#I literally remember every single one of these strangers

[thelov3lybookworm]

Creep

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You'd think the Spymaster lost his child with the way his room looks. Turns out it was just the ridiculous dagger Y/n came to return.

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Word Count: 2025 (i am actually cackling rn)

Warnings: kinda fluffy, the tiniest sprinkle of angst if you squint, maybe a lore drop soon omg??? but otherwise nothing serious <3

A/n: the third part in my maid!reader oneshot list YAYYY 🥳🥳🥳 i actually love this part so much omg, like the amount of details i put?? WHO IS SHE I LIKE HERRR🥹 i literally am in love omg and i hope yall like it too🥹

also yn is so funny lmaoo i love her 🥹😭

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

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Moonlight spilled in through the open spaces between the pillars like liquid silver, the sight ethereal as Y/n quietly made her way through the hallways, down, down into the servants quarters.

The hallways were deserted, not a single soul in sight, and involuntarily, she began humming. The sound echoed back to Y/n, lighter and lighter, merging in the cacophony of a haunting song that would have, any other day, creeped Y/n out. Chilled fingers raked their fingers down her spine, and she quickened her steps, wondering if someone was watching.

Wouldn’t be the first time, as some people did have an affinity for watching unassuming females.

Even as she finally turned into the hallway on the end of which was the stairway leading down towards her quarters, she considered sprinting, in case there was a spirit about to nab her. But before she could make good on that thought, a fae emerged from the stairway, and Y/n’s voice died down, the only sound now the echoes of the song.

Just as the last note reverberated against her skin, Olga paused in front of Y/n, offering her a stern look. Under the moonlight, her skin, as dark as night, shimmered like a million diamonds were embedded in her pores.

"This morning, when you went to clean the spymaster’s room. Did you take anything?"

Y/n’s brows furrowed. No greetings? "No, not as far as I remember."

"Remember now?" The head maid scoffed, shifting to reveal her hands from in between her robes. In them, she held a knife. It was bejewelled, a little too much to be a knife used for eating, in Y/n’s humble opinion.

Yet, she did recall seeing the knife, and putting it in the basket holding the dirty dishes.

"Oh… is that-"

"The spymaster’s personal dagger, yes."

Y/n peered up at Olga, drawing her lip between her teeth. Already, a flush of embarrassment was climbing up her neck, and the lump beginning to form in her throat under the glare that could bruise even a forest’s ego did nothing to help.

"Forgive me, I assumed it was a knife."

Olga’s white brows wrinkled. She had always been one of the more beautiful fae Y/n had ever encountered, albeit very short tempered. That didn’t stop Y/n from complimenting the older female every chance she got.

"How do you confuse a dagger with a knife? And even if you did, what fool would use this-" she lifted the dagger higher between the two, "-this thing to cut their steak?"

Y/n paused, her eyes wide. "...the fool who would put jewels on a dagger meant for combat?"

And- there. Barely visible, but a faint uptick in the corner of Olga’s mouth.

"You young kids will make me age quicker. Mother help me."

"But you will be a very beautiful old female, no? I’m sure the males would still line up!" Y/n giggled lightly, her eyes fixated on Olga’s face to catch every single change in her expression. The crinkling of the skin around her eyes brought Y/n immense joy. It made her feel like she was in the presence of her mother, making her laugh instead of this complete stranger who’d taken up the role of becoming a maternal figure after…

After.

"Go, give this back to him." Olga mumbled, offering her the hilt.

Y/n pouted, widening her eyes in hopes it would placate the female in front of her. Alas, there was barely anything that would distract Olga from work.

"Y/n, you made a mistake. Fix it." Despite the stern tone of voice, Olga’s grip was gentle as she grabbed Y/n’s hand, placing the dagger in the center of her palm.

"But I’m tired."

But Olga had already turned away, walking back towards the stairway she had come from like she had suddenly lost all hearing.

"At least will you oil my hair?!" Y/n called out, wishing she wouldn’t say no.

Olga paused, but didn’t turn. After a small moment, her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug, and then she went on, without a word. Y/n huffed, looking down at the dagger that flashed back at her when she turned it just the right amount.

It’s your fault, you fuc- no cursing. Mama doesn’t like cursing.

Y/n sighed, then turned back the way she had come, preparing herself for the trek upstairs, her eyes fixated, once again, on the moonlight. Wading through it like water, Y/n paused just before she could take a step into the stairway.

She glanced out- over the moon drenched mountains, the glittering snow, the sparkling stars against the blanket of night- then around. Not even a dust particle in sight to witness her lone mission of returning the dagger.

It wouldn’t be too bad to let the glamour drop…

After a split moment of hesitation, Y/n turned on her heel, heading towards the marble banister under the open sky -making her way through tiny patches of grass on the smaller sitting area- protecting the fae from dropping into the open maw of the smaller mountains beneath. After another quick look around, she let her wings sprout from her back, catching a drift and letting it carry her.

As she beat the appendages, going higher and higher, feeling the wind tickle the dark, iridescent blue wings, she felt the tension release in her body. It had been so long since she had felt the breeze toying with the curved edges that curled in on themselves at the bottom. So long since she had even let the glamour hiding the wings from sight drop.

The wings unfurled after each stroke, and Y/n herself wanted to turn her head, to watch, enraptured, at the beauty of it all. She had always adored her wings, even on her darkest of days. The feeling of having the wind in your hair, the breeze playing with your clothes, the ability to feel things only a few others could enjoy had always fascinated Y/n, equally so as the whole experience of being airborne.

It gave her a high nothing else did, and so when she felt solid ground under her feet again, it was almost disappointing, considering she hadn’t even realised how quick the flight would be.

It almost made her want to beg the mother to give her a chance to fly for longer, but Y/n had long ago realised to be very, very mindful of what she asked for. She had quite an experience in the consequences of mindless prayers.

Once, she had asked for something. She had gotten it, but at the cost of losing her.

The hallway was deserted, just as it had been hours ago when Y/n had been preparing herself to face some elite fae. It was her luck that it turned out to be Azriel, and despite it being his own doing, Y/n didn’t hold the fact that it made her uncomfortable against him.

Quickly, Y/n walked over to the same door she had stared at before the same morning, and lifted her hand, landing three quick raps against the wood.

At first, the shuffling that seeped through the door stopped completely, the almost frantic shuffle of feet on the other side of the door giving way to silence so thick it was almost suffocating. And then the scuff of boots that got louder as the fae inside approached the door.

Y/n found herself staring into hazel eyes the moment the door cracked open, and she shifted, clearing her throat when he refused to say a word. He blinked, as if waking from a trance, and opened the barrier separating them wider, offering her a smile.

"Good evening."

Y/n glanced down at her hands, trying hard to ignore all the exposed amount of skin and muscle that were right in front of her. Azriel seemed to realise it too, hurriedly wrapping his bare arms across his shirtless torso, swallowing. "Good evening. Forgive me, I didn’t expect to see you here at this time."

She shook her head, meeting his gaze again, feeling blood climb up her neck at having all his attention on her. The previous times the two had been alone, Y/n had something else to focus on, something to latch onto to ignore the almost intimidating but also exhilarating feeling of being in the same space as the spymaster.

Now all that distracted her were her hands that clenched around a ridiculously jewelled dagger.

"It’s okay, I didn’t expect to be here either."

Azriel cocked his head, his eyes surveying her from head to toe and back. "What brings you here, then?"

Y/n’s eyes flicked behind him for a moment, taking in the state of the room. Saying it was messy would be an understatement. The bed was bare, covers thrown haphazardly to the ground, chairs and tables strewn about the room in a formation completely at odds with the way they had been just that morning, so neatly placed, with relatively clinical precision.

Her brows furrowed.

"Is everything okay?"

He glanced behind him, scratching the back of his neck. "I was just searching for something." He turned back around, a sheepish grin on his face. "My dagger. I accidentally left it in here this morning, and when I came back to retrieve it later, it was gone."

Y/n’s cheeks coloured as she pulled her hands in front of her body, splaying them wide to show him the weapon. "Was it this one?"

Surprise flickered in his eyes along with relief as he reached out to grab it from her grip. "Where did you find this?"

Y/n focused on his hands, unwilling to meet his eyes.

His ungloved hands.

The horror, the shock and surprising sorrow that took hold of Y/n like a hungry beast pushed the breath out of her lungs, but Y/n forced herself to recover quickly, instead deciding that looking into his eyes was better than unwittingly asking him questions he might not want to answer.

"I- uh- I unintentionally took it with me when I came in to clean this morning, thinking it was cutlery."

Bewilderment took over his expression, yet he said nothing that would have embarrassed her further. "Thank you for bringing it back. It is very precious to me."

Y/n nodded, her fingers twisting around themselves as silence settled once more. There wasn’t anything she wanted to say. And he seemed too busy fawning over his dagger to break the silence.

And anyways, she just wanted to leave and go back to sleep.

"Well, good night. I’ll get going."

She had only taken a few steps down the hallway when- "Are you going to come back?" he blurted out, making her freeze in her tracks.

"I’m not sure… Why do you ask?"

"So I can talk to the head maid, of course."

Her brows furrowed. She turned to look at him, on the other side of the threshold. "And what would be the purpose of it?"

He sighed, looking down at his boots. "Look, I… I think you’re very nice, and I would love to have you as a friend. If you want, that is."

She cocked her head. "You could’ve just said that without going to such lengths to get me in your room."

He shrugged. "I didn’t want to seem like a creep."

Her brows rose, incredulity dripping from her voice. "And yet, you’ve accomplished that goal very well."

A corner of his lips ticked up. "Forgive me?"

If Y/n were not a lowly maid, and were he not one of the High Lord’s closest warriors, Y/n would have clocked him over the head with a pan.

"Good night, Azriel."

Y/n turned, then walked away quickly, ignoring the quiet, amused smile on his face as he stepped deeper into his room and closed the door, just as she ignored the pang of confusing longing in her chest.

Just as she ignored the spark against her ribs.

Maybe I’ve got acidity.

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[endearng]

Loner to lover

Pairing: young!Spencer Reid x professor!reader Summary: Running away from your problems is said to be irresponsible, but it just might lead you to where you need to be; to whom you must be with and, utterly, to the one you're supposed to be. WC: 10.1k Warnings: jealous spencer (a warning of its own) unspecified age gap; infidelity; smut in the form of soft and vulnerable sex between two virgins - (p in v), creamp*e (sorry), softdom!spencer, dacryphilia if you squint. Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: I had to use the frightening 'L/N'. Sorry sorry sorry. Also I just know Spencer is a little shit when encouraged so... he's a bit insistent here............ anyways I love this do much and I hope you enjoy reading it as well. | Masterlist

Spencer remembers the time when you first met. The reason, happenstance and the enormous range of mixed feelings that it brought him.

Early twenties. Collecting BAs for fun. Dr. Spencer Reid thought of a social life second, third, fourth... whatever position behind his education. His responsibility and intelligence were mere details compared to his application to his studies, which was a trait that made him singular to every single one of the professors whose classes he chose to take. Quick and smart remarks, useful contributions, thought-provoking ideas, you name it; there wasn't a single good student expectation that Spencer couldn't meet. In the academic world, the young man was highly recommended and wanted by any and every superior who wanted a good insight on their research, and that was saying a lot — society's greatest minds would compete for that brilliant brain in hopes to have his attention and participation on their projects. Spencer Reid, to his colleagues, was a walking experiment: that guy was able to keep up with his classes, the research programs he was invited to be a part of (they were jealous of this particular information, because they had to almost literally fight their way into a internship) and, on his free time, he had the nerve to feed his curiosity and come up with even more ideas of his own.

A brilliant, lonely heart amidst a crowded sea of people who were mainly too focused on themselves to notice him, unless it was to compare themselves to the absolute success he was among the academic world.

Given his mild demeanor, it is no surprise that his professors would trust him anything and that he easily won their hearts over — he remembers attending dinners at their places when they were particularly close to him; Spencer was not a stranger to a safe proximity to his mentors, after all, they were his only friends. So, it was with a dreadful surprise that he received the news that his favorite professor and advisor, Dr. Brown, would retire. Immediately, Spencer thought, with a frown on his face, that nobody could replace him. Plus, it would be disencouraging to go to those classes with someone he didn’t even know. The news had dampened his mood, to say the least, and he was ready to protest.

"Don't worry, Reid," said Dr. Brown, kind eyes wrinkling in the corners as he smiled, sitting on his chair behind his huge desk, "Dr. L/N is a great person, in more ways than one. I'm sure you will be thrilled to work with her."

"I'm not sure. It takes me some time to get used to certain situations."

"I know, but I'm sure you've had to adapt to some unexpected events at some point," retorted the older man, psychologist mode in full swing, "This is no different. And, if I must say, not entirely unexpected. There's only so far a man can go without losing his mind.”

"I suppose so," Spencer muttered, feeling a bit selfish — it wasn't fair of him to put his thoughts before the older man's needs.

Dr. Brown looked at his pupil, who avoided eye contact for most of the time. The professor had taken an almost paternal liking to Spencer as they grew closer after the younger man stood behind in the classroom wanting to ask different and plenty of questions about the spectacle he had just watched, his first one. It was rare, for Mr. Brown, to have and hold a student's attention so uniquely, and it was as rare for Spencer to have someone explain things and welcome his curiosity so openly. Science had bonded them together — being men of science, they knew better than to argue with its effects.

"I was thinking, Spencer. If you're not so busy, you could keep leading the experiments in our lab, helping out our new professor." At that, Spencer's expression turned a bit sour, to which Mr. Brown chuckled, "Trust me, you'll have nothing to worry about. In fact, I think you two are greatly alike."

Spencer let nothing out but a hum of agreement, perking up slightly at that remark. He wanted to ask what the older man meant, but stopped himself, asking instead, "When does she get here?"

"I believe she is settling in her studio as we speak. You'll meet her tomorrow. I wish I could introduce the two of you, but, unfortunately, I leave at 3 a.m."

Exchanging goodbyes and wishes of a safe flight, Spencer left for his dorm, where he busied himself with the papers of the guest professor. Of course, he would not betray his ritual of researching the guest professor to know about their academic background, as well as their field of research, stylistics and projects to check if something would raise his spirits. It didn't matter that he wasn't pleased with the replacement.

Dr. L/N. You were, apparently, a great researcher for the Psycholinguistics area—a branch that made you known in fields such as Education, Criminology, Psychology, Linguistics, Communication... The list was endless. If he was honest, he felt a little baffled—and embarrassed—that he hadn't done any research on your contributions thus far. A mind like yours should get a recognition beyond any borders. Once he got a glimpse of your brain and what it could do, he was gone. Your resume was impeccable: you had studied in different institutions in countries, proficiency in multiple languages, uncountable papers and mentions of your name in studies in all the areas above.

He doesn't remember falling asleep or turning off his laptop. However, he remembers that, in dreams, he finds someone, but, strangely, he can't make up a face.

(...)

Walking through a bustling crowd of people always made you winded, the noise and the inevitable bumping too overwhelming for you to handle on top of being somewhere new. So, you preferred to sit and wait in a small, more secluded hall in the building that Dr. Brown said you would find his lab. After the morning rush, the corridors were filled by distant echoes of louder professors or students, which made you calmer; to think you weren't completely alone. Traveling to help out a friend was a much welcomed distraction from what you had left at home, something you weren't quite ready to access just yet. You could remember your shrink's voice as she said that, at times, it was useless to think so ahead of the future.

Unbeknownst to her, you agreed wholeheartedly. It was useless. The moment you could have done something for yourself was already lost, long gone, buried by endless hours of work and occupations to keep you from breaking a dam of lonely despair.

Speaking of the past, you slid your golden ring off your wedding finger, letting it fall inside your coat pocket as you made your way through the halls. Upon seeing a door with Dr. Brown's lab small logo on it, you cracked a small smile, remembering the story behind it: you and a bunch of other students trying to come up with a nice, thoughtful gift to encourage the guest professor's new interests. When you opened the door, you found a tall, thin man sitting by the computer desk, apparently engrossed until he heard the click of the lock, finding your eyes with equal parts startle and wonder, lips parted gently, surprise etched all over his pretty face.

The young man had innocent, almost bambi-like eyes. It was the first thing you had noticed about him. Staring at you, hazel eyes so expressive that you were sure he could speak through his glance alone.

After the initial surprise, you thought you knew who he was, having heard all about Dr. Brown’s new favorite student and mentee. Spencer Reid, who seemed to study for leisure, deeply intelligent and reliable. No wonder he was in the lab, settling everything so that he would be helpful. It was a faithfully vivid image, much like the one that had settled into your brain when your colleague had described who he was working with.

"Dr. L/N."

"Dr. Reid."

Your unison voices mingled in the air. You walked up to where he was, holding out a hand for him to shake. Dazedly, he stood up, taking your hands in his, which made you smile at him, appreciating his politeness. Spencer, on the other hand, felt frozen.

Whatever it was that he, at some point, imagined you would look like, it was nothing compared to the real thing. All your features seemed to be mathematically, precisely calculated to form one of the most beautiful and soft complexions he had ever laid his eyes upon. You spoke again, no longer blocked by his own voice, so gently that it was almost as if he was being physically touched by your voice. Your accent was not strong, but it was perceptible, something that he attributed to your multilingual abilities. "Sorry to barge in like that. It's nice to meet you. Dr. Brown told me a lot about you," you revealed, still smiling.

"It's okay. Nice to meet you too.” Tongue-tied. He felt illiterate, close to a woman who he was not supposed to have certain types of thoughts around. You breathed out a huff of amusement at his widened eyes.

There was a bit of an awkward silence when you both noticed that none of you had let go of the other's hand yet. With a clear of your throat and his fugitive glance, you both composed yourselves, retreating from your touch. "He said," you started with a chuckle, "and I quote, that you are now his eyes, ears, hands and brain in here. So, beforehand, I want to say that I truly appreciate your support and help." You said, politely, to which he smiled nervously with a shaky nod.

"It's no problem, really. Dr. Brown is one of the greatest here and it'd be naive of me to not accept his request."

You grinned, agreeing. "Yeah, he is a great man. Well, I believe you are more familiar with all the devices than I am." You said, motioning to the set-up behind him. "I do have these back at my university, but yours is a bit different from what I can see. I suppose they work the same way, but, to be honest, I don’t want to mess anything up."

Spencer blinked, scientist mode on full swing. "Yeah, yeah." He nodded, looking at her again. "You don't have to worry, I was just checking the last details before starting the experiments. Everything is already settled, but I can talk you through it if you want to conduct the experiment by yourself at some point.” He trailed. Curiously, he added, “If I may ask, what made you interested in this research?"

Your heart's happiness bursted into sparkles in your eyes as you smiled, glad that he asked you about it. You talked him through it, giving him specific details as he sat and listened like you were the most brilliant brain in the entire world. As you talked, he remembers feeling his lips twitching up in a small smile. Once you were done, encouraged by your honesty and heartfelt explanation, he revealed with a faint dust of pink on his cheeks, "I know. I, um, I searched and read some of your papers last night.”

"Really?" You asked, cordial.

"I try my best to get to know my professors' fields before meeting them. It's a way I found to keep my brain entertained and to get ready for what's coming next." He admitted softly, mentally patting himself on the back for not stuttering.

"That is a good approach. I must say I wish I had that kind of mindset when I was your age."

"It’s okay. You've been doing a great job."

Silence. Understanding from both parts.

"But... to answer your question, I have been really interested in working with language lately, more than usual, at least." You chuckled softly. Spencer couldn't stop his own grin at your enthusiasm, eager to hear your voice.

You agreed once he offered to show you how their device worked, sitting on the chair in front of it. Spencer motioned for you to go ahead and place your chin on the small stand. He took notice of your hands when you placed them on the desk, bitten nails and small, red spots on their edges. It concerned him, but he brushed it off, thinking it could have been a simple nervous habit, knowing he had no business asking or worrying about you. You were his professor, after all. "Whenever I lead this experiment with my students, they always tell me they feel like they are at the ophthalmologist."

