - Arrangements. Wanted to escape Classical Music by any means and try to find his own sound and so one night came across K’s music as was mesmerized by it and the feeling it gave him so attempted to chase it by making his own arrangement of the song

SEKAI: Train Station SEKAI

Consists of a train station platform and a steam train with as many carriages as the eye can see.

The station itself seems to be located in the middles of an expansive field and is perpetually dark, only lit up by the stars in the sky and the stations lights.

Each carriage layout is identical to the next and despite how far down they go down the train, if they wish to exit, the door will immediately take them back to the platform.

Luggage and bags seem to dot around the platform and in the carriages.

First Virtual Singers

Hatsune Miku - Train Conductor. Isn’t necessarily very talkative but can be found humming or singing songs quietly. She offers a quiet and calm presence that makes the others feel welcoming. She assures that they are all safe on this train.

MEIKO - Passenger. Can almost always be found sitting on of the the benches on the platform with a bag. Similar to Miku, she offers a welcoming presence and is always willing to listen and give advice to the others, though she tends to act a bit aloof. She assures them that is fine to be themselves here and that there is no rush, the train will still be here for them when they are ready to depart.

Virtual Singers

Order of Appearance (StC)

Kagamine Len - Runaway. Is always caught hiding behind pillars of the station, or slouched deep into a chair in the carriages. He arrived on the train without a ticket and is scared of the ticket inspector (KAITO) finding him, so whenever he sees KAITO, he bolts the other way or quickly hides. He explains that he is on this train because he wants to get away and chase his own dreams which really resonates with Toya and slightly with Rui.

Kagamine Rin - Train Employee. Rin is always bursting with ideas on how to improve the station and the train itself. She is always covered in paint and dirt and is always carrying around tools and paint brushes with her. Some carriages of the train seem to be victims of her creative outbursts. The other virtual singers seem used to her eccentrics but don’t seem bothered by it and in fact actually encourage it.

Megurine Luka - Passenger? Luka isn’t seen very often in the SEKAI and mainly only appears when the group is ready to release a new song. She always warns of rejection and failure, saying “that this song also might not save anyone, or it won’t reach those it needs to reach. Are you prepared for that?” The group is normally hesitant after she says that but push on with their determination because even if this one fails, they’ll learn from it and the next one surely will and if not, one day a song will. Luka tends to specifically pick on Kanade, testing her determination.

KAITO - Ticket Inspector. Seems scary and strict but is actually exceptionally kind and is always ready to bring a bright atmosphere to the station. He jokes with the group and cares for them in a type of father figure way. He tells the group that whilst it’s always important to be kind, it is okay to have your own morals, if something upsets them or rubs them the wrong way, they don’t need to just smile and brush it off, it’s okay to say “I’m not okay with that.” In the same way he handles his job, he understands that some people can’t afford a ticket but he can’t just let anyone on board.

Subject to Change as I go on figuring out this AU more.