#Science side pls do tell

[authorandartist13]

Doctors hate ‘em! Local human memorizing heart structure for 5th day in a row! (help)

YO anyone have any adhd friendly study hacks for memorizing the structure/functions of the heart? Uni brain is in a puddle atm and any little tips and tricks would be ✨greatly✨ appreciated!!

I’m trying some googled memory game thingies but there’s only so many times I can listen to The Cardiac Song on YT without feeling like I’m about to personally meet my sleep paralysis demons lmao. This is def not a massive deal but even sharing the sos is wonderful! Ty all.

[godisdeadiatehim]

Science side of tumblr, pls tell me about neurotoxins

[bataddictedloony]

Define a woman!

I’m gonna rant this here cus this argument keeps returning on the clock app and one day, I’m gonna be stupid and leave a comment in the wrong thread or smthn so I’m just gonna get it out of my system:

“How do you define a ‘woman’?”

Answer for idiots: you can’t.

You cannot possibly make a definition for the term ‘woman’ without excluding someone from the group when they clearly ARE part of the group (even if you’re a piece of shit transphobe and don’t want to include trans women). A woman is someone who has the potential to give birth? You just excluded every child before puberty, every infertile woman and every woman on menopause, next. A woman is someone who has a uterus? You just excluded a bunch of intersex women and all women who had a hysterectomy, next. A woman has a period? Excluded the millions of women who never get their period for various reasons AND all the women who take continuous birth control AND women who are pregnant AND again, little girls and women on menopause. A woman has to have XY chromosomes? Are you gonna check that for every feminine-looking person you’re gonna meet? How? Do you not think women with down syndrome are women?

Decades of feminism working so hard to make sure women are more than their genitals and potential to give birth, all flushed down the drain because you refuse to believe trans women are more than men in wigs? You’re weak as shit.

So answer for people who actually want to use their brain:

Woman is defined through experiences. Which experiences? Entirely up to whoever defines themselves as a woman.

The ‘female experience’ is so broad. You cannot possibly define it in one sentence and stick it on everyone who calls the word ‘woman’ their own.

You feel feminine and empowered by doing your nails? Congrats, that’s the female experience and makes you, therefore, a woman.

You feel feminine and empowered by wearing plaid and splitting wood in two with a giant axe? Congrats! Female Experience. Woman.

You feel feminine in a dress? Woman. You feel feminine in a tux and suit? Woman.

You feel empowered as a mother and love being pregnant? Woman! You despise the idea of being pregnant but find empowerment in your career? Woman! You feel like your period makes you more in tune with your femininity? Woman. You feel like your period makes you less than human and getting a hysterectomy makes you feel more comfortable in your body? Woman.

you love long hair? Woman. You love short hair? Woman.

You love loving men? Woman. You love loving women? Woman. You love both? Woman. You love everyone? Woman. You don’t feel like love is your thing? Woman!

Sitting at home with a good movie and a bottle of wine? That’s a woman. Getting bloody in a game of soccer? That’s very woman! Taking a walk with your dog? How very woman! Going to the gym? Such woman! Eating out with friends? Friend woman. Shooting a gun in the yard from the patio you built yourself? All woman!

Whatever the fuck makes you feel in sync with your femininity is your female experience, and if you have female experience and you like it, you are a W O M A N ✨

Same goes for men and the male experience btw! Since the question “what defines a man” is never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER asked for SOME 👀 reason. (We all know the reason….) Also same goes for my fellow enbies and the non-binary experience. If painting your nails bring you closer to your enbie side, you’re non-binary.

Gender is such a deeply personal experience, it’s just dumb to define it for someone else, let alone the entire human species. It’s like asking to define a chair, like, you KNOW what it is but you can’t possibly define it without excluding some chairs (“has at least 4 legs”, that’s a horse also swivel chairs exist).

Sidenote: If some idiot tiktokker shoves a microphone and a camera in your face and goes “WHAT IS A WOMAN” or “HOW MANY GENDERS ARE THERE” just go along with whatever dumbass scenarios they come up with. “How many genders are there?” “My dude, as many as you want!” “Oh so like 40??” “Yep!” “Can I identify as a helicopter lol?” “Sure, who cares, do it!” “Should I demand everyone at my job calls me a helicopter” “You can go to your local townhouse, request to change your name to ‘helicopter’ and they’ll most likely let you. You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want as long as it’s not hurting others.” “You don’t think it would be dumb of me to do that?” “Why would I care, I don’t know you?”

[mismatched-sockss]

You're my future, past and present

» Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader » Word count: 6,4k » Warnings: spoiler mentioned for 9x23 Angels / 9x24 Demons, Spencer's POV, exes to lovers, set after s15, anxious!Spencer, reader feels guilty at one point, language? (one 'bitch' from reader to reader), mentions of past fights, minor misunderstandings, random old lady plays cupid <3, fluff, kissing, how many phrases for being in love can one pack in two paragraphs? me: yes., » A/N: my brain is on strike for finishing bingo fics for some reason, it instead gave us this so yay!, i'm still working on those of course but i can't tell when i will get the next one done (in the words of one Penelope Garcia: Why do the last 10% always take the longest?), hopefully by the end of the week; it's lightly implied that reader can get pregnant in the beginning but it's not explicitly said (only mentions of kids), which is the reason i tagged it as fem but no mentions of anything body related or any pronouns (i think so, please let me know if i missed pronouns), so it might as well can be read as gn; no body description --- pls take a look here for more info about my reader descriptions in general

⚶ masterlist ⚶

He should have asked Penelope for a favour to look you up, before he came here. He had no idea how your life had changed in all these years he hadn't seen you or if you even wanted to see him again. It didn't particularly sound like it the last time he saw you.

You could be happily married with kids for all he knew. The thought alone almost made him turn around without even knocking on your door. He didn't know what he would do if this was the case. Or maybe you didn't even live here any more, you could have moved; to the other side of the city, to another state. Another country. You had toyed with the idea to move to Scotland back then, it very well could be that you had acted on it.

Too much time had past, five whole years – five years, three months, twenty-one days and eleven hours, forty-two minutes to be exact; but who was counting, right? – and there was too much history, too much heartbreak. Too many reasons why it hadn't worked out.

The main – and kind of only – ones being his job at the BAU and everything that came with it. The travelling and never being home, not even a free day or annual leave really meant not getting called in, the late nights, the worries that he could get hurt and may not be coming back home, the worries when he got hurt.

You had your reasons to break it off and he still thought that you were right to do so. He never held it against you, never resented you for leaving. Because he understood. If the roles would have been reversed, he may would have made the same decisions.

This whole idea was stupid. Why was he even here. He should just leave.

What did he think would happen when you saw him? That showing up out of nowhere – with no contact since the break up, not even a single text message – and having a 'new' job would change everything and would make you jump back into his arms in an instant like nothing happened? Yeah... Sure...

Maybe, deep down and in the tiniest crack of his heart, he didn't even want you to open the door; didn't want to see your reaction to him just showing up and the inevitable rejection that would surely come. He was sabotaging himself, really. And if he would be more honest to himself, he'd knew that. Maybe he did, but just didn't want to see it.

Spencer had been pacing back and forth in front of your door for an eternity by now; walking closer to it and already lifting his hand to knock, but changing his mind before his fingers even came close and he was walking a few feet away to leave, only to change his mind again and repeat the whole ordeal. Over. And over. And over.

He just couldn't make his mind up, he didn't know what to do. It shouldn't be this hard to knock on a door. Especially yours. But maybe it was this hard for him because it was yours.

At one point, he, a man of science, even asked the universe to give him a sign, to show him what he should do; if he should do it or if he should go.

That's when it happened.

Right after, as he was walking closer to the door again, he tripped over his own damn feet and he ended up kicking the door with his shoe; not hard, but audible enough.

Shit. Not the sign he was looking for. A pedestrian screaming something outside that he could twist into an answer, a car honking when he either was close to the door or walking away; hell, even a spam mail popping up on his phone that had a certain word in the subject line... No, it had to be this way.

Now he had to knock.

Taking a shaky breath, he hit his knuckles against the wood a couple of times and started fidgeting with his fingers as soon as he had lowered his hands. His heart was in his throat as he waited anxiously. His mind in a constant battle of 'please be home' and 'please don't be home'.

A moment later – both too short and too long at the same time – the door opened just a crack and it was really you standing there. Not some random person that would tell him you moved. You.

You didn't turn your head just yet, looking back over your shoulder instead, you held out your arm behind you and said “Stay there” in a soft voice to someone behind you. When you turned you blocked the entrance with your body and kept your left hand on the door.

Your eyes grew wide when you saw him. Spencer probably was about the last person you would have expected to see when you opened the door. He couldn't bring himself to break the silence first, didn't dare to speak.

“Oh, hey... Uh-”, you stammered looking for words, blinking in confusion. For a moment you opened and closed your mouth, and he knew you were hating that you looked like a fish out of the water, before you gave up and just settled for another “Hi.”

“Hi.” He hated how shaky his voice sounded. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes for a moment, looking down at his hands and the floor before he met your gaze again.

“Wow, it- it's been a while.”

“Yeah...”

“How long 's it been? Five years?”

“Five years, three months and twenty-one days.” Spencer pressed his lips together before he could blurt out the hours and minutes as well.

You laughed – not mean, but endearing – and the sound combined with the smile that spread on your lips made his heart leap. “Right.”

God, how much he had missed your laugh; how much he had missed you. Now that you stood before him, it became evident, that all the longing and yearning he had felt in the past years had been nothing more than a fraction of what he was really feeling; repressed by throwing himself into work and keeping his mind off you as much as he could.

His love for you never went away, never dulled even the slightest bit, and seeing you now was almost too overwhelming for him, his feelings for you crashing over him, nearly sweeping him off his feet.

“Uhm, I was just about to go to the park with Cleo”, you started, shooting a look over your shoulder and Spencer's heart dropped. He could have sworn it stopped beating for a few seconds as well. The Stay there hadn't rung any alarms in his mind, it could have been said to any person really. Going to the park with Cleo however...

He really should have asked Penelope to look you up before he came. You had a kid.

And since he could only see the heel of your left hand and not your fingers, he couldn't be a hundred percent sure, but there was a high chance there was a ring on your finger.

“Oh, I'm sorry to hold you up. I'll just, uhm-”, he stammered choked up and pointed his thumbs over his shoulder, taking a step back, about to turn away and leave.

“No”, you exclaimed, maybe a bit too quickly and panicked, as you held out your right hand like you wanted to reach for his arm; even making a small step out of the door. “You don't have to leave. You could- uh, you could come with us? If you want to.” If he wouldn't know better, he'd say there was a pleading look in your eyes, begging him to say yes and stay.

His mouth opened, but no words came out, no matter how hard he tried. He didn't even know what he wanted to say.

'Yes sure, let's go to the park with your daughter and rip my heart into pieces seeing and hearing about you living the life I dreamt of having with you, with another man'.

A plain 'No.' would be too rude, wouldn't it? Even if he would add a 'thank you' at the end, it didn't feel right.

“She uh- she likes meeting new people, she's really open; sometimes I'm afraid she'll walk off with anyone. Come here, girl.” You looked over your shoulder again and tapped your flat hand against your thigh a couple of times, then some clicking and scratching could be heard behind you on the parquet floor.

The speckled snout of an Australian Shepherd pushed in the space between your knee and the door, then tried to push through further after seeing Spencer. With a laugh you took a hold of the collar and held the dog back from running out.

“Cleo, stay.” You squatted down next to her, petting her head and scratched behind her ear. ”I have to warn you, she can be a bit rough when she gets excited.” A wide smile was on your face as you looked up at Spencer. “I've been trying to teach her to not jump up on everyone she meets, but it doesn't stick.”

Just like that, he felt like he could breathe again. Cleo wasn't your daughter but your dog and the ring you were indeed wearing on your left hand was one he recognized from your jewellery box.

A relieved chuckle left his lips and he mirrored your position. He held out his hand for Cleo to smell before he touched her. She really was excited; she was pulling against your hold and tried to get closer, her tail was waggling so hard her whole body moved in the rhythm and she nudged her nose against his palm hard after a short sniff, so he would pet her.

You did your best to hold her back, but after Spencer verbally said hi to her and was petting her on both sides of her head she surged forward; your hand slipped from the collar and Cleo threw her whole weight against him, making him loose balance and topple over.

With an outstretched arm he held himself up, laughing, as your dog rubbed her head against his torso and hand and was spinning around a couple of times between his legs, repeatedly leaning herself into him with every turn.

“Cleo!” Your voice had a warning tone to it that hadn't fully replaced your laugh though, not until she let out a small bark and started to lick over his face. “No! Stop!” You pulled her away and moved her back into the apartment; Cleo only reluctantly complied.

Before he could react, you shuffled closer on your knees until you kneeled right before him and in between his legs. You reached out and started to wipe the side of his face clean; the sleeve of your sweater pulled over your fingers. “I'm so sorry, she's usually not that excited. I have never seen her do this to someone that isn't me.”

He froze when you got close and he felt your touch, every soft stroke leaving behind a trail of fire, even with the thin fabric barrier between you. One would think his heart couldn't pound any faster in his chest than it already had since he had laid eyes on you again, but it did.

“It's- hu, it's okay”, he stammered as he was watching you intensely, with wide eyes.

“No, it's not”, you said softly and took his chin between your thumb and index finger, slightly tilting his head to the side as you tried to get everything off. “Do you want a wet wipe or something? You can come in and wash your face if you'd prefer that.”

Spencer couldn't help the smile stretching on his lips, his heart warming over the fact that you were still looking out for him, after all these years; after everything that had happened and all the things that had been said the day you broke up with him. His hand moved on its own accord and he wrapped his hand around your wrist, stopping you. “Really, it's okay.”

You met his gaze, heat rising in your cheeks and it was like you only now realized how close the both of you were sitting and that you were touching him. For a second you froze, your eyes wide. Then, after a deep breath, you pulled back to bring some distance between you and cleared your throat, looking away.

He could tell there was an apology forming on your tongue, but you swallowed it down. You began to nervously fidget with the hem of your sleeve and cleared your throat. “So, uh, do you want to come with us? There is this coffee shop on the way that opened about six months ago and they're really good, we- we could grab a coffee and catch up...?”

“I'd really like that.”

It was easy, talking to you. The initial awkwardness and anxiety he had been feeling had quickly faded and the both of you were talking as freely and open as before, like no time had passed; and he was incredibly grateful for it. Neither of you had been going to personal topics for now though – the closest thing to personal in a deeper sense was when you asked about his mom –, the both of you had been talking more about everything and anything.

[..] Did you end up getting that book collection you had your eyes on? - When did you get Cleo? - Oh, do you remember my coworker Grace? All the rumours really were true! - Is your neighbour still vacuuming solely in the middle of the night? [..]

About halfway to the park you stopped at the café you had mentioned and while you were waiting in line, you told him about the different coffee varieties they offered; the flavours, how strong they were, how sweet, the seasonal ones. You had drunk your way through the list three times and until you decided on your Top 5.

He crinkled his nose in adoration as he was listening to you rambling about the coffee – what you liked about each one and why you didn't like another �� totally engrossed by you; you had done this in the past as well and it made Spencer happy that you still were. It was adorable. He wondered, if you still wrote down your Top 5's in that little notebook you had always kept in your purse.

The one you recommended to him was really good, you had met his taste precisely; the perfect amount of sweetness just how he liked it, and with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon.

There were many occasions he was about to reach for your hand, it was almost instinctually when you were this close to him. He didn't know if you would let him, if you would want it. So Spencer didn't. Instead he buried his hand deep into the pocket of his coat to keep himself from reaching for you, holding a tight grip on an old pack of gum he forgot was even in there.

Throughout the whole way from your apartment to the park, Cleo was happily dancing around you, just shy of making one of you trip over her. That she didn't circle around the both of you to wrap the leash around your legs – all '101-Dalmatians'-like – was all.

After you arrived at the park you walked a bit further in until you came to a fenced area that seemed to be reserved for dogs for them to freely run around without having to be leashed. As soon as you unhooked the leash from Cleo's collar she dashed forward, joining a group of dogs playing.

Spencer and you sat down on a bench and just sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching her. His hands got clammy as he got nervous because of the proximity, and he tried to wipe them on his pants as discreetly as he could. You were sitting so close to him, your thighs and shoulders were almost touching; he could feel the warmth radiating from your body and with every soft breeze the smell of your shampoo got carried over.

“So, uh... How have you been?”, you asked after a few minutes.

He huffed out a small laugh and licked over his lips. Where should he even begin. “Long story short? Not good then somewhat okay, bad, worse, better, okay.”

"Sounds like one hell of a roller coaster."

Oh you had no idea how much. And 'hell' sounded about right to be honest. "You could say that... How about you?"

"Wasn't much going on for me to be honest. I've been... okay? After some time at least...”, you admitted nervously, following Cleo with your eyes. “Everything alright at the BAU? How is everyone?”

“Good, they're good.” Spencer started telling you about all the changes within the team, but he left out all the bad stuff for now – he told you about Alex leaving, about Tara joining after practically a 36 hour long job interview for the open position, JJ and Will having a second child, that Morgan left and had married Savanah and that they had a son as well, Garcia vehemently trying – but ultimately failing – to hate the newbie Luke.

“Rossi got married last year.”

“Really? Again?” You let out a soft laugh.

“He re-married his third wife actually. They got back together after-” He had to stop for a second and swallowed hard as the spark of hope was reigniting in his chest. If Dave and Krystall had found their way back to each other after thirty years and made it work, five years didn't sound all that bad in retrospective. He tried to play it off like he was trying to remember the exact number of years. “Around three decades, I think.”

“Wow... That's a lot of time..”

“It is.” For a short moment Spencer didn't say anything more, trying to muster up the courage to tell you he left the team as well.

“And I- uh” He huffed out a small laugh, nervous, and let his gaze wander over the meadow. There he goes... “I'm not- I'm not with the BAU any more, actually.”

“...Oh”

For a moment you didn't say anything else and his heart beat faster. He couldn't a hundred percent gauge what your silence meant. What the oh meant. Did you care? Were you relieved or maybe even sad for him? Could – would – it change anything between you, even after all this time? Would you give the both of you a second chance? Him?

Hope started to rise up again in his chest and he tried to stop it and keep it at bay, so it wouldn't take over him; it would only crush him even more to lose you a second time if he'd let it happen. Spencer's breathing became more shallow and slightly faster as he waited for you to say more.

He could just turn his head to look at your face of course, study your expressions to get his answer without you saying another word. He didn't. Something held him back; maybe it was only because he was respecting your wishes from years ago not to profile you. Maybe it was fear of what he would see.

He heard you clear your throat and when you spoke, your voice was shaking, almost undetectable however. If you wouldn't sit so close to him – and if it wouldn't be you and he wouldn't be him – one probably wouldn't have noticed. “Why not?”

“Re-assignment due to budget-cuts or something like that. There were a couple of people higher up the food chain than Emily that had it out for us for a couple of years now.” His eyes followed Cleo sprinting over the grass, chasing and playing with the other dogs.

“Emily is back?”, you asked. The last thing you knew was that she had left for London not long after she came back from the dead.

“Yeah, she took over from Hotch after-” He stopped himself.

Telling you about Hotch and Scratch and why Emily fully became Unit Chief of the BAU, meant he had to tell you about everything else; everything that had happened to him. He just wasn't ready for this yet. This would have to be a story for another day; for both your and his sake.

“Anyway, I uh- I'm teaching now. Full-time. Mostly at the academy and some colleges here and there. But all in all-” Spencer took a deep breath. “Fixed work hours and no travelling for longer than a day.”

Only when he felt you tense up did he bring himself to look at you. You were sitting up with a straight back, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly pursed. Your eyes were darting around and he watched a muscle twitch on your jaw.

He quickly looked away again, concentrating on Cleo again, before he could read you more. He couldn't help it, it was hard not to and turn it off. By now profiling was in his blood, it was a subconscious habit he couldn't always control, it just happened. You didn't want to get profiled, so he did what he could do to not use his profession on you. If it meant turning away and not look at you, even if he was only looking just to see you, he'd do it.

Also, he knew that he was biased; another reason why he shouldn't. What he would see and read would not be accurate. Usually, this was not a problem, he could read body language and micro-expressions with a 99,42% accuracy, since he'd do it with a neutral stand. But right now it was personal.

What ever Spencer would see in your non-verbal communication, he was too involved to not let his judgement get clouded by his feelings for you, his hopes and his fears. He would only see what he wanted to see, or what he not wanted to see, depending on which part of his heart was winning at the moment; the confident and hopeful part, or the insecure and anxious part.

“That's... That's nice. Do you like it?” He wished, he knew what you were thinking right now. Your tone didn't give much away on how you were feeling, but you seemed a bit more relaxed to him.

“Yeah, it's fun. There are some key topics on the curriculum I have to cover of course, but other than that I have pretty much full reign over the subject matters. Learning is more fun when it is about something you're really interested in, so I take suggestions from my students for a lot of the lectures. It's been paying off already.” He smiled proudly. “They contribute more and most grades have gone up.”

Slowly, the longer you talked as the evening proceeded and the sun slowly began to set, he let himself go, allowed his heart to open up and he welcomed the prospect of having you back in his life – to what ever extent it may be, even if only as a friend if that was what you wanted.

His heart had leaped when you shared you weren't seeing anyone and it hadn't slowed down it's pace ever since. Both of you had been talking and asking about it in the most complicated and conspicuously inconspicuous ways one can ask 'are you dating someone?'.

Not only this, but you wanted to spent more time with him. Spencer couldn't believe his luck. It was almost too good to be true and he feared he might wake up from this wonderful dream any minute.

He could tell how nervous you were when you asked him; hands and voice shaking, fingers fidgeting with Cleos leash in your lap, your eyes not daring to meet his.

"Tonight is this big bonfire at the Benson's farm, you know, the one with the apple orchard? I was thinking of going and.. maybe if you- I mean, if you are free tonight and want, uh- Would you like to go with me?"

There was nothing he'd rather do, nowhere he'd rather be.

After a short stop at your apartment to bring Cleo home and for the both of you to freshen up, you made your way to the farm. It was a fairly short drive and the roads were mostly empty as it got later, a bright full moon illuminating the way now.

When you arrived, there weren't too many people present. It felt more like a large family gathering than a big event. At a decent distance were benches placed around the huge bonfire, there was a tent where various beverages and a few food options were served. Next to it stood a truck from the fire department and an ambulance; a precaution if the fire got out of control or someone got hurt.

The air smelled of smoke and burning wood, french fries, beer and Mrs. Benson's home made apple pie.

Sorry, Mr. Benson's apple pie as Spencer learned some time after you arrived. You introduced him to the hosts and you started to talk about a new recipe for the pie filling you had tried to make and Mr. Benson explained what he would have done different than the recipe you found had stated.

The Benson's were nice people – he had met them once when he had accompanied you to the farm to get apples and honey. You had gotten closer to them since then, dropping by to help them out from time to time, especially when it was time for the harvest.

He had to catch his breath as his heart fluttered, his eyes glued to your face as he watched you talk with old man Benson. The way your eyes wrinkled at the corners when you smiled and the excited glint in your eyes, how the fire painted beautiful orange patterns on your face as the flames danced high, fuelled by the soft breeze; combined with the silvery light of the full moon shining bright. You looked ethereal.

Spencer became increasingly aware of said man's wife and her three friends, who stood a little farther away. The women were whispering to each other and kept looking over, one of them not so subtlety pointing at the both of you. They weren't talking badly, not at all; they were smiling and giggling as they were talking, nodding at what the other ones were saying, swooning with their hands over their hearts from time to time.

It could only mean one thing – and he wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed about it, or not: that he all too obviously for everyone around looked as love struck as he felt; utterly bewitched by your beauty, completely head over heels, truly madly and deeply in love with you in every way, a total goner who was worshipping the ground you were walking on.

Thank god for the warm shine of the fire, or they would be able to see the blush rising up his neck in this moment as well... He just was glad that he had finished his piece of pie before this, otherwise he'd probably stand here with an open mouth and the fork frozen in mid air as he was looking at you. Now, that would have been a good picture.

What he didn't know though, was that they weren't just talking about the smitten look on his face, but yours as well. The longing glances you shot his way whenever he wasn't looking, how you were orbiting around him like the earth around the sun, a magnetic pull to each other that not even the both of you seemed to realise you had as you unconsciously stepped closer to the other when you stood too far apart. They talked about the fact, that you looked at Spencer with such a happy and beaming smile they hadn't seen on your face in a long time.

And that they could tell how hesitant and shy the both of you were about getting closer.

It's not like he didn't want to, believe me. The urge to hold your hand or wrap his arms around you – to kiss you – was still burning in every fibre of his body and it got more and more challenging to hold back, the longer he was around you. Leaving out the tiny part in him that was still afraid of getting rejected, he didn't want to impose on you by acting on it. He didn't want to possibly make you uncomfortable, so he left it to you to initiate any physical contact.

Admittedly, this was very much a bad plan if you were doing the same and were waiting for him to make the first move. However, the universe seemed to take matters in its own hands again.

Spencer had to remove himself from of the situation for a moment to restore some of his composure and not ogle you non-stop; especially not in front of all these people. He let you know that he would get the both of you something to drink and asked what he should get for you; when he came back, Mr. Benson had left.

For some time you stayed close to the fire, until he saw you lift your hand to fan yourself some air. “Too warm?”

You let out a small laugh and smiled at him. “Yeah, it starts getting a bit too much.”

He took the now empty cup from you and with a tilt of his head he signalled you to follow him. He gave the cups back to the person behind the make-shift bar counter and you walked a little farther away, putting some distance between you and both the tent and the fire. And the people too actually, the majority had gathered close around the flames in small groups.

“That's much better”, you sighed. “I like a nice fire as much as the next pers- oh.”

Before you could finish, you lost your balance when a body collided with yours from behind. You stumbled forward and Spencer instinctively reached out to catch you – he got a hold of your arms with a firm grip on them right above your elbows as you fell into him, bringing up your own hands to hold onto his shoulders.

“Oh, dear, I am so sorry, I must have tripped over something. Are you okay?”, the voice of a woman came from behind you.

Neither of you let go of the other as you turned to face her. Spencer recognized her as one of the women that had talked with Mrs. Benson earlier and the look on her face told a whole different story than her words; that she wasn't sorry at all and that it had been deliberately planned to bump into you.

“I'm okay, no worries. Are you?”, you asked her and quickly scanned her for injuries.

“Ooh, I'm good. I'm good...”, she replied, almost in a sing-sang kind of tone and a wide smile on her lips. She snickered softly and walked away, her hand raised with a lazy kind of flick in her wrist as a wave good-bye.

The both of you watched her walk away, baffled.

“Okayyy”, you let out as you kept your eyes on her for a moment longer. “As long as she didn't twist her ankle or something.”

You turned your head, and just like earlier in front of your apartment, it seemed like you only just now realised the position you were in when your eyes met his. How close you were and that you were still holding on to each other.

Only this time, you didn't pull away.

The world around him seemed to fade away, time standing still, as he held your gaze. Your breath hitched and when his eyes flickered down to your lips, Spencer felt your grip on him tighten, subconsciously pulling him closer to you. His heart was in his throat and it beat so loud that he was sure you were able to hear it. He let his eyes wander back up and when he saw that you were looking at his lips as well, he threw all caution in the wind and just... did it.

He let go of your elbows, took your face in his hands and leaned in, hovering his lips over yours for a short moment to give you an out, to give you time to pull away, but you didn't; instead you closed the small space that was left between you.

A long and deep sigh rumbled in the back of his throat when your lips met and he pulled you closer; as you leaned into him, your hands moved higher until your fingers were tangled in his hair, slightly tugging on it.

When you pulled back – more than reluctantly, but the both of you were still in public – , you were panting, your breaths mingling as your faces were still so close to each other. Spencer kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, not quiet ready to open them yet, afraid that when he did, he would wake up from an incredibly vivid dream.

“I'm sorry”, you suddenly choked out, which made him open his eyes in an instant. Tears were streaming down your face and you took a step back, keeping him at arms length. “I am so sorry, Spencer.”

“Hey, what's wrong? Talk to me, please.” Your emotions had changed so suddenly, he didn't know what happened, what made you cry. He wasn't sure what he should do, how he could help you calm down.

“I'm sorry”, you repeated, shaking your head.

“What for?” Did you regret letting him get close to you again; kissing him? Did you regret, that you hadn't just closed the door right in his face as soon as you had seen him this afternoon?

“Everything!” you choked out. “For how I acted all the time and for leaving like that, for leaving when I did. That I didn't contact you even once. For saying all those things, it wasn't fair. It never was. You didn't deserve it. I was so mean for no reason...” You sniffled and wiped the back of your hand under your nose. “I regretted every word the moment I said it, I didn't mean any of it. I couldn't stop talking and it was like I was losing control over myself and it all just came out and-....”

“Hey, I know...” Spencer took a small step closer to you. “In that moment it hurt, yes. And it took a lot of time until it stopped hurting; sometimes it still does. But I get it. You were scared. Some people get angry and lash out at the people around them when they are scared, especially directed at the person they are scared for; everyone reacts different. It's a totally normal reaction, I don't blame you.“

A sob came over your lips, your face twisting in pain. “Please don't be like that...”

His brows furrowed, a short and sharp pain in his chest. “Like what?”, he breathed out.

“So understanding... I acted like a total bitch to you! You should hate me... Why don't you hate me?” Your voice broke and got smaller with every word.

The corners of his mouth slightly raised to the whisper of a smile and Spencer closed the distance between you, lifting his hands to cup your cheeks. He wholeheartedly meant what he said next; there was not one thing he could think of that would change anything about it.

“I could never hate you.”

“You were shot. You needed me and left you alone and-”

“I've had worse. Before that day in Texas and certainly after”, he trailed off and softly shook his head when your brows furrowed even more, pain and fear so evidently in your eyes; he could tell that you knew he wasn't talking about anything related to the break-up.

“It's okay, I'm okay.” Spencer brushed your tears away, holding your face so gently in his hands as if you'd break into a million pieces if he wasn't careful enough. By the looks of it, you may very well would. Not a risk he was willing to take.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he stopped you from asking what had happened after, by placing his thumb over your lips. “Not tonight.” Gently, he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip to the corner of your mouth. “We'll talk about it all and I will tell you everything, I promise. Just.. not tonight, okay?”

He wanted to stay in that little bubble you had created a little longer and ignore everything else but the feeling of having you back in his arms, being able to kiss and hug and touch you again, he just wanted to revel in your presence and your love. Everything else could wait; the guilt, the talking it out, the pain and especially all the bad stuff he had held back.

You pulled him closer by the collar of his jacket until there was no room left between you. For a second you fought with yourself, your eyes darting back and forth between his like you were looking for something in his gaze before you acted on what you wanted to do. Then-

“I love you.”

Before he could say, think or do anything else, Spencer dove down and pressed his lips against yours, smiling widely into the kiss. His heart was racing and he felt like a huge burden had fallen from his shoulders that he didn't even know he had been carrying. When he pulled back he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed. “I love you.”

He couldn't hold back his own soft laugh when he heard you giggle happily before you said: “I can't believe you still want me...”

“It's you. It's always been you and it always will be you.”

[slater-baby]

Short (and v specific) fic request of how Simon would interact with an afab partner who was raised to be independent and self-sufficient (actively working on a computer science degree) but low key would rather be submissive, brain shut off, no decisions? 🥺

(ik there are already a lot of prompts out there like this but i love your writing style, pls feel free to disregard if this is not interesting/inspiring for you!!)

(can I be 💀✨ anon if there isn’t already one? :3)

Of course you can!! Thank you so so much for this request!! I didn't know if you wanted this to be spicy or not, but I went ahead and expanded on it! I hope you like it <3

Tags: Dom Simon Riley, Smut, Submissive Fem!Reader, she/her pronouns, praise kink

Edit: it just struck me when I was rereading over the ask that it was for afab!partner and didn’t have specified pronouns, but I wrote this with she/her. I’m sorry if u wanted gender neutral pronouns instead! Pls accept my deepest apologies ❤️

-

“That’s it,” you take a deep breath, clasping your hands in front of your chest, “Last paper’s finished.”

From a room over, you hear Simon make a small noise in encouragement. However, you’re so deep in your own mind that you hardly hear it, focusing instead on the sprawling lines of words and figures that lay out in front of you. For the past week, you’d been single-mindedly polishing off the final research paper of your senior year—an accomplishment which, to no small degree, would make or break your applications to grad school.

At the mere thought of it, you fidget in your seat, practically unblinking as you retrace your each and every key stroke. 

Well, you muse darkly, It can’t be the worst paper I’ve ever written, can it?

Dumbly, you bite your lip, and out of the corner of your eye, you spot an errant typo you’d somehow managed to gloss over. Instantly, your hands rush to correct it. 

Fuck, you seethe in your head, It could be the worst paper I’ve ever written. It totally could be.

Defeated, you make a small noise in the back of your throat, burying your head in your hands so that your tired eyes can’t read over another blasted line of your own research. So lost in your own mind, you hardly notice when the door to your bedroom opens and your boyfriend quietly comes to your side.

“Finished it off, did you?” He exhales, “Can I see?”

“Simon,” you grunt, struggling to find your words.

You don’t dare to raise your head in fear that he might see the frustrated tears currently working their way through your system. Well, it might be a little late for that. The tears and exhaustion are more than just painfully evident the next time you open your mouth to speak.

“Just wait another minute, okay?” You tell him, clearing your throat, “I’ll let you look in a minute, I just have to…”

Your wavering vision flits back to the screen, the entirety of your work overwhelming you all at once. Your fingers wring just that much tighter. Simon doesn’t miss the way that your chest expands with another anxious breath, and he looks down at where you sit with a cocked brow.

“Love,” he hums gently, “You alright?”

“What?” You whip your head around to look at him.

“Are you alright?” He asks again, clearer this time, leaning down next to you, “Just…seem a little in your head is all. Sure that paper’s not getting to you?”

On muscle memory alone, you shake your head, trying valiantly to straighten up.

“No, it’s just…” you stutter, mindlessly clicking about the page, “Look, it’s—it’s not all the way finished, I guess. I should do another round of editing. Y’know, just make sure it’s ready for my supervisor to look over…”

You hear Simon shift on his feet next to you, and his scent envelopes you as he leans over the desk to stare at the computer screen. Unconsciously, you scan over his bare face, watching his eyes read over the lines you’d written. Like that, you watch for some sort reaction or tell, something that would either confirm or deny all of your worst fears in their entirety.

“You sure?” He asks you hesitantly, gesturing towards the screen, “Looks pretty polished to me…”

“Well,” you swallow, “It’s—it’s still not ready. So maybe give me another hour or so, and then we can head out for dinner. Okay?”

Simon’s chest expands with an inhale, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he pins you with a questioning look, body tense with unsaid words.

“Love, are you sure?” He begins softly, “I mean, you’ve been lookin’ over that thing for a bloody week already. Hell, the lads ’n I were on deployment for a good three months, and I swear that paper’s been the only thing on your mind the entire time…You sure that it’s not good to go? I mean, looks quality to me, love. You’ve done a bang up job.”

His eyes drift over the page, and although he’s listened to you explain the topic several times over, he swears his army brain is hardly sharp enough to decipher a single line of what you’ve written on the page.

“But…” he smirks, rubbing your back, “Then again, I’m not one of them lads in the fancy white coats. Can’t understand a bloody word of this shite.”

You might have been offended at that last word if you hadn’t been dating him long enough to know his tells. Getting Simon Riley to admit you had a bigger brain than he did? High praise in the most extravagant order. It was about the most sincere compliment he’d give any one of his closest friends. Hell, when you’d first met, he was so stoic that his compliments seemed more like commands than anything else. Idly, your mind drifts back to how he’d asked you on your first date.

“You don’t got a ride home from class, do you? Said your car was in the shop?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal, I just—”

“Good. We’re going to dinner. At seven. Wear a something nice, yeah?”

“But, Simon, what—”

“Don’t be late.”

Yeah, it was safe to say you never let him live that interaction down. Not for as long as you lived. A year later, Simon was much smoother than you initially gave him credit for, but just because he home from deployment didn’t mean he’d gotten out of his bad habits. That was the officer in him, you suppose. 

“Just another hour, Simon,” your hands fly back to the keyboard, mind racing, “I—I promise I’ll submit it then, just give me a little…”

Simon watches as your eyes focus singularly on the words on the page, practically unblinking. The minute your fingertips hit the keys, you’re lost in your own task, oblivious to his presence. He bites his cheek with a small exhale, patting you on the back before walking out of the room. He lingers in the doorway, sparing a glance back at you.

You’ve been sitting in that chair for hours, fidgeting in your seat from how sore your back had become, and the bags under your eyes are nothing short of telling. He can see the redness in your eyes, the way your hands shake every time you lift them from the keyboard. You’ve been working yourself ragged, and if this essay wasn’t the final hurdle between you and your shiny degree, Simon would have ripped your body away from the computer before it destroyed you.

And yet…he bites his lip, clenching his hands instead of taking charge. It was the last assignment. He shouldn’t rush you.

But as he walks back to the living room, he finds himself simmering with a quiet frustration, eyes focused anywhere but on the TV as he presses play once again. 

You shouldn’t be working like this, he laments in his mind, You needed a break.

Simon had gotten back from deployment late last night, and when he’d walked through the door, you’d still been sitting at that blasted computer, hair frazzled from yanking at it in frustration. You’d jumped up excitedly to greet him, and yet, he could knew that look in your eyes. The exhaustion. The fear. The anxiety. The swollen skin on your face and the tired look in your pupils, the one that only came around when you’d been holding back tears, running yourself ragged.

He’d watched you work on that paper for hours—from dusk to dawn practically. And one thing had become exceedingly clear: that little head of yours was going to go crazy if you didn’t take care of yourself soon. 

Simon himself was far from okay with it. Sharing a bed with you at night—one of the few comforts he allowed himself—had even fallen victim to it. Last night alone, you woke up several times in a shock, jolting him awake behind you. You didn’t have to tell him what you were dreaming about. He already knew.

School, he groans in his head, That fuckin’ school would kill you in due time.

Don’t misunderstand him. Simon was happy that you were pursuing your dreams in such a feverish manner—ecstatic, even. Simon had been a jarhead his entire life, resigned to the camouflage the moment they handed him his high school diploma. To see someone like you working your hardest, chasing your dreams to the fullest of your abilities, it filled him with a blazing pride. And the fact that he got to stand by your side throughout the journey was a privilege he didn’t take lightly. By all means, you knew what you wanted, and you had no problem taking it.

But…

He glances towards your room, listening to the furious keyboard clacks beyond the entryway.

Your needs weren’t always at the forefront of your mind. The truth of the matter was that, sometimes, the guiding hand was more like an olive branch than a short leash, and there was no one better than Simon to understand that. Hell, since the beginning, he’d seen the truth of you: a girl who was headstrong and hard-working, but that needed something more than medals and accolades. A girl who smiled in the pictures, but crumbled under her responsibilities when she got home at night. A girl who needed someone to pick her up and put her pieces back together, no matter how many times she fell apart.

A girl who needed someone to take care of her, she just didn't know it yet.

And god, if this entire assignment wasn’t just yanking at his heart strings. 

It’s only been a year, he reminds himself, A year broken up by multiple deployments, too.

Simon knew what you needed, knew what you craved, even when you couldn’t admit it to yourself. It started as a slow trickle: pulling you into bed when it got late at night, picking up the slack in the chores, keeping your fridge stocked…y’know, the usual things any boyfriend should do. The bare minimum, really. 

And yet, even if the two of you had only just begun to explore each other, he finds himself yearning to do more—to take you in his hand, and pull you into his body time and time again. At least, until you understood how much you were worth, even when you felt like you were broken and bleeding, exhausted and beat.

The past few months had been a slippery slope. And just like anything else, a drop could quickly become a flood. 

It started off simple. Something so innocuous he hadn’t even realized when it began.

-

The two of you had been at a restaurant. Him, scarfing down steak like it was going out of fashion, and you, picking away at your bowl of pasta with a lost look in your eye. But then, your phone had trilled with that familiar notification: your Canvas app. And immediately, you’d dropped your