Spencer chuckled. "Yeah. It does feel like it. You can't even move an inch."

You followed the instructions on the computer screen so that the device would follow your eye movements. It worked quickly, which made you pleasantly surprised and it was hard to hide it from your tone, "This is faster than any other I have tried before."

"Welcome to our university."

As you worked on the experiment, answering to the commands on the scream silently, the device following your orbs, Spencer took his time to study your features. Your hair was neatly up in a ponytail, dainty earrings adorning your ears that matched your gentle features. All your sharpness, if you had any, was in your eyes. An intense gaze that made him falter a bit, as if his brain had the need to stop for a second to store the sight of your gaze on him to remember it for good. Your movements were calm and collected, and, ironically, you looked rather young to be a doctor.

Once you had finished, you didn't pull away immediately from the device. The computer could no longer pinpoint where your eyes were, because then they were directed at Spencer instead glancing at him as if studying him, taking him in to remember his features like a quote that you knew by heart. As he turned to look at you, he started explaining how to save a volunteer's progress and, honestly, you were only half listening, focusing on his mild mannerisms, voice and use of language. You nodded here and there, absentmindedly storing that information. You two departed after exchanging some more information, mostly him guiding you through the campus, talking about each department and what was the fastest and best way to get to the building you were staying at.

Spencer remembers going home with renewed interest. He couldn't help but think about the way you portrayed yourself, the way you talked and moved, almost as if you were an ethereal being that was placed on Earth by an unfortunate mistake. Even though he had been unable to come up with a face for you last night as he read your thoughts, you had been an enchanting surprise. Unable to stop the thought, he gave it some indulgent room: you would, somehow, be a distraction. And he was crazy to get to know in which way.

A couple days went by without Spencer seeing you. You were quite busy yourself with the lectures you were planning and teaching. That morning, though, he had found you teaching Dr. Brown's previous class. It was surprising, and mildly irritating, to see that the class was the most crowded it had ever been. Taking a good look around and listening to a few comments that bothered him to no end, he found out the reason. Some of them wanted to simply see you. The thought was like being bathed in scorching water. He chose to sit in the front, because he thought, petulant, that you would know and remember his face and his face alone. As you entered the classroom and greeted the students with a warm good morning, you were pleasantly surprised to see Dr. Reid in the front row.

After neatly arranging your belongings on the desk, you started your class on the dot. “Hello, everyone. I am professor L/N and I am here to take over Dr. Brown's class.” You started, voice precisely clear. “Now, I understand that some of your colleagues might be running late for some reason. I don't mind if you are late at some point, but try not to make it a habit because it might disrupt our class. I do tend to start my lectures on the dot in respect to those who managed to get here on time. Today, we will talk about…”

You spoke gently, but you had your boundaries set and clear, which made Spencer squirm a bit. Seeing you so sure of yourself, so assertive, made something stir deep within him. Besides, the dumbstruck look of the many students gave him enough clue that he was not the only one feeling a little affected by you and your ways. As you went on and on about the topic, you gestured with your pretty hands, making smart remarks and cracking some light jokes that made everyone a lot less nervous around you. The new, pretty professor.

The topic, behavior, sounded redundant, at that point, because he had studied that subject over and over again, tiringly, exhaustingly, but there was just something about the way you spoke, about your mannerisms that he couldn't look away. You had a way with words, and he was fascinated by how you managed to make some more complex subjects so understandable to students, even if you sometimes drifted deeper into a certain concept, only to go back to them later. He couldn't even speak. The class was relieved while he was troubled.

“Huh, that's odd. Half of you are not in the roll.” You commented, turning the lights back on. “Is this correct?” You muttered to yourself, afraid that maybe you had the data of another class instead.

A girl suddenly spoke up, “Many of us are auditing.”

“Oh?” You wondered. “How many of you?”

Quickly calculating, Spencer bitterly noticed that about 70% percent of the class raised their hands. He wanted to think that it had to do with the fact that these people weren't around for Professor Brown. You smiled, warmly. It was a punch to the gut. “Well, I hope you enjoyed the lecture.

It was when the students slowly exited the class that he was able to reach you, gathering your papers and looking content. Sharply gentle eyes, impeccable posture and pristine clothes found his gaze and he found that he didn't want to look at anything else. He didn't seem to be ready to have that small heart attack every morning. He felt equal parts of embarrassment and a flutter on his belly. He approached you calmly, and as you greeted him, there was a warm look on your face. "Hi. Good morning, Dr. Reid.”

“You did a great job,” he blurted out, voice a bit strained. You only pretended you didn't notice. “Good morning.” He remembered to greet you back. Nice.

Your voice was low as you muttered a soft "thank you."

"Of course." He said, fiddling with the strap of his bag.

"I never asked... What is your field?” You inquired, curiously, grabbing your bag and walking side by side with him, exiting the room.

Spencer had that answer nearly tattooed on his brain. “I have PhDs in Chemistry, Engineering and Mathematics,” he started, nonchalantly, as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I also have a BA in Sociology and Philosophy. This is my third one, Psychology.”

“How old are you?” You blurted out, baffled.

“23. I, uh, I graduated from school at the age of 12.”

You stood there, speechless. Of course you knew that that was possible in some countries, but the casualness in his tone got to you more than his exceptional educational background. “That is… unreal.” You whispered. “You are so young and… and… You are still absorbed with learning.”

He chuckled, shrugging, delighted by your compliment. “Yeah, I guess… Not many people would make the same choices as I would.”

Your entire body froze, including your hidden hand, because his words had hit a particular spot within you. You gave him a nod, agreeing. “Well, it is still impressive.”

“I appreciate it.” He said, looking down and missing the slight dejection on your face. Nevertheless, his heart fluttered at the praise coming from you.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, you started again, “If I may ask, why did you switch from STEM to Humanities?” You asked, now mildly amused as he looked at you, taking the stairs with him to the office. Occasionally, your shoulders brushed.

“Curiosity.”

“Is that all?” You asked, puzzled.

“I was always surrounded with a wide access to books and overall knowledge. My mother was a Literature teacher.” He explained, a small smile gracing his face.

“That must have been nice. You must know a lot about the classics. They are my favorite kind of Literature.”

“They were good distractions, I guess… I wasn't, uh, the most popular kid growing up.” He trailed off.

“Me neither,” you said.

Spencer noticed that you walked with a hand on your pocket, but couldn't say anything about it, too much more focused on the way he seemed to be bathed in a newfound confidence around you. As you reached the office, he quickly placed his belongings on the leather couch by the door. With a low whine of disappointment, which caught your eye, he announced, “If you'll excuse me, I have to get a few books from the library.”

It was better than saying, hey, I was too distracted by you that I forgot that I also have responsibilities.

“Oh, sure. Go ahead. I'll be here.”

“Thanks.”

The door closed with a soft click, and you found yourself all alone again. Taking a look around, you busied yourself by analyzing your surroundings. There was a wall covered by huge, tall, dark shelves, cramped with books. The piece of furniture reached the roof with all sorts of technical literature. A small glass cabinet on the opposite wall showcased trinkets from all over the world, kids drawings and family pictures. A leather couch, cushions and an equally dark wooden desk adorned the room as well. A white light brightened the room, illuminating his titles, and a yellowish one lightened a painting on the wall, made by Dr. Brown's daughter, of the beach they visited frequently. It made you irrationally jealous. The reminder that other people had constant remnants of love was a stab to your chest, and you looked away from the bitter/sweet reminders.

Suddenly, your eyes got a glimpse of Spencer's belongings: technical books, a satchel bag, his coat and a small notebook. You wondered what he would write about in there, whether it was some sort of planner or he just thought out loud on those pages. You fought the urge to touch his stuff, deciding to sit on the couch after shrugging off your coat and laying it close to Spencer's things.

Still plagued by an annoying flicker of envy, you picked your ring, analyzing it with fierce focus between your fingers. The material, white gold, was supposed to adorn your hand for the rest of your life. The only personal thing about it was that it had been custom-made, by demand, just for you. A wedding band was supposed to hold, to be a souvenir of the deepest commitment of love. But as fate would have it, it had been nothing but an object. It held no meaning, since you and your husband easily slid it off when it was convenient.

There was a small date carved on the inside part of the ring. Neither you or Oliver wanted any stronger reminders of each other. To you, he was merely tolerable, and you struggled to feel anything but sorry for him. Despite the fact that you were helplessly coerced into marriage, you despised him for never having the guts of chasing a life, instead busying himself with living the fleeting pleasures that his parents' money provided him, spending his endless vacations overseas, sleeping around. A typical bohemian. A bon-vivant. The fact made you bitter. How does one possess every kind of mean and doesn't care to improve themselves as a person?

Inevitably, you were pulled into a strong stream of memories.

The sun filtered through the curtains, illuminating the dining room that held uncountable and expensive decorations. What caught your eye, though, is a much too long and large table with endless chairs. You remember thinking it was over the top, since neither you or Oliver would plan to have guests over. Swallowing your remarks, you smiled to your father and exchanged a look with your sister-in-law, not bothering to look at Oliver and therefore missing his awestruck look. It was the first time you were visiting the big house with its endless rooms, windows and useless areas. You ignored the subtle meaning of it: you were supposed to carry on your families’ names. The mason had been your parents’ gift, so you decided to stay quiet about it, not commenting on the tacky, outrageous muchness of things. You had learned the hard way not to fight back when it came to their decisions.

From a very young age, you were special. A charming, intelligent, quick-witted child who busied herself with studies and books who had a series of leisure time activities to go through during her free time. Hence, you grew up exceptional. You were always the center of attention somehow; being the first grandkid from both sides of your family granted you a few privileges, you held their entire focus, entertaining them with your particular and curious behavior during their gatherings. Whenever they showed up, your parents would remember some new ability for them to show you off. Playing the piano, chess, languages… You were always in the top of the class, in the best schools, surrounded by kids your age that belonged to the best families.

It was with a deep, heartbreaking sadness that you realized that you had their attention for your potential and everything you could add to their name. Nobody ever played with the first child.

Beautiful, graceful, wistful, clueless little you.

Your family’s connections and endless activities for you had been how you met Oliver in the first place. A smart, easy on the eyes boy who became a smooth talker as he grew older. You were friends from a very young age, but nothing more. You were always too caught up on working on yourself and your abilities in order to charm everyone that romance was something you couldn't even begin to fathom — it was nothing but a strange and distant feeling. You kept things platonic between you and him, spending time, mostly listening. Oliver would tell you all about his interests, and when the age came, he would tell you, rather technically, how his endeavors with other girls went.

You never thought of Oliver as more than a friend. In fact, his manners grew to annoy you, like a small barb in your shoe, if you were totally honest — not that you would dare to. You simply endured his existence, saving your reviles for yourself, because, growing up, you never knew what it was to freely express yourself. How lacking it was to grow up not knowing what it was to speak your mind freely without a strong reprimand of some sort.

Such painful dawnings had only taken place at the age of 20, when your parents and Oliver's had agreed to marry the both of you. Unable to fight back, you simply watched it happen. It was so damaging and traumatic that you could barely remember the times you had spent together, everything was just a big knot of confusing memories to which you felt more like an spectator than an actor. Over the course of the years, Oliver and you would make public appearances, but you had told him, on the first night after your marriage, that he was free to do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn't ruin your image. No. Not the one you had dedicated your entire life building.

Throughout the entire thing, your sister-in-law had been your anchor. A distant one, that sits in the bottom of the sea, as you navigated through your own life. Being too close to you was a sad reminder of your situation and she was aware of that. She had her friends and connections, unknowingly, check on you, though. She was all in for pretending her sad excuse of a brother didn't exist. Theresa and Oliver were polar opposites: a hard-working woman and a sluggish man.

Eventually, as you both moved through the world, engrossed in your true passions, Oliver had truly found someone. Someone you didn't bother learning the name of. Someone, you preferred to think, that didn't know about you and that if she did, she truly didn't care. The feeling was mutual. You, on the other hand, delved deeper into your studies, busying yourself to the fullest. It was nice, in a way, because that way, you were shielding yourself from the world and your inevitable, eternal struggle of a loveless life in the only way you knew how: through being someone.

It was far from a solution, but that's where it ended. It had been years since the last time you heard your name coming from someone else's lips. You didn't dream of it happening anytime soon. You didn't let it happen, anyway. Every advance was cut before it turned into expectations.

A small gasp erupting between your lips broke you out of your reverie when you heard the lock being harshly handled, which made you bolt straight to the door, dropping the ring on the floor. Opening it, you saw Spencer struggling to balance a huge pile of books and a tray with two cups of coffee. He thanked you softly when you offered to help him, your skin touching his briefly, jolts of something unknown coursing through both of your bodies. Pulling away, you placed the books on the desk, searching his eyes as he blushed like crazy.

“I got you coffee… I don't know how you take it, so I got it black with two sugars. There are many options these days, which can make choosing one a challenging decision, since there are undeniable and endless possibilities of you being allergic to some of the ingredients. Of course, there are also chances of cross-contamination. Now that I think about it, I should have probably gotten you tea. Oh, my God. Do you even drink coffee?” He finished, almost panting.

You stifled out a laugh. His ways were endearing. “It's okay, Dr. Reid. I'll drink it. I'm not allergic nor prefer tea over coffee. Okay?”

“Okay.” He said, puppy eyes finding yours again.

“Thank you, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” He said, smiling softly.

It quickly turned into your go-to order.

—

Students came and went, and you made conversation with them, which made you all the more endearing for Spencer. You asked about their day, how they ended up there, and you looked genuinely interested in their answers. It could be a stretch, but Spencer felt that, much like himself, you wanted to make connections — but not the professional kind. You wanted to belong somewhere, from the way your eyes held an intimate and unwavering hint of sadness when you heard their answers, but none of them had the nerve to ask you back. It was expected, though, because no one would think of a professor as a friend. The entire time, you were being addressed as such or as Dr.. You couldn't blame them. That was who you were, too lost in that character to remember who you actually were. If you had been someone, that is.

As Spencer sat behind the computer, ready to access today's tests, you chatted with a freshman student. Glancing at the clock, the girl with excited mannerisms almost shrieked, “Oh, my God! Is it that late already?! I have to go to my piano class.”

“Sorry to hear that,” you said, sounding a bit deflated. “It was nice to meet you, Dana. I'm really happy you've helped us.”

“Anytime, professor! Bye!” She said, walking through the door and closing it behind her.

You turned to Spencer, a hint of longing in your expression. “Are you leaving as well?”

“Not yet. I want to go over our results for the day.”

“Oh!” You exclaimed, approaching him to lean by his side on the desk, supporting your weight on one arm as your other hand touched the back of his chair. He could smell your perfume, something uniquely different, aromatic and so fitting. “Does it compare results automatically?” You asked, turned to look at him.

“Unfortunately, no,” he muttered, unfocused, eyes scanning all over your face, focusing especially on your lips. “I have to do that myself, which is why I'll take longer to leave. If we leave this for the last minute, it'll be much more stressful.”

“Slow and steady it is, then.” You said, grinning. “I'll stay to help you.”

—

Spencer remembers when he started feeling a lot stronger about you.

You were in the office, decorating it as your own. Spencer took notice of your belongings, trying to catch a glimpse of everything that made you yourself. There were abundant novels in many different languages filling the tall shelves, some souvenirs from different parts of the world, your titles… The analytic part of his brain took notice of the lack of family pictures and overall personal items. It was achingly professional and distant, the way you were setting your space. He couldn't help but chime in, “Is that all you're putting up?”

With a lopsided grin, you tried to justify, sensing his intentions. “I don't like cluttering.”

He didn't answer, sensing that it might be sensitive unknown territory. You unboxed a wood chess board, placing it on one of the bottom shelves. He looked at you, a silent question in his eyes. “Just in case someone wants to play,” you said, as you forced a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

The next day, Spencer walked through the office door with a box in hands. He hid it between the sofa and the wall. As you arrived, you talked briefly about the research, which was now coming to an end. Flopping down on the floor, crisscrossed and barefoot, you sighed, smiling as he updated you. “You know, I don't think I've ever been happier.”

“Yeah?” He asked, curiously.

“It almost feels unreal, how kind life's been to me lately.” You revealed, voice trembling a bit with emotion.

“Somehow, that's hard to believe.”

“Is that so?” You asked, playfully. Spencer had to swallow before your mischievous smile. A new expression on your face that he found that he quite liked.

“I mean, look around. You have everything some people think it takes to be happy.”

“You're right. Some people. I don't.” You retorted with a dip of your chin.

“What would make you happy, then?” He inquired, eager to find out. To become it.

You breathed in, closing your eyes. “I'll let you know once I figure it out.”

Should he say it? Would it be indelicate? Insensitive? Too much? Too straightforwa— “You sound a little hopeless.”

“Maybe I am.” You said, almost shrugging. Like it's not a big deal.

“You shouldn't be.” He retorted, sitting down in front of you.

“What makes you so certain?”

“You're young.”

“If anything, that only feeds despair, to some extent.” You said, distantly.

Internal battle at full extent, once again. “You know… I… I have been keeping an eye on you.”

You tilt your head the slightest bit, gaze unwavering. “What do you mean?”

Spencer struggled to form coherent thoughts, to articulate his own ideas before blurting them out rather excitedly. “You seem so… different. It's almost like you're out of this world. It's fascinating, actually. You're very deep in your own little world. Even the way you speak tells something about loneliness. So well, eloquently—”

“Susan Sontag.”

He smiled, satisfied. “See? How would you remember a quote by heart if your mind was filled with some things else?”

Against your will, you agreed. “You're right, Dr. Reid.”

Silence. He stood up, walking to grab the box behind the couch. He came back and sat in front of you once again, but this time, his knee brushed yours and neither of you mentioned it. You welcomed the warmth. Spencer hid the one coloring his cheeks. “Call me Spencer.”

“What is that?”

“Flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“You need some life around here.”

You giggled, absolutely delighted when you saw the box, containing an orchid Lego set. Spencer fought against his every instinct to just pull you into his arms at the sound that twisted his insides instantaneously. It was the first time he had heard you laugh, a rich, funny sound that seemed to have erupted from your own soul. “Is this for me? Because, you know, this might be the best thing I've ever gotten.”

“Oh, really?” He asks, feigning sarcasm. “I could've sworn it was the original piece on your wall.”

“Thank you, Spencer.”

“You're welcome.”

Despite your position, your posture was as elegant as it had ever been. He placed the pieces between the two of you. Eventually and almost silently, like a personal prayer, he learned how to call you by your name upon your insistence. With a soft look in his eye, he relented. Everything about him seemed to tell you that he was there to help you build the set. That it was alright, because he was there.

You two stood up, one at a time, once you had finished the set. Standing by the window, you glanced at the pretty plastic orchids that now were placed on your desk, right next to your name, a funny little piece amidst such a formal environment. He followed you after a brief moment of doubt. “You know, Spencer,” you uttered and he thought he might be addicted to the chain of sounds that makes up his name falling from your lips as he watched them, mesmerized. “Thank you so much for this. It's a nice feeling. Like I have a friend.”

You both shared the intimacy of a glance with each other. You decided to elaborate, too shaken by the thought of your loneliness being palpable. “You're right… I've always been a bit on the lonely side.”

He was pleased to see so much honesty from your end, and happy to see something of himself in you. He swallowed, trying to control these thoughts and keeping his composure. “I think you're very easy to get along with.”

“That's the first time I hear that.”

Spencer couldn't help the wince that came with the stabbing pain he felt at your revelation. “It's true. I…” Who are these people? “I think you're very easy to like.”

You thanked him again, quietly, lowering your gaze to the space between the two of you. Seemingly under a spell that had been casted by the way you let your guard down, ignoring the nervous pit on his stomach and not taking the time to process the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings running through him. You stood so close, if he could just— “Looking from up here, all people look so tiny.”

“Considering the extent of the universe, we are pretty tiny.”

You snorted, shaking your head softly. “Proportion changes perspective, huh, Spencer?”

Losing control over his words, utterly lost, he continued, “I also… I find you pretty… pretty.”

Your eyes glanced up to meet his. Spencer tried to read your expression, desperate to see if you were surprised, disgusted, uncomfortable or if you welcomed his words. Instead, he found a hint of longing in your eyes that he couldn't begin to understand. “I… I don't know what to say.”

Compliments were a sensitive, unknown territory for you. You only knew what these were if you outdone yourself in whatever earned you attention. Sighing, you looked at him, almost guilty.

“Sorry, I… I shouldn't have said anything.” He cringes, avoiding your gaze.

“It… It wasn't.” Deep breath. “It's just that… you're…”

Were there words in the English language for these feelings?

“I know. I didn't… I don't expect you to say anything in return,” he says, almost dejectedly. The truth is out and he can't take it back. “I just wanted to come clean. And I think that it's not just looks that draw me to you.”

You stood there, speechless.

“You're not mad? Or… or offended?” He tries.

You looked at his widened, scared eyes. It made you want to soothe him — the instinct disconnecting your mouth from any sense of ethics or decency that ran through your brain. Taking another deep breath, scared to death, “I’m actually flattered. You're a very beautiful person, inside and out, but… but… I'm your professor, Spencer, and older than you.” You said, voice wavering slightly as you got to look into his eyes again.

“Somehow… when I think about you… neither of these seem to be a problem. I can't—not think about you.”

His words crafted a small crack. There would forever be a memory in your brain of the exact same moment when his words settled in. You fell to pieces, and as you did, you felt yourself losing control of your own actions, of your sense of ethics or principles. Before you thought it through, as you felt every sense of reason leaving your body, you tilted your head up, a silent, welcoming consent of his lessening distance. Spencer, who looked almost pained with so much want, let out tiny puffs of breath as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He couldn't believe you were seemingly taking a risk like that, but he found that he couldn’t and didn't want to hold back any longer. The young man, very carefully, cradled your cheeks, bravely holding your glance as he caressed the soft skin of your cheek with his thumb. Time stood still when you closed your eyes, slowly, and he tilted your chin up the slightest bit, angling you just the way he needed. The touch, the existence of you was so intense and overwhelming that it made him shiver, and he was failing to keep his hands from shaking. Following the stream of whispered truths, you added, “I want to give you something to truly think about. I need your permission.”

Softly, Spencer brushed his lips against yours as he closed his eyes. It was gentle, tentative, almost experimental. The touch, albeit subtle, calmed his every nerve, and his shoulders relaxed at the contact. A shaky exhale left his lips when you pulled him in, placing your hand on the nape of his neck, the feeling grounding and safe. When your lips interlock together, it's a moment of realization; he doesn't think that he wanted something so badly without even knowing what it actually was.

Your touch is tender, as if you were both afraid that harshness would steal one from the other, relishing in the moment and in the rush of sensations that were unknown to the both of you. Spencer was so afraid that you were going to pull away and run, but he just couldn't control himself as he slid his tongue into your mouth, basking in the small satisfied sound that you made, his hands gripping your waist. You, on the other hand, felt as if you had been pushed into a sea of hot, scalding water. No touch had ever made you feel like that, and your desperation had you now tightly gripping at his vest, trying to get him impossibly closer to you. Your bodies pressed against each other set a trail of fire between the two of you, and the kiss gradually became more urgent. Violent, even.

When you pull back, he doesn't let you go far, his face only inches away, barely registering that you actually needed to breathe so great was his need to feel you against him once more. Panting, you leaned your forehead against his, not ready to open your eyes and see his face. You'd be lost.

“At least now I have something proper to think about.”

Flustered at him using your own words against you, you couldn't meet his gaze. You tried to say something, but all the courage pumping through your veins seemed to have found a way out of your system, leaving you helpless, utterly defeated into silence. A small feeling of guilt started to grow inside you, and you were warring against it. You had just kissed a student in your workplace when you were trying to have a fresh start. Spencer, noticing your turmoil, was quick to engulf you in a hug. The action, so simple, worked like a balm to your nerves, and you allowed yourself to take a deep breath, inhaling his scent, which had just become your favorite. You didn't want to let him go, neither did you know if you would ever be able to.

Resting his chin on your shoulder, he cradles the back of your head. Under the sofa, lies a small, shiny object that was long forgotten due to both its irrelevance in your life and the first moment of genuine affection you've ever experienced.

—

You remember how it felt like to lose control of yourself.

It had been days since the secret kiss you shared with Spencer and it had been the last time you saw him. Your days were filled with endless phone calls with lawyers and Theresa, desperate to find yourself free from your doom excuse of a… marriage? It seemed offensive to even relate that word to whatever you had been forced upon doing. Your nights were spent by your bedroom window, watching as people came and went, noticing with heartbreak how distant you seemed to be from everyone. You were a stranger in many ways, but above all, you were a stranger to yourself. Every little manifestation of action or thought made you inevitably remember all the people and their behavior that shaped you into whatever you are today.

And then there was Spencer. Spencer, whose touch was making you feel constantly equal parts guilty and entranced. Spencer, who was spamming your email inbox, wondering where you were. Spencer, who was the only person you truly allowed yourself to think about. The sight of him haunted your nights and the ghost of his voice echoed inside your head when you were sitting around in the empty studio. It was supposed to be refreshing, really, how his mere existence made a new flicker of hope bloom in your chest that had been unknown thus far. It was bold to call it hope, but you preferred to do that because there was no other word, no other feeling that you knew well enough to associate it with the memory of him.

You had forgotten the sound of your voice. The only thing your apartment walls heard in the time span of three days and three nights had been the following string of words:

“Theresa, are you there? Can we talk?”

—

Spencer remembers how it felt to miss you like a lost puzzle piece.

It had been days and your silence was upsetting him like nothing ever had. Sick of replaying that moment over and over, he decided to find you instead. It was late at night as he walked your street after pondering whether he should or not confront you about your silence. There wasn't much to discuss. It was just a kiss — secretly, he was scared that you would argue so —, but the lack of news from you had him feeling on edge. A tall building, endless windows. On the fifth floor, he could make a figure staring out into the city, and he couldn't begin to explain where the strength came from to run up to where you were. There was only one apartment per floor, so he knocked impatiently on your door.

501.

Upon hearing the sound, you stared, a bit scared, at the door. Opening a small slit, you saw him and your entire body froze. You closed it immediately, fear etched into your features as if he was an impending threat. As if he could cause you any harm.

“Please,” he cried, resting his forehead on the door. He tried not to compare the stiffness of the object to the softness of your skin. A clear of his throat. “Please. Nobody's seen you for days. I… I haven't seen you in days.”

There was a minute of mortifying silence, but he decided to wait. What was another moment if he had waited for you for so long? Spencer let out another plea, this time, calling you by your name.

You let him in, but you couldn't meet his gaze. Nevertheless, he noticed your bloodshot eyes. Speaking your name softly, he inquired, worryingly, approaching you. “What happened to you?”

You took a small step back, straightening your posture once you realized how close he was getting to you. The action made your heart shatter. “Don't,” you pleaded, soft-spoken as ever.

“Look at me.” He croaked, pleadingly, timorous.

Reluctantly, you met his eyes. They were confused, questioning, and it was a first on his expression. You felt guilty for doing this to him. “I can't do this to you, Spencer. I can't.”

“Please… Talk to me. Don't shut me out.”

“We can't do this. I'm your professor, and, and…”

“Are you seriously pulling the professor card? I'm not one of those undergraduate students. I'm me. It's me. We've been so close and when I think something finally might happen, you disappeared. It wasn't fair.”

Each of his words were stabs in your already hanging by a thread heart. Rip the band-aid.

“I'm married.”

There was a moment of stunned silence from his end. You knew how cruel it was to use your formal marital state to avoid him from coming any closer, but you tried not to dwell on it. This was it. Spencer deserved better. And for the first time in your life, you couldn't be better. His silence made your stomach churn painfully, aware of the ache you were causing him, and desperate to be the one to soothe the damage you had done.

Spencer, on the other hand, stared at you blankly. Almost skeptically, even. You'd have analyzed it better if you weren't too busy with your own turmoil about him. “I don't see him anywhere,” he finally said, defiantly.

Surprise took over your features, and before you could form another painful remark, Spencer approached you decisively. “Where is him, huh?”

Cutting you off as you opened your mouth to speak, once again, he scowled. “Damn him. I would do anything just to have you around.”

The crack was now big enough that he could see all parts of you from where he stood. Right then, though, the glimpse he caught before you violently smashed your lips against his was enough to haunt him for a lifetime. Your gaze, so utterly tired yet determined, looking at him as if he was the only thing in your entire world — perhaps he was. The kiss was demanding, fueled by sheer animalistic hunger. You had been hungry your entire life, deprived of the simplest pleasures and there he was, ignoring all your lackness. You failed to think of a motive for his actions, but you decided that you utterly didn't care. To feel seen like that was enough of a reason for you.

His tongue pushed into your mouth, exploring every inch with a neediness that surprises even him. You gripped at his shirt's collar as his hands tangled in your hair, tightly, almost afraid you'd disappear. Neither of you recognized your own actions, everything was far too new for you to know how to act properly, losing yourself in each other, consumed by the unique, addicting taste of your kisses and the heat building between you. The sizzling, almost bothersome feeling in your core, combined with the intensity of his kiss left you feeling lightheaded. He pulls away, reluctantly, squeezing his eyes shut, as if refraining from doing something. You rest your forehead against his. Uneven breaths mingle together as you had your eyes on him, waiting for the final blow, when he would look back at you. “Let me in,” he croaked. “I wanna be yours.”

Don't.

“You deserve so much more than this. Than what I'm able to offer you,” you whisper in a ragged breath, closing your eyes, hands now softly holding his head.

“I'll take anything you are.”

You winced, a helpless crease finding its way between your brows. “You don't get it, do you? I can't. I can't do this to you. I don't know how to do this.”

He softened, hands never leaving your skin and eyes never leaving yours. “You don't have to know anything. I don't know it either. I just wanna be yours tonight.”

Silence.

“Is it because of him?”

You promptly retorted. “No. It's not because of him.”

“From now on, it's me.”

Spencer crashed his lips to yours, barely giving you time to let his words sink in. Seemingly trying to convey his emotions, his willingness to beg for you to let him in, his devotion to be yours in that moment. Brushing your fear of not getting him to stay, you gave in, too blinded by the sheer strength of the burning within you. Spencer kissed you deeper as you slid your tongue inside his mouth, ravishing and relishing in the taste of him. A small moan broke through you when he gripped your tighter, leading you to the nearest surface — conveniently, the bed. Spencer barely had time to take in his surroundings when he got there, too busy with you and the strong pull between the two of you, but his body unconsciously and seemingly knew exactly where to take yours.

You had now entered a land reserved for only the two of you. You looked at him, softly placing you on the bed, kissing all over you, as if you were something worth looking at, worth worshipping. The tears streamed down your face freely, and he kissed each of them as they bloomed again. “Let it all out. I'm here.”

Intertwining your fingers on the nape of his neck, adjusting so that he was between your legs, you looked at him intently while he lowered the straps of your cami top, eyes never leaving yours, lips caressing your collarbone gently. The action made you shiver, and you were under his trance, taking whatever he wanted to give you, signaling over and over that you allowed him to be yours, just like he asked to be. In hindsight, he was making you his.

Gingerly, you leaned up to reach his jawline, kissing and nipping at the soft skin, trying to find an outlet for all the overwhelming feelings and fire inside you. He moaned softly, basking in the feeling of being marked so gently, already satisfied with the mere thought that he would have something of yours to remember. It was when you were undoing his shirt, not so accidentally brushing your fingertips against his fiery skin that a wave of pleasure, embedded with a persistent feeling of guilt, crawled its way into your thoughts. You were like a helpless being caught between the fight of two violent ends, and you found that you loved it. You loved being at their mercy. You loved being at his mercy.

Quickly getting rid of your top, Spencer leaned even lower, brushing his skin against yours, which elicited a series of goosebumps to erupt on your skin. You clenched your hands after retreating them from his body, desperately trying to find something that could ground you instead of feeling everything all at once. He was overwhelming, and he had barely touched you. “I never knew I could feel like this,” you breathed out, unable to keep the truth from him any further when he skimmed his fingertips against your ribs, touching with the most desperate of delicacies.

Grinding against you, he whispered, rushed, “Do you feel how much I want you? I see you and I want you. Let me in.”

Spencer's words, albeit simple, were hitting many unreached places within you. Without breaking eye contact and a bit clumsily, you two got rid of the remnants of your clothes, baring yourselves to each other in more ways than one. Spencer, still accommodated between your legs, eased himself so easily into you, making you hold on tightly to his arms, you two both letting out strangled noises at the feeling. You, beneath him, around him, enveloping his length in the most pleasant wet warmth, sucking him in, gripping, squeezing, never letting him go. A broken sob erupted as he mumbled, “I missed you so much.”

You could barely find your voice, too lost in the sense of him on top of you. The taste, the sight, the smell of him inebriated you like no drug ever could. “Ah—I missed you too,” you whimpered. “You… have no idea.”

“Show me, then.”

Desperately, you pulled him in for another searing kiss, trying to convey how much his absence had made you feel, how guilty you felt by putting what it felt then like an unnecessary distance between the two of you. Trying to get closer, impossibly closer than you ever had been before. The sensations were shattering, and you found that you didn't want to be put together again. No, you were gladly ruined for the rest of your life. Scratches down his back, bites on his lower lip and an endless stream of whimpers left your lips complemented the exhilarating experience as he watched how you reacted to him.

Lowering your gaze to where your bodies met, you were met with an exquisite sight, how he pulled away just to shove his cock back inside you making you dizzy as he had his way with you. Following your line of sight, Spencer moaned as he saw the mess between you two, how his skin began to stick to yours as your arousal glimmered on his skin. Fully sheathed again, you cried out, “There's—mmmm—so much of you in me.”

“Will you remember me?” He asked, resuming his thrusts, violently shaken by your words. He wanted to give you all of him.

Struggling to speak, your entire body trembling with the force of his strokes, you stuttered, “I could never forget you.”

His hips halt their movements. He asks, pointedly, with a stark gaze that burned its memory into your very soul, "Say you'll remember," he whimpered with a small sigh. It was difficult to tell if it was from neediness, impatience, frustration or anything else.

It was not the time for semantics, but you smiled despite yourself as the tears started to to steadily roll down your cheeks, and you replied with a shaky breath, "I'll remember you forever."

Spencer pushed in again, swallowing the strangled moan that left your lips as he kissed you intensely and your tears kissed his cheek as well. Your bodies embraced one another, as if they needed each other to exist. The moon and the sea. You tried to hold on to him, hands curling against the skin of his back and legs circling around his waist. Spencer, on the other hand, had a desperate hold on your waist, which would probably lead to faint marks of his fingers. You found that you didn't care, the astounding feeling of him against you, so forcefully and simultaneously lovingly, could use all the memories to tell you later it had been real. That you had been yours as much as you had been his that night.

The pleasure building within you was new, almost scary given its force to shake everything inside. Spencer was equally reeling, trying to prolong the moment as much as he could, too caught up on the existence of you to let it go anytime soon. With a mewl of his name, you let go, pleasure coursing through your veins and spreading through your body like being bathed by the sultriness of your moment together. The fever reached your heart, and with tearful eyes, you watched him as he released inside of you, eyes dazedly searching yours and his lips singing your name like a prayer.

On top of you, in that place of sheer veneration, your bodies tangled together like an abstract painting. Neither you or him made mention to move, too content in the feeling of sticking to the other.

"I'm not leaving,” he muttered after a while, nuzzling your neck.

"Spencer..."

"I'm not leaving. You'll wake up in the morning and I'll be here.”

—

Tonight, you aren't watching strangers from the windows of your office nor from the ones in your studio apartment. Instead, you are walking home with Spencer, hand holding hand, a firm, fierce, steady grip that never faltered.

You now exist, hearing your name being called several times a day. And so does he, the one proudly uttering said name, whenever he gets the chance. A small, simple reminder that you belong together.

dividers by @cafekitsune <3

[redeemingvillains]

three words, eight letters - mattheo riddle

summary: you confessed your feelings to mattheo months ago, and his unwillingness to do the same might be the very thing that breaks you apart for good.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: angst!!! y'all i literally hurt my own feelings writing this. but i had several requests for angst so here you go! ultimately it's flangst because please, we're not doing real sad on this blog.

a/n: this is the first of two v-day fics i have to share! happy love month my dears, you are all my valentines, no takebacks! ily! bonus points to anyone who gets the reference from the title!

Mattheo was slouched in the largest armchair in the common room staring blankly at the flames in the fireplace as he fidgeted with his lighter, flicking it on repeatedly. Chk, chk, chk. He was thinking about everything and nothing when he heard your voice and was shaken out of his stupor.

He glanced up to see you walking into the room with Enzo and Blaise at your side, laughing at something one of them had said before you parted ways.

Gods she's beautiful he thought, as a familiar warmth settled in his chest and fuck if I'm not glad she's mine.

You were searching the common room like you were looking for someone, and he was about to get to his feet when your eyes lit up in recognition, twinkling, as your perfect lips curved into his favorite smile, the one reserved just for him; but the warmth in his chest disappeared, replaced with a bolt of something that felt an awful lot like fear when he realized your smile wasn't for him.

Another guy was approaching you that Mattheo didn't recognize and the concept tickled something in the back of his brain... didn't he know everyone in this house?

He immediately began trying to place him, to size him up. He had a few inches on Mattheo and though he was loathe to admit it, he was a little broader and more muscular too. His hair was a bit darker, his curls a bit more tamed and the way you were looking at him had Mattheo physically shaking with rage.

He was approaching you with confidence, with ease, and with a lopsided smile and a look in his eye that hinted at exactly what he had in mind and Mattheo was on his feet and moving towards you before he knew what he was doing.

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice carrying in a way that demanded attention.

But either you didn't hear him, or worse, you were ignoring him because your eyes never left the guy who was now dangerously close to you.

"Hey!" he shouted louder, his voice booming now. "Get the fuck away from her!"

But you were totally entranced as the guy stopped before you, and you pressed your hands to his chest and ran them up around his neck, tugging at his curls in the very way Mattheo loved most; he could almost feel the ghostly whisper of your fingers on his neck now, even as he pushed people, shoved them aside in his effort to get to you, to stop whatever the hell was going on.

He was running but felt like he was going nowhere, he was shouting, but it was like no one could hear him. And then the stranger sunk his lips to yours and it was like Mattheo could have called up hell itself in his fury as he lunged for him, but met nothing, falling into deep darkness.

Mattheo's eyes flew open as he clawed at his chest, breathing frantically as he tangled in his sheets, sitting up in his four-poster bed.

...In his four-poster bed.

...In his dormitory.

...It was a dream?

He sat up fully, cradling his head in his hands as he tried to calm his racing heart and steady his breath. He was granted a single moment of relief as he realized the entire scene he'd just witnessed was a fabrication of his mind before he remembered why he was alone in his bed in the first place, why you weren't tucked into his arms, rubbing your eyes and granting him your sleepy smile, his favorite way to start every day.

Fuck he thought as he remembered your argument from the night before, dread settling in his stomach like a rock as he threw back his covers.

It was the last night before everyone returned home for winter break and Mattheo had probably had too much firewhiskey; maybe you both had, he thought, as he watched you wobble beside him as he walked you back to your dormitory. The corridor was empty given the late hour, the only sound the occasional rustle of a painting and your heeled shoes against the cobblestones.

"You're so unserious" you said.

"Well, not everything is as serious as you make it" he replied smartly, smirking at you.

"Not even us?" you asked as you stopped walking to face him.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, drawing his gaze to the ceiling. He did not want to have this conversation with you... again.

You sighed, exasperated at his reaction and moved to keep walking. "Forget it" you mumbled.

Great, he thought. Now he'd managed to piss you off without even saying anything.

"C'mon, c'mere" he said, grabbing your hand pleadingly and pulling you back towards him.

But you didn't relent.

"You're not getting out of this this time" you said, pulling your hand back.

His face sat in an angry sneer, unfamiliar with the feeling of not getting his way.

"It's a simple question that you refuse to answer" you pushed. "How. Do. You. Feel. About. Me?—"

"—Why do you keep asking me this shit?"

"Because it's important to me! Because I want to hear you say it. That's not too much to ask Matty!"

And he knew you were right. So he rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I...care about you, you know that."

"And that's it?"

"Is that not enough?!" he asked, more loudly and harshly than he'd intended. But you were relentlessly pressing up against an insecurity he didn't want to face and it was wearing him thin.

Your eyes watered at his tone, which immediately made him feel even more full of self-loathing.

"I told you I loved you two months ago" you whispered. "And every day you don't say it back breaks my heart just a little bit more and leaves me wondering what I am to you."

He could physically feel your vulnerability, could see it written on your face in the tears perched in your eyes that were wide and desperately searching his face for answers he couldn't give you, in the wobble of your bottom lip that you were biting to keep from breaking down.

But he didn't have a single weapon in his arsenal to fight this emotional battle, he didn't have any context or experience with these kind of feelings, or any idea what to say to make it better. So he shrugged his shoulders in defeat, slamming down the walls around his heart that you'd been beating against since the day he met you.

And it was like you could see him put them up, because you shook your head in disbelief, in disappointment and swiped at your eyes.

"And there it is" you said quietly as you turned away from him.

The fact that you could see through him so clearly, so easily, and the fact that he couldn't bring himself to let you in infuriated him.

"Well princess" he snapped, twisting your once affectionate nickname, "If I'm such a disappointment, why don't you go find someone else who can tell you what you want to hear?"

You turned back to him slowly, your cheeks flush with the shock of his words.

"What?" you whispered in disbelief.

"I can't give you what you want and I clearly don't make you happy" he said, gesturing to the crumbling expression on your face, "So why waste your time?"

"Matty" you said, reaching for him, trying urgently to stop his train of thought.

"Nah that sounds like a great idea" he said, pushing your hand away as his lips curved into a sarcastic smile that terrified you, that brought to the surface every fear you'd had about how he'd break your heart, every warning you didn't heed along the way. "It's obvious this isn't working—."

"—Stop, please stop, that's not at all what I'm saying, Matty, I love—"

"—Don't" he said simply.

He shook his head, barely tracing his eyes over you before he turned to walk away, the distant echoes of your crying chasing him as they reverberated off the stone walls.

He hastily grabbed his clothing off the floor, wobbling as he pulled on his pants and grabbed his shirt.

"What time is it?" he asked gruffly, looking at Enzo.

"Well, good morning to you too—"

"—What fucking time is it?" he growled.

"Eleven" Draco muttered as he walked by. "The first train leaves in twenty."

"Fuck" he said as he slipped on shoes and made for the door, brushing by Theo and Blaise.

The castle was in disorderly chaos with students departing for the holidays; the corridors were crowded with luggage and groups of friends saying their goodbyes that acted as a veritable obstacle course for him that he wound through urgently to get to you on time. He didn't hesitate to give a shove when it was warranted, he knew you'd be on the first train home because you had planned to leave together before he'd thrown a fucking dynamite into your relationship.

His head pounded with his hangover and his regret, neither of which did anything to help the nausea he felt as he remembered what he'd say to you and the mental image of his nightmare that felt more like a reality every moment he couldn't see you, couldn't touch you.

His feet were moving faster than his brain and by the time he found you he wished to Salazar he'd spent more time figuring out what to say. Unlike him, you showed no visible signs of a rough night; your tear-stained face and smudged makeup were wiped clear and you were dressed beautifully as you hoisted your luggage onto the train and hopped onto the platform.

"YN!" he shouted.

But just like in his dream, you didn't hear him.

The sharp conductor's whistle sounded, signaling five minutes to departure.

"YN!" he shouted louder.

A few people around him looked up as he ran past and finally you did too, your eyes wide with surprise at the sight of him dodging around people to get to you, his cheeks flushed, his curls windblown.

You swallowed visibly as he approached you, but you didn't say anything as you stepped back off the train.

He reached for you before thinking better of it and pulling his hand back.

"I..." he cleared his throat and looked down at his feet as he tried to catch his breath.

"...Am sorry about last night. I shouldn't have said a lot of what I said...I shouldn't have spoken to you that way."

Your eyebrow quirked, though your face remained serious. An apology from Mattheo Riddle? Was the sky falling?

His eyes met yours and though they were red rimmed and told of a restless sleep, they remained a perfect, intoxicating shade of chocolate brown that caught your next breath, as it always did.

He paused again, his face scrunching as he carded his hand frustratedly through his hair.

"M'not great with words, or feelings."

You shot him a look as if to say "No shit."

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah, but I—fuck—I do— when you said—I..."

He was trying so hard to get whatever he needed to say out, you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

Against your better judgement you reached out and tangled your warm fingers in his cold hand.

He looked down at your intertwined fingers and then up at expectant smile on your lips.

"I fucking love you" he exhaled heavily. "I have probably since the first time you let me kiss you. And it terrified me, because loving you means I have a chance of losing you, of getting my heart fucking destroyed, of giving you the power to destroy me, and I don't let people get that close to me for that reason. But not telling you how I felt was destroying me, destroying us all the same. So, fuck it. I love you. Now you know."

You had gotten closer to him with each word and were looking up at him now as you pressed your hands to his chest, just like in his dream and he was certain you could feel his heart hammering there as you smiled at him quietly.

"Can you please say something?" he whispered as he searched your eyes.

"Oh, you want me to say it back? Would it feel really really nice to hear me say it back? Like, you'd feel safe and seen and validated and not alone on a fucking island wondering where you stood with me?" you said with a tilt of your head, challenging him.

He pursed his lips, pushing his tongue into his cheek and pouting slightly as he broke his gaze from yours.

"I deserved that" he said.

You waited a moment longer, dragging it out.

"I love you too, Mattheo Riddle. I forgive you. And I promise I will never, ever destroy that perfect, stubborn heart of yours."

You smiled and looped your hands around his neck, tangling your fingers in his curls in a way that sent shivers down his back that had nothing to do with the soft snowfall that had started. It felt like the earth, the universe itself was back on its axis again and he smiled at you, wide and honest.

"Say it again?" you whispered as you leaned into him, brushing your lips just on top of his.

"I deserved that?" he teased, repeating the last thing he'd said, instantly feeling your lips pout against his own.

"Kidding" he whispered as his hands wound to your hips, pulling you into him.

"I love you, princess" he said quietly, slowly, reveling in the way it filled a part of his heart with warmth that he'd never felt before as he cupped your face and pressed his lips to yours.

@kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco

[callikari]

  𝒾'll 𝒾magine ──── 𝓌e fall inlove .☘︎ ݁˖

。 would you mind if i took your hand tonight? know that you're all that i want this life !

... 양정원 x fem!reader 🎐 friends to lovers fluff angst if you squint 1050 wc ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) reader being a hopeless romantic soft slowburn moments jungwon being the literal standard !!

【 more like this ᰔᩚ 】

you never really cared about having someone by your side.

not because you didn’t want it—god, you did. you dreamed of it.

the kind of love that made your chest feel full. the kind that made your heart beat in a way that felt like music.

you were a hopeless romantic with no one to love. you watched love unfold in movies, in songs, in passing glances between strangers on the subway. but never for you. never to you.

you used to think maybe you were just meant to be alone.

you told yourself it was fine. you got used to drinking your coffee alone, walking home alone, falling asleep to the sound of silence instead of someone’s voice.

until jungwon. 

he came into your life so quietly you didn’t even notice at first.

like the way he’d call after long days—not just text, call. 

he’d say, “hey. just wanted to hear your voice,” 

and he meant it. he never rushed the conversations. he’d let you ramble. let you talk about random dreams or what song was stuck in your head.

he’d stay on the line until you fell asleep, sometimes, breathing softly on the other end.

he listened like it mattered. like you mattered.

one night you told him, offhandedly, “i hate when people interrupt me. it makes me feel like what i’m saying isn’t worth hearing.”

and from then on, he never interrupted you again.

he’d wait, even when you paused mid-sentence to gather your thoughts. he never rushed you.

“take your time,” he’d say. “i’m listening.” 

and god, he really was.

he remembered everything too. like how you hated cucumbers in your kimbap, or how you always carried a book in your bag “just in case the world gets too loud.”

he remembered the name of your childhood cat, the specific way you liked your coffee (hazelnut, no sugar, oat milk), and that you cried during animated movies even when you tried to hide it.

you once joked that your favorite flowers were the ones no one ever brought—baby’s breath, tiny and often overlooked.

the next week, he showed up at your door with a small bouquet of just that. “i thought you’d like these,” he said with a shy smile.

and then there were the walks.

he always made sure to walk on the outer side of the sidewalk.

the first time you noticed, you asked, “you know you don’t have to do that, right?”

he just shrugged. “i know. but i want to.”

he didn’t make a big deal out of it. but he did it every single time.

as if protecting you was second nature. and you started realizing—he didn’t just show up. he stayed.

he stayed when your texts got distant, when you retreated into yourself. he stayed when you were quiet, when you were unsure, when you were scared to believe someone like him could care for someone like you.

but he did.

and one night, under the soft hum of streetlights and a sky scattered with stars, he turned to you and said,

“i want to take you out. like, on a real date. just you and me. if you’ll let me.”

you blinked, breath catching in your throat. “a date?” you echoed, voice small.

“yeah,” he said, his eyes soft and full of something deeper than just affection.

“because you’re the only person i want to do everything with. and i think i’ve been falling for you for a while now.”

you smiled, heart racing in a way it never had before. “then let’s go on that date.”

because jungwon wasn’t just someone who cared. he was the one who saw you fully. quietly. patiently. the one who made you feel like being loved wasn’t something you had to earn.

and maybe… just maybe… 

you weren’t meant to be alone after all.

enhypen taglist :: @ash-engen @chrrific @cheruphic @jungwonbropls @ijustreallylike2read

© callikari — all rights reserved

[ourdawnishotterthanourday]

Off Limits — Lee Seokmin

✧ She’s mine, and mine only ✧

Plot: Picture this… your boyfriend reminds you just who you belong to.

🎥 Starring: fem!reader x boyfriend!Lee Seokmin 🎥 Genre: dark romance; suggestive [+18], established relationship 🎥 Word count: 0.9k+ 🎥 Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, extremely possessive seok (don’t mess with him ooof), light choking, one instance of violence (breaking an arm), many red flags 🚩 🎥 Notes: we are back again with yet another scene slightly inspired by the Legacy of Gods series by Rina Kent! had to do it because who doesn’t love a possessive seok??? 🤭 🎥 Shout out: 100x thanks again my love @nothoughtsjustfic for beta reading this for me 💜

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

Set The Scene Masterlist —  Masterlist

“I can’t believe this girls’ night is finally happening!” your friend Hana exclaimed as the three of you entered the fancy-looking club.

“Right? I can’t believe Y/N actually made it out here with us for once. I was almost starting to believe she completely forgot about us,” Areum, your other friend, sighed dramatically.

“Oh, come on! You know I’d never forget about you. Besides, we still do stuff. Clubbing has just not been on my mind lately,” you defended, knowing damn well that the reason for your absence was no one other than your boyfriend. 

Hana snorted. “Yeah, like once every few months. I mean, your boyfriend is hot and all, but it’s like the dude is freaking obsessed with you, always glued to your side and shit. He literally stares anyone down who even dares to look at you. It’s fucking intense.”

Oh didn’t you know it.

Seokmin was as intense as they come. It was something you both loved and hated about the man. It was great at times, because it meant endless passionate making out sessions that often led to kinky hardcore fucking at literally any place or time. But it was not so great when you were trying to have a night out with friends like now. 

Although Seokmin was very caring and probably the only man you’d ever truly loved, the man was the definition of possessive. 

You still vividly remember that one time he held a waiter at knifepoint for simply smiling at you, or when he broke the arm of one of your male co-workers for standing just a little too close. And let’s definitely not forget about that time you went grocery shopping, and he actually sent a guy to the hospital because he dared to ask for your number while Seokmin had temporarily disappeared into a different aisle. 

It was safe to say you were forced to change grocery stores after that. 

Maybe you were crazy for loving a man who would literally kill for you. Maybe your friends were right and he did in fact have an abnormal infatuation with you. But you honestly couldn’t imagine your life without Seokmin in it.

You had no purpose before he'd entered your life, working a 9 to 5, coming home to an empty house and watching cheesy shows every single night. Now, with Seokmin filling up your days, you felt alive, thrilled at having someone in your life who loved you as much as he did, even though it was a little extreme at times. 

Tonight, however, you really didn’t want to think about your boyfriend, especially since you hadn’t told him you were going out clubbing with your friends.

“Can we not talk about Seokmin?” you begged just when you’d gotten your first drinks. “I just wanna enjoy tonight, just us girls.” You raised your drink. 

The other two clinked their glasses with yours.

You grinned widely. “Let’s partaay!”

—

Everything was great until it wasn’t.

You were drinking and dancing on the dancefloor with your friends for a good two hours before you suddenly felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight, as if you were being watched — which could only mean one thing. 

Your hand immediately reached the phone that was in your clutch, unlocking it to check if you’d missed any calls or messages. There were none, strangely enough. But then how could you explain this feeling you were currently experiencing? Were you just imagining things?

Nobody is watching you. Just enjoy the moment. There is no way Seok—

A sudden hand on your ass and a loud scream had you spinning on your heels in no time. 

And there he was, Lee Seokmin, your boyfriend, with a murderous look on his face while he twisted some random dude��s arm behind his back, followed by a sickening crunch that had the guy squirming in his hold. 

“Yo what the hell man? Are you fucking crazy?!”

“Me? Ha! You’re the fucking crazy one for thinking you can touch what’s mine. You’re lucky I didn’t rip your fucking arm off.” You watched in horror as Seokmin tightened his grip on the poor dude’s arm. “Now fuck off and don’t let me catch you again or I’ll fucking kill you.”

The guy couldn’t get away fast enough when Seokmin finally released him, and you took that moment to mouth a quick “I’m sorry” to your two horrified friends before preparing yourself for what would come next. 

“Forgot something, Princess?” Your boyfriend asked as a familiar black piece of leather with the words Off Limits engraved into it dangled from his hand. 

“S-seok,” you gasped, feeling your whole body tense up in an instant, “What are you doing here?”

He frowned. “I should be asking you exactly that. I don’t recall you mentioning clubbing.” 

“I can explain, o-okay? Let’s just go somewhere else first, yeah?” you suggested, hoping to deescalate the situation a little bit. 

“No. I think everyone here needs to know who you belong to first. And after that, I’m going to show you just why you don’t ever want to lie to me, Princess.” 

Fuck, that really shouldn’t have made you as wet as it did. 

“Turn around.”

“Seok, please,” you pleaded, even though your body seemed more than okay with his demand. 

“Now.”

You quickly turned around when you realized there was no way out of this and gasped at the hand that immediately wrapped tightly around your throat, forcing your head back, your eyes connecting with Seokmin’s wild ones. 

A needy whimper escaped from your lips as he fastened a leather collar around your neck, his fingers briefly tracing over the words before he captured your mouth into a hot, toe-curling kiss that no doubt everyone on the dance floor had a front row seat to.

“You’re fucking mine, don’t forget that,” Seokmin rasped after retreating from your lips. Then he lightly tugged at the collar. “Now, about that punishment...”

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[paddlescuddlesbubblesgurgles]

A Series Of Firsts

I remember the first time my scale read ‘error’. It ticked up to 408lbs and then the dreaded letters appeared. 

I remember the first time I ate enough for more than 3 people. Just 3 is somewhat common for me. 

I remember the first time my knees hurt just from trying to stand up. I’m really heavy. That was 40lbs ago. 

I remember the first time I became so full my overhang was lifted slightly off my fatpad. So full I was distended to absurdity. 

I remember the first time I learned if I lifted up my gut with my arms, it relieved my lower back pain. 

I remember the first time a chair broke beneath my weight, I would also end up breaking a couch, and a bed. Then a toilet cracked beneath my weight. 

I remember the first time a car noticeably sunk and the metal squealed when I sat inside it, and then the reverse when I got out.

I remember the first time my belly popped a button off a shirt, then it would rip one. Same for my waist breaking buttons off pants, and my thighs ripped holes in the legs. I have also destroyed a few pairs of underwear when I’ve sat down.

I remember the first time I realized my chest is bigger than many others’ chests. Usually mine are bigger. 

I remember the first time my side profile in the mirror shocked me. Can I be this wide? That is constant now.

I remember the first time I became winded just bending over it squatting down for longer than a minute or two. 

I remember the first time someone implied I need an extended mechanical grabber to pick things up because I’m so fat that my belly prevents me. 

I remember the first time I realized I’m getting too fat for easy penetration. 

I remember the first time I needed to lift up my belly and get my arm underneath it to pleasure myself. 

I remember the first time I was so stuffed full I couldn’t reach. My belly was stopping my completely no matter the position.

I remember the first time I realized nothing in most clothing stores fits me. I cannot shop in person usually. 

I remember the first time I outgrew my favorite shirt. This happens constantly now. 

I remember the first time I was out of breath from simply standing up after stuffing myself. This would create an inescapable pattern.

I remember the first time I ate an entire cake at once. I actually bought 2, couldn’t finish the second. 

I remember the first time I ate so much I fell asleep trying to digest it. An extra large pizza from a local place that I ate 90% of. 

I remember the first time I cured my insomnia by eating so much I couldn’t stay awake. 

I remember the first time I learned my body was desirable, that there are people who love pigs. They love gigantic, overfed bellies. 

I remember the first time I started trying to belch to make more room inside my gut. Pretty much every meal now. 

I remember the first time I realized a single thigh of mine is bigger than most people’s entire torsos. My belly can threaten someone’s entire body in size. 

I remember the first time I ate 15 cookies in a row. Regular habit now. 

I remember the first time someone told me to count calories and start overeating every meal. I had 7-10k every single day for 12 days straight. 

I remember the first time I ate enough for 8 people. An entire pizza, and 3 entrees completely inside my belly, with a 2 liter Diet Coke. 

I remember the first time I ate so much I couldn’t swallow anymore, and my jaw hurt, and I was actively fighting to keep it down. More common now. 

I remember the first time I ate an entire tailgater tray from a fast food restaurant. 

I remember the first time I ate 8 combos worth of food. Almost the entire menu. 

I remember the first time I smothered someone with just my belly. Completely enveloped their head in my overhang. 

I remember the first time someone made fun of me and called me fat in public. Unprompted stranger. That hurt. 

I remember the first time I wanted my belly to hang to my knees, and become so much bigger than it is now. That was 30lbs ago or so. 

I remember the first time I considered myself too fat, too heavy for myself.

I remember the first time I strongly considered going much further past my max weight, just because someone asked me to.

I remember the first time I outgrew a measuring tape. Those 60”s just aren’t enough for my body now. 

I remember the first time I realized I am living to eat. 

[lanalosty0uu]

⋆.˚ PROLOGUE ᝰ.ᐟ

🕰️ BACK TO THE FUTURE 🕰️

no specific warnings on this chapter slight foreshadowing of another stranger things character!

main masterlist | general masterlist

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

"Oh, no need to help, dear! I can do it by myself."

The nice 50 year old-ish lady told you not to worry about her fish pond. You're a second year high school student who just got accepted in an exchange program, and now you’re finally here, in Hawkins, Indiana.

"Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Byers, I can handle it pretty well… My dad also has a fish pond on the back of our house.” You tried to reassure her that it’s totally fine for you to take care of it. Remembering that she can already be categorized as an old lady, it would be very cruel of you if you let her clean it by herself.

“You are truly an independent and hardworking young lady… Reminds me of myself back in the old days.” You can see her smile while looking to a blank space, probably reminiscing herself back when she was younger.

You chuckled at her compliment, slightly thanking her for saying something you don’t hear everyday, especially from your parents. Instead of saying anything further, you smiled at her before continue cleaning her fish pond.

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️

“Please, dear. Feel free to look around.”

Ever since you got here last week, you never had the courage to explore her gigantic house. Not because it has spirits living on it, of course not! (hope so) But, it’s more like you don’t wanna disturb her peace and you don’t wanna look like you’re being nosy about her personal stuff. Yet, from the first step you took on this house, you literally fell in love. The vintage architecture, big pillars on her yard, it seems impossible for an old lady to live her by herself.

Sure, her house only has two levels, but the interior of her house is just mesmerizing. The details and antique things in this place are remarkable. If only you don’t have to control yourself, you’d already touch every single one of her things.

The only thing that you did here was to go to school and spend time with her a lot. You went shopping together, clean the house, do regular house chores, watch cheesy rom-coms or comedy movies (which you surprisingly also love). The whole week basically already felt comfortable for you.

You always loved old people. You get to hear their stories, adventures, and all what happened in the past. It seems… Very interesting, so different with what you have now. And one of the things you love about Mrs. Byers, is that she talks about her youth days a lot in the 80s! You, as a person who is a big fan of the 80s always had an open jaw when listening to how beautiful life seemed to be in the 1980s, especially in the year 1985.

“These are some beautiful watch collections, Mrs. Byers!” You looked through a cardboard box full of old clocks and watches inside.

“Those were my parents’. I was planning to give those to the antique store since I don’t really use it. But you can look around there if you’d like, dear! If one catches your eye, please do take it before people put a price on it in the antique store.”

The feeling of knowing that you can look at these old watches and actually bring them home without needing to let out a single dollar made you feel euphoric. But, you still need to help her cleaning up this messy attic, not wanting her to get asthma from breathing the dusty air so much.

“Maybe I’ll do it later, Mrs. Byers. I gotta clean these up first.”

Mrs. Byers looked at you, giving you the ‘I swear this kid never rests’ look. Yet, she just smiled. And you know deep down she’s really happy to have someone to be her company and to help her around since her husband died a year ago.

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️

“If you need me, I’ll be downstairs, okay dear?” Mrs. Byers excused herself to go back to her room, probably knitting since it’s what she’s been doing at home (as far as you know). She left you there in the attic, wandering through her watch collection.

As you were diving through it, you took pictures of every single watch, especially the ones that has unique details in it. But one caught your eye… A golden pocket watch. It has golden chains, chained to the top of the watch. Tiny details surrounding the face of the watch. Since it looks pretty old, it was also covered in dust and rust, including the roman numbers that tell the time inside.

You made the watch dangle around your arms, admiring it’s old, yet timeless beauty. You started turning the clock around, seeing if it still works or not. Sadly, it’s broken. You immediately thought of the 80s just by looking at it, imagining how Mrs. Byers would always wield it and brought it everywhere she goes, even though you know this watch must’ve came from an older time… Most likely to be from the 30s or the 40.

Since you liked that pocket watch so much, you put the chains around your arms, keeping it there as you put back the rest of the watches gently inside the cardboard, not wanting to be irresponsible after Mrs. Byers let you mess around with all of it.

note: hey, i'll be publishing the first chapter like around... later! but i'll be posting it today as well (i'll try hihi ^^), lmk what r ur thoughts about the prologue so far, and if there's any of u that wants to be in the taglist, feel free to ask! hope you like this one <3

@xprloki @pupwrites @gorlillaglue25 @lovestrucklyuniverse since y'all seemed pretty excited abt this, i've decided to tag y'all in this and all future chapters, really hope y'all like it and continue reading <3

[papurgaatika]

Scarcely Can Speak For My Thinking, What You’d Do To Me Tonight

Pairing: VA! Joel Miller x f! reader 

Minors DNI with my work please!!

A/N: howdy howdy my lovelies. I know what yall are thinking: papaya didn't you post a fic literally less than two weeks ago? And to that I would say yes, yes I did. However, I have been working on this one for a while and somehow managed to finish it on the plane! Thank you as always to my lovely beta readers @carlynkurin and @joelsdagger The title is a Hozier lyric (are yall really surprised?) This is officially dedicated to my beloved @joeloverture and despite my darling vetty's step off of tumblr, she truly deserves the world. also if you're mean to her i will find you. that is a threat

I hope y'all enjoy the read, and that the filth keeps you going in times of need. Peace and love on the planet Earth from me!!! Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!!

Tags: Erotic voice actor Joel! AU, Young Joel, No outbreak AU, smut, condescension, degradation, f! masturbation, praise, squirting, smut, LOTS of dirty talk, oral (f receiving) friends to lovers, fingering, voice kink, Joel loves thighs, Joel Miller arm appreciation, the reader is a mess, no use of y/n, Joel can pick reader up but he’s HUGE so it makes sense, no description of reader, 18+ Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: you have been using audio erotica to get off for a month, and manage to accidentally let it play in Joel's car, leading to an awkward night in 

You let out an exhausted huff as the dim light of your phone reflected on your face. Your headphones connected, your vibrator was charged, but in some godforsaken twist of fate, there was not a single thing worth listening to on the newest audio erotica page you could find. Videos hadn’t been doing it for you, the ethical concerns were too high for you to be horny, and as much as you liked a good fanfic, you had gone through most of the ones you liked and needed something new.  You click on a post with semi intriguing tags, immediately rolling your eyes and exiting out of it when you hear the all too familiar vocal fry of men trying to sound hotter. News flash: you don't. 

You were moments away from calling it a night and opening your backlog of smutty ao3 fics when another post caught your eye. You let out a snort at the username save_a_horse and glance at the tags. Okay you were definitely interested now, a degrading instructional… you hit play with baited breath, prepping for the worst, but you were so mistaken. 

“Filthy little thing aint ya?” the voice rings in your ears, heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly quickly. “Must be so pathetic if you’re clicking on a mean stranger's voice to get ya’self off” his voice was like hot honey. Sickly sweet and keeping you waiting for his every word but with an edge that stung in the best way. You shuffle yourself back onto the pillows and throw your covers off, fully prepared to enjoy this rare gem. Your breathing picks up, heavy with want as the man in your ears calls you a desperate little slut. 

“Go on, get your toy wet slut” his voice croons out at you “know ya have one, too fuckin’ needy not to.'' Always eager to please, your lips find the base of your curved g-spot vibrator and let the soft plastic fill your mouth, drawing sounds that were almost too debauched for you to be sitting in bed alone. “Bet you love havin your mouth filled like that.. Lord, I'd love to have your pretty little lips around my cock” your eyes practically roll back at that, spit running down the base of your toy before he finally tells you to put it in.  

“Atta girl, such an eager thing” The toy sinks into your sopping cunt with ease as the voice envelops your mind, solely focusing on him. You listen with intense obedience as he tells you how deep, how quick, how much you were allowed. “Go on then, fuck yourself on it. We both know you want to” 

You let out a soft cry as you slip the toy in and out, the curve just hitting the spot that makes your back arch. Your breathing hitches as you press down on the button to turn the vibrations on. “Creamin’ all over yourself I bet,” it was like he could see you. Like he was able to see your arousal dripping onto the sheets below you, how the damp sheets clung to your thighs as they shook and twitched with pleasure. 

“Bet you’re so damn close.. Go on then slut, cum while listenin’ to me'' he taunts slightly as your orgasm washes over you in waves. “Gonna ruin ya,” his words are assertive, less of a promise and almost a threat “ain’t gonna cum unless it's to my voice anymore. Good fuckin’ girl”  You take a few steadying breaths as the audio clicks off, and you blink up at your ceiling unsure of how to go on from there. You glance down at your phone which has made its way to the opposite side of your bed and move to grab it.

You hit play on another audio. 

As the weeks go on, you and the mysterious cowboy in your ears have an immensely good time together. You practically spend every night listening to every one of his audios, leaving silly comments on the ones that make you cum particularly hard. It might have been an issue, how often you found yourself waiting for him to upload, how quickly you would pause your tasks to listen to new updates, but you were having fun and it wasn’t like you were hurting anyone in the process. 

You had just finished an audio before the blaring noise of a horn outside your door rattled you. The clock on your phone taunts you as do the several missed calls and texts from your best friend. “Fuck. fuck okay” you grumble, grabbing a towel and wiping yourself off before tossing a pair of comfy shorts on and grabbing your bag, and heading outside “have you never heard of a virtue called patience miller?” you quip as you slide into the passenger seat of his truck 

“Had it for the first five minutes, but about 10 minutes after that, I was damn ready to break your door down myself” he scoffs “what took you so damn long?” he rolls his eyes as you fiddle with the bluetooth in his car, not wanting to be stuck with what you call ‘old home music’ 

“I was just finishi-” your words are cut off when the sound of a moan plays over the speaker. Just your luck. You kept the grumpiest man alive waiting and then played porn in his car. Hooray for you. “Jesus fucking-” you squeak, fiddling with your phone and closing out of the app “Joel-” you start, cheeks burning and excuses already at the tip of your tongue, before he silently shakes his head and puts the car in reverse. 

The ride back to his house is awkward to say the least. “Joel listen I didn't mean for-” you mumble out meekly, but his sharp gaze on yours has you clamping your mouth closed immediately. You fiddle with your fingers, thinking about playing music, but it just doesn’t feel right anymore. The grip Joel has on the steering wheel is practically iron-clad, his knuckles almost white with the tension as he pulls into his driveway and puts the car in park. You walk into his house with a huff, your weekly game nights off to a bit of a rocky start, but you’ve had to deal with worse with him. Joel had given you moral support when your menstrual cup had gotten “stuck” during one of your first times using it, he could deal with knowing you listened to porn. 

You plop down onto his couch, stretching your legs out on the coffee table while he gets you a glass of iced tea. You take a sip of your drink and mentally prepare yourself for how bad he was going to tease you about this, but are met with shocking amounts of silence. For a man who is ruthless on game nights, the lack of trash talk and absolute avoidance was almost irritating you. Finally, after you beat him in uno for a third time in a row, you snap “What is your issue tonight miller?” you groan, placing a +2 card down “Listen I know that was awkward but we’re both adults I don't see what the big deal is'' 

Joel groans and places another +2, changing the color (much to your annoyance,) “just drop it, nothin’s the issue”  You, petulant and stubborn as ever, did not drop it. You huff as you have to take like 5 cards from the deck before getting one that you can play, and narrow your eyes at him. 

“Bullshit” you move to sit cross-legged on the couch “I never beat you in this game, something is wrong with you tonight,”  it was almost as if nobody had ever taught you not to poke a sleeping bear. Or maybe you figured that the bear was your best friend and probably wouldn't bite your head off… probably. 

“Just drop it peaches,” his words are terse, hands gripping his, now slowly diminishing, uno cards much tighter than he needed to. You groan again when you have to get another few cards. The irritation at his childish behavior, coupled with the stack of 20 cards in your hand makes you more of a menace than you probably should. 

“Don't be such a baby, Miller,” you poke his leg with your foot knowing full well he hates it, a yelp leaving your lips as he grabs your ankle and pulls you forward “Joel!” Your cards fly out of your hand 

“Told you to fuckin’ quit it peach.” His voice is a low timber, stirring something deep in your belly. “Never fuckin’ listen to me” 

You just snort at him when he releases your ankle, moving to pick up your cards, “you suck at uno today Joel” you hmph, rising to your feet “'m gonna get something else” you hear Joel protest and try to grab at your arm but you’re too determined and he’s far too comfy to get up quick enough.  You manage to make it to his spare room, swinging the door open, imagining you’d see a shelf with his board games only to stop dead in your tracks, “what the fuck-”

What you had always assumed was just his spare junk room or random linen closet, was what looked like an at home recording studio. A desk with a PC and speakers, full microphone set up, and what you could only assume was something to help with soundproofing  “What the fuck Miller?” Your voice is slightly full of awe, “are you recording shitty male superiority podcasts now?” you tease, a sly grin on your face. 

Despite how pleased you are with that crack at him, he looks absolutely unamused. He practically clomps over at you, big finger poking your ribs ``you know damn well I ain't doin’ that shit.” He rolls his eyes at your teasing. The idea of Joel Miller getting on the internet to talk about women in a way that wasn't him sitting at his desk going ‘they’re the best damn thing’ was laughable. He was a perfect gentleman to everyone, except maybe to you, but frankly you deserved it for all the shit you gave him. 

You squeak when his finger prods at your skin “okay, okay well what creepy shit are you doing in here then?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, sauntering to his PC set up. The computer and speakers were calling out to you like a siren, and you did not have the common sense to plug your ears. 

Joel knew you. He could read you like a fucking book with how close the two of you were. He used to say that the one braincell you had spent fifty percent of its time inside his mind with how predictable you were to him. “Peach do not fuckin’ dare-” his voice is low, warning you. 

If you had better self preservation skills you would have probably heard the alarm bells ringing in your head telling you that he was serious, or paid better attention to the way his sweats were a little more tight. But you unfortunately were a complete menace, so neither of those items really registered to you. You clap your hands in an evil little giggle when you move the mouse “still no password? Shit you make my life so fucking easy-” you grin as you see the different clips of audio layered together in whatever program he uses 

Joel has somehow silently appeared behind you, his hand pulling you away from the computer. “Quit it peach, I’m not fuckin’ around,” he grits out, the hold on your wrist almost impossibly tight. He means business this time, and despite how much of a hellion you can be to him, you didn’t have a death wish. 

You scrunch your nose at him trying to pull your wrist out of his grip “okay jesus chri-” you yank your hand away from his, elbow bumping into the keyboard and are cut off with the sound of a gravely moan coming out of the speaker. Both you and Joel look like deer caught in the headlights. Your eyes flick between Joel, whose face has gone impressively red, and the screen of his computer.  “I- joel this is-” you stumble over your words, unsure of what to say in this situation. 

“Not a fuckin’ peep.” he practically growls at you. Your mouth clamps shut as he leans over you and presses pause on the audio. Your mouth is drier than it had ever been. That was a clip of your best friend, the one who was looming over you at this very moment, moaning into a microphone. You were certain that if you had listened any closer you would have been able to hear the sounds of his hand stroking his cock. The slight creak of his chair, the wet noise of the lube, or was he a spit guy? He however, was not interested in sharing any more of the audio with you, and you would deny it if anyone asked, you were a little disappointed. 

You need to say something, you had to, and despite your better judgment telling you not to, you do. “I mean you sound nice-” You sound nice?? You were so fucking ridiculous, even you knew that wasn’t the thing to say. Joel’s eyes darken at your words, and for a moment you fear he’s going to kick you out, to get truly pissed off at you for the first time since you finished his Dr. Pepper stash.  “I didn't mean-” you try to backtrack “I just meant- it... You sounded like you were enjoying yourself at least-'' you were actively digging the hole that you were in deeper, rambling and stuttering, all while Joel just stared at you silently, his eyes burning into you

You swallow hard, his eyes still not leaving yours “listen I can go I'm sorry I shouldn't have-” you go to make a beeline out of the room but a firm hand pulling you back into the chair stops you. You fall back with an oof and look up at Joel, who by all accounts looked pissed but there was something else. His pupils were blown and his eyes trace every single one of your movements. The bear had managed to lock in the own cage you had set out for him. 

“Didn't tell you to leave.” he practically grunts at you. Ladies and gentlemen, your best friend, always the most well spoken person in the room. You move to protest again, but the look he gives you stops the words before they even form on your tongue.  you bite your lip and fiddle with your fingers unsure what to do “think I sound nice peaches?” his voice cuts through the anxious rambling in your brain and you're almost certain you've heard him wrong 

“Huh?” you look back up at him through your lashes. He was leaning against the wall where his microphone was set up. His sweats were riding low on his hips and his hoodie covered the toned muscles of his arms, that if anyone asked you had never stared at. The tanned skin you never dared to fantasize about in your bed. The hair that covered his arms, the veins that often made more appearances when you asked forced him to do manual labor that you refused to do yourself. 

“Asked if you think I sound nice, Peaches?” he hums, raising a questioning brow at you. your mouth opens and closes ridiculously a few times before you simply just nod at him  “that's good..” he muses as he comes back up to you “do you think about me?” he prods, a patronizing pout on his lips as you gape up at him. “when you're listening to those dirty little audios and lettin’ your fingers touch that needy cunt?”  you can't help but squeak at his words. the way he said them, the way he spoke was just so… familiar  “come on, pretty peach, tell daddy what you think about when you're fingering that slutty little pussy” he practically grins at you and it fucking clicks. 

Daddy. Daddy. It was him. The stupid cowboy, the random man whose voice sent your tummy into knots, the one who had been getting you off for weeks now was your best friend.  “Joel-” you practically whimper at him. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest and also very distinctly between your legs. “Listen i didn’t know it was you-” there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, one that you would have told him to wipe off his face before you smack it off in any other scenario. 

“No?” he hums at you, his brow quirked up as he towers over you in that stupid recording chair “didn't know it was me when you were commenting all those pretty little reviews?” You whimper out a noise, somewhere between a no and a general sound of timidity, as his hand tilts your chin up to meet his eyes  “Lemme see if I can remember what it was you said before I got you in the car today peach?” he takes a moment to obnoxiously tap his forehead mocking the way you recall things “what was it you said? ‘This made me late to see my friend, but it also made me ruin my sheets’? Was that it peaches?” 

You take a shaky breath, your skin burning under his intense gaze, chin still in his hands. You nod softly at his question, knowing that if you didn't, he would just push you until you did. His grin turns wolfish at your confirmation, and you feel him shift his legs between yours, pushing them apart “yeah peach?” he tuts at you “made me wait for almost 20 minutes outside your house. just so you could cum to my voice… ain’t real nice of you” You take a wobbly breath at his words and try to reply, unsure of what you would even say. An apology maybe, an explanation? But before you can even move to open your mouth he’s cutting you off again 

“Woulda just given you the real thing baby,” he tuts at you “all you had to do was ask.'' His voice is low and almost condescending. You shouldn’t let it turn you on, you should tell him to fuck off, but you feel yourself gush at his tone, your bottom lip getting caught between you teeth. He whistles at the look on your face, his cock practically straining against his sweats, “bet you’re just creamin’ in those slutty little shorts baby'' his words aren’t a question, he’s stating it like he can read you like a book because he knows he can. His legs shift to press your legs further apart until your knees are bumping into the arm rests, your eyes unwavering from his.

Your breath is caught in your throat as he leans down to you, his lips pressed up by one of your ears “Listen to me like this peaches?” he whispers into your ear, a warm breath making you shiver before he moves to the other side “like having me in your ears with your legs spread?” 

“Yes.. fuck yes yes I do-” your words are rushed and lustful as you feel his hands dip into the waistband of your panties. Your hips jolt up into his touch, panties absolutely drenched with your arousal. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, lips parting with a silent cry of pleasure. 

“Knew she’d be droolin’ all over” he hums as he brings his slick covered finger up to his lips and tastes you with delectable pop when he pulls off. “Tastes like I fuckin’ imagined. Like a fuckin’ peach” he groans and for a moment you swear you could cum just like that. 

“Shit Joel please-” he cuts you off with a shake of his head and a shushing noise, as he steps away from you. Your legs are still spread against the chair and you practically whine when he moves away from you, flicking on his recording set up. “Joel what-” he shushes you again, giving you a look that leaves no room for argument. 

“Quiet,” he mumbles, fiddling with the mic and pulling the rolling chair closer to it. “Like listenin’ to me so much, thought i’d use you for better effects. You okay with that peaches?” he asks, looking down at you. Despite the teasing and the mockery, you knew he would stop if you told him you didn't want it. But the idea of him stopping, even for a moment was going to make you explode. You nod, maybe too eagerly for someone about to get fucked on microphone, and he grins. 

“God always knew you were fuckin’ desperate for it” he kneels between your legs, and you stifle a giggle when his knees pop.  “Quit it you menace” He swats at your thigh playful smirk on his lips, making you jump slightly. “Gotta stay real quiet for me, understand?” you watch with bated breath as he moves the mic so it rests delicately in the tension filled space between your spread thighs and his face. 

You nod, lips parted, pupils blown, cunt practically dripping for him. He lets out a soft hum of approval, lips pressing a soft kiss to your thighs “nothing fuckin’ softer than a pair of soft thighs” he muses, half to himself, half to you and the mic “could just live between them forever, die happy if a girl pretty as a peach would let me bury my face there.” You feel yourself clench around nothing, feeling maddeningly empty all of a sudden. You shift to try to gain some friction, the chair giving a slight creak at the change in position. Joel looks up and glares at you, your body going still immediately under the intensity of his eyes. 

He sticks his hand out behind him, pausing the microphone from recording. “You need to stay. still.” he grits out at you “don't need the whole internet hearing how much of a desperate little thing you are.” You nod at his words, hands gripping the armrests so hard your knuckles turn white. He flicks the mic back on and his lips find your thighs again. Nipping and kissing the soft flesh just below the hem of your shorts. He slides his hands further up, popping the button open and you have to bite down on your fist not to moan when he drags the zipper down with his teeth. He shimmies you out of your shorts, leaving your bottom half clad in your embarrassingly wet panties. 

He lets out a growl at the sight of your cunt, clothed and practically dripping for him. “Look at her… practically creaming already and I ain’t even touched you yet” He lets his thumb press against the wet spot the slight pressure just barely teasing your sopping hole dragging a breathy sigh out of you. You look down at him, eyes hooded and lips parting, practically begging for him without uttering a damn word. 

He looks up at you as he slides your panties to the side, blowing a stream of cold air straight onto your clit, making you jump. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy…” he practically salivates at the sight of you “nothin’ fucking better than seein’ a drippy, needy, little cunt in front of me…” he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, right next to where you want him, where you need his lips 

You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words. Somehow it felt filthier being able to see the look on his face, the absolute need he had to taste you. The grip he had on your thighs was bruisingly tight, not helping your arousal die down in the slightest. His mouth finally finds your slit, tongue licking a hot wet stripe at an agonizingly slow pace. He lets out a guttural moan and practically salivates at the taste of you. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet” he groans, tongue dipping back down to taste more of your slick. One of your hands leaves the armrest of the chair and moves to cover your mouth when his lips place three gentle kisses around your clit before relenting and wrapping his lips around the aching bud, with a quiet hum. 

You bite down on your hand to stifle the moans threatening to spill, desperate and eager to please him. Your thighs shake when he slips a finger into your dripping cunt and curls them to hit that spot. He lets out a chuckle, lips still sucking on your clit. The vibrations of his warm breath on your aching clit elicited a desperate wine from your mouth, despite how hard you were trying to be quiet for him “Ffffuck-” 

He raises a brow at you, not even pulling away from your skin, his baby eyes just gazing at you from between your legs as his fingers work at you. Your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth in an effort to stop your sounds, but your attempts seem futile as your climax starts to draw near. Joel slips a second finger inside of you with embarrassing ease, the sound of his fingers curling inside you, joined only by your soft little breaths and his lips on your clit. His fingers stretch you in ways your fingers never have, scissoring and sliding inside of you with practiced precision. “Atta fuckin’ girl..” he growls as your toes curl instinctively, heels digging into his shoulder blades as the coil inside of you finally snaps. You feel yourself gush on his fingers, your thighs clamping around his head as he works you through it “squirtin’ all over daddy’s face huh like the needy thing you are.” 

He pulls your legs off from his legs and hits save on the audio, before glancing back at you with a smirk. “Ain’t posting that anywhere..” he whispers, the gentleness a shocking turn around from the filth he whispered to you earlier. Your breath is still coming out in shaky pants, looking up at him through hazy lids “keepin’ that all to myself” he hums, pressing a little kiss on your head. 

He scoops you up like you’re a ragdoll and practically clomps over to his bedroom, throwing you onto the bed. His fingers work deftly at the tie of his sweats, pushing them off. You squeak softly when you see the trail of hair going down his pelvis, the lack of boxers making heat rise to your chest. You work your top off, while he throws his hoodie across the room, a guttural groan leaving his mouth as he sees your breasts. “Fuckin’ perfect..'' His words aren’t necessarily for you, his thoughts just find themselves being voiced aloud. His calloused hands grope and knead at the softness of your tits before he presses wet kisses to each of your nipples. “Need to be inside ya” he practically begs, cock hard against his stomach leaking pre-cum. 

You could salivate at the sight, hell you truly might have a little bit. “Fuck me, Daddy, need you to fuck me Joel, please i can be good im ready, I'm on the pill-” your words were babbled, fast and rushed together, your intense desire for the man in front of you the only thing your brain could comprehend. Your legs part on the bed, your arousal dripping down your thighs calling to him like flowers call to a honeybee. 

“Christ, baby,” he groans before grabbing your legs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He fists his cock and slides it through your aching pussy, both of you letting out simultaneous cries of shit when your wetness coats his length. He slides into you with gentle thrusts, letting you adjust to his size slowly, before sinking in all the way with a soft whimper “take me so good…” his words are quiet and breathless, almost as if he was in awe of how your body made room for him. 

“Oh my god-” you cry out, your hands fisting in the dark sheets under your skin. “so fucking big joel..” you clench around him, body on fire with how good he felt inside you, with how perfect it was. It was like you were made to take him like this. His thrusts get faster and your legs curl around his waist, pulling him in as deep as you possibly could. The feeling of his hand pressing on your lower stomach has you arching your back into his touch. 

“Perfect fucking thing,” he grits huskier than usual, with a thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. “Feel me peaches?” he thrusts into you again and presses on your tummy “right fuckin’ there.. Right where I god damn belong…” his words were lust filled and hazy, his own need and orgasm clouding all judgment. Your hips roll against his, the coarse hair brushing up against you, and your head lolls back into the mattress as his thrusts get sloppier. 

“Inside, Joel fuck-” you whimper at him, eyes wide and pleading as your second orgasm builds in the pits of your belly “please cum inside me, wanna feel you please..” for a moment he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. The sounds of your pretty little moans and begging are like a dream come true for him. He just nodded and shifted so he was practically cradling your body under his, cock buried so deep inside you that you knew you’d be feeling it for days afterward. 

He grinds his hips lazily against yours while his thrusts are shallow and pointed. Your legs shake while you meet his lips in a sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth as you both fall apart practically molded together. “Jesus christ-” his breathing is ragged and hoarse “takin’ me so damn good, gonna fuckin’ fill you up” he gives a few more thrusts before he pulls out of your quivering pussy, your own orgasm sending stars into your eyes. 

You both stay like that for a moment, Joel's forehead resting softly on your shoulder as his cum spills out onto his bed. You shift softly to pull him next to you and curl into his touch, giving him a cheeky smile as you tilt his face to meet your eyes. “You…” a breathless little laugh escapes your lips “how long did you know I was commenting on your posts?” you ask softly, brows raised at him. 

He snorts at the question and flicks your forehead gently, earning a playful pout to be thrown in his direction. “Bout damn near two weeks ago” he replies, classic shit eating grin plastered to his face. “Figured it was you when you came over lookin’ like you’d won the damn Powerball and some little fan called peaches_and_cream left a comment about cummin’ three times to one damn post” you let out a muffled groan and bury your head into his chest, mumbling something about him being an asshole before you both shift into a comfortable silence. 

He moves, patting your hip and telling you to go use the bathroom after a few minutes, preaching his favorite safe sex speech and you roll your eyes at him before you saunter over to his bathroom. “Oh and Joel-” you call out before you walk in, eyes meeting his as he waits for you to finish your sentence “send me that audio, would ya?” 

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free

READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. Silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist.

PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. 

Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

[0mysteiarchives]

Within their not-so-angelic prescence .

• Robin , Sunday

"Don't be afraid my dear." "...Actually i'm very much afraid-"

AN: I'm cooking for myself and the robin and sunday devotees frfr !! Also thanks for blowing up my last two posts :3

warning: yandere themes, and possibly ooc?

• Congratulations! You were cursed with two angelic yanderes completely infatuated with you! How do you feel about that?? I'm pretty sure the fangirls and fanboys would love to be in your place.

• Honestly how you ended up like this can be every single possibility imaginable. Whether you end up as one of Robin's crew members, Sunday's work assistant, or literally just being some random stranger walking down the bustling street as both of them stroll around. In any case you'll be the main attention of their curiosity. (ig you're just that pretty idk what to tell yall)

• Obviously the siblings will talk to each other about this feeling towards someone they barely know, but at the end of the day siblings share! Maybe a bit of bickering or two but it'll be alright! They've got everything at their disposal to bring you to them.

If you ever hear a knock on your door, or see the BloodHound family members following you outside, don't bother about that!

• Now that they have you in their grasp, first thing you'll be forced to do is public appearance! Why? Because then everyone will know you belong to them! Robin takes you out to her interviews and exposing you to the paparazzi. Occasionally she'll be sneaky, getting a bit too intimately close to your face and give you a small peck on your cheek as the crowd goes wild. Sunday wrapping an arm around your waist and inching you closer to him as he knows that the public will start rumors about you, him and his sister.

You're fine with that right? I mean, it's not like you had a choice anyway.

• In terms of affection, Robin is a bit more affectionate than Sunday. Most of her interactions are genuine and soft that would lull you into a sense of comfort. If you ever tend to push her away or close yourself off from her, it's fine! Love takes time and Robin will eventually get you to love her just like she loves you.

= Sunday however, can be dependent on how you act. Don't get it wrong though, he's sweet and genuinely loves you just as much as his sister does. But if you won't comply with his requests and continue being stubborn, then maybe punishments are in order... It'll be fine! Robin will convince him not to be too harsh on you!

• What? You don't like how suffocating it feels? You're trying to leave their side? No can do! The siblings are influential after all, they have control over your image to the public brought down in a matter of seconds! Have the people corner you with numerous and uncomfortable questions! Maybe they'll blackmail you with your own family and friends..

= Still not giving in? They'll just have a custom made dreamscape to trap you in! You'll be running through the Reverie hallways, and suddenly end up in an unknown location you have never seen before. As long as you give up and come back into their arms you'll be able to return safely under their protection.

Don't run off okay? They'll wipe your tears and embrace you tight, wrap you between their graceful wings to blind you from the wicked manipulation in play.

—

Robin will be your best comfort, Sunday will be your best protection.

Just don't be fooled by their sweet, intoxicating words..

Not all angels are as innocent as they seem, remember?

[pro-sipper]

I understand that we should just block content we don't wanna see, but I still think things like proships or ships that are wrong and illegal in irl should be kept private. Because that is exposing kids to the romantization of abuse, incest, and pedophilia. This content may expose them to predators, which could cause them harmful trauma, the type that people claim to use proshipping for. They may think that a person older than them liking a kid is ok, even though the adult has bad intentions. We know that they are fictional characters, but they represent real people and can still affect kids. And if this isn't supposed to affect them irl, why do so many groomers show proship media and illegal art to grow kids?

Don't want to start anything just curious

I think the short version of the argument is basically "the internet shouldn't have to be a 100% sanitized and safe space for children". But getting further into it...

"but I still think things like proships or ships that are wrong and illegal in irl should be kept private."

It's not worth mentioning now but "proships" aren't a thing. Proship doesn't stand for problematic ship, it's not an adjective.

My question is why this line of thinking only applies to ships? Murder and cannibalism are also illegal, but no one's going around saying you should keep your love of horror to yourself, or only watch R rated movies in the privacy of your own home.

"Because that is exposing kids to the romantization of abuse, incest, and pedophilia."

The majority of people interacting with media like this, or making posts about this, DO NOT want kids interacting with their content! They slap every rating, warning label, and trigger tag under the sun onto their work to say that it is not for kids. At the end of the day, that's all you can do. It is not one random proshipper's job to shelter every single child in the world.

Furthermore, kids are exposed to that crap from plenty of other places besides randos on tumblr. Walking into a library or turning on a television can easily expose kids to these topics just as much as going onto ao3 or opening tumblr could. That doesn't mean every professional author or tv writer on earth needs to create art that's palatable for children. Because that's not their responsibility.

"This content may expose them to predators"

It's grim to say, but literally anything on earth could potentially expose a child to a predator. Getting on the bus, going to the park, going to school, going to church, going to a friend's house, going home. Honestly I think it's a bit of a privileged mindset to think that a child would be 100% safe in this world if it weren't for faceless boogeymen online committing the sin of writing dark fic of their Blorbos.

"which could cause them harmful trauma,"

Again, that trauma could come from anywhere. And you're putting the weight of preventing that onto random strangers online, not anyone who's concretely in the hypothetical child's life, or actually responsible for them

"the type that people claim to use proshipping for"

Appreciate the subtleties of invalidating other people's trauma. Just because you don't have the same coping mechanisms doesn't mean theirs are invalid. Especially when countless licensed therapists agree that writing is one of the better ways you can help process trauma.

And to state the obvious, you don't need to have trauma to be a proshipper. Not everyone uses dark content for self reflection, some people just think it's neat.

"They may think that a person older than them liking a kid is ok, even though the adult has bad intentions."

A kid should not be getting 100%, or even most of their life lessons from fictional media. Parents, guardians, teachers, and other trusted adults in a child's life are the ones who need to teach them right from wrong, and how to protect themselves. I remember being a kid and being told by my mom "now if a stranger pulls up to you and says they lost their puppy and they'll give you candy if you help them look for it, do NOT go with them". That was her job as a parent.

Now I know that sadly, not every child has that kind of trusted adult in their life. But it's not the responsibility of a bunch of fanfic authors on tumblr to fill in the gaps.

"We know that they are fictional characters, but they represent real people and can still affect kids."

It doesn't matter how closely or loosely fiction depicts our reality, it's still just fiction at the end of the day. Movies have been using the whole "Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental" disclaimer for almost as long as there have been movies.

"And if this isn't supposed to affect them irl, why do so many groomers show proship media and illegal art to grow kids?"

One, art is not illegal. Unless you get caught graffiti-ing, then you might get fined. And no one is saying this kind of thing can't affect a child. But why, in this scenario, are you putting the blame on fanfic authors and fanartists before putting the blame on the actual groomer??

And again I ask, what exactly is "proship media" anyway? I'm guessing the kind of stuff that constantly appears on people's DNI lists, which could be anything from Steven Universe to Cannibal Holocaust, so who really knows??

Like I said in the short version, the internet should not have to be sanitized for the sake of the children. The entire internet does not need to be one giant safe space for kids. Adults have a right to talk about adult things with other adults. To explore dark topics in fiction, or to have fun with taboos in a harmless way.

I want the world to be safe for kids too. But the way to do that isn't to forbid adults from posting shit online. Instead of trying to shield children from every controversial, difficult, or uncomfortable topic under the sun, give them the tools they need to learn how to process these things.

Be a safe person to talk to if a kid has a question. Help them understand why something might be okay in a fantasy setting, but it's not something that should carry over into real life (like, a fairy tale prince kissing an sleeping princess to break a curse is fine, but in real life where there's no magic you should always make sure someone is okay with it before kissing them. Something like that)

Teach them internet safety, above all else. When I was a kid, you didn't give out any personal info. Nowadays kids have no qualms about giving out their full name, age, list of phobias and disorders, showing their school, their house - the list goes on.

Honestly, I think we need to go back to scaring kids with Stranger Danger, at least a little. But that's starting to veer into a different topic and I think I've said all I need to say about this one today.

[featguler]

one of those things ────── aurélien isn't ready to let you go.

♡ ────── pairing : aurélien tchouaméni x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified, but they are described to be smaller than aurel. no smut but aurel is very touchy here... viewer's discretion is advised. kiiiiinda toxic idk they're exes and also drunk. aurel is sorta an asshole but idc he's so hot omfgggg sorry he is JEALOUS. important to mention that he's a bit forceful here but reader (& me) lowkey likes it... NOT proofread!!! it's a bit messy sorry ♡ ────── wordcount : 1,431 ♡ ────── notes : i am blushing as i write this. there is no plot to this, it's literally just banters. the stranger can be whoever you want but i am imagining trent from lfc omggg hes so fine. i GOTTA stop talking so much on the tags. not based on cowboy like my by taylor swift, but i was listening to it the whole time i was writing this ♡ masterlist.

“Stop looking at him.”

Aurélien has his lips hovering against the side of your neck, glowering at the general direction of the bar, like he was a wolf trying to protect his slaughtered prey.

“I’ll look at whoever I want,” you roll your eyes, hands gripping his arms—much bigger, much stronger—that are wrapped around your waist, trying to pry him off you. He has refused to let go of you ever since his drunken gaze spied you on the bar, biting your lips as you tug on the sleeve of a stranger of a man you’ve met only tonight.

You were flirting with him, because obviously you were.

It’s a club. It’s 1 A.M. And you are single.

Why wouldn’t you flirt with the next piece of hot ass you see?

“Come on,” Aurélien whispers, focusing all his hazy attention on you. “Should I go over and talk to him? S’that what you want? What do you think, baby?”

The fun banters were cut short when you felt an all too familiar farm wrapped around your waist, whisking you away.

And before you know it, you are settled on your ex’s lap, thirty feet away from the stranger on the bar, somewhere between his footballer friends, too busy with themselves and too accustomed with Aurélien’s antics to pay you any spare attention.

“I think,” you keep your eye contact with the man in the bar, fingers trying to slip between Aurélien’s hand, “you’re drunk. And stupid.”

“Drunk?” he chuckles, fully burying his face into your neck, an enticing feeling that you haven’t felt in a while, as he breathes in your scent. “Maybe.”

You shift on his lap, knees aching to get up, but he holds you down.

“But I’m not stupid, baby—”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’.”

“—don’t call me stupid.”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’,” you repeat, leaning away from his head, trying to push his face away from the tender skin of your neck. Ex-lovers definitely shouldn’t be all over each other like this. “We’re over, Aurélien. Remember?”

“Remember?” He chuckles, still keeping his chin on your shoulder despite your eagerness to get away. “Ouch.”

“Get used to it.”

You glance back at the bar as Aurélien’s fingers find their way to the hem of your shirt, ungodly intention laced in every stretch of his muscles before your shaky hand stops him, somewhat affected by the couple of shots the stranger had bought you too.

“Fine,” he murmurs, pouting, as though you will melt for that age-old trick. “I’ll apologise for calling you ‘baby’, and then we’ll go home and have some fun.”

You scrunch your nose at his offer, turn to glare at him, only to meet his lazy grin.

“I’m not—”

You breathe in a deep sigh, and you can feel his jaw clench.

“—If I’m going home with anyone tonight, it won’t be you.”

“Why not?” He whines, pulling you in even closer, if possible, and you bite your lips as your ass rubs against his crotch, the friction causing you to shut your eyes as the blood rushes away from your brain.

The night just gets more hazy.

And seeing you distracted, Aurélien steals the moment to continue his way under your shirt, his fingers digging deep into the side of your torso.

“Aurélien,” your murmur, your voice drawing out to a drawl. You almost forgot about the stranger in the bar—when you look back at him for a short second, he is holding a glass of shots against his lips, a smirk etched on his lips like he’s enjoying the show Aurélien is putting on for him.

Aurélien grits his teeth, grazing them against your neck when he notices that your attention is centred on the guy more than on him. “Answer me.”

You huff, gripping his wrist over your shirt. “Because we’re over. We broke up.”

An irritated sigh escapes his lips, somehow returning his lips on your neck, nipping softly on the skin. “You’re being stubborn.”

“I’m being stubborn?”

“Come on,” he pretends that he isn’t in denial. “I’ll take you home and I’ll fix whatever was wrong with us, yeah?”

His hand continues to knead on your flesh, lips moving up your neck, to your jaw, to nip on your earlobes. 

“That’s not,” your grip on his wrist tightened, “how it works.”

“Of course it is,” he whispers, pulling you back. “That’s exactly how it works. We’ll talk, just you and me, back at my place.”

You shake your head, one hand on the velvet couch beneath you two, to find leverage as your feet find the floor—a sad attempt of getting up. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“You sure about that?” His hand leaves your shirt, and finds itself gripping your thigh to pull you back down. He sounds inviting, and you almost fell for the alluring tone of his words. “Don’t make me prove you wrong.”

You slant your eyes. “Don’t be a dick.”

Aurélien laughs, seeming to enjoy riling you up, like he wants to see you break.

“Or what?” He cups the side of your hips, rocking you, his fingers drawing aimless patterns against the fabric of your jeans. “You gonna do something about it? Gonna punish me, baby?”

You grit your teeth, drawing in a sharp breath, a hot sensation stirring in your chest—a mixture of exhilaration, and annoyance, and interest, and anger.

You can backtrack. You can forget about your break up, and go home with him, and let the alcohol take over the night. But your ego is higher than whatever pedestal Aurélien has decided to put you on.

And you? Well, you are just not the type of person to get back together after a break up.

It’s pathetic. It’s embarrassing.

Aurélien tilts his head at the way your bottom lip juts and pouts as you rake your brain for some sort of response. He can’t help pushing you over the edge—that feeling of dominance over your feeble resolve, having you on his lap, small and bothered; he loves it.

And he loves you. He is pretty sure that he does. And he’s pretty sure that you would come running back to him if he just pushes the right button.

“Cat got your tongue, huh?” He kisses your cheek, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart towards the bar for a second. “I’m tryna talk to you, baby. I can’t have you go home with ‘nother man, now can I?”

“Fuck,” you jolt when you feel him dig even further into your hip, “I’m fuckin’ sick of you, Aurélien.”

He chuckles. “Say it again.”

You scoff, throwing your gaze away, trying to distract yourself with the arbitrary coloured lights on the dancefloor. “You got a sick kink?”

“I do,” Aurélien laughs, fond of the way you are feisty, of the way you hold back out of pride. “Only for you, though.”

It’s what he likes about you, he guesses, you keep it interesting for him. 

“Say you want me back,” he coaxes, his breath hot against your neck, lips just inches away from the one spot he had been lapping on all night. He would love to see you tomorrow morning—he just knows that his bite marks will develop into pretty bruises tomorrow, and the thought latches his teeth on the skin above your collarbone. “I know you want me, baby.”

“You’re dreaming,” you sneer, though it leaves your mouth more like a whine. He raises an eyebrow. “M’gonna say this—last time I’ll ever say it. We broke up.”

Aurélien groans, shutting his eyes, annoyed. “You’re so difficult.”

His large palm rubs against you, returning once more to the warm skin under your shirt, nails lightly scratching on it.

“You’re not protesting against me, though,” he points out. “You still love me, dontcha?”

You bite your lips, and it takes two seconds too long to answer him. “No.”

The way you whine, the way you shift—deliberately or not—on his lap. Aurélien murmurs, “You’re a shitty liar.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ohh, that’s not the language that a pretty baby should use,” his drunken slurs scold. You feel annoyed—and helpless—just listening to him. “Shouldn’t you mind your manners, considering you’re sitting on my lap?”

“Well,” you swallow, turning to look back at him. “Maybe you should consider letting me go.”

“And let you go back to him?” Aurélien shoots another murderous look at the bar. “No. Besides, I’m not done with you.”

You sigh, biting your lips, and a small smirk sprouts on his lips. You’re in for a long, long night.

[frankingsteinery]

i’ve seen a lot of people in general agreement of the headcanon that victor is on the spectrum, but i’ve very rarely seen someone examine the why, and being the persnickety superfluous person that i am (and not being immune to projection myself) i thought i’d try my hand at it and break down his autistic traits!

disclaimer that this interpretation is speculative and is simply my unprofessional neurodivergent opinion + it’s based on contemporary understandings of psychology, which were not part of shelley's context, however autistic people have always existed even if there wasnt a word for it during that time period, etc etc. you know the drill

without further ado!

-- communication & social interaction

first and foremost, many autistics struggle with socialization. victor’s inclination to attach himself to a single friend (henry) and only talking to those inside of his close circle rather than forming many connections reflects this tendency, and he himself acknowledges his dislike and indifference of strangers. for example:

“It was my temper to avoid a crowd and to attach myself fervently to a few. I was indifferent, therefore, to my school-fellows in general; but I united myself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among them”

“My life had hitherto been remarkably secluded and domestic, and this had given me invincible repugnance to new countenances… I believed myself totally unfitted for the company of strangers”

furthermore, he lacks relationship degradation (he does not require regular interaction or relationship maintenance to sustain a bond). during the creation process, he (presumably) goes months without writing to his family and friends, which clerval lectures him for:

“Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from you so seldom. By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon their account myself."

yet upon his arrival at ingolstadt:

"...nothing could equal [his] delight on seeing Clerval."

victor also takes things literally several times and social nuances can fly over his head. he demonstrates this literalism when first meeting elizabeth:

"And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine"

and, of course, the infamous i will be with you on your wedding-night scene, when the creature obviously means he tends to harm elizabeth, not victor himself:

“It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your wedding-night.” I started forward and exclaimed, “Villain! Before you sign my death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe!"

he also goes nonverbal and groans/vocalizes instead of speaking when upset. there's several instances of this that i can recall (i believe another is with walton), but i could only find one, where elizabeth has to speak for him during their visit to justine:

"When she saw who it was, she approached me and said, “Dear sir, you are very kind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty?” ... I could not answer. “No, Justine,” said Elizabeth"

and this is more of a sidenote but he gives walton every. minute. detail. of his story, including his childhood in-depth (which was not particularly relevant to the moral of victors tale, which was the whole reason he wound up sharing his story in the first place) which definitely feels like. Something. reminiscent of infodumping almost.

-- repetitive behaviors

victor shows both repetitive motions and repetitive language to such an extent that it'd be ridiculous to put them all here, particularly when he is distressed and agitated. some of these motions include clasping his hands, covering his face with his hands, and gnashing his teeth, which he does on walton's boat, after finding out about william's death, in his confrontation with the creature, during his time at the orkney islands, etc. the use of certain phrases/verbal repetition  include his many "great god!"s and "begone!"s, which he usually says in reaction to the creature or while grieving a loved one. these behaviors are arguably self-stimulatory (stimming) and done to cope with overwhelming, stressful situations.

-- fixations/spinterests

ths one's perhaps his most blatant characteristic. victor has a highly focused, intense interest, initially in in the workings of the world itself:

"It was the secrets of heaven and earth that I desired to learn... still my inquiries were directed to the metaphysical, or in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world."

"The world was to me a secret, which I desired to discover;"

"I have described myself as always having been imbued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of nature"

this is to the extent that his education is noticeably different from his peers, both in acceleration in the topic of his choice and neglect of other, more typical studies due to the intensity of this focus:

“I confess that neither the structure of languages, nor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states possessed attractions for me.”

“…but by some fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my accustomed studies.”

this early fixation eventually narrows into a special interest in ancient alchemy, after victor finds one of agrippa's works and a "new light seems to dawn upon [his] mind," upon which he proceeds to acquire all the works of agrippa and other authors:

"When I returned home my first care was to procure the whole works of this author, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and studied the wild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me treasures known to few besides myself"

this remains his special interest until he is a teenager, upon which, after finding out ancient alchemy has been disproven, he takes up mathematics until his arrival at ingolstadt. then, his interest shifts into a fixation on natural philosophy, particularly chemistry, which becomes his "sole occupation":

"He concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall never forget... one by one the various keys were touched which formed the mechanism of my being; chord after chord was sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception, one purpose"

"I read with ardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination, which modern inquirers have written on these subjects... the stars often disappeared in the light of morning whilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory. As I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that my progress was rapid. My ardour was indeed the astonishment of the students, and my proficiency that of the masters"

which, of course, develops into an interest in physiology and the structure of the human frame, which leads to his obsession over the secret of life, followed by being "thus engaged, heart and soul, in one pursuit" during the creation of the creature.

-- intense, volatile emotions; resistance to change

in general, victor is very emotionally demonstrative, and has difficulty managing these emotions. he also experiences quick fluctuations in emotion. this is something he has experienced since childhood, and is something he maintains as an adult, when he acknowledges that:

"My temper was sometimes violent…"

some examples of these shifts in emotion:

"My heart, which was before sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy..."

"Sometimes he commanded his countenance and tones and related the most horrible incidents with a tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation; then, like a volcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression of the wildest rage as he shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor"

hand in hand with his emotional dysregulation, he shows resistance to change and has strong reactions to this change. the most obvious example of this is during the animation of the creature:

"The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature... but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart"

"Mingled with this horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!"

but it also occurs when moving to ingolstadt, suggesting a discomfort with unfamilarity and a need for stability:

I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged in the most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by amiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual pleasure—I was now alone.

-- black-and-white thinking

this aspect is most clearly shown through the way victor thinks about, and drops and gains interests and relationships. he spends years studying ancient alchemy and it is his principle interest, and then drops it on a dime and suddenly looks upon this passion with contempt:

“By one of those caprices of the mind which we are perhaps most subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former occupations, set down natural history and all its progeny as a deformed and abortive creation, and entertained the greatest disdain for a would-be science which could never even step within the threshold of real knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to the mathematics and the branches of study appertaining to that science as being built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration”

later, he spends four years with his mind filled with "one thought, one conception, one purpose" studying the processes of life so intensely he forgoes adequate food, water and rest. this culminates in the creation and subsequent animation of the creature, which he again turns around and abandons this interest immediately, to the extent that he cannot bear to think of natural philosophy:

Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the beginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even to the name of natural philosophy.

it's a very polarized, all-or-nothing approach that is mirrored with his relationships, too, which he alternatedly neglects -- he cuts contact when he goes to ingolstadt but abruptly picks it up again when henry comes into his life; when the creature flees victor's apartment, victor treats it as if he never existed entirely; his family only comes to the center of the narrative again when he gets the letter from alphonse about william's murder, despite 2 years having been passed at ingolstadt, etc.

and finally;

-- low empathy

victor repeatedly focuses solely on his own internal emotional experience, and struggles to fully comprehend and understand the depth of feelings of others and respond with compassion in conventional ways. during justine's trial, for instance, he elevates his own suffering above justine's, even as she faces her literal execution:

I rushed out of the court in agony. The tortures of the accused did not equal mine; she was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of remorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold.

Despair! Who dared talk of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the awful boundary between life and death, felt not, as I did, such deep and bitter agony. 

similarly, victor dismisses ernest's grief after william's death, he frames it in terms of how it affects himself -- telling ernest to "be more calm" to avoid causing his own discomfort:

Ernest began to weep as he said these words. “Do not,” said I, “welcome me thus; try to be more calm, that I may not be absolutely miserable the moment I enter my father’s house after so long an absence.

this detachment suggests not deliberate cruelty (victor very clearly loves his family, and he's said to be kind several times) but a limited capacity to process and respond to other's emotions. this is a detachment that extends to his views of the dead. during the creation of the creature, he refers to the corpses he utilizes as only "materials" instead of once having been fully-fledged human beings, and he does not contemplate the lives or dignity of the deceased.

aaaaaand thats it! thank you for indulging my. headcanon projection land. let me know what you all think...

[number1greedlingfan]

Headcanons that are meaningless to everyone but me (or extremely niche inside jokes formed by my friend group)

Hawkeye finds pleasantries, mostly "hello"s and "goodbye"s, pointless and kind of annoying. She'll sometimes engage in them in person but never over the phone. She often hangs up while the other person is mid "bye".

Havoc's "tried and true" opener on dates is that he prefers rainy weather because he, quote, "loves to curl up by the window with a good book and some tea". This is not only a bold-faced lie, but it hasn't helped him get past the first date so it's not any more effective than his other lines.

Fuery pulls more women than Havoc does (not that there was any competition lmao) but he is somehow unaware of this.

Mustang's singular hobby that he does purely for fun is building model ships. His only social interaction is with his coworkers because he does not have any other friends.

Ed thinks Winry is cooped up in her shop all day and all night but that's literally only when he shows up because he DOES IT UNANNOUNCED!! Winry has a thriving social life both in Resembool and Rush Valley. She knows every single person in Resembool and keeps tabs on the neighbors. She's invited to dinners and group outings all the time. People mourned when she moved to RV. Within a month of working at Garfiel's, she'd already met most of the people on the street and she remembers most of their names.

Because of her interests, it's often assumed that Winry is a "not like other girls" type but she is the exact opposite. If you say a single misogynistic thing about other girls' interests (like astrology or pop music) on a first date she is getting up and leaving.

Ling is hypermobile and can bend his hands like this️ ⬇️ as well as do things like back bends and pulling his shoulders out of their sockets. When he was younger he would go up to literally anyone (family members, visiting officials, perfect strangers) and ask if they wanted to see him pull his shoulder out and then not wait for an answer.

Ling's favorite fruit is mango. When he was seven he refused to eat anything but that and had so many that he threw up at a family function. (Mangos were ruined for him for two years.)

Lan Fan does not get sick often but when she does It's Bad and she's taken out for a week or more. When she was younger and delirious with fever, she started distressedly mumbling that she was turning into a cookie. Nothing would convince her otherwise (Fu tried everything). In the end, they had to get Ling to help and he calmed her down in seconds by saying "there are no crumbs so I think you're probably okay".

This is a small one: Lan Fan is on the ace spectrum.

When Mei cooks for other people she makes it as cute as humanly possible. Everything that can have a smiley face or heart on it will. Side note, Al and Mei are 100% a couple that cooks together.

Mei is a little bit fujopilled. You understand.

While he seems shady as hell, Greed's rap sheet is actually pathetically small. The worst crime he's ever committed is, of course, the single instance of kidnapping that we saw on screen.

Greed doesn't understand electricity. He thinks it's powered by electric eels ("eelectricity") and has numerous drawings in his diaries theorizing on the mechanics of these machines. Ex: A generator that has an eel tank with a water wheel inside of it. The drawing is accented with large arrows and question marks and "HOW DOES IT WORK"s. That being said! He's not stupid in all academics. Give this guy some numbers and put it in a financial context and he can calculate anything.

Greed likes the "finer things" but he also has bad taste and sometimes these clash horribly. Is the furniture in his home expensive? Yes. Does any of it match in any conceivable way? Fuck no. Also that nice walnut hutch that cost 1.5K is used solely to display his novelty bong collection.

Heinkel and Darius only became close and discovered the other was gay because of the Camping Trip. So,

[tommydarlings]

Little Love Letters | c.s

pairing: dark!neighbour!mean!dom!carlos x sub!reader

warnings: psychotic behaviour, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, pure manipulation, inappropriate usage of ropes, usage of a knife, smut, cnc, dacryphilia, forced blowjob, gagging, brief mentions of killing somebody, brief mentions of stalking

w/c: 3.1k

summary: After receiving multiple creepy letters by an unknown stranger, you scarily run into the arms of your sweet, spanish neighbour carlos — sadly, you ran into the worst embrace you could have possibly ran into.

check this out: my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! (get access to +50 works) <3 // Save a Life carrd made by me! <3

Feeling lonely in your 20's is probably something a lot of people feel. The problem is, that literally all of your friends — who are the same age as you — are most definitely not lonely, they are either in a relationship or already married, one of your old Highschool friends just recently gave birth to her little babygirl.

And you are not even able to remember the last time when you talked to a man that wasn’t your gay best friend or your neighbour carlos.

Carlos, the kind Spaniard next door was very sweet and also quite attractive in your opinion, but you still never really felt the specific spark between the two of you when you crossed paths and talked for a bit.

But even though you had no partner and only a few friends that you barely saw since you’ve moved, you didn’t feel that alone.

Especially not since some unknown stranger — or maybe even 'secret admirer' sent you letters, every. single. day.

At first, you thought that it was a joke and ignored it, but after you’ve received the fourth letter, you knew that this was not a joke, this was serious.

Of course it scared and confused you, since nobody expect for your three friends know your new address, but at the same time, it wasn’t that bad.

Sometimes, this mysterious stranger filled the letter with sentences like,

“Each time i see you, you only get prettier.”

“You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, my love, ever.”

“I wish I could kiss you right now beautiful, wish I could feel your lips on mine.”

But sometimes they brought tears out of pure fear into your eyes,

“One day I will get you into my hands and I will never let you go, I promise you that y/n.”

“You will be mine, if you like it or not my darling, you will be mine.”

“I would kill for you, I would do absolutely anything for you y/n, anything you want me to.”

You gulped as you read those words, sometimes even wiping some tears away since some of his letters were filled with dark and psychotic sentences like that.

And since you were so scared — and also since it got everyday only worse and worse — you ran to the only person that you knew in this new town, your neighbour Carlos.

When you knocked in his door on a cold night at around 9 p.m., Carlos looked at you like you were crazy since you were only in a lose pair of jogger and a thin tanktop, making him quickly step aside and lead you into his cozy and especially warm home.

“Cariño, what are you doing here, don’t you have a jacket or a coat? C'mere,” he told you, placing his hand onto your back and leading you into his house, “It’s so cold outside, you’ll probably catch a cold y/n.”

But you only shook your head before you sat down onto the big couch in his living room, biting your lip before he got on his knees in front of you, being almost at eye level with you now.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Carlos quickly raised his brows before he scanned your body with his eyes, rough palms reaching out to grab your hands, turning your arms around and glancing at your unharmed skin.

You sighed before you pulled your arms away from his touch, briefly making him gulp. And if you haven’t lost your mind already, you could have sworn that you’ve noticed that he looked rather mad at you for a quick second as you basically threw his hands away, but you were probably just seeing things by now.

After letting out a long sigh, you shook your head, “N-No, I’m not hurt, don’t worry Carlos,” you spoke up, making him release a long breath, “I guess I’m just a bit…scared,” you admitted as you felt tears building up in your eyes, quickly trying to blink then away as the Spaniard furrowed his brows,

“Scared? Of what?” He asked you, lightly stroking your legs with his big palms now, listening to your voice explaining everything to him,

“It’s just, there are those extremely weird and scary letters that I’ve been receiving for a while now-”

Carlos immediately interrupted you, “For a while? Cariño, for how long? Why have you never told me,” he asked you in a strong Spanish accent.

“About a month now-”

“A month?” The Spaniard raised his brows, caressing your legs, “You should have told me y/n.”

You gulped before you shook your head and muttered a quick 'it's nothing' before you went on,

“Of course I felt a bit…watched as I got the first letter but the letter was actually filled with…really nice and sweet words, so I just smiled before I threw him away,” you continued your story, swallowing down some tears while you felt Carlos squeezing your knees almost like he was mad about the fact that you threw them away,

“But after some while the letters got…worse.”

Carlos tilted his head to the side, shaking his head before he spoke up with furrowed brows, “What do you mean when you say worse?” He asked you, thumb caressing your cold skin now,

You cleared your throat, “Well, they got creepier, sometimes this unknown stranger wrote things like, 'I would kill for you' or 'I am the only one you’ll need for the rest of your life,” you told him before you sniffled, quickly wiping a single tear away, making Carlos change his almost too serious facial expression in a matter of a second.

“Oh no, cariño,” he immediately spoke up as he noticed your wet eyes. Carlos raised one of his hands and wiped your tear away, cupping your cold cheek with his big, warm hand afterwards.

“Don’t cry, I know that all of this is very scary for you,” he mumbled reassuringly, “If you don’t feel save enough in your house, you can stay at my place tonight,” he suggested as you looked down at him, “I will keep you save, I promise,” Carlos told you with a sweet smile, making you laugh into his palm.

Carlos briefly laughed along before he stood up, towering over your sitting figure now, hand brushing your hair out of your face now,

“I will always keep you save, mi cariño,” he told you with more of a serious tone, only a tiny smile covering his lips now, making you quickly furrow your brows before you smiled up at him,

“Thank you, Carlos.”

“Oh,” he chuckled before he made his way to the kitchen, “No need to thank me.”

You wiped some more tears away before you stood up, Carlos standing in front of you now with two glasses filled with probably very expensive red wine, making you gasp.

“Only one glas, cariño, c'mon,” he smiled at you, basically pressing the glass filled with the alcoholic beverage already in your hand without giving you a chance to say anything.

You chuckled and flashed him a wide smile before you mumbled a quick 'okay', both of you saying a quiet 'cheers' before you emptied your glasses, Carlos closely watching you while you just enjoyed the wine.

“Wow,” you spoke up as you handed him the glass, “That was a really good one, not gonna lie…definitely needed that one,” he laughed at your statement, cleaning the glasses while you just stood in the big kitchen, slowly blinking your eyes.

Carlos turned his head and looked back at your slightly stumbling figure. And if you weren’t hallucinating, you could have sworn that you saw him smirking at you.

You gulped before you released a deep breath, smiling in his direction, or at least you tried to smile in his direction, “That w-was a s-strong one,” you chuckled before you heard Carlos chuckling as well, making you furrow your brows as you felt like the entire room was spinning around you, groaning as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Oh really?” He asked you, honestly, you were very surprised that you were even still able to understand him.

You swallowed before you touched your head, desperately trying to stop the spinning, “Y-Yeah, a very, very s-strong one, c-carlos,” you whined out, gulping a second time.

you blinked another time, and another time — and this time, your helping neighbour stood right in front of you.

“C-Carlos, I don’t feel,” you breathed out as you felt like you were on the brink of fainting, “so g-good,” you finished your sentence, quickly falling straight into the arms of the Spaniard, passing out in his warm embrace.

Carlos sighed after he caught you, “Each time I see you, you really do get prettier mi cariño.”

- - -

Waking up with a headache, with the feeling of a bit of dizziness and ropes around your wrists and ankles, was definitely something new for you.

Desperately, you tried to get free by tugging on the ropes that are attached to the wooden bedposts but no matter how hard you tugged on them, I didn’t work, there was no chance for you to escape any of this.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Carlos suddenly spoke up, making you lift your head and look with wide eyes at your Spanish neighbour. You gulped before you spook up with a trembling voice,

“C-Carlos,” you nervously breathed out, furrowing your brows as he stood next to your tied up figure, fingertips now gently running up and down your bare leg since he only left you in your underwear. “W-What is g-going on?” You asked him as you felt his hand creeping closer to your barely covered pussy.

Carlos only grinned down at you before he answered your question, “Let’s play a little guessing game, alright?” He tilted his head to the side, waiting for your answer.

Suddenly, Carlos pulled a little but sharp pocket knife out of his pocket, opening it, clearly wanting to make sure that you know how serious he is about his 'little guessing game', so you quickly nodded your head.

“Good,” he replied before he went on, “Do you think that… a man, send you those letters?” He asked you curiously, making you slowly nod, “okay,” he nodded along your silence answer, “Do you think that the man that send you those letters, knows you? I mean, like, has seen you before in person?”

You gulped before you nodded again, briefly squeezing your eyes shut as his big fingers started to circle your clit,

“Do you think that you know him?” Carlos asked you, briefly focusing his gaze onto his moving fingers now before he looked back at you.

You nodded again as tears build up in your eyes, hands tightly gripping the ropes as you felt like you were getting close to your release.

He nodded along again, “okay,” he quietly muttered, “Listen, I’ll give one last hint, alright?” Carlos asked you, making you quickly nod again,

“He said that if he gets you in his hands one day, he will never let you go, he promised you that,” he told you with a wicked smile on his lips right before you widened your eyes, tears gliding down your heated cheeks as he made you come through your panties with the tip of his fingers.

You wildly trashed around as you gasped and choked on your cries, sniffling and whining while Carlos slowed his movements down, eyes still looking at your face. He groaned,

“Just like that, mi cariño, that’s my good girl,” he whispered before he asked you, “Who do you think wrote those letters now?”

You gulped with fresh tears in your eyes as you looked up at him, squeezing your eyes shut as the realisation came over you, “Y-You did.”

He nodded, “That’s right, smart girl,” he quietly replied with a smile as his fingers left your pussy, gliding down to you ankles now,

“Since you were so smart and won the little game, I’ll get you out of those ropes now, okay?” He raised his brows as he lowered the little knife towards your ankle.

You barely had enough time to nod before he already removed the ropes around your ankles, quickly freeing your hands as well, giving you the ability to slowly sit up and look at him,

“What do we say? Thought you were so smart, baby.”

You gulped with tears in your eyes, “T-Thank you,” you slowly and softly replied, making him proudly smile down at you,

“No problem,” he replied with a nod of his head.

Then, Carlos stepped away from the bed, taking a few steps backwards until his back almost hit the door, making you furrow your brows before you wiped some of your tears away, focusing your gaze on his movements.

Carlos wiggled his pointer and middle finger in his direction, “C'mere,” he demanded in a quiet but stern tone, making you gulp before you stood up as well and slowly took cautious steps in his direction.

As soon as you were right in front of your fucked up neighbour, Carlos raised his head, clearly showing you that he’s visibly taller than you, making you feel unbelievably small in front of his broad figure.

“Get on your knees.”

You opened your mouth as you raised your head and looked up at the Spaniard, biting your lip as new tears made their way into your already wet eyes, “Oh no, no, no, mi cariño,” Carlos suddenly spoke up in a way softer tone as he cupped your cheeks, wiping some of the tears with the pad of his thumb away, “Está bien, solo ponte de rodillas por mí.” It’s okay, just get on your knees for me.

Without saying or doing anything else, you lowered yourself onto your knees since you were genuinely scared of him at the moment, knowing he could do anything he wants to you.

“Fuck,” Carlos mumbled under his breath, slowly running his finger through your hair, “Such a pretty sight, mi cariño,” he whispered in a deep tone while his other hand slowly unbuckled his belt, quickly freeing his very obvious erection.

You blinked some tears away since it all got so blurry by now, gulping again as he put the tip of his big cock in front of your still closed mouth.

“You know what to do, c'mon.”

Sniffling one last time, you opened your mouth, letting him shove himself into your mouth, hearing him groan and moan as he shoved himself so far into your mouth until he hit the back of your throat, making you gag around him.

“C'mon,” Carlos whined a bit, faking a pathetic pout as you just focused yourself on breathing through your nose, “J-Just like that, f-fuck yes,” he groaned as you squeezed your eyes shut and took him as far as you possibly could, briefly making him smile down at you.

“Buena chica.” Good girl.

You whined around his big, wide dick, fingers squeezing his navy blue slacks as fresh tears blurred your vision again as you looked up at him while he forced himself down your throat.

Your neighbour groaned as he caught your gaze, briefly chuckling under his breath as he noticed your smudged mascara under your eyes. Suddenly, he quickly removed himself from you, having a tight grip on your head by the roots of your hair, “Apologise,” he demanded in a deep tone, making you furrow your brows as you sniffled.

“W-What?” You spoke up in a quite and unsure tone, “For what, c-carlos?”

Carlos threw his head back before he growled, harshly grabbing your head and forcing your face towards his erection again, mercilessly shoving his cock into your mouth and down your throat, making you gag again.

But he only forced himself for a split seconds down your throat, then he pulled out again and forced you to look up at him, “Apologise,” he harshly repeated but you were still confused.

You whined, “F-For wh-” but before you were able to finish your sentence, Carlos forced his cock down your throat again, holding your head in that exact position for a few seconds before he let you go and pulled away again, groaning as he did so while you only whined and sniffled, quickly wiping some of your tears away.

His next move suprised you a bit, Carlos slowly bended down so he was eye level with you and wiped your tears away, pouting a bit and actually looking sad and sorry, “Do you really don't know what I mean?” He asked you in a rather kind tone, quickly making you shake your head as he wiped new tears away, stroking your cheeks afterwards.

He slowly nodded, “okay mi cariño, I’ll give you a hint again, alright?” He tilted his head to the side before you nodded your head, “o-okay.”

“What did you do with the first letters after you’ve read them?” Carlos asked you in a deep but kind tone, making you bit your lip as you through about what you’ve done after you’ve opened them and read them — and then it made click.

“I-I threw them a-away,” you slowly answered as soon as Carlos rose to his feet again, sternly looking down at you now, “exactly,” he nodded.

You gulped before you squeezed your eyes shut and quickly spoke up, smiling a tiny bit to make it seem more believable, “I am s-so sorry, c-carlos,” you wildly claimed, “I regret t-throwing them a-away! I swear t-that as soon as I-I'm home, I’m g-gonna get them o-out of the trash b-bin and f-frame them in my b-bedroom, I promise!”

Carlos only furrowed his brows and confusingly tilted his head to the side, “As soon as you're home? Mi cariño, you are at home! And don’t worry baby, I’m gonna go over to your house then and get them out of the trash bin for you and frame them myself,” he proudly told you, “and then we can hang them up! Either in the living room or the bedroom, wherever you want pretty girl,” carlos stated with a small smile as you gulped before you slowly nodded,

“O-Okay,” you answered before Carlos spoke up again, “Does that sound good for you, baby?”

You quickly nodded, “Y-Yes carlos,” you said, “sounds g-great.”

He stroked your cheek, briefly bending down to kiss the top of your head, “Perfect, I love you,” he claimed with a happy smile.

You looked up at him, briefly furrowing your brows before you replied, “I l-love you t-too.” You mumbled as you leaned into the touch of his palm with salty tears in your eyes.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon behind the cut; mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees. ( chrono || non-chrono )

But why the fuck is Alfred calling him– 

“Sorry for the wait, Mr. Wayne, your local self thought it might be for the best not to come in-person! You wanted to avoid a fuss. I mean–he wanted to avoid a fuss,” Rita says brightly, looking sheepish, and Kon remembers, very abruptly, everything she’d said about Gotham tabloids and also the fact that she’d “recognized” him after he’d scooped up a traumatized kid who was calling him “Dad” and then, uh–well, flirted with her. And also literally every single story he has ever heard about Clark and Bruce successfully passing for each other, in costume and out. 

Well . . . shit. 

Well, that definitely means the local Bruce Wayne is out Batman-ing his way through the current interdimensional crisis. But also, what the fuck has Kon just gotten them into? Jon seems to just be rolling with it, thank fuck, but there's no way Alfred Pennyworth actually believes he's a version of Bruce Wayne. 

. . . does he? 

No, no, he definitely doesn't. Interdimensional bullshit aside, it’s Alfred. He's just a really good liar and a trained actor with a flawless poker face. Alfred lies better than Tim lies, for fuck's sake, which is goddamn saying something. So Kon might end up a little mortified later when he's admitting he got mistaken for an alternate version of Gotham’s number one airheaded himbo DILF Brucie Wayne by an aid worker, but . . . 

Well. He doesn't even know who he'd be admitting that to, at this point. 

He doesn't know if he'll ever . . . 

“The car is just down the block, sir,” Alfred says, and Kon tells himself he can do this. He always does, doesn’t he? He can handle his own shit and he'll take care of Jon and go meet the local Batman, apparently, and then embarrass himself explaining how this happened to him, and maybe . . . maybe the local Tim will be there. 

It won't be his Tim, but right now he just really wants to see his face, one way or the other. He's not gonna be picky about which “Tim” he's actually seeing. 

“Cool,” he says, trying not to sound too screamingly not-Gotham. He seriously doubts he manages it, though. He’s no good at the voice-mimicking trick Clark does and even if he was, it wouldn’t exactly be subtle to start doing it now. 

He and Jon say goodbye to the kids, who make a lot of very kid-like disappointed noises, and Kon suggests another game for them to distract themselves with–one that won’t require a technical adult running it–and then Rita’s got some paperwork for him and Alfred to both fill out and sign, and a couple other aid workers rubber-stamp them through, and absolutely no one asks to see his ID or even for a second doubts that he’s a version of Bruce Wayne. Except–hopefully–Alfred, anyway. 

Kon seriously cannot tell for fuck either way, the man might as well be a promethium wall. At this point he’s just counting on Alfred’s weird all-knowingness bailing him out here. Worst case scenario is explaining himself, obviously, but if he doesn’t exist here . . . 

Well, “Lex Luthor made me” is probably not a great start, with most Batmans. Especially after going to see said Batman under what is, technically, false pretenses. Like–obviously Alfred wouldn’t have come out in the middle of an interdimensional emergency for Conner Kent; he showed up here expecting a younger version of his boss. 

Probably would’ve come for Jon, he guesses, if only as a favor to the local Clark, since the guy’s presumably distracted figuring out how many dangerous strangers are currently in their reality with the Justice League, but still. 

Then again, for all Kon knows, the local Luthor is dead or irrelevant or a selflessly benevolent saint who feeds orphan puppies on the weekend, so who the fuck knows. 

Kon cannot actually imagine Luthor ever even existing in the same room as a puppy without it knowing well enough to piss on his fancy leather shoes, but look, alternate realities include the word “alternate” in them for a reason. Like, the word “alternate” is very much the operative word there. 

If nothing else, the local puppies might just be stupid. 

Kon’s not really a dog person, personally. Krypto doesn’t count, on account of being an alien and therefore not an actual dog. The first Krypto he knew was an actual dog, though, and they just did not vibe whatsoever.

He and Alfred sign the last couple papers. Kon fakes Bruce Wayne’s signature because he’s spent enough time in Wayne Manor to know the difference between that and his autograph, and thanks fuck that the eidetic memory finally kicked in last year. Seriously, it is such bullshit it took that long for him to get it, considering Clark and Luthor both have one. 

Alfred doesn’t actually react to the signature, but Kon does notice him noticing it. 

Probably what he’s noticing is that it’s not the same signature that his Bruce Wayne used in his early twenties, because there’s no way that hasn’t changed in twenty-odd years. 

Rita smiles at them and sees them all off happily with some reference numbers and exchanged contact information, and they don’t say anything on the way to the car. Kon keeps carrying Jon, which maybe isn’t normal human behavior, especially for someone who’s supposed to be passing for a ditzy socialite who allegedly only has vanity muscles as opposed to actually functional ones, but Kon kind of doesn’t care about that right now. Like, not even slightly does Kon care about that right now. 

Alfred leads them to a shiny black towncar and opens the door for them, and Kon gives him a nod of thanks and bundles Jon into the thing. Jon sniffles once, and kinda of clings to him a little. Kon figures it’s fair. He was never “ten” himself, obviously, but it seems like a rough age to put up with this kind of bullshit during. Like–definitely it does. 

“You’re good, kid,” he swears, less because it’s a promise and more because it’s something he’s gonna make happen, squeezing the kid’s shoulder the way Clark always does when he’s doing the reassuring thing. “I’ve got you. I’m with you. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Jon says, sniffling again and scrubbing an arm across his eyes. “Um. Sorry.” 

“Don’t sweat it, Jonno,” Kon says, and Jon’s face crumples for a moment before he visibly steels himself and nods. Kon squeezes his shoulder again, then gets into his own seat and buckles himself in more out of the habit of trying to pass for human while in civvies than to actually, like, need to be buckled in. TTK kind of cancels out the risk of getting tossed around a car in an accident, and he’s invulnerable on top of that, plus the super-speed, so . . . yeah. Definitely car accidents are not a concern. 

He really wants to help this kid. He wants to at least get him to the local Clark, if nothing else. Like–if they all get stuck here, or there’s nowhere else for them to go . . . 

Well, it’d take a pretty different Clark than the one he’s used to not to want to take in any version of Jon, so as long as this reality actually has a Clark . . . 

Well, Kon’s probably not gonna be watching the kid long, in that case.

[strongheartneteyam]

I wet you like water but she stained you like blood.

Pairing: widowed!dilf!jake sully x younger!female!human!reader

CW: slight sexual language, can be triggering to some, heartbreak, age gap kink, hurt/no comfort, age gap relationship problems, angst, reader reminiscing (pls tell me if I missed anything) 

So, yeah... I never know when I'm gonna come back with another writing. My hiatus n working periods are all a bit unpredictable lol sorry. Anyways... I literally spent the whole night awake n I was struck by a sudden lightning of creativity early in the morning and I edited this chapter n wrote a bit more, but I still haven't slept at all, so, I apologize if some parts of this make no sense at all. I'll fix it when I can. Hope you guys like it <3 ily guys a whole lot :)) obs: this chapter is a shorter one.

Slightly proofread.

Chapter 4 𓆩♡𓆪

They say all's well that ends well

But I'm in a new hell every time you double-cross my mind

You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would've been fine

And that made me want to die

The idea you had of me, who was she?

A never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you

All Too Well - 10 minutes Version (Taylor Swift)

𓆩♡𓆪

It had been 1 year since the last time you saw Jacob Sully. Or Jakey, like you used to call him. The wound never healed. It still throbbed and bled every time you remembered the words he told you that dreadful day. "I think we should stop seeing each other." It felt like you would never get over him. How can one get over such an overpowering, raw feeling? He marked you forever, like a bruise that seemed to never disappear from your skin.

The flashback came like thunder in a storm, haunting your thoughts with a loud pain that echoed through your mind. What you told Jake that night.

“The truth is I love you. The truth is I can't take this anymore. I'm giving you my everything but you don't seem to be doing the same. You're still guarded.” There was a tense period of silence “Jake… I love you. But I don't think you feel the same.”

Maybe you shouldn't have said anything. Maybe if you had kept your mouth shut, he would still be with you.

Ugh!! Stop that, now, (y/n)! Some self love, please? You're better than this. You deserve better.

You tried to convince yourself of that, at least.

The pain was unbearable at times and almost easy to conceal at other times. It depended on how distracted with work or your studies you were. These days you ran to any distraction that could ease the perpetual angst that squeezed your heart inside its hands all the fucking time. It had been like that ever since Jake left you. What were you expecting anyway? You should have known you were never truly loved by Jake. The love of his life was Neytiri and it would always be, alive and walking through Pandora or dead and with Eywa.

It felt beyond weird to have to hear people talking about Jake and have to pretend he was a stranger to you, someone you barely knew, when he had actually left a mark so strong on you, a memory ingrained in your brain, a feeling, a pain buried inside your heart that made you want to scream and hit your head against a wall. That's how much it hurt.

You would never have his body against yours again, warming you up when it was cold, after you spent the whole day in that damn lab, studying Pandoran plants but all you could really concentrate on was how much you missed his reassuring, protective presence. He made you feel safe for the first time in your life. But now he is gone. Just like every single good thing you ever had in your life. But you know what? Maybe your mother was right, maybe love wasn't really something that could ever last forever.

Did Jake ever really make a real effort to be with you? Thinking back, it was extremely easy for him to just come to you and fuck you anytime he felt sad and lonely. What if you had just been a naive, dumb girl all this time? Were you mourning a love that never actually existed? It was always so hard to talk to him about his feelings for you, he never actually let you in, to be honest. All the time you two spent together, you were never able to know if he ever saw you as a partner or just a fuck buddy. 

Oh, but the high… it was worth all the lows. The butterflies in your stomach every time you guys were almost caught fucking in the back of your work room by Norm. Eventually you guys had to tell him about your situationship because, oh well… he already knew what was going on, really. Norm is not a fool or a child. He could add 2 plus 2.

The adrenaline was worth all the tears. And, fuck… you would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

𓆩♡𓆪

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