#I’ve truly gone off the deep end now

[thyknife]

[angeltannis]

Was just at my grandma’s house and she keeps the TV blasting loud and I was sitting there trying to work on my Symweaver fic while my uncle was yelling at my mom and my grandma was yelling about the invisible men who steal her keys every night and then I started hearing what I swore was Symmetra involved in all the shouting?? And I looked up from my fic to find that Anjali Bhimani was on the TV show LOL

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 3

in which spencer reid spends a rainy day teaching inexperienced fem!reader how to touch him. of course, her efforts don't go unrecognized, much less unrewarded

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings: inexperienced reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, oral m receiving, reader swallows lol, a truly sickening amount of praise, like really, you JOKINGLY refer to each other as dirty sluts, r has longish hair, spit mentioned once, thigh riding (moans loudly), its filthy idk what to tell you, i feel like i've crossed the desert on foot i don't even know what else is in here, your honor they're in love, i take you to dinner first, this part is stupidly long a/n: had a fucking field day the three separate times i had to rewrite this el oh el... but think i like how it turned out?! anyway, if u like this PLS lmk bc writing it took a small piece of my soul, and yes there will be a part four!! take care of yourselves!! i love you!!!

You give Spencer half a minute or so before knocking on his door for a second time. 

It’s miserable outside, and though the hallway you’re standing in now isn’t terribly cold, you’d much prefer to be in Spencer’s apartment, where it will be the same toasty 68.5 degrees as always. Not that the heating will magically dry you. And not that you’ll be there for long, if the date you’d scheduled last week goes on as planned. 

You’re getting worried, about to knock for a third time when the locks finally click and the door opens to reveal a disheveled Spencer Reid—not at all looking ready for a date. You take in his ensemble; blue checked pajama pants, FBI Academy crewneck, the usual questionably paired socks. He’s rubbing his droopy eyes, which slowly widen as he notices your attire. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, our date! I mean—you look really nice. I look… like this. Why don’t you come in while I get ready to go?”

He holds the door open a little wider and you step through, relishing in the familiar warmth as you pull your hood down and excess water droplets spatter on the ground. 

“When did you get in?” you ask, hanging your raincoat up on a hook. You know he’d wrapped up a case yesterday evening, but you’d gone to sleep before the team left Cincinnati. 

Spencer pauses in the middle of the room, staring at the antique flooring like he forgot what he was doing. 

“Uh… four hours ago.”

“Wh—four hours? Spencer, you must be exhausted.”

He laughs awkwardly, running a tired hand over his face. 

“I mean… I’ve definitely felt better.”

You kick your soaked shoes off and cross the room until you’re toe to toe with him. Immediately his hands settle on your waist and yours find his arms. His eyes are kind, and he’s clearly pleased by your presence despite his lack of energy. 

“The weather’s terrible, anyway. Let’s just go out another day.”

His features have softened and you can see how tired he truly is—not just in his bleary eyes, but the way his fingers grasp weakly to you, the way his head bows slightly. It seems bone-deep. 

“But I haven’t seen you in a week. I don’t want you to go home.”

Your lips twist. A clap of thunder rolls in the distance and the rain starts coming down even harder against the windowpanes. 

“We could hang out here. We can take a nap!”

Spencer sighs—half resignation, half disappointment. 

“But we made such good plans,” he laments. 

You kiss his cheek. 

“Plans that can be rescheduled. The bookstore will still be there next weekend.”

It takes him a moment to settle into the idea, but you watch the exhaustion win. 

“Okay. But no nap. I want to be awake for you. Coffee?”

You nod enthusiastically, beaming at the prospect of getting to spend the day doing nothing with him. Spencer mirrors your grin, before pressing a kiss to your head.

“You’re so cute.” Heat creeps into your cheeks and you can’t think of a satisfactory reply, but in the end you don’t need to, as he tugs gently on your hands. “C’mon. Tell me what mug you want.”

The kitchen counter bites into your palms as you lean with your back to it, watching Spencer putter all around the kitchen as he works on the coffee. It makes you tired just to watch. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap? Caffeine isn’t a substitute for sleep, you know.”

“I do know,” he agrees, measuring coffee grounds. “But other than last night, I actually slept fairly well this week.”

“You seem exhausted.”

“I… am tired in lots of ways. Not all of which can be resolved with more sleep.” he admits.

Your heart drops ever so slightly at the way his voice weakens as he looks through the fridge. Sometimes you remember there are still things you don’t know about him—sides you haven’t met. His work side is one of them, and it more than a little intimidates you.

“Bad case?” you ask, voice quiet and crackling with nervous energy. 

Spencer nods, approaching and setting a carton of milk on the counter behind you—caging you in with his arms in the process. It’s hard to find the words when he’s this close, but you manage to stumble through them. 

“Do… do you wanna talk about it?”

Spencer hums, tilting his head before gently saying, “not right now. But thank you for offering, lovely.”

“Okay, well—if you change your mind… if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better…”

Finally he stops with the teasing—the unabashed staring at your lips, the faux-attentive nods—and drops his head to your level to kiss you properly. It’s obviously an attempt to get you to shut up, you’re not dumb enough so as to miss that—but you don’t really care why he’s doing it so long as he does it at all. 

“I feel pretty great right now, actually,” he murmurs against your lips, a hint of a smile coloring his words. “Do you want sugar in yours?”

“Um…”

Your eyes dart helplessly between his as he pulls away and you struggle to un-fluster yourself enough to answer his simple question. Spencer seems to delight in this. The longer it takes you, the bigger his perfect smile gets. 

“You took too long. You’re getting sugar.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” you plead later on the couch, for the third or fourth time, setting your mostly-empty mug on the coffee table. 

His eyebrows raise. 

“I’m sure, honey.”

“But I want to help,” you pout, pulling your knees into your chest. Spencer regards you for a moment from the other end of the couch, before beckoning you closer wordlessly. 

“You are helping,” he assures you, gently grabbing your wrist as you crawl into his lap. He rubs soothing circles into the delicate skin with his thumb. “You being here and being you is plenty.”

It’s the closest you’ve been to him since before he left, and while you’ve all but given up on asking him to sleep with you, it doesn’t mean you don’t think about it multiple times per day. It’s especially difficult to keep your thoughts PG when you haven’t seen him in a week, and his hair is all messy, and he’s got his pajamas on, and you’re in his lap, and he’s looking at you like that. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer murmurs, likely concerned by your lack of response and the glazed-over look in your eyes. You reanimate, averting your gaze to the spot on your thigh he’s now rubbing absentmindedly. 

“Nothing. I just missed you.”

“I missed you a lot, too.” You don’t even have to look up to know that his brows have twisted into a pleasant sort of bemusement, like you are a particularly complex puzzle—you can hear it as he continues speaking. “I’m still not used to having something external take up so much of my attention while I’m trying to do my job. I’ve never had that before. Not something good, anyway. It’s like every time I leave, I’m thinking about you more than the time before. And I was already thinking about you a lot.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as he rambles. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he chuckles. “You prove to be incredibly distracting even when you’re hundreds of miles away. Do you know how many nights I almost called you before realizing it was one in the morning?”

A slow smile spreads over your face. 

“Oh? Whatever could you have been calling about at one in the morning?”

You’re teasing him, and it works. He blushes adorably. 

“Um… probably exactly what you’d expect. In hindsight I think it’s best that I refrained.”

“What?” You grin, incredulous, forgetting your shyness and leaning closer. “You totally should’ve. I’ve never had phone sex before. I would’ve done it.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” Spencer laughs. “It would have just been me talking to myself with you on the other line. I don’t think phone sex is really up your alley.”

“Shut up,” you laugh as your lips meet. He smiles into the kiss. Before you get too lost in it, you pull away, leaning back when he tries to follow you. “I think you’re over-complicating it. It’s just dirty talk, right? I can totally do that. It’s just, like… blah blah blah, dirty slut, something something…”

You trail off as he gives you a look. Poker faced—aside from the slightly narrowed eyes sparkling with humor. 

“You want me to refer to you as a dirty slut?”

Maintaining eye contact is an uphill battle—you crack in a matter of seconds, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes stubbornly. 

“No. For all you know I want to call you a dirty slut.”

It’s ridiculous, but he recognizes the bravado for what it is, still smiling slightly as he rubs your hips. 

“Right. I apologize for assuming. But just for future reference, I don’t want to be called that, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable calling you that, either.”

“But you can call me other stuff,” you remind your boyfriend, pulling back and still not looking at him. 

“Yeah? Like what?”

And just like that, you’re shy again. 

“I don’t know… nice things. I like when you’re nice.”

“I like being nice to you.” It’s so sincere-sounding that you meet his gaze, examining his face. His eyes are clear and soft on you, the only source of warm light on such a grey day, as his hands keep running slow lines over your sides. “Kiss?”

And how could you ever deny him anything? 

As has happened before, the kiss starts out innocent enough. And it’s not that it gets particularly heated, or anything—it’s just that it doesn’t end, and after a few moments your mouth slips open and so does his and that’swhat gets both of you worked up over a period of minutes. Pressure and heat that you’re becoming accustomed to build between your legs, and you don’t even notice that you’ve begun rocking back and forth in his lap until Spencer is attempting to still your hips with patient but assertive hands. 

“Honey, that’s—slow down, sweetheart.”

Finally he gets a grip on you and you realize as soon as you stop moving that there had been friction occurring—and you’re pretty damn sure you know what you were grinding against. 

Your whole body feels hot with arousal and embarrassment. 

“Oh my god—I’m sorry,” you mumble, moving your hands from his shoulders to cover your face. “That was an accident, I—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assures you, squeezing your waist gently. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing because I know we haven’t… gotten there, yet.”

A moment passes—your hands fall to the FBI stitching across his chest, studying the letters without really seeing them. You haven’t gotten there yet… but why not? Why haven’t you touched him, or even seen him? You think back to the few times he’s touched you and realize that you had been too busy with either your own insecurities or pleasure to genuinely consider how it might be affecting him. He says your name gently, drawing your attention. 

“You okay?”

You nod haltingly, brow furrowed as you think. 

“I—yeah. I was just realizing that I haven’t, like… touched you, yet.”

It’s silent for another long second, and you glance up, to where he’s studying you with a dissonant kind of relaxed scrutiny—a knowing confidence that probably comes with a lot more experience than you have. 

“Do you want to?”

Woah. 

Usually you have to beg on hands and knees and prepare a slideshow presentation before he agrees to doing anything sexual in nature. He’s never so overtly invited or initiated it before. Not that you’re complaining by any stretch of the imagination.  

You nod shyly, still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“If you want to, I can show you how. But it’s also absolutely okay if you don’t.”

Show you how? 

Your brain is melting into sludge at the idea. 

“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze again. It’s kind, and you know he really wouldn’t be upset if you said no—but now that you’ve thought about it, you feel deeply compelled to try. 

“Okay. Come here, first.” You lean forward expectantly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand finds the back of your neck and he pulls you into another soft kiss. By the time your lips separate again, your head is spinning. “We’re just trying something, okay? You’re allowed to stop whenever you feel like it. Really low stakes. Got it?”

You nod, still close enough that your noses brush as you do. 

“Got it.”

He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away and leaning back into the couch. 

“Scoot back a little, angel.”

Wordlessly you do so, heart pounding with nervous excitement as he lifts his hips and slides his pajama pants down just enough to where he can comfortably pull himself out, and���

Your breath catches. 

Now, you may be about as virginal as they come, but you weren’t born yesterday. You’ve seen porn, you’ve received unsolicited nudes—it is the 21st century. Yet never before have you thought to yourself; wow, that dick is the pinnacle of beauty. Perfect. Breathtaking. But there’s just no other way to describe him. 

So that’s what hits you first—how unexpectedly pretty it is. 

The size sinks in a quick second later. 

You can’t tell with perfect accuracy how many inches he is, but you’re pretty damn sure he’s big. That’s meant to fit inside of you?

No, no—that’s a consideration for another day. Right now you need to stop staring like an idiot. You glance up at his face, and he’s sporting a cocky little half-smile which lets you know you’ve been caught. Motherfucker he’s so hot. It’s unnerving. 

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” he asks politely, quite obviously containing his amusement. But you can’t summon a sufficiently sarcastic response. 

Your voice comes so soft when you reply, “you’re pretty.”

Spencer melts, eyes impossibly softening. 

“Pretty?” His smile is earnest now. He strokes your cheek and you can’t not lean into his touch. 

“Mhm. I want to, um…” your lips twist to the side as you look back down, finding he’s not gotten less intimidating since you last checked. “But what if I’m bad at it?” you whisper. He chuckles, brushing hair over your shoulder.  

“It’s kind of a hard thing to be bad at. And I’m gonna help you, okay?”

It’s the honesty with which he speaks to you that makes you feel so safe. There are no hidden intentions or words that seem to mean one thing but really mean another. Spencer wants you as a person more than he wants you as a body and that’s been clear since the first time he touched you. You take a deep breath. 

“Okay. What do I do?”

“First, you’re gonna spit in your hand.”

You look up, alarmed. 

“You want me to intentionally get my spit on you? Is that not your worst nightmare?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not super worried about yours,” he teases. “But if you’d prefer, I can spit in your hand.”

“Actually, mine is fine,” you laugh nervously. 

Hesitantly, you do as instructed, even though it seems frankly bizarre. 

“Good. Now just wrap your hand around it, like this.” His voice is quiet, focused as he guides your hand downward. Your heart rate ticks up again as he encourages you to wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He feels much warmer than you’d expected—his skin is silken beneath your touch but he’s undeniably hard and that sort of eliminates any sense of him being fragile from the equation. 

“It’s gonna be less sensitive down here—and then, up here—” he slides your hand back up, covering your thumb with his own and swiping it just below the head of his cock on the underside. He hisses and you look up in fascination. “That’s the most sensitive part.”

Without further instruction, you do it again, keeping your touch light and watching his face for a reaction. His drawn brows twitch, furrowing deeper for a second, and his lips part. A heavy exhalation passes between them and quickly builds into a breathy laugh. 

“What?” you murmur, over-eager to please and very nervous to do something wrong. 

“Nothing. Just feels good, that’s all.”

“Don’t laugh,” you pout. Of course that makes him laugh again, and he leans forward to kiss your head. 

“I’m laughing at myself, angel. I’m a grown man fighting for my life from a handjob that you’ve barely started. I knew it would be different with you but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you look away. 

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” he urges, grabbing your free hand and encouraging you to uncurl your fingers. His thumb traces circles in your open palm, before capturing your entire hand in his. “Do you feel how much softer your hand is than mine?”

You frown, attempting to feel whatever it is that he’s pointing out. Despite the fact that you think he has very nice hands, you realize he’s right. By no means would you say that they’re rough, but you can tell where his gun normally sits in his hands, where his fountain pen rubs against his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Anything you do is going to be perfect because it’s you.”

Spencer drops his hand to your leg, rubbing it soothingly. The other moves to cover yours—the one wrapped around him. 

“You’re gonna help me, right?” you ask quietly. Some adventurous part of you is very excited about this as an experiment—fascinated by the reactions you’ve already gotten from him and eager to push it. 

“I am. Little bit tighter, honey. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

You do as you’re told, and he’s murmuring more praise—slowly encouraging you to begin moving your hand with his own. A shaky exhale catches your attention, drawing your gaze to his face. His eyes are, of course, cast downward, but his expression is hypnotizing. Those lips remain slightly parted, and suddenly you wonder if he makes noises like you do. In that moment it becomes your life’s mission to find out. 

For a while you continue letting his hand guide your movements, but he keeps things so slow for your sake that you’re getting impatient. You forgo his direction, picking up the pace but trying to keep the rhythm he’d instilled in the motion. His hand slackens around yours. 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself. The hand on your thigh rubs achingly deeper into the flesh. “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I want it to feel good.” Suddenly shy again, you slow down. His hips stutter, which you think may be a sign that it was working. “Am I—was that bad?” Spencer looses a breath, looking almost… frustrated?

“No, I’m just—I’m weirdly close to coming.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Well,” he mutters, “not usually. Mostly it’s embarrassing.”

You giggle, a release of some tension, and begin pumping your hand again. His breath hitches and he finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes with his own lust-glazed ones. Heat pools deep between your legs. 

“I want you to come,” you admit quietly as you twist your wrist, brushing that spot underneath the head of his cock again. His jaw literally drops, and a look that is part confusion, part pleasure, twists his features. You see the surprise sparkling in his eyes and it only spurs you to keep talking. “I’ve never seen how you look when you do, but I’ve imagined it. I bet you look so pretty when you come, Spencer. ‘Nd then I would know that I can make you feel good, too.”

“You… you are making me feel good,” he assures you. The way his brow furrows and his  lips are parted give you a feeling that’s entirely new. Normally, you’re the one falling apart under his touch—but when it’s the other way around there’s a whole new kind of pleasure in it for you. You feel kind of powerful. Maybe even close to confident. 

“Really? I’m not this quiet when you touch me.”

“I’ve ha—ah—had more practice not making noise.”

“But why?” you implore, ignoring the fact that he’s slept with other women and enjoyed the sounds they made, and opting to brush your thumb across that extra sensitive part he definitely shouldn’t have told you about. His hips buck up and he hisses, which is immensely gratifying to you. 

“Because I like to listen.”

“What if I do, too?”

In a moment of divine inspiration , you cover the tip of his cock with your hand, swirling beads of pre-come over your palm. Spencer moans and his hips jut up into your grip. It’s a beautiful sound, just as you’d hoped. 

“Jesus, fuck.”

You understand why he seems to enjoy touching you so much. It’s so rewarding to watch as his breathing picks up and pleasure contorts his face—to watch him get messier and messier and lose his composure a bit more with each stroke of your hand. It’s so simple but Spencer looks at you like you’re exercising some arcane deviant power over him and he’s not sure he should be enjoying it as much as he is. 

Distantly you think about how it felt when he had his hands on you—and then, in clearer focus, how it felt when he went down on you. Both were perfect, but something about his lips so gentle on the most intimate, vulnerable part of you had felt like ascension. Maybe it was the emotional component, or maybe it just felt fucking good. Regardless, it seems an irresistible thought. 

You keep stroking him until his head is lolling on the back of the couch as he groans.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah, baby?”

He sounds so destroyed it makes you clench around nothing. Without any indication that you’re going to do so, you stop touching him, and the speed with which he lifts his head again is almost comical. Immediately, while he’s utterly defenseless and desperate, you ask, “can I use my mouth?” 

His eyes widen, and then shut, as he processes your request with a tiny shake of his head—probably trying to clear the haze of pleasure from his mind before he answers. 

“Honey,” he rasps eventually, opening his eyes and smoothing a hand over your hair, “you don’t have to do that just because I do. That’s not why I do it.”

“But I want to,” you murmur, shy and mildly embarrassed by what feels almost like a soft rejection. “I don’t think I could do anything, like, mind-blowing, but… I want to try.”

Your face is hot by the end of the sentence, and you can’t meet Spencer’s eyes as his fingers twitch over your hip. A quiet moment passes—but it’s short-lived.

“Okay. Go ahead, baby.”

Wide eyes dart up to his. 

“Really?”

Spencer smiles fondly, brushing an invisible speck from your cheek. 

“I don’t think I’m capable of turning that offer down. Not when it’s you.”

“Okay—um, should I just—” Spencer watches on, finding your sudden enthusiasm completely adorable as you scoot off of his lap and gingerly kneel in front of him. Your eyes are big and glassy as you look up at him, hands set politely on his knees. You squint suspiciously, eyes darting between his face and his cock, now about as hard as it’s ever been due to your toying. He knows it’s probably intimidating for a girl who has never seen one in real life, and he feels kind of bad about it. You do terrible, wonderful things to him that he doesn’t understand. “Wow. So... it looks bigger from down here.”

“Please don’t try to choke yourself,” he instructs hurriedly, leaning forward slightly. “I really don’t need you to do that. It’s fine if you can’t fit it all, I just—” he exhales shakily. Spencer is most definitely strong-willed but he can’t pretend like the sight of you on your knees for him, inches from his aching cock for the first time isn’t impacting his cognition. Most importantly he doesn’t want to make you feel pressured. He’s trying to not let how badly he wants this show in case you change your mind. 

Spencer watches as you psych yourself out—wilting like a thirsty flower. 

“But what if I’m bad at this?” you mumble, hands curling into loose fists atop his legs. Spencer pushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears. 

“What’s your worst case scenario?” he asks. Your answer is immediate. 

“That I’m so bad you make me stop halfway through.”

Spencer can’t help but laugh again. 

“I’m sorry—I just… honey, you are really underestimating how profound your effect is on me. I just almost came from a minute long handjob. I can assure you that I won’t make you stop halfway through because I’d rather not have your mouth on me. That is… that’s just not going to happen.”

You lean your cheek against his thigh. He might actually pass away. 

“Will you tell me if I’m doing something wrong?”

“Honestly, as long as you don’t bite, you’re in the clear.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your lips pull into an embarrassed little smile. 

“Great. Thank you for that invaluable advice.”

“Of course,” he smiles. It fades slowly as you take a deep breath and look up at him, obviously steeling yourself, before leaning forward and taking him in your hand again. He watches with bated breath, repeating no sudden movements to himself over and over as your hand moves up and down a few more times and your head lowers. 

You delicately, so lightly trace your tongue from the base of his swollen cock to just underneath the leaking tip, mapping a vein, and his hips buck as you take him into your mouth experimentally. Only the first few inches fit but the sight of your lips wrapped around him, the way you’re looking at him is so unbelievably erotic Spencer knows he won’t last very long.

From a purely technical perspective—he knows he’s gotten objectively better head. Still, something about the way you’re so delicate with him, so soft and timid in the way you lick and kiss and take him into your mouth has him fighting not to come already. Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing that he’s watching you do this for the first time in your life is obscenely arousing. The idea that you’ve never trusted another person this much; that you’re letting him be the one to help you navigate something as new and as important as sexuality. The more he thinks about it, though, the more he realizes: it’s not your inexperience that turns him on. It’s just you. Everything you do is so undeniably you—he recognizes your mannerisms in every tiny motion, in every glance, and it’s killing him. You’re like a dream as you look up at him with big nervous eyes, (no, really, he has had this dream) and he remembers he wants to be reassuring you—not pondering life and human connection. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, groaning and hips twitching as your cheeks hollow, wrapping his achingly hard cock in soft gentle warmth so sweetly it feels taboo. “So good, baby. So gorgeous like this.”

You whine around him, receptive as always to his obsequious praise, and he notices the way your hips wiggle as you seek friction. God, you must like this a lot. Spencer gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, resting his hand on your head as you begin to bob it. That, he wasn’t prepared for. He’d have been satisfied with just kitten-licks and suckling but he won’t complain about this. It’s slow, and so intentional as you keep watching him for feedback cues. Ever his observant girl, you’re constantly paying attention. Aware of his reactions. He needs to keep telling you you’re good or else you’ll assume you’re terrible. 

“Over-achiever,” he whispers through a little smile as you down even more of him. 

Spencer is for the most part a kind and gentle person. For better or worse he is also a man, and he can’t help but fantasize about getting you all teary and drooly as he holds your mouth open and sees how much of his cock he can push down your throat. But again—kind. Gentle. So when you get a little over-zealous, attempting to sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure, he pulls your head back slightly. “That’s far enough, angel. That’s—fuck. God, you’re good at this.” The words are thoughtless, muttered to himself more than you as he watches through a haze while you look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, slipping him in and out of your warm mouth, a little faster now as you gain confidence. 

You whine desperately around him, like you’re the one nearing orgasm and not him. The sound of your pleasure as you suck his cock makes him dizzy. His hips buck, pressing him a little deeper into your mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales. “Slow down, baby. I’m—” a louder moan from him like you’ve never heard as he thrusts shallowly turns you on profoundly. He’s so much more vocal than you’d have imagined—sonically and verbally. He breathes out a quick, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” pulling your hair slightly, and you’ve never wanted to touch yourself more but you know you can’t focus on both. Instead you work on making him come—you can worry about you later. He says your name, with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you throb. “Honey, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come—”

You swirl your tongue around the top of him like candy and he’s done for. Spencer tries to pull out, which only results in cum both in your mouth and on your face. The orgasm is his strongest in recent memory, and he grunts, watching your lips part and a little squeak escape as he comes all over your face—but you keep stroking him all the while. Once he’s 90% sure it’s over, he falls against the back of the couch, breathing heavily and looking down at you through hazy eyes. Oh, he’s going to feel terrible about this in a few seconds—but right now you look fucking perfect. Your eyes are wide, nervous as his essence drips over your face and down your neck—he groans when you swallow cautiously, averting his eyes to the ceiling lest he do another thing he regrets. 

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he mutters, forcibly clearing the haze of orgasm from his mind and sitting up, fixing his pants and looking around before locating the box of tissues on the side table. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You look up at him attentively as he wipes himself from your face as gently as he can. 

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t ask you first. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Spencer guides your head around by your chin, wiping your jaw and lips. 

“It’s okay, Spence, I—”

“No, it’s not,” he cuts you off, trying to at least turn his guilt into a learning experience for you. He’s not deluded enough to think someone like you will stay with someone like him forever, because sometimes he does things like that, and he’s reminded that there are certainly people out there more deserving of you. At the very least he can clarify that nobody should ever do what he just did to you. “It’s really not nice to do that to someone.”

“Do you care what I think at all?”

Spencer freezes, finally forcing himself to look you in the eye. Despite the fact that he’s mad at himself, he’s sure it’s coming across as being directed at you. And he knows you’re sensitive, especially about this kind of thing. 

“Of course, I do, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to come back up here with me and tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs, cupping your jaw. Hesitantly you nod. The tissues end up on the table—which he will be thoroughlywiping down later—before you crawl back into his lap from the floor. Spencer helps you settle against him, hoping he hasn’t messed this up irreversibly. He keeps his voice quiet as he rubs your leg. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say,” you begin, “that it’s fine, because you’ll remember to ask next time. And because… I kind of liked it. I like when—when you do stuff like that.”

It’s a miracle he can hear you with the way your voice drops into an almost-whisper and you’re hiding against his shirt. 

“Like what?” he murmurs. Although he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the answer. 

“Like… I don’t know. Like you can do whatever you want to me. Like I’m literally yours.” Each word makes you cringe further, but Spencer has to try hard to maintain a cool facade as he processes this. If he’s going to try and be chivalrous, you’ll have to move away from this topic—this revelation—immediately. Thankfully, you seem eager to move on. “So… how did I do?”

He almost laughs. It seems exceedingly obvious how you did, but as per usual, you require verbal reassurance. 

“That was really good, baby. You did well.”

You blossom. 

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie.”

“Was I the best girl out of all of the other girls?” 

I wasn’t in love with any of the other girls. 

Just barely, he manages to stop himself from saying it, pinwheeling his arms on the edge of a very steep verbal cliff. The realization that he’s been in love with you for a while hits him like a truck. But he can’t tell you that right now. He should wait until you’re less vulnerable.

Fuck. 

He really wants to tell you right now. 

“Actually—don’t answer that,” you decide, while all of this happens in his head in less than a few seconds. “I want to go back to pretending I’m the only girl you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“You’re the only one that matters,” he offers, relieved to express at least some portion of the much bigger truth. Then he frowns. “Not that the other women I’ve met don’t lead important lives. I actually know a lot of incredibly influential and intelligent people who are women. I have deep respect for all of them. Am I helping or making it worse?” he rambles. You giggle. He has his answer. “What about you? How do you feel?” he asks after a moment, tenderly, lowly, stroking your hair as you lean against his chest. 

It takes you a moment to deliberate, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“I feel good. I, um… liked it a lot more than I would have thought.”

“Well, that’s good. Much better than if you had hated every second of it.”

You hum in agreement, and he waits for you to say whatever you’re holding back. It comes sooner than he’d have anticipated. 

“I feel bad about the times before. How did you just… go to sleep after? Were you not, like—insanely turned on? Not that I’m, like, irresistibly sexy, or whatever—you know what I mean.”

Spencer smiles because he knows you can’t see him. 

“I wasn’t doing it to pressure you into feeling obligated to reciprocate, I guess. My line of reasoning was that it would be less intimidating if I didn’t even present it as an option until you wanted to try.”

“Oh.”

Spencer thinks he sees where this is going. 

“Why?” he asks, leaning back and encouraging you to look at him. “Are you insanely turned on?”

“Wh—that’s—I didn’t say that!”

Spencer can feel how warm your cheeks are as he presses his lips to the side of your face. 

“You can tell me if you are,” he murmurs, all smiley as he moves to kiss your lips. “If you want something, you need to ask for it. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Yes you are,” you grumble. “That’s literally what behavioral analysis is.”

Not quite true, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the need to explain to you the semantics of what he does for work right now. 

“What got you all excited?”

“You know what,” you mumble, trying to look away again. Spencer doesn’t allow it this time, gently grabbing your jaw. 

“Yes, I do. But I want you to tell me. If you want me to make you feel good, this is how you’re going to convince me that you deserve it.”

You whine wordlessly, looking at him with those big, lust-glazed eyes.

“You wanted me to teach you how to use your words, right? This is it. I’m giving you an opportunity. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Maybe we can take a nap, like you said earlier.”

“No! I liked—um, I liked all of it. I didn’t know if I would, because I was really nervous. But when I first—you know—and you got all quiet… it was like you couldn’t even talk for a minute. I was kind of proud of that. Because normally nobody can ever get you to stop talking.” Spencer narrows his eyes incredulously, a small smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t interrupt—not when it seems you’re finally starting to get more confident in your words. “And I really liked the noises you made. I think that was my favorite part. I liked when you pulled my hair back, and how you spoke to me. And when… when you got me messy and I had to swallow it. I really liked how it felt because I couldn’t think of anything else, just making you feel good. I really wanted to… make you proud, I guess. Is that weird?”

Spencer shakes his head no, a fond smile on his face when your eyes meet his again. 

“No. It’s a pretty normal thing to feel when you’re nervous and wanting to impress someone you care about. And I would have been proud no matter what, for the record. You were being very brave.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching him expectantly. Spencer should have known you’re too needy to truly absorb anything he says to you right now. Which is actually pretty cute. Everything you do is endearing to him. 

“Stand up.”

You frown. 

“But—”

“Just stand up,” he demands calmly, preferring to think of himself as firm and not bossy. 

You do, looking rather annoyed and confused as you plant yourself in front of him. 

“Why?”

“You are so full of questions.” His hands slip up the side of your legs, under your skirt, and hook in the waistband of your underwear. Spencer looks up at you meaningfully and you nod, swallowing. 

As he pulls down, Spencer can literally feel the resistance of the fabric clinging to your soaked core. Under his touch the skin of your thighs is warm and soft. He wants to feel it on either side of his face, he wants to hear you whine as his stubble rubs against it, he wants to feel it clamp around his wrist, he wants it between his teeth and he definitely wants it pressing against his hips as he—

But no. 

There will be time for all of those things—especially the last one—later. For now, he’ll reach between your legs just to see—

“Oh, my god,” Spencer half-chuckles, half-groans, upon feeling how wet you truly are for him. He drags his knuckles from your dripping entrance up over your clit, pinching very lightly and earning a squeak from you which he ignores. “You really did like having your mouth full of me, huh?”

“I told you,” you breathe, visibly relaxing some as he continues to play with you for a moment. Then he pulls his hand away again, patting his thigh. 

“Sit.”

“You want me to…”

“Yes,” he says, simply. 

“But is it not going to… am I not going to mess up your pants?”

“You are even more neurotic about messiness than I am. I can wash them, honey. Come here.”

Spencer guides your hips over his thigh, watching your pretty face twist with uncertainty as you fully settle on him. Fuck, he can feel your warmth through the fabric instantly. Already he’s getting hard again. 

“What am I supposed to do?” you whisper, bunching his shirt in your fists. Spencer slides your skirt up higher, revealing the way you’re nestled against his thigh. He spreads you a little further apart, exposing more of your clit to the material underneath you. Immediately you press against him—he watches the delicate flesh rubbing gingerly against him and  his grip tightens ever so slightly. 

“All you have to do is rock back and forth. It’s easy.”

Already you’re starting to do it—but he guesses it’s like earlier where you don’t even realize it’s happening. 

“But… I wanted your mouth,” you admit, quietly, slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face there. 

“Do this for me first. Just get yourself off like this one time and then you can have my mouth. You said you wanted to help me feel better because I’m tired today, right?

“Yes,” you mumble, squirming over him. 

“Well, there are a lot of days when I get back home and I’m tired. I’m gonna need you to be able to get on top of me, just like this, and make me feel better. And I know you don’t know what it feels like to have something that deep inside of you yet, but it’s gonna be a lot. Even once you know how it feels to have me inside when you’re underneath me. I need you to practice for me right now so you’ll be ready, okay?”

You could come from the words alone. You nod, dazed with need as you roll your hips in a circle, pressing his thigh against your clit. 

“Back and forth, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hips forward with his hands locked around them. “Back and forth, just like this…”

You moan quietly, shamelessly, eyes fluttering as you look down and watch your clit dragging over the darkening fabric. It’s easier if you isolate your hips, grinding down without moving your legs or upper body at all. 

“It feels really good,” you whisper under your quickening breath. 

“Yeah? Does it?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, angel. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s audible now, quiet and wet and dirty. 

“I don’t,” you breathe. He sucks in a breath of his own, stilling your hips with fingers pressed deep into your flesh. 

“Sit up, baby.” You really wish he would stop making you stop, but you don’t want to keep going in case he needs you to quit—so you rise slowly, thighs trembling as you kneel. Spencer groans at the strings of your arousal momentarily connecting your core to his pants before they snap, getting your inner thighs wet. There’s a dark, very wet patch over his thigh, shining like glass. He thumbs over your slick clit absentmindedly as he looks up at you like you’re a miracle. “You’re fucking soaked. I’ve never seen you like this. Is this all from making me come?”

You nod feverishly, hips grinding against nothing in search of friction. He sits you back down on his leg, allowing you to sloppily find your rhythm again. Spencer bounces his leg lightly and you cry out softly, buckling forward. His arms wrap around you, still pressing you down against his thigh as you rut against it. 

“You’re sweet. Maybe I should have known how much you’d like it when I came all over your pretty face. You really like hearing that you did a good job, huh? I bet you like it even more when I prove it to you.”

You moan a “yeah,” barely processing his words. 

“My good girl even swallowed on her first try. Took it so well. And now look at how you’re taking this. You’re gonna love riding, baby. Just going to be another thing you’re good at as soon as you try it.”

“Spencer,” you gasp, overwhelmed by the praise. He’s bouncing his leg at regular intervals and everything is so sensitive.

“I know it’s harder to finish this way, but just one time, remember? And then you can have my tongue for as long as you want. You are my only plan for the day. Just give me one like this.”

But it’s not really harder to finish this way. Then again, you’re so turned on you could probably finish if a breeze hit you just right. Regardless, the thought of him going down on you again pushes you even closer to the edge.

You don’t know how much time goes by like that, you rubbing against him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, him pressing up into you until the pressure is so taut it snaps. There’s no time to warn him, but you suppose you don’t really need to. You writhe against him, caught between wanting to keep going and not being able to take more stimulation. He lifts you up just slightly, trying to separate you from his leg. You exhale deeply as your body relaxes, already close to dozing off against his chest.

“We can’t have you tapping out just yet. I still have to fulfill my end of the deal.”

In the end, he fulfills it three times over, and you end up showing your appreciation in kind one more time—much slower and more comfortably in his bed. He gives you plenty of time to learn what he likes, taking your teasing and coquettish explorations like a champ and never so much as tightening his grip in your hair. Turns out, you don't exactly spend the day doing nothing.

And you do end up taking that nap after all. Just... much, much later. And with less clothing on.

-

part 3.5

[ahqkas]

Ex bf theo who was really toxic and was a bad bf but after the break up he matures and tries tonget you back?

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THEODORE NOTT HAD ALWAYS BEEN AN ENIGMA, a puzzle that you never quite managed to solve. during your relationship, his brooding silence and sharp wit had initially drawn you in, but over time, they became the very things that chipped away at your happiness. he was toxic — possessive, distant, and emotionally unavailable. the relationship became a series of ups and downs, with moments of passion followed by long stretches of cold indifference. you spent too much time trying to reach him, trying to make him care the way you did, but in the end, it was clear that he wasn't ready to be the person you needed him to be.

the breakup had been inevitable. it was messy and painful, filled with harsh words and lingering regrets. you walked away shattered but determined to heal, to rebuild yourself without the weight of his darkness pulling you down. months passed, and slowly but surely, you began to find your footing again. life moved on, and so did you — or at least, you tried to.

then, one day, theodore showed up in your life again.

it was the warmest day of early september. you were in diagon alley, browsing through the rows of books at flourish and blotts, when you felt that painfully familiar presence behind you. your heart skipped a beat, a mixture of dread and curiosity flooding your senses. you turned, and there he was, standing awkwardly near the entrance, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

theodore looked different. although he was still the tall, slender figure with the same piercing eyes that once made your heart race, something had changed. his posture was more relaxed, his expression softer. gone was the constant scowl that used to mar his handsome features, replaced now with what seemed like genuine vulnerability.

“hey,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, almost hesitant.

you blinked slowly, caught off guard by his presence. “theo?”

he shifted on his feet, glancing around the shop before meeting your gaze again. the use of his nickname by you stirred up unforgettable memories inside him. “can we talk? in private,”

you nodded at his request hesitantly and followed the boy, now who seemed like a man. he hurt you badly, and there was no reason for him to talk to you ever again, so why was he seeking you now?

theo’s quiet voice broke the silence between the two of you as you stood in a smaller aisle of the shop. “i’ve been thinking about you — a lot,” he admitted. “there’s something i have to say to you or i’ll go mad.”

you didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to expect. theodore had never been one to easily admit fault, and seeing him now, looking almost remorseful, was jarring. part of you wanted to turn and walk away, to avoid reopening old wounds, but another part — the part that once loved him truly and deeply — wanted to hear what he had to say.

“i know now i was a terrible boyfriend,” he began, his eyes not leaving yours. “i treated you horribly, and i don’t deserve your forgiveness. but i’ve changed. i know it’s hard to believe, but i’ve spent a lot of time thinking about everything i did wrong, everything i took for granted.”

he paused, as if searching for the right words. “i’ve been working on myself, trying to understand why i was the way i was. i didn’t realize how much i needed to grow up until you were gone.”

his words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. you could hear the sincerity in his voice, see the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t easy to let go of the past. too many memories of broken promises and hurtful words still lingered in your mind.

“theo, i . . .” you hesitated, unsure how to respond. “i’m glad you’ve been working on yourself, really, but i don’t know if i can just forget everything that happened. you hurt me, a lot.”

he nodded and his eyes found comfort on your hands. “i know. and i don’t expect you to just take me back. i just wanted you to know that i’m sorry for how i was. truly. and . . . if there’s ever a chance, even a small one, that we could try again . . . i would do everything differently. i would be better for you.”

theodore nott’s words were raw, unfiltered, and they hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. this wasn’t the theodore you had known — the one who hid behind sarcasm and anger. this was someone who had faced his demons and was trying, really trying, to be a better man. but could you trust him? could you risk your heart again after everything that had happened?

“i need time, theo,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “i can’t just jump back into something that hurt me so much.”

the slytherin nodded again, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. “i understand. i’ll wait as long as it takes. and if you never want to try again, i’ll respect that too. i just needed you to know that i’m sorry, and that i’m here if you ever want to give us another chance.”

with that, he turned to leave, but not before giving you one last, lingering look — a look filled with all the things he had never been able to say before.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can we have more of domestic Jason but now with him needy of touch? 🥹

the reader got out of bed early to go drink water and he wakes up from a nightmare needing her and he thinks she left him and he starts crying in panic, but then she appears and calm him down with kisses, words of affirmation and lots of love.

Thank u! I love ur writing btw!!

I don’t know if this is what you have in mind, the ending might be a little half-assed but I was half asleep whilst making this 🦦also thank you for enjoying my writing! It really means a lot!

Your side of the bed had barely gone cold which indicated that it hadn’t been long ago that you had left but it was the reason why you’ve left that haunted Jason, who was fresh out of a nightmare and drenched in his own sweat and finding difficulty in calming his uneven breaths.

He had meant to reach out to you for comfort.

Only to be greeted by air just as palm of his hand then hit the lukewarm mattress below.

It was enough to break Jason’s resolve as his innate belief that everyone he ever cared for was destined to leave him- especially you- began to worsen with every passing second the longer Jason allowed himself to be poisoned by the possibilities that you were gone. Disappeared. Or worse yet; taken.

‘Y/n?’ He calls out softly.

‘Baby?’ He tries again, a little louder this time, not having realised that his eyes had started to tear up and blur his vision of his dark room, or that a lump in his throat had started to form, making it difficult for him to swallow down his overwhelming anxiety.

‘Don’t leave me here…please don’t leave me all lone.’ Jason pleads with the darkness of his room as though that would be enough to give you back to him. ‘Haven’t I done that enough?’ He then asks as he clenched the bedsheets between his powerful hands, trying to bound himself to something to combat his discomfort in being left alone with his mind for too long. ‘Being left alone when I was proven too difficult to save? Too far gone to be helped? Am I just that broken to be given just a sliver of happiness?’ He cries out at he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes as he chocked back his own sobs.

Despite building himself a strong body that could endure punishment, the pain of that of an broken heart had been so excruciating it had Jason keeling over in bed, wanting nothing more then to tear it out of his chest as though it burned him; Or was it in fact just phantom pains from a heart that had been hollowed out by the hands of another.

The door to the room opened and golden light flooded in, eradicating the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. ‘Jason?’ Your voice called out and Jason never felt more alive than he did in hearing you say his name in that angelic voice of yours, so much so that he didn’t notice that he had begun to cry harder but out of relief this time. ‘I thought- I thought you left. I couldn’t feel you. I tried reaching for you but you weren’t there.’ He began to say but was cut off when you brought him tightly into your arms.

‘Im sorry that I kept you waiting my beautiful boy.’ You cooed as your fingers reached up to comb through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp now and then to assure him of your presence. Jason didn’t hesitate to bring you into his lap as he buried his head deep into your shoulder, wiping his tears against your sleep shirt, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when he was holding onto you as though you were bound to disappear once he lets go. ‘Where did you go?’ He asks. ‘I got a little thirsty and so I went to get a drink of water.’ You explained, kissing him anywhere that was made available to you.

‘You’ve been strong for a long, long time and I’ve never been more prouder of you for holding out as long as you have with everything you’ve been through, it never fails to amaze me how resilient you are Jaybirdie.’ You felt his breathing even out as he began to lean back into the bed, still holding onto you. ‘You’re truly an incredible man for being able to stand on your own two feet and still find it within yourself to fight.’ You softly told him as you continued to hold him in your arms as he squeezed your waist in response. ‘I’m so unbelievably lucky to have someone like you in my life and I will do everything in my power to make you believe that.’ You promised him.

‘Even if it’s impossible and might take forever.’ Jason says, starting to feel the lull of sleep as it began to weigh heavily on his eyelids.

You smile softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. ‘Even if it takes an eternity I would still find a way to prove just how beautiful you are.’ You replied, nuzzling into him as his bodily warmth began to ease you into a sense of security. ‘You are the most beautiful man I have ever met Jason Todd.’ You moved to look him in the eyes. ‘A butterfly may not be able to see the colour of their wings but that doesn’t retract the fact that they’re undeniably beautiful.’ You added as you pressed a couple of kissed to his forehead. ‘Now gets some sleep my beautiful boy, I’ll be here when you wake up.’

‘You promise?’ Jason asked, biting back a yawn.

‘I’d be stupid to break a promise I made to you.’ You responded, thinking all was said and done when Jason brought a hand up to your face, showing you his outstretched pinky. ‘Pinky promise me that you’ll be here with me when I wake up.’ He says and you smile softly at the inherent innocence of that of a pinkie promise but still went ahead and linked your pinky with his, pressing a kiss to his calloused and scarred hand with reverence before resting it on his chest. ‘I pinky promise that I’ll be here when you wake up. Was that good?’

‘We’ll see in the morning when I get to wake up to you chipmunk.’ Jason replied, holding you more against his chest and fell asleep but you weren’t complying as you soon followed him into dreamland, your pinkies still linked to one another as a reminder of your promise.

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (namesake)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: under the dragon's eye

- Next part: credit's due

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The birth of your first child was nothing short of a whirlwind for Tyland Lannister. He had spent the better part of the day pacing the length of the corridor outside your chambers, his nerves as frayed as his hair, while the sounds of midwives bustling about and the occasional shout from you reached his ears. The moment he heard the baby's first cry, Tyland let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

When the midwife finally allowed him inside, he approached you cautiously, as though afraid you might throw a pillow at him for causing this entire ordeal in the first place. But to his surprise, you looked radiant despite the exhaustion. You cradled a small bundle in your arms, and as Tyland moved closer, he saw the little face of your newborn son, his tiny fists clenched as if he was ready to take on the world.

Tyland felt a rush of emotions—pride, awe, sheer relief that everything had gone smoothly—but before he could utter a word, you looked up at him with a tired but triumphant smile.

"I’ve decided on a name," you said, your voice soft but firm.

Tyland, still slightly dazed from the whole event, blinked and nodded. "Of course, my love. What shall we call him?"

You took a deep breath and said, “Daemon.”

Tyland’s smile froze mid-expression, his brain doing a complete double-take. "I’m sorry, did you just say... Daemon?"

You nodded, the name rolling off your tongue as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes, after my uncle. Daemon Lannister.”

Tyland stared at you, his mind racing to process the situation. Daemon? As in Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, the man whose very presence was enough to send most people running in the other direction? And now, here he was, with his very own son named after that man? A Lannister named Daemon? The gods were truly laughing at him today.

"Ah... well," Tyland stammered, trying to find the right words. "That’s... certainly a strong name. A bold name." He hesitated, glancing down at the baby, who was already squirming in his swaddle as if he, too, had inherited some of his namesake’s fiery spirit. "Are you... sure?"

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Of course I’m sure. Uncle Daemon has always been there for me. It’s a fitting name for our son."

Tyland cleared his throat, still unsure how to react. “Yes, yes, of course. It’s just... a Lannister named Daemon. That’s going to... raise some eyebrows.”

You gave him a tired but amused smile. "It’s a good name, Tyland. Besides, I’ve heard plenty of Targaryens named Aegon. I think a Lannister named Daemon will survive just fine."

Tyland sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Survive, yes. But I have a feeling I’ll never hear the end of this."

And he was right.

It didn’t take long for word to reach your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, who seemed to be having the time of his life with this information. Tyland had just returned to his chambers after speaking with the maester when a servant knocked on the door.

"Lord Tyland," the servant said with barely contained amusement, "Prince Daemon sends his congratulations. He... also sends a gift for his namesake."

Tyland’s eyes narrowed. “A gift?” he asked warily.

The servant handed him a small package, which Tyland opened cautiously. Inside, to his horror, was a tiny pair of leather boots—dragonrider boots, fit for a baby.

"By the gods," Tyland muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course he would."

As if summoned by Tyland’s sheer exasperation, Daemon himself appeared in the doorway not long after, grinning from ear to ear. "So, I hear there’s a new Daemon in the capital," he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Tyland resisted the urge to groan. "Yes, yes, my son has been named after you. Are you quite done gloating?"

Daemon’s grin only widened. "Oh, I’m just getting started," he said, strolling into the room as though he owned the place. He looked down at the baby in your arms and nodded approvingly. "A fine name for a fine lad. I’m sure he’ll live up to it."

"That’s exactly what I’m afraid of," Tyland muttered under his breath.

Daemon chuckled, clearly enjoying Tyland’s discomfort. "You’re welcome, Lannister. If your son turns out half as impressive as me, you’ll have nothing to worry about."

Tyland shot him a look. "That’s precisely the problem, Daemon."

You, of course, were watching this entire exchange with an amused smile, clearly not as troubled by the situation as your husband. "I think it’s a good name," you said, glancing down at your son. "He’ll grow into it."

"That’s what I’m afraid of," Tyland repeated, this time louder, casting another wary glance at Daemon.

But despite the teasing, Tyland couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of pride as he looked down at his son. Even if the boy was named after a rogue prince, even if it meant enduring endless jabs from Daemon for the rest of his days, this was his son. A Lannister, through and through. And somehow, the name didn’t seem so bad anymore.

Still, as Daemon sauntered out of the room with one last smirk and a parting comment about teaching the boy to ride a dragon before he could walk, Tyland couldn’t help but sigh.

“I should have known,” he muttered, glancing over at you with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “We’re never going to hear the end of this, are we?”

You laughed softly, your eyes twinkling as you cradled little Daemon in your arms. “No, I don’t think we are. But we’ll manage.”

Tyland smiled despite himself, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "I suppose we will. And if he takes after his namesake... I’ll just have to make sure he’s at least a little more... manageable."

But deep down, Tyland knew that was wishful thinking. With a name like Daemon, nothing was ever going to be manageable.

Tyland Lannister had always prided himself on being a composed man, someone who could navigate political intrigues and family tensions with the calm dignity expected of a Lannister. But nothing in his experience—no underhanded dealings, no surprise royal decrees—had prepared him for the sight that greeted him one morning as he walked past the nursery where his infant son, Daemon, was being tended to by the servants.

It started with a shriek. Not the usual fussing of a baby, but the high-pitched, heart-stopping scream of one of the maids. Tyland’s blood ran cold. Without a second thought, he rushed toward the nursery, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.

"Lord Tyland!" came the voice of the nursemaid, hysterical and utterly panicked. "Something’s wrong!"

Tyland flung the door open, his heart hammering in his chest, and there, standing over the cradle, were two utterly terrified servants, their eyes wide as saucers. The cradle itself was rattling and shaking as though possessed by some malevolent spirit, and from within came a strange, ominous sound—like the soft crackling of fire and the faintest hint of hissing.

Tyland’s stomach dropped.

"What in seven hells is going on?" he demanded, pushing past the servants to peer into the cradle. His son, little Daemon Lannister, was cooing happily, completely unaware of the chaos around him.

But it wasn’t his son that made Tyland’s blood freeze.

Nestled beside the baby was a small, writhing, freshly hatched dragon, its scales shimmering like molten bronze, with tiny wings twitching as it squirmed in the blankets. The dragon let out a high-pitched screech, startling Tyland so badly he nearly knocked over a nearby table.

"By the gods!" Tyland yelped, stumbling backward. "What... what is that doing here?!"

One of the servants, pale as a ghost, pointed shakily at the dragon. "It... it was in the cradle, my lord! The egg must’ve been slipped in—h-heavens help us, it hatched!"

Tyland’s mind reeled. A dragon egg? In his son’s cradle? Who could possibly— And then it hit him like a slap to the face.

Daemon.

Of course. Who else would have the audacity, the sheer nerve, to sneak a dragon egg into an unsuspecting Lannister’s nursery? His uncle by marriage, Prince Daemon Targaryen, was no doubt behind this madness. Tyland groaned inwardly, already picturing Daemon’s smirk when he found out his little scheme had come to fruition. This was his idea of a gift? A baby dragon?

The tiny dragon let out another screech, this time flapping its minuscule wings in a rather pathetic attempt at looking menacing. It was no larger than a house cat, but to Tyland, it might as well have been Vhagar herself looming over the cradle.

“I need to get him out of there,” Tyland muttered to himself, eyeing the dragon warily as it curled protectively around Daemon’s tiny body, almost like it was already bonded with the infant. “How am I supposed to—”

The dragon let out a warning hiss, baring its little fangs at Tyland as he reached for his son. He froze, hands hovering in midair. Gods, of course it would hiss at me. Tyland had always prided himself on being a man of strategy, but how in the world was he supposed to outmaneuver a newborn dragon?

“Right,” he muttered to himself, eyeing the dragon again. “Nice dragon. Just... let me grab the baby and we can all get out of this unscathed, hmm?”

The dragon blinked at him with those shiny eyes, completely unimpressed.

Tyland, who had faced down far more intimidating foes in court, suddenly found himself at a loss for words, feeling as though he were trying to negotiate with an angry goose. Carefully, inch by inch, he reached out again, trying to gently lift Daemon from the cradle. The baby gurgled happily, completely unaware of the chaos surrounding him.

The dragon, however, was having none of it. It flared its tiny wings, making a noise somewhere between a chirp and a growl. Tyland yanked his hand back, eyes wide. “Oh, for the love of—this is absurd!”

As if in response, the dragon flicked its tail and settled back down, curling protectively around the baby. Tyland’s frustration grew. “He’s my son, not yours!” he snapped at the dragon, fully aware of how ridiculous the situation had become. “You’re barely out of the egg!”

The servants stood frozen in the corner, clearly unwilling to come anywhere near the creature. Tyland sighed, rubbing his temple. “Of course,” he muttered. “Of course Daemon would do this.”

Just as he was about to attempt another round of negotiations with the tiny dragon, the door swung open, and in strolled Prince Daemon Targaryen himself, looking as pleased as ever. One glance at the scene before him, and his grin widened.

“Well, well,” Daemon said with a mockingly thoughtful tone, crossing his arms. “Looks like my little namesake has found himself a new friend.”

Tyland shot him a withering look. “This... this is your doing, isn’t it?”

Daemon shrugged, feigning innocence. “I simply thought young Daemon could use a companion. A Lannister with a dragon—it’s almost poetic, don’t you think?”

“Poetic?” Tyland repeated incredulously. “I nearly lost my hand to this thing!” He gestured toward the tiny dragon, who let out another hiss as if to punctuate the point.

Daemon chuckled, clearly enjoying Tyland’s exasperation. “You’ll get used to it. Dragons aren’t so bad once you learn how to handle them.”

Tyland glared at him. “Handle them? I can barely get near my own son without this... this lizard snapping at me!”

Daemon sauntered over to the cradle and casually scooped up the baby, the dragon allowing him to do so without so much as a hiss. Daemon held the infant with a smug grin. “See? He already knows who his real protector is.”

Tyland groaned. “I suppose you’ll be telling me this is normal?”

Daemon clapped Tyland on the shoulder, still grinning. “Completely normal. Congratulations, Tyland. You’re the proud father of a dragonrider.”

Tyland sighed, rubbing his temple. “Gods help me.”

The tiny dragon let out a satisfied little chirp, settling back into the cradle as though it had won some unspoken contest. Tyland shot it a glare, knowing that his life had just gotten a lot more complicated.

“Just remember,” Daemon added, still smirking, “you’re welcome.”

Tyland could only groan in response.

Tyland Lannister was sitting in the gardens, trying his best to enjoy what should have been a peaceful afternoon with you and your infant son, Daemon. Of course, the key word there was "should." Things hadn’t been quite so peaceful since a certain little dragon named Viseron had entered their lives. Viseron, now about the size of a very large dog, was lounging a few feet away, sunbathing lazily, wings spread wide as if he owned the place.

Tyland glanced at the creature with mild suspicion. He still hadn’t quite gotten over the whole "I almost lost a hand to a baby dragon" incident. Viseron, of course, was completely unbothered, soaking up the warmth of the sun as though nothing could disturb his perfect little world.

You sat beside Tyland, gently cradling baby Daemon, who was babbling happily, completely oblivious to the chaos he had caused by simply existing. Tyland leaned over and gave his son an affectionate look, muttering, "You don’t know the trouble you’ve brought into my life, do you?"

Just as Tyland was beginning to relax, he noticed two familiar figures approaching from across the garden—Rhaenyra and Laenor, who had recently returned to court after their wedding. Rhaenyra, of course, had a gleam in her eye, the kind of gleam that Tyland had learned to be wary of. She was clearly in a mood for teasing.

“Well, well, well,” Rhaenyra called out as she drew closer, her voice light and playful. “If it isn’t the new dragonlord himself.”

Tyland sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Good afternoon, Rhaenyra. Laenor,” he greeted, trying to keep his tone civil and neutral. You, however, smiled warmly at your sister, clearly happy to see her.

Rhaenyra’s gaze immediately flicked to Viseron, who was still sunbathing nearby, his scales glinting in the sunlight. She raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “So, this is the infamous Viseron,” she said with mock admiration. “I must say, Tyland, I didn’t take you for a man of dragons.”

Laenor chuckled beside her, clearly amused by the situation. “He’s certainly got his hands full now, doesn’t he?”

Tyland groaned inwardly, already regretting not finding an excuse to leave the garden before they arrived. “It wasn’t exactly my choice,” he muttered, glancing at you. “Your uncle saw to that.”

Rhaenyra laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, I heard all about it. I can’t believe Daemon managed to sneak a dragon egg into your son’s cradle. You should have seen Father’s face when he found out. I thought he was going to choke on his wine.”

Tyland rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling embarrassed by the whole situation. “Yes, well, I’d prefer if we all forgot about that particular incident.”

But Rhaenyra, of course, was having none of it. She moved closer, eyeing Viseron with a grin. “I think it’s fitting. A Lannister with a dragon. You’ll certainly stand out now, Tyland.”

“I’d rather not stand out quite so much,” Tyland grumbled. “Especially when said dragon seems determined to make my life difficult.”

Rhaenyra’s laughter only grew louder. “Difficult? What’s difficult about raising a dragon?”

Tyland shot her a look, deadpan. “For starters, it tried to eat my sleeve this morning.”

Rhaenyra bit back a laugh, her eyes flicking toward the dragon again. “Well, that’s just part of the experience,” she said teasingly. “You’ll get used to it. Besides, look at him—he’s not so bad.”

Viseron, as if on cue, let out a lazy yawn, revealing sharp little teeth that Tyland was all too familiar with. He shot the dragon a wary glance. “Not so bad? He’s a menace in the making.”

Laenor chuckled, patting Tyland on the back. “Ah, come now, Tyland. You’ve got a son with a dragon, something no other Lannisters can say. It’s practically an honor.”

Tyland groaned, leaning back against the bench as you stifled a laugh beside him. “Honor? That’s not quite the word I’d use.”

Rhaenyra grinned, clearly enjoying the teasing. “And what word would you use? Terrified? In over your head?”

“Accurate,” Tyland muttered.

Baby Daemon, blissfully unaware of the conversation, babbled in your arms, reaching out toward Viseron, who was still lounging in the sun. Tyland’s heart skipped a beat as he watched his son’s tiny hand wave in the dragon’s direction, but Viseron didn’t move—he simply lay there, content to ignore the world around him. At least for now, Tyland thought grimly.

Rhaenyra, her eyes sparkling with amusement, leaned in closer to Tyland. “You know,” she said, her voice low and teasing, “I think Uncle Daemon did this on purpose just to see how you’d handle it.”

Tyland’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t say,” he replied dryly, knowing full well that Daemon had probably laughed himself to sleep after hearing about the chaos he’d caused.

Laenor grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “Well, you’re handling it better than I expected,” he said, his tone light. “A Lannister with a dragon—who would have thought?”

Tyland sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Trust me, I didn’t ask for this. But here we are.”

You, still cradling baby Daemon, gave your sister a playful look. “He’s doing better than you think, Rhaenyra,” you said with a smile. “And besides, little Daemon seems to love Viseron.”

Tyland gave you a grateful look, though he couldn’t help but mutter, “One of us has to.”

Rhaenyra chuckled, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “Well, Tyland, I look forward to seeing how this all turns out. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be flying on dragonback before long.”

Tyland paled at the very thought. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Viseron, meanwhile, let out a contented huff, as if thoroughly enjoying the idea. Tyland shot the dragon a glare. “I’m watching you, you overgrown lizard.”

But despite his grumbling, Tyland couldn’t help but feel a bit more at ease as he looked at you, his son, and even the sunbathing dragon nearby. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was starting to get the hang of this—chaos and all.

Tyland Lannister had never been more anxious about returning to Casterly Rock, despite it being his childhood home. This time, though, he wasn’t just returning as a dutiful son or the Lord Treasurer of the realm—he was arriving with his wife, your toddler son, and a small dragon named Viseron. To say it was a complicated visit would be an understatement.

"Just remember," Tyland muttered as he straightened his tunic for the third time, "my family is not used to dragons. Or... well, anything remotely Targaryen."

You smiled patiently, holding little Daemon’s hand as he toddled alongside you. Viseron, now the size of a large horse, walked just a few feet behind, his golden-green eyes watching everything with a curious gleam. He had grown quite a bit since his sunbathing days in the King’s Landing gardens, and his presence was impossible to ignore—much to Tyland’s increasing nervousness.

The moment they stepped through the grand entrance of Casterly Rock, the air of formality and anticipation was palpable. Jason Lannister, Tyland’s older brother and Lord of Casterly Rock, was already standing at the head of the table in the great hall, surrounded by a collection of Lannister cousins, uncles, and other relatives who had come to greet them. Jason, naturally, had a goblet of wine in hand and an impossibly smug grin on his face.

"Tyland!" Jason boomed as soon as they entered. "Welcome home! And look at that—our little Lannister prince and his... scaly friend."

Tyland tried not to roll his eyes as Jason clapped him on the shoulder with far too much enthusiasm. "Brother," Tyland said, managing a polite smile. "It’s good to be back."

Jason’s attention immediately shifted to Daemon, who was currently holding onto your leg while giving everyone around him curious looks. "And this must be young Daemon!" Jason grinned, bending down to ruffle the toddler’s silver-gold hair. "A fine-looking lad. And the first Lannister dragon rider, no less!"

Tyland felt his stomach twist as Jason’s gaze shifted to Viseron, who was currently sniffing at a nearby tapestry as if deciding whether or not it was edible.

"Yes, yes, a dragon rider," Tyland said hastily, casting a nervous glance at Viseron. "Speaking of the dragon, perhaps we should—"

But before Tyland could finish, Jason had already raised his goblet high. "A toast!" he announced loudly, drawing the attention of the entire hall. "To Daemon Lannister, the first of our house to ride a dragon!"

The Lannister family, ever fond of toasts, quickly raised their goblets in unison, echoing Jason’s sentiment with various degrees of enthusiasm. "To Daemon Lannister!" they cheered.

Tyland, however, was too busy watching Viseron, who had become increasingly interested in the sound of clinking goblets. The dragon’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing on the shimmering cups as if they were the most fascinating things in the world.

"Um," Tyland began, holding up a hand, "perhaps we should—"

But it was too late.

Viseron let out a high-pitched screech, startling everyone in the hall as he stomped forward, his tail knocking over a nearby chair. The dragon’s eyes were locked on Jason’s goblet, and before anyone could react, Viseron lunged forward, his sharp teeth closing around the rim of the cup.

Jason yelped in surprise, yanking his hand back as Viseron claimed the goblet like a prized trophy. The dragon gave the cup a good shake, spilling wine everywhere, including all over Jason’s immaculate tunic.

"By the gods!" Jason exclaimed, trying—and failing—to maintain his composure. "The dragon just... stole my wine!"

Tyland covered his face with his hand, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "Of course he did," he muttered. "Of course."

The Lannister relatives, for their part, were watching the spectacle with a mixture of horror and amusement. One cousin was whispering furiously to another, no doubt speculating whether all dragon riders had to deal with such incidents on a regular basis.

You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to laugh as you knelt down to pick up Daemon, who had started clapping his hands in delight at the sight of Viseron’s antics. "Look, Mama, Viseron’s playing!" Daemon exclaimed happily, pointing at the dragon as though this were all part of some grand game.

Jason, however, was not as amused. "Tyland," he said through gritted teeth, wiping wine from his sleeve, "do you always let your dragon do this?"

Tyland gave his brother a tight-lipped smile, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity. "No, I generally prefer my wine in a goblet and not in the jaws of a dragon, but thank you for the suggestion."

Viseron, having grown bored of the goblet now that it was empty, dropped it onto the floor with a clatter and turned his attention to one of the nearby tapestries again. Tyland winced. "Perhaps we should move the dragon... outside."

Jason nodded furiously, his expression sour. "Yes, please. Before it decides to redecorate the entire hall."

You were still smiling as you handed Daemon over to Tyland. "Why don’t you take Daemon outside with Viseron?" you suggested gently. "I think it’s best to let them both run off some energy."

Tyland, clutching his son a little tighter, sighed. "Yes, excellent idea." He gave Jason a parting glance. "Apologies for the... incident."

Jason waved him off, though his expression suggested he would be thinking twice about any future dragon-related toasts. "Just... make sure it doesn’t eat anything else valuable."

As Tyland guided Viseron out of the hall, the dragon lumbering behind him, Daemon giggled happily in his arms. "Viseron’s silly, Papa."

Tyland sighed, his heart softening despite the chaos. "Yes, yes he is, my boy." He cast one last glance back at Casterly Rock’s great hall, where his brother and cousins were still trying to mop up spilled wine and repair the damage.

“Welcome to Casterly Rock,” Tyland muttered to himself with a wry smile, shaking his head. “I’m sure we’ll be remembered fondly.”

But despite the dragon-sized headache, as he looked down at Daemon’s bright, happy face and the contented dragon trailing behind them, Tyland couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, the Lannisters would survive having a dragon rider in the family after all.

[grandisknight]

xavier: your lipstick stains

summary: Xavier helps you out with the age-old dilemma of figuring out what lipstick to wear. Although, his personal take is one you’ve never thought of until now.

tags: established relationship, gender neutral!reader, fluff, lipstick, kissing, light evol use/mention, implied/suggestive ending, banter, teasing, one shot, in the bathroom, ‘starlight’ nickname

+ wc: 1.7k | ao3

a/n: inspired by that one moment in his lost signal card bc the lips line(tm) is canon ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

No, not this one.

Too warm, too cool—one would be too glossy while the other barely reflected any sheen coat. How many have you gone through at this point?

If only choosing a shade of lipstick was as easy as counting to three, you would’ve finished getting ready a while ago. A familiar pile of soaked cottons stained in shades ranging from a family of reds to browns sit off to the side of your counter. And currently, a freshly-dipped micellar round was swiping over your lips once more in defeat.

Great, another one bites the dust.

For some reason, today of all days, not a single shade complimented your appearance. The offended tubes of balm were littered in slight disarray, varying in size and color. There were enough of them present that you could line them up into a series of dominos and watch as they fall in succession. Your eyes narrowed at the selection, one of your own curation, in disbelief at the sense of betrayal they quietly emitted.

A pair of gentle taps break your dazed stare.

“Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while.”

The soft cadence was muffled between the thick wood separating the two of you, and your eyes lift to gaze at the door through the mirror. Past your own reflection, where your lips have seen better days. Right, he was waiting for you.

“Sorry, I promise I’ll be out soon.” You offer in apology, a slight pang of guilt pricking your skin at the sound of it.

It’s just lipstick. Should be something so simple and quick to get over with, yet here you were about to—dramatically so—end it all because not a single shade felt right. “Just, ugh. Doing something.”

“Would you mind if I stepped in? I can help you,” he offers, though makes no move to push the door handle. Patient as ever, a calm that was an opposite to your current storm of frustration.

You contemplate for a moment. But surely, it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion, right? A set of fresh eyes in comparison to your wearied ones that have engraved these shades, and your opinions on them, deep into your frontal lobe. So you decided then with a nod what had to be done.

“The door’s open.”

A pleasant creaking noise welcomed in the light from beyond and the man who shouldered it. Xavier was dressed to the nines, cream blazer neatly ironed down to the very creases and onyx turtleneck sneaking up to his Adam’s apple. A dreamy sight, practically glowing and an angel without wings—truly, the date night dress-code for an excursion out of Linkon did wonders.

His shoulders press against the doorframe, arms crossed in thought as he assessed the situation before him. A heartbeat passes in the moment his curious gaze trailed over your figure from head to toe, and away to the messy counter that housed your bathroom activities.

“You look beautiful,” he concludes with a matter-of-fact tone. His brow creases when you don’t even offer him a small smile, sensing the distress radiating from your stare. “Oh. Is something else the matter?”

“This,” you emphasize, pointing a finger to your lower lip. There was a slight stain of previous pigments, a testament to your efforts thus far, and a sigh pushed past it. “I know it might seem a bit silly, but I’ve been struggling with finding something that works.”

Xavier takes a step forward, crossing into the small space as you spun around in succession. Your chests nearly met each other in close proximity and a hand under your chin led your eyes to his. Reflectively, his thumb runs over the plush of the source to your current woes.

He hums. “Even your favorite one?”

“Even my favorite one,” you reaffirm. Your usual shade was a lost cause, which was when you knew that today was definitely not your day.

His eyes never left your lips as he posed another question. “I have one you might like. Would you like to try it?”

“Really?” Your ears perked at the suggestion, curious as to what mysterious shades he would have up his sleeve. “What is it—Mmph?”

A soft press of his lips against yours consume your query, neatly melting into your touch like a puzzle piece finding its match. By instinct, your eyes fluttered shut and arms looped around his neck, quickly welcoming the sudden lip-locking.

His hands smooth themselves over your sides, gently guiding your bodies to push against the counter and attached himself to you with a further dip of his head. The walls of the bathroom do well to echo every ardent press of his lips onto yours—the warmth of his mouth enhanced the light traces of cherry underneath his breath, a familiar taste that undoubtedly belonged to him.

It was only when you began to feel his hands sneakily toy underneath the fabric of your top and tongue push against yours that you pull back, breathless in effect.

“Xavier.”

The first call goes past his ears, his lips dragging past your chin and peppering a line across your jaw. As much as you enjoyed this—you were losing sight of the plot, and needed to pull on the reigns once more in reminder. Both literally and figuratively speaking.

A slight tug to his nape and an emphasis to his vowels, you call out to him again. “Xavier.”

He paused with the second announcement of his name, warm breath fanning over the shell of your ear. Xavier pulls back then, and you could barely make out the ringlets of his steeled blues with how dilated they looked at you instead.

“Sorry,” he breathes. A fleeting kiss to the tip of your nose adds to his apology. “I got carried away.”

“You’re fine,” you reassured, patting down his nape in turn.

Although, your brow raised as the question pushed down your throat from several seconds ago rises upwards. “What lipstick were you referring to? You know, before all of this.” You gesture between yourselves, only just now realizing how naturally his legs were slotted between your own, and lower back leaning into the counter’s edge.

“The color of my lips suit you best.” Xavier responds as if it was the most sensible solution in the world, an edge of sincerity to his simple yet meaningful words. “So, that’s my answer.”

Even so, you snorted, lightly pushing his forehead back with a finger. “Weren’t you the one who said that my lips suited you back then?” Memories of the promotional filming flicker in your mind, and the same happens to Xavier in the way his ears flush.

“Same difference.”

He avoids your teasing gaze, a hand lifted to shyly itch at the side of his neck. It didn’t last long, however, when his eyes twinkled in mirth as they returned to yours. “But, hm. Here's the thing...”

“Hm?” You echoed, though in confusion and a sense of foreboding. Searching his face leads you to your answer, where his now slightly chapped lips curled into a small smile. You swipe over his mouth in amusement. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

He answers amidst your touches, lightly nipping at your searching digit towards the end. “Looks like I’ll need some lipstick recommendations. Don’t you have any for me?”

“I might,” you play along, withdrawing your finger. Your hand cups his cheek in turn, admiring the way his face nuzzled further into your palm in wait. “But we’ll be late for dinner if I show you.”

“That’s fine.” Xavier answers almost too quickly, blinking somewhat innocently to spare some face in the height of your raised suspicions. “I think I’d want some dessert first before we go, anyways.”

"I don't think that's how this works—Ah!"

You let out a surprised yelp at his unsuspecting hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you to sit atop the counter. Your hands steady themselves on his shoulders, in slight disbelief at the newfound shift. A couple of lipstick tubes roll from the sudden intrusion, hitting the floor with light clicks and littering the tiles below.

Your huff matches his chuckle at the disposition you've found yourself in, and you lightheartedly cross your arms with a pout. “I thought you wanted the lipstick?” You quip, reminding him of his own proposal just mere seconds ago. "Now you want to talk about desert this and that."

"Am I not allowed to want both?" He candidly asks in turn, gaze lowered and long lashes kissing the height of his cheeks.

"...You can," you quietly confirm, words suddenly feeling dry at the expense of the heat steadily pricking your skin. Was it always this hot in here? It certainly was now, and you were far from complaining.

The butterflies in your stomach became tenfold as he drew closer to your raised body—one hand mindlessly caressed your thigh as the other gestured off to the side in a soft luminance. A whirr of light wraps itself around one of the closest rouges, seemingly floating in effect.

Xavier calmly uncaps the balm then, waving it around in the air with specks of light floating all about. It stops just before you, barely touching the skin below your cupid’s bow and moves with a faint swipe. “Then, I’ll just have to borrow it from you this way.”

He closes the distance between your faces once more, a kiss so fleeting yet purposeful sealing his promise. Another swipe of lipstick and a planted peck followed in suit—though a third brush of his lips against yours couldn't hide the smile on his face, enjoying the play of events under his crafted direction. He pulls back with a content hum, putting the lipstick aside and smoothing his hands over your thighs once more.

You find yourself staring at his lips, now equally as stained as yours and enhancing the natural hues of his pink. "You got your lipstick, and I got mine," you mused, pursing your lips together in thought. "Are we good to go now?"

"Not quite." Xavier shakes his head, nose nudging the underside of your chin and tracing towards your collarbone. He speaks into the cavern that protects your heart, fingers drumming against you before squeezing lightly.

"I haven't had my dessert yet, starlight."

[walkingintheheartbreaksatellite]

I Want Forever

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Gif credit goes to @londonharry (So sorry! I don’t normally use gifs so I forgot to give credit!)

Summary- Harry and Y/N broke up early into Love On Tour. Harry struggled to truly move on, as did Y/N. With tour over, a lost soul shows up at Y/N’s door one night, ready for forever.

Warnings- angst, smooshiness, you may cry

>>>————————->

September 2021

“Y/N, love, please! I haven’t seen you in weeks! Can’t you take just a bit of time off to come to my next show?”

I sigh into the phone and shake my head, knowing full well he can’t see me.

“Harry, you know I can’t! I’m swamped with school! I skipped 4 assignments and took zeroes for them when I was with you last! This is my future-.”

“And what about our future?! I told you! I want a life with you! You don’t need to be working this hard! You don’t even need to work!”

I scoff and bite my lip.

“Harry, you know I won’t! My career is important! This is what I’m working so hard for! I want to work and I want to be somebody! Not just a pop star’s girlfriend! You’re always gone. If you can’t drop your career for me then you shouldn’t ask me to drop mine for you. I thought you understood that..?”

My heart breaks more and more as he sighs into the phone.

“So that’s it then? You’re just… You’re giving up on us?”

“Harry-.”

“No, no, don’t bother. We should just end it before it gets worse for either of us. I hope things work out for you, Y/N.”

He hangs up and with that, I breakdown. I cry and I cry, praying that this was just a nightmare. But I knew he was right. And without Harry… I could focus…

July 2023

It had been a long week. In fact, it had been a long few years. After the break up, I distanced myself a lot. I got off of social media and threw myself into finishing school and eventually, entered, I got my dream job.

As much as I love helping kids, the ones that are like me and the ones that struggle worse, it breaks my heart. After the break up, I got myself back into therapy to cope.

While I am no longer spiraling, the pain is still there. I never tried to get my things. I never made contact again. I just ran. I ran from everything.

After another long, emotional day of work, I stumble into my apartment and crash on my couch. After giving myself a few moments to scream my frustrations into the couch cushion, I get up and make myself a light dinner before getting some extra work done.

I park myself down at the coffee table with a glass of white wine and a frozen dinner, turning my attention to my laptop when there’s a knock at the door. I glare curiously at the door and hesitantly get up, making my way to the door.

I hesitantly open it and my mouth drops when I see who’s on the other side of the door.

“Harry…”

He looks in my eyes, his face sullen.

“Y/N…”

Before I can really think, I try to close the door but I hear a small ‘ow’ from the other side of the door. I look down and see Harry’s foot in the door. I sigh and let it go, opening it again. He looks at me and pulls his foot back.

“Can we… Can we talk?”

I fold my arms and frown.

“We don’t have anything to talk about. Now if you’ll excuse me-.”

“Y/N, please! Just- Just hear me out!”

He steps forward and I take a step back as he backs me into my apartment and closes the door.

“There’s nothing left to say, Harry. I’ve made my peace. Obviously you have too. So you should just go-.”

He places his hands on my arms and looks into my eyes.

“Y/N, you’re all I’ve thought about since we broke up… I have missed you so.. So much, love. And I know I was horrible to you and I will never forgive myself for that. But I can’t- I need you, Y/N. I can’t take one more day without you…”

Tears well up in my eyes and I shake my head.

“You can’t just come back into my life and say that! You were the one that ended things Harry, you! I supported you through everything! And you couldn’t support me?! My career is important to me! School was important! You were important!”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down before I continue.

“I shouldn’t have to choose between them! And you made the choice for me! And you, you moved on! Multiple times! I-.”

Harry shakes his head, tears spilling down his soft cheeks.

“That’s not true! I- I couldn’t… It was hard, Y/N! I-I made a mistake… I tried to move on but I just couldn’t.. I missed you Y/N. I miss you. And.. I just want you back. I-I know I don’t deserve you, even after all I’ve done… But I just can’t let you go. I refuse to let you go without a fight.”

Before I can say anything, Harry moves to his knees and he takes me hands, forcing me to look down at him.

“Harry-.”

He pulls out a ring box, his hands shaking as tears continue to spill down his cheeks.

“Just.. Hear me out. The last two years, I have done nothing but berate myself for chasing you away. No matter how I tried to move on, you were always on my mind. 3 years. You were with me from the start. And I wasn’t there for you like I should’ve been-.”

I attempt to pull him up and he shakes his head.

“Just wait. Please just let me finish… I made a mistake Y/N… But I don’t want to make another… Please… Y/N L/N… Will you marry me? Will you let be make it up to you? I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel like you have to choose. I’ll support you and I’ll-.”

I begin to cry and I drop to my knees as I sob. Harry drops the ring box and takes my cheeks in his hands, wiping my tears away with his thumb as he makes me look at him. His expression softens though his eyes remain teary, and he gives me a small smile.

“I am so, so sorry my love. I will spend every day making sure you know just how much I love you. And I know have a lot to make up for but please.”

I sigh and close my eyes for a minute. I take a deep breath before opening them again.

“Yes… I’ll marry you, Harry.”

His eyes light up and he opens his mouth to speak but I place my finger on his lips, stopping him.

“But I have a few conditions. These past couple years haven’t been easy. For the first few months… I couldn’t stand even hearing your name-… I want to go to therapy. You and me. Couples counseling. And- I want to take some time to heal… You coming back is putting salt in old wounds.”

He lets go of my cheeks and looks down, his sides dropping. I sigh and despite my better judgment, I wrap my arms around his neck and I kiss him. His eyes widen for a moment before he sinks into the kiss, deepening it. After a minute or so, I pull away and Harry looks into my eyes.

“I want you to listen to me, okay?”

He’s quiet for a second before he nods, gesturing me to continue.

“You made a mistake. And you’re owning up to it. I want to be with you Harry, I do. But I think we need to spend some time working through things together before we tie the not.”

He’s quiet for a moment before I hear him grab something off the floor.

“So… Does that mean you don’t want to wear the ring yet?”

I let out a small snort and shake my head. I pull away from him and hold my right hand out to him.

“No, gimmie that! I had been waiting for that! But it does mean that you’ll have to wait a little longer before you can marry me.”

He smiles and slips the ring on my finger and picks me up, twirling me around in his arms as I laugh.

It won’t be easy, but I want forever, and I want it with him.

>>>—————->

I hope you enjoyed lovelies! I would definitely be open to writing more for them!!! Requests are closed for now, until I catch up, but I will let you know when they’re open again!

Tag List

@be-with-me-so-happily @swiftmendeshoran @babyiamperfectforyou @freedomfireflies @kaminokatie @harrysmimi @violetsandfluff @fruitmans @fruitmansrecs @strwbrrydaydreams @rafaaoli @kimmi-kat @erggggggggg

[scoutswritingcorner]

It's Still You

Alastor x GN!Reader

A/n: Part two of ‘Despite Everything’ also a big thank you to my lovely Kuro (@kurosstuff)- They helped me figure this out!!

TW:Crying, talks about murder, a little screaming, angst. DONT WORRY THERE IS FLUFF I PROMISE!!

He didn’t remember when Rosie had guided him to sit down at a table, you sat across from him as Rosie had to leave to go make some tea saying something about “Needing to talk it out”. He would agree but his pride didn’t want to be bruised more than it already was. The way you won’t even look at him, of course he didn’t blame you but it still irked him to no end.

“Darling..” He started but was caught off with a loud scoff from you, “You don’t get to call me that anymore, Alastor.” You hissed venom lacing your tongue and it went right to his undead heart like a knife. He stayed silent for the first time in a long time, The Great Radio Demon was stunned silent and backed down like a kicked dog. But what made it worse was how tears started to well up in your eyes yet you didn’t acknowledge them, only looked at the wall across from you. “..Rosie told me you were still singing around here..you have your own little parlor..” He whispered out the radio effect gone from his voice, you nodded wordlessly.

He played with his cane and looked away from your face, “Why do you care? Have you ever fucking cared, Alastor?” You hissed out finally looking- no glaring at him. “Was our marriage just for show? It felt like it.” He flinched as his ears fell flat on his head at that thought of you thinking he truly didn’t love you. He showed it the best ways he could. “No no, it was never for show. I could never hurt you like that.” He calmly replied, trying not to let anyone see how upset he was at your words. No one could know The Radio Demon had a weakness.

That made you sob out and stand up collecting your things. He stood up as well reaching out for you but you moved away from his reach. “But you did. You killed me, Alastor. I did everything for you, I got the cops off your tail and covered your tracks when you were too damned tired to notice you got sloppy.” You yelled out, “I worshiped you, you were my husband, what else was I supposed to do?” Tears now falling freely down your face as your hands trembled, “I was scared of my own husband during my last moments alive.” 

He froze in place his ever lasting smile had fallen into a deep frown as he slowly walked closer to you. “That was probably my first fucking mistake in a long line of them but love makes you do crazy shit. And I truly did love you..I still do but I’m so afraid.” His shadow curled around your body as his hands finally reached to cup your face, wiping the tears away from your eyes. “I love you as well, my Songbird.” He started watching as you nuzzled into his hands, “I loved you from the moment I laid my eyes on you. I’m sorry for everything I have done..for how I’ve hurt you. You were never my target.” He whispered out, pulling you closer to his body.

“You were my everything, cher..” He leaned his forehead against yours as you let another sob rip through you. “My driving force, the person I wanted beside me at all times..could we try again? If you allow me the chance?” He asked softly, smiling as he felt your hands, your much softer hands than his, had grabbed onto his clawed ones and nodded. “I would like that, Al..I’m sorry..” 

He hummed and gently placed a kiss upon your forehead, “There is nothing to be sorry for. Tu as toujours eu mon coeur, mon petit oiseau chanteur.” He wouldn’t ruin this chance, not again. You both would run Hell side by side.

A/n: This made me fucking cry so much, I hope everyone loves it! Translation: "You always had my heart, my little songbird."

[librababe99]

Weathering the Storm

A/N: Hey Y’all! So I’ve always been someone who lurks, reblogs and enjoys the work that others put out on Tumblr. I have attempted to write things in the past but end up keeping it to myself or scrap the idea altogether— BUT after watching Deadpool and Wolverine my love for those two has hit me hard!  Anyways, here’s a little angsty blurb I wrote for Logan. 

Please let me know what you think! I'm open to suggestions and comments!

- Libra ✧ : *✧･ﾟ:*

Warnings: None.  Word Count: 620

The rain pounds against the window, a relentless downpour that mirrors the storm brewing inside you. You sit on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to hold it together. But it’s hard. It’s so damn hard when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

Logan is pacing the room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You can see the tension in his muscles, the barely contained fury that radiates off him in waves. He hasn’t looked at you since the argument started—since the words that neither of you can take back were thrown like daggers.

“Logan,” you finally say, your voice breaking the heavy silence. He stops but doesn’t turn to face you. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even listening.

But then he speaks, his voice rough and edged with pain. “I can’t keep doin’ this,” he mutters, the words barely audible over the rain. “Every time… it’s like I’m losing you a little more.”

Your heart clenches at the raw emotion in his tone, and you stand, taking a hesitant step toward him. “You’re not losing me,” you say, though the crack in your voice betrays your own doubt. “I’m right here.”

He finally turns to look at you, his eyes shadowed with something that makes your breath catch. There’s anger there, yes, but beneath it, there’s something deeper—something broken. “But for how long?” he asks, his voice rough with a vulnerability he rarely shows. “How long before you walk away? Before you decide you can’t handle bein’ with a guy like me?”

The accusation stings because it’s not entirely unfounded. You’ve both been through hell, and sometimes the weight of it all feels like too much. But the thought of leaving him? Of walking away from the only person who truly understands you? That’s a pain you can’t bear to even consider.

“I’m not leaving you, Logan,” you insist, your voice trembling. “I—” You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. “I’m scared, okay? Scared that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. That something will happen, and I won’t be able to stop it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you. I just… I don’t know how to deal with this.”

He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze piercing as he studies you. Then, with a heavy sigh, he steps forward, closing the distance between you. His hand reaches up, his rough fingers brushing your cheek. “You’re not gonna lose me, darlin’,” he murmurs, the anger in his voice replaced by something softer, something laced with the same fear you feel. “But I can’t keep fightin’ this battle alone. We’re in this together, or we’re not in it at all.”

His words hang in the air, a challenge and a plea all at once. You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of the decision before you. It would be easy to walk away, to let the fear and doubt win. But as you look into Logan’s eyes, you realize that leaving him would hurt more than anything else ever could.

Taking a deep breath, you place your hand over his. “We’re in this together,” you whisper, the resolve in your voice stronger now. “No matter what.”

For a moment, the tension between you lingers, but then Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you tight as if afraid you might slip away. You bury your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours. The storm outside rages on, but in Logan’s embrace, you find a sliver of peace—a promise that, despite the darkness, you’ll face whatever comes together.

[flnpushy]

A tricky Pushing

It happened so fast. An internet hookup. He wasn’t even who he said he was. The guy was a complete jerk. I fell for his charm, but deep down I knew he was no good. Why did I let him do it? Why didn’t I just walk away…. He was aggressive with me, almost abusive in the back of his truck. Before I could do anything he had me naked…. After the one night stand he ditched me, never to have contact again, I tried to tell him but he ran, there was no getting him back. So now here I am, 9 months later. With his baby in my belly. 

I awoke from this crazy dream. This dream I've had for 9 months now. Hoping this time when I woke up, it wasn’t true. However when my eyes came open, there it was, a big belly hanging from my tiny frame. Ugh… I just want this to be over. Get back to the fun, outgoing, 18 year old girl I was. But this baby had to come out first. I went to all my appointments, and found that of course he had to put a huge baby boy in me. A first time 18 year old mom to be with an 11 pound baby in my belly. I’m so small I thought, I’ve only had sex once, how the hell am I going to push an 11 pound baby out of my tiny pussy? I guess I was about to find out.

After getting pregnant I vanished from people. I didn’t see my friends, my family, or even go outside of my house, except to the doctors. I just wanted to push this baby out and be done. I knew nothing about birth or pregnancy, the doctors said I should seek help to birth or even hire a midwife. I wanted nothing to do with this. It was too embarrassing and I had too much anger to cope with an assisted birth or midwife. I would just do this myself. I tried to end the pregnancy by pushing, reaching inside me and messing with things, hoping to break the water or something. But it was no use. The baby was inside me, and i had no choice but to let it grow….. So much anger, If only I could find that guy and take revenge…..

As I arose for another day of being pregnant alone, It hit me, A hard pain in my gut. I knew it was going to be happening. Finally i thought, I can get this baby out of me. Just push it out nice and fast, and be done.

These pains became more regular. A Couple hours passed. I curled up in a blanket to watch Tv and ride the pains. All i wanted to do was just push, but I knew there was no way the baby was going to just drop out of me. There had to be a dilation thing… right? I truly didn’t know. I stood up from my couch and pulled off my pants, shirt, and panties, exposing my lovely little body. I rubbed my painful belly a couple times and pushed like i needed to poop. This is how you do this? I think…. 

I pushed a few times, I quickly grew impatient. I carried his baby around for 9 months and now its going to be hard to push out! Seriously! I just wanted this to be done. I stuck my fingers up inside me. I reached way in as far as I could fit my fingers. I felt something bulging. Not sure what it was though. I decided to lay back down on the couch. 

Time passed, the pains got worse. It was afternoon, then evening.  Was I even going to have the baby today? How long does this labor thing last? Evening turned into night. I went to bed in pain. Awaking every 15 minutes to searing pains in my belly. Now i was really angry. 

The next morning came. I had been feeling pains for 24 hours now. But things felt different. The burning and stinging deep inside me was gone. Now The burning was inside my vagina. I awoke and immediately inserted my fingers. I pushed in a ways and bumped something. Its was membranous, squishy, and warm. I pushed in a bit more and felt something hard. Was this the babies head? Suddenly i felt a large gush, my hand was soaked and so was the bed below my body. What the hell was that?! Now the pains got worse… Have I done something bad? I thought to myself? I didn’t care. I walked painfully out to the couch and sat down. I was naked and it felt good, But my body didn’t, My vagina area was really starting to hurt. 

“THATS IT!!” I said aloud, “THIS BABY NEEDS TO COME OUT!”

I thought of him again. All this pain for his little bit of pleasure…. UGH!

I then felt like i needed to poop, and badly. I headed to the toilet and sat down. I pushed a few times and quickly realized it wasn’t poop, it was time for me to push the baby out. I made a couple grunts on the toilet before returning to the couch. My body began forcing me to push, it wasn’t very painful yet, and it felt good to push. Each pain made my belly tense up. I put my finger back in my pussy and pushed. I could feel something hard pressing against my finger about 2 inches inside. It must have been the babies head, but i wasn’t sure. When i stopped pushing it receded back a bit. This heightened my frustrations. I stood up, spread my legs wide and pushed hard. I did this for about 15 minutes until i could feel my pussy bulging . I reached down again and felt inside, just within my opening was a head, i could feel a tiny tuft of hair. I knew i was getting close now. Getting closer to being normal again, with no baby in me. Little  did I know the battle was just beginning. 

I continued pushing standing up for about 20 minutes, growing ever more frustrated that the baby hadn’t come out already. Is this baby stuck in me? I couldn’t help it, i reached down and felt inside me again. 

“SERIOUSLY!” I said out loud.

The baby had hardly done anything, not even a centimeter of movement. It had to be stuck. It had to…. But I didn’t know what to do about this. I wasn’t going to seek help… no never. All i wanted was the baby out. I sat back on the couch and pulled my legs up as far as i could, my big belly protruding out hugely in front of me. I pushed a couple times as a bead of sweat ran down my face. 

“UGH!! COME OUT!” I yelled. 

I realized that I could not see what i was actually doing. My belly was much to big for me to actually see my vagina. I got up and found my big mirror from my bedroom. I took it from the room and balanced it up against my coffee table about 2 feet from the couch. Now i could actually see my vagina. I went to push again. But caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror….. I took a hard look at my huge belly and by puffy pussy below it. I thought of him…. I couldn’t truly believe what his seed had done to me. I was angered once again. I pulled back on my legs and began pushing once more. I continued watching the mirror as i went. After about 20 minutes a tiny slit opened a bit in my pussy, I reached down and pulled my labia open, i could see the head now. As soon as my push ended the head disappeared from sight….

What the hell i thought… Its back inside! I had to think about it, i had held a newborn baby when i was younger that my cousin had gave birth to a couple weeks prior. I remember the size of the head. I looked at my pussy and realized….. How on earth is that going to fit….

Didn’t matter…. I needed this baby out!

I pushed hard again. This time the head could be seen with out opening myself up. I pushed hard an held it. The little head stayed there, until i stopped pushing…. Then it slid in. 

“Ugh!!” I said aloud. 

I tried again, once more holding the push, seeing the little head, and then watching it slide back in. Was this how it was supposed to be? Or was the baby already stuck? 

“Get outta there!” I said aloud.

I pushed again and reached down to feel the little head. How could i see it, touch it, but no matter how hard i push it won’t come out?

It was starting to feel like pushing wasn’t effective. But i kept going.

I squatted down holding the couch behind me. I could still see below my belly with the help of the mirror. 

“Mmmmm aaaaaaaa.” I pushed. I could see his little head again. 

“aaaaaa hhhhh.” Another push. More of the head. 

‘Come on little man…mmmmMMMmmmm.” A bit more head, about the size of a silver dollar was showing now. The contraction ended. Almost like a vacuum the babies little head slipped back inside me. I slid back from my squat and sat on the couch. I closed my legs and relaxed, sealing the baby back in my belly. I relaxed for a few minutes and regained my composure to try again. I squatted back down and began pushing. Nothing with the first contraction, not even a sliver of the head. The next contraction revealed a sliver of the babies head, before retracting back inside me again. One more push with the contraction revealed a bit more head, but not much before disappearing again. I became frustrated. Thinking about his baby stuck in my belly. He had it so easy… Now i have to push….

After another hour of making no progress i decided to walk around and push. Maybe moving around would trigger something to happen, or make more room for that little head to squeeze outta there. I grabbed a little mirror from the bathroom that I could carry, this way when i pushed i could see what was happening. I walked around the room, pacing through contractions. When a contraction hit me i squatted and pushed. I did this for awhile, Walking then, squatting to push, only to continue to see the baby slide back in each time. I continued this for a half hour. Finally i ended up back at the couch, full squat, and pushing more again. I began wiggling my hips as i pushed. Trying anything i could think of to make progress. It just wasn’t coming out. Now i was mad. 

I leaned back and pushed with all my strength, i reached down with my hands over my big belly and pulled back on my pussy lips. I tried getting my fingers in and around the babies head as if to attempt to pull it out. But it was no use, the head was to slippery to get a grip on. I was upset and exhausted.

Minutes went by, my body started basically pushing on its own. I had no choice now, there was a baby in me and my body was doing everything it could to push it out. All could do was work with my body and hope the baby came out. About 30 minutes of this passed, finally my pussy was opening farther and farther, slowly letting the baby come forth. Each push shoved the head farther into the opening and attempted to stretch my tight opening. Soon the head was starting to poke out a little bit, but my tight pussy lips continued to grip the babies head relentlessly. The head was now getting ever closer to crown, but still only the size of a silver dollar was really showing in my opening. I needed assistance to get this head to come farther. Maybe how the baby went in could help get it out I thought. I began rubbing myself and playing.

15 minutes passed and i couldn’t hold any longer. I orgasmed. The pressure was crazy as the orgasm contractions slid the baby down a bit more. the head was now pressed so tightly in my opening, it felt like i was going to rip open. The head was now so much bigger in my pussy opening. I pushed a few times but no progress was made. I was getting so close to the forehead of the baby coming through. It was so close, but yet the baby could still slip back in. I was scared to have to go through this again, so i constantly squeezed my muscles to prevent the baby from sliding back. I couldn’t bare the frustration of the baby going back in me now. It was so close to coming out. 

“Come on baby, get your head out!” I yelled pushing as hard as i could. 

This was the case for 45 minutes. Pushing with all my strength, making absolutely zero progress. I was pushing, my body was pushing, But with everything i had the little baby refused to move. 

“COME ON BABY!” I yelled.

I began wiggling my hips side to side and bouncing up and down. Doing anything in my bodies power to release the baby. It was stuck firm. I got up and walked around. the head didn’t move from its position making walking just about impossible. I pushed as i walked hoping for the baby to just fall out of me. But gravity was no help either. I went back to the couch and began to sit down. Thats when i screwed up…..

As is sat down I closed my legs slightly. I felt it…. The slip…. The babies head began retracting back inside. 

“NO NO NO NO!!” I yelped. “AHHHHH!” It was painful as the baby retracted. I watched in the mirror, pushing as hard as i could to stop it. But there was no stopping my body. I watched as the head got smaller and slowly disappeared back inside me. I saw in the mirror as my pussy closed up, sealing the baby back in my belly. I literally was flabbergasted. 6 hours of pushing and i still end up pregnant! I took a break.

30 mins went by. Finally i built up the courage and strength to go at it again. I pushed and things went faster this time. One push had the head in view. The next had the baby back where it was. Finally i made one more big push and i was at crown. Now it was time….. For the ultimate push. 

I dug my hands into a pillow, gritted my teeth, curled my little toes and push with every ounce of muscle mass that my body had. In one huge movement the head popped free. The baby began to rotate. The new push had the shoulders. Finally one last push freed the baby from the tight clenches of my 18 year old womb. I was done. 

[kavehater]

You know the reason why this feels like such an annoying thing to me is because I’m sooo the opposite of family oriented it’s crazy LOL

I’ll never understand younger siblings whining about their older siblings moving away like I bet yall were nasty and annoying too like wow all those years and you claim to adore the older sibling and post oh woe is me the older sibling abandoned me … girl … the older sibling didn’t have a parental certificate or anything.

[kurishiri]

william v.s. darius . . . william rex END 🌹

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: a bit suggestive at the end.

(I——)

Kate: Will, I have faith in your hunch, and I want to support you, so I’ll go with you.

Upon hearing my answer, Will smiled in satisfaction.

Darius: Indeed, I also think the number one member of Crown would be bound to choose the correct path.

D: I’ll leave the rest to you guys then. I’ve had more than enough fun here in town and at the festival.

D: But before I go, would you be so kind as to tell me this one last thing, William?

Will responded with a questioning look, to which Darius’ smile deepened.

Darius: In Crown — and all the Cursed ones at that — you are among the top of the top.

D: I’m sure if the mood struck you, you could have the whole world kneel before you with your ability alone,

D: and you could destroy the root of evil as well, yes?

D: Yet, here you are now, serving Her Majesty and working for Crown.

D: On top of that, I’m sure like today, these evils will come round again and again, no matter if you crush it to pieces.

D: My mind just can’t seem to wrap around it.

D: I mean, just now, when we were chasing and closing in on that child, with one command you could easily——

William: Then I would be left on the short end.

Darius: ...And what does that mean?

William: It’s exactly as you say: I could easily make everyone kneel before me with a single command.

W: But, I believe not doing so——

Will turned to me, and I nodded in return.

Kate: Will holds a deep love for people’s freedoms.

K: One is their own master. Other people should not trample on that... that is what Will thinks.

Darius: ...Such is the wish of the ‘Self-Righteous Monarch’ then.

D: I feel I’m coming to understand what you mean when you say ‘unraveling a mystery’ now. ——Nonetheless, I had lots of fun today.

He left us a smile that resembled that of an angel, before heading off.

While running down the alley Will had chosen, I spotted some movement from a place hidden from view.

Kate: ...Seems like that child.

He was ravenously stuffing his cheeks there, and I approached him with Will.

Slightly dirty boy: ! It’s you guys... dammit! You just don’t give up, do you? What’s it to you guys anyway!

The boy we had been chasing wiped the fruit juice that stained his mouth with his sleeve as he bristled at us.

Kate: We’re sorry if we have the wrong person but, do you have my things with you?

Slightly dirty boy: ...I got no idea what you’re saying.

As though hiding the bulge in his pockets, the boy crouched, feigning ignorance——

William: We have no intention to complain about what you did in and of itself.

W: But, I do have one thing I want to ask you.

W: ——Why do you yourself want those things?

Slightly dirty boy: Urgh...

The boy’s back jolted with a start, seemingly shaken.

William: Would you tell us how you really feel? Do you truly wish to continue living like this?

Will’s voice was quiet, and in response, the boy raised his head.

Just moments before, his gaze had a sharp edge to it, but now he was pursing his lips, which started to tremble, and——

Tears started to fall.

Slightly dirty boy: ...hic, what... what other choice do I got though... hic, this is... just my job...

Slightly dirty boy: And yet... the guys who paid me, hic, they... they’re all gone...

Slightly dirty boy: And since then I was alone... [sniffle] I ate alone... and... I had no other choice but to do this... just to live... [sniffle]

William: So that is to say you don’t want to continue doing this?

Slightly dirty boy: Isn’t... isn’t that obvious... hic, doing these kinds of things... I don’t enjoy doing them at all...

Slightly dirty boy: ...but... if I don’t... I might starve to death... so...

William: If your heart wishes to free yourself of this situation,

He extended his hand.

William: then you can take my hand.

Slightly dirty boy: ...Huh?

The boy’s eyes, wet from tears, stared straight at Will, as though trying to find if he was telling the truth...

Slightly dirty boy: .........is it okay if I... believe... you...?

William: That’s up to you to decide as well.

—— Time skip; evening city ——

William: If you take this carriage, I imagine you will be able to find the help to set your heart free.

W: Of course, whether you ride it is also up to what your heart says.

Slightly dirty boy: ...Then, could I study?

William: Of course, if you don’t tire of it first.

Slightly dirty boy: Yippee! There are so many things I want to learn about! ——ah.

I looked on with a smile when the boy’s sparkling eyes met with mine.

Slightly dirty boy: ...And I’m sorry, miss. Here, I’ll give this back.

With an awkward look, he took my things from his pocket.

Kate: Thank you. They’re really important to me.

His expression seemed to brighten as he went in the carriage, and he continued waving back at us from within until he couldn’t see us anymore.

(I hope that boy’s future is just as bright... just like the skies today.)

Kate: It takes courage to accept what the voice in your heart says. But that boy managed to do so.

K: And it was thanks to you, Will.

When I looked next to me, Will looked back, his eyes dazzling.

William: I simply wanted to witness the moment he sets his heart free.

W: But it’s at these times that I always remember — the day I first caught a glimpse of your heart’s voice, that is.

Kate: ...And I as well. I remember the time you brought it out of me.

William: Hehe, so? What are the things my robin has safely gotten back?

Kate: Ah, this is... it caught my eye from a shop. I was thinking it looked like your eyes.

I took out a brooch, decorated with crimson red jewels, and put it on Will.

William: I’m happy to hear. I did have an inkling that it was a present for me though.

Kate: Hm? It could have also been for Darius too, you know?

William: I know that such would not be the case.

W: After all, you’ve only been looking at me, right? ——To the point I’m unable to question my own vanity.

W: I know exactly how you feel.

Kate: ...Is that because you’ve been looking at me, Will?

In lieu of an answer, his red eyes narrowed.

William: The truth is, I have also prepared a present for you. I believe I mentioned it before we left.

W: That ‘it is a reward for a very clever and discerning little robin.’

Kate: Huh? Wait... that wasn’t you sharing the details of...

William: That may be so, but there is something I want to give you, and only you. Before that, though...

The moment his hands made their way around my back, he whisked me away.

When we were in an alley where not many people were around, my eyes met with Will’s, my back on the wall.

William: I do always lend an ear to your desires, but... what would you like to do, right now?

Seeing him smile so up close was so captivating, it took my breath away.

The blood red eyes that peered into me gave off a bewitching light.

And, tempted by that, my heart was dragged out in an instant.

Kate: I... want to kiss you.

Those blood red eyes narrowed even more as they stopped at my lips, before he slowly came closer.

Kate: ngh... haa...

He took his time exploring my mouth, and I could no longer think of anything or anyone but Will.

When we parted, I swallowed my saliva, wanting to hold onto any traces of the sensation his tongue left behind.

Kate: ...I... I want more of you.

K: Not just your heart, but your body too.

William: Hehe, your selfish desires are a reward for me as well.

W: Let’s take our time to enjoy what comes after the festival, just the two of us.

to be continued…

will vs darius jude vs nica alfons vs ring

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[cookiescribble]

Don’t Let Yourself Fade Away (Spencer Reid x GN!Reader)

A/N: Hello there! This one’s a little sad, but it was healing to write. Seeing Spence get shut down sometimes when he gets so animated and excited about the most random topics breaks my neurodivergent heart, so here’s to not only him, but anyone else who feels shut out when they talk about their true passions in life <3 - Mod Ghost

p.s. thank you to everyone 🥺❤️

“The average lifespan of a human is about 73.5 years, and your ears never truly stop growing in that time so if you think about it…” Spence trailed off, just as he was about to finish his sentence. 

“...What were you about to say, sweetheart?” I ask, having been quiet up until now as I listened to him speak. I could tell just by looking at him that he’d gone somewhere deep in that big head of his, and I have no idea what caused it. He suddenly had this glazed over look to his eye and it hurt my heart to look at it. Whatever it was, I wanted to gently pull him back to me.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing, it’s uh, not important. Are you hungry?” He asked as he started to stand off the couch in his apartment where we were both sitting, but stopped when I grabbed his wrist so he could look back at me with those big eyes that looked like they belonged on a puppy and not my boyfriend. 

“It’s not nothing, Spence, why’d you stop talking?” I gently tugged on his arm, trying to get him to sit back down with me.

Spencer looked confused, as if it somehow made less sense for me to ask why he stopped talking than for him to go quiet mid thought. He stood there silently for a moment before sitting back next to me, sheepishly piping up again, “I’ve calculated the amount of time it takes for others to either become disinterested in what I have to say and stop listening or cut me off completely, which is about anywhere from 25 seconds to a minute, so I decided that instead of letting that happen, I would cut myself off at a somewhat natural point in that time frame so that I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore…Neither would anyone else, so there’s statistically at least one ‘plus side’ to it..” He looked away from me halfway through the sentence, like he was suddenly scared of making eye contact with me. 

The more he spoke, I felt an ache growing in my chest until the entirety of my core was filled with a raw and harrowing anguish. Who on Earth could look at him and ever tell him that he wasn’t interesting or that they didn’t want to hear what he had to say? I always look forward to talking to him, no matter what he says. The sound of his voice is so comforting to me and one of my worst fears is never hearing it again. 

“Oh, Spencer…I…I don’t even know what to say…who made you think like that?” I brush his hair back behind his ear as I speak, moving closer to him so our knees are brushing together.

“Well, at work, sometimes…sometimes, I can get a bit too carried away and I end up just rambling while everyone’s trying to catch the unsub…but even on the jet, if I get too caught up in a topic, I end up blabbering and then whoever I’m talking to loudly says ‘WOW, that’s interesting!’ and walks away, or it’s ‘I’m so glad I asked!’ before the same outcome occurs. Or the worst one is when they just walk away without saying anything,” he momentarily stops, staring off into space as if recalling a memory. “That one hurts the most.”

My brow furrows and I feel tears leak from my own eyes as I see some streaking their way down his face, pulling him toward me until he starts to fold himself into my arms and lets me rub his back gently.

“I don’t care who says or does those things to you…no matter what, I’m always going to want to listen to you speak. I’ll hang on to every one of your words as I wait for the next, because everything you say is always so interesting to me. I love watching your eyes crinkle up when you smile, and hearing how fast you talk when you get really excited. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of your voice, so don’t let yourself fade away because some of the people in your life don’t appreciate you the same way that I do.” I whisper close to his ear, brushing his hair away from his face with my hand that wasn’t rubbing his back. 

He woefully nodded, sniffling pitifully and slowly breaking down as I held him. It was as if something deep inside of his soul broke loose, and he was finally setting it free. He was letting himself feel it, and hopefully start to heal from it at the very least. I’ve been in a similar position to him before, and I would never want to make him feel that way if I could help it. Spence continued to cry for a while longer, and I held him until he sat up enough to look at me. 

“Did you really mean what you said…? About my voice and my smile…?” His voice cracked as he spoke, and I smiled reassuringly as I leaned forward to press a kiss to his temple. 

“Every last word,” I murmured close to his ear, running my hand through his hair again as he closed his eyes. 

He sat still and quietly for a moment, as if he were soaking in everything that we’d said. The only noise in the room was the sound of our breathing until he broke the silence with a soft mutter of “thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for? Telling the truth?” 

Spence only laughed, rolling his eyes at me as if I was telling a joke. 

It was nice to see him smile, though, so I let it go. 

“Now, about that food…” he changed the subject, and for whatever reason, I let him. I think I just wanted to let him be himself, even if it was just for a little while. 

“You asked if I was hungry because you were hungry??” I asked with a dramatic gasp, standing up and pulling him to stand with me. “I never knew you were the type of man to have ulterior motives.” I teased, walking with him to the kitchen. 

“I don’t think that’s usually used in the context of food, my love.” he let out a giggle, a goofy smile spreading across his face as we looked through his fridge together. 

Just hearing him laugh was like music to my ears, and I would give anything in the world to keep hearing it for every day of my life.

[cece693]

Numb (Tony Stark x Gender Neutral! Reader)

Something that I had saved and forgot all about.

Summary: You didn't understand Tony's decision; he'd left you with a gaping hold in your heart. It was easy to feel anger and resentment, but was it really a surprise how things ended?

tags: slight comfort, post-endgame, Tony's dead, reader handles the loss, mourning, last words/message

You stood there, numb, as Tony's heart drifted farther down the lake, a small, fading dot on the horizon. The weight of what you had done pressed down on you, and without a word to anyone, you turned away, heading home. As you stepped into the house and climbed the stairs to your bedroom, everything appeared the same—yet it all felt different. The one piece that truly made this a home was now gone forever.

When Tony sacrificed himself, it was easy to be consumed by anger. How dare he leave you like this, sobbing and begging for him to return, all for the sake of Earth? After everything, after all the times they had wronged him, it was you—the one person who never turned their back on him—who was left behind. That anger still simmered beneath the surface, but now it had dulled into a numbness that spread through your entire being.

Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey had all tried to comfort you, offering words meant to soothe the unbearable loss. But their attempts only made it worse. They didn’t understand—they couldn’t. What they had lost was different from yours. Tony was your husband and he'd failed your wedding vows. Through sickness and health—the battle with Thanos had no place there.

All you wanted was to be alone, to sit with the emptiness that had taken root inside you, to feel it in its entirety without anyone trying to take it away. That emptiness, as hollow and painful as it was, felt like the last piece of Tony you had left.

Looking around, your vision blurred with unshed tears, taking in the sight of the room. It was a mess, but that was typical when living with Tony. The wardrobe door was flung open, shirts haphazardly hanging half in, half out. His favorite jacket was draped over a chair, and a pair of mismatched socks lay abandoned on the floor. It was like he had just stepped out for a moment, like he would walk back in any second with that roguish grin, asking if you’d seen his watch or where he left his keys.

Your eyes moved to the messy bed, and you couldn't help but collapse onto it. Bringing Tony's pillow to your nose, you inhaled deeply—taking in his familiar cologne and the faint scent of oil and metal that clung to everything he touched. As you lay there, your mind replaying happy memories, something caught your attention.

Hesitantly, you reached out and picked it up, your fingers trembling as you recognized the Stark tech design. With a deep breath, you activated it. A hologram flickered to life, and there he was—Tony, looking at you with that familiar blend of warmth and determination that only he could pull off.

"Hey, love." his voice was soft, almost soothing, but there was an undercurrent of sadness. "If you're seeing this, it means I'm gone. And I know you're angry, probably cursing my name right now. Believe me, I didn’t want to leave you. God, I wanted to stay more than anything."

He paused, as if searching for the right words. "But…you know me. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to save everyone. It’s who I am—who I've always been. I know that’s not an excuse, and it doesn’t make it hurt any less. But I need you to understand that I didn’t choose them over you. I chose all of us. I couldn't bear the thought of a world where you weren't safe."

Tony’s image flickered slightly, and you could see the pain in his eyes. "I hate that I hurt you. But you…you're stronger than you know. And I need you to keep going, to live your life, even without me in it. Because, in a way, I’m still here. I’m always with you."

He took a shaky breath, and his voice softened. "I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you, and I will love you until the end of time. Forever, remember? That’s what we promised. And I’m keeping that promise, even now."

As the hologram continued, you could hear the faint background noise—a gentle clinking of dishes, the hum of a movie soundtrack. Your heart ached as you recognized the scene: it was the last day you spent together. The day you cooked dinner side by side, the laughter you shared, and the quiet intimacy of watching a movie on the couch.

Now everything made sense. Tony’s extra affection, his words of love, and the lingering touches—they were all part of his farewell. It was as if he had known he wouldn’t have another chance to show you how much you meant to him. The realization hit you like a wave. How long had Tony known his fate? How long had he been preparing to say goodbye, knowing he had to make every moment count?

As the hologram began to flicker and lose its stability, Tony’s image took on a more solemn, resigned expression. His voice softened even further, as if he were speaking directly to your heart.

“I have to go now. But remember this—no matter where I am, my love for you will never fade. It’s with you always, even in the darkest moments. If there's an afterlife, I'll be waiting for you.” The hologram shimmered one last time, and with a final, loving glance, Tony’s image faded into the darkness. Clutching the device to your chest, the tears that you have been holding back finally spilled over.

[sturniolocafe]

star shopping

summary: making music has been chris' passion for years, but is that passion enough to keep you to stay? (based off star shopping by lil peep) pairing: rapper!chris x feminine!reader warnings: angst, talks of depression, weed use, arguing a note from lilah 𐙚: hey so i'm sorry for this. (lowercase intended!)

chris sighed, throwing a green celtics cap over his hair and sliding on his sneakers. he knew you were going to have something to say about this, but right now, he couldn’t risk the loss of this new beat. he’d been hitting a wall with making his beats fit his lyrics for weeks now, hence why he was getting ready to go meet with his producer at 11:30 pm, spurred on by the “dude, i swear to god i just hit the fucking jackpot” text.

you raised your brows as you stepped out of the bathroom, towel on your head and plush robe wrapped around your body. “where are you going?” you asked, watching as chris grabbed his wallet and keys. 

“they need me in the studio,” he mumbled. “i’ll be back in the morning.”

“whatever.” you hummed coolly, brushing past your boyfriend (if you could even call him that) to get to your vanity. 

“c’mon baby, don’t be mad. this is the one.” chris insisted, trying to smooth things over. 

“i’m not mad,” you said flatly, smoothing your moisturizer over your skin. “just go. i’ll probably be gone for work when you get back, so i’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

“baby,” chris practically begged, standing near your vanity, but not in your space so he didn’t upset you. “i know i fuck up. i know that i haven’t been a good boyfriend lately. i know you probably don’t want to end up with me, but i love you. you are so much more than gorgeous to me. i want to be with you for the rest of my life. please don’t doubt how much i love you.”

“chris, not tonight. just go.”

“i know i’m not worth your time right now; trust me, i know that. but i also know that i can work on it if you give me time. i can make this album and then we’ll be set, baby, i swear. just let me work on it.”

“you’ve been saying that.” you pointed out, trying to swallow the lump in your throat at the brunette’s words. 

“you’re losing your patience, and i don’t blame you.”

“chris!” you sighed, unintentionally slamming your eye cream down on the vanity. “i’ve been waiting for you to work on it for over two years. two whole rotations around the sun. i believe in you and i believe in your art, but i feel like i’m waiting for something that won’t come. it’s not paying our bills!

chris bit his lip, knowing you had a point. art couldn’t be rushed, but he had been in the process of writing this album for over two years, all while you single handedly paid the bills. the only time that the two of you truly had a connection was when you had sex. you’d look into chris’ deep blue eyes, allowing your hormones to take over and make you feel like maybe everything was okay, despite the fact that you two only had about one true conversation per week. 

“i know.” he mumbled quietly. 

“maybe,” your voice trembled as you began to argue. “maybe my friends are right. maybe i should break up with you. i can’t keep doing this, chris. i’ve worked my ass off to make sure we’re taken care of, and the way you pay me back is by leaving at almost midnight? seriously?”

“ma, you know i’m gonna make it happen one day,” chris pleaded. “as soon as this album comes out, i’m taking you overseas. we’ll go wherever you want, baby. we can smoke and stay in luxury hotels and-” chris was cut off when you interrupted him. 

“that’s what you want, chris. not me. i don’t give a fuck about weed or being overseas. all i want is for this, for us, to be a partnership.” you said, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

for some reason, despite what your instincts were telling you, you didn’t protest when chris pulled you into a hug, burying his nose in your freshly washed hair. “i’m sorry, baby. i know i’m nothing like what you or your family or anyone else wants me to be. but at the end of the day, i would give up my life for you. you’ve given up yours for me. you’ve taken care of me during my bad days, you’ve supported me through everything. i understand if you don’t want to anymore.”

“chris…” you croaked out, voice thick with tears. “i love you, i do love you. i just…miss you. i feel like you’re never home. i miss us.”

the brunette felt like he’d just received a blow to the gut. how could he have been so caught up in some dumb album that he had ignored the most important thing in his life? “i know, baby. i am so, so sorry. i…” chris pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the screen, before he shoved the device back into his pocket. “i’m yours for the rest of the night. shoutout to everyone making my beats, but you’re more important. music’s what helped me when i fell to pieces, so now it’s my turn to do that for you.”

you simply nodded into his chest, not quite forgiving him, but not having the chance to argue anymore either. you didn’t even protest under chris grabbed your hips, lifting you off the vanity stool and carrying you to the door that led from your master bedroom to the balcony of your chicago apartment. like any large city, lights were still aglow on the tall skyscrapers and traffic honked below you, but by some miracle, you could faintly see the stars in the velvety blue nighttime sky.  

“all of those stars have a reason they’re here,” chris mumbled. “i hope i find that reason for me…for us.”

you hummed quietly against in his chest in your robe. things weren’t okay right now, they probably wouldn’t be for a long time, but you were too exhausted to argue. you knew chris loved you, you knew you loved him, but you also knew that you couldn’t spend the rest of your life waiting around for what he might do. 

a/n: yeoWCH....thank you for reading bbys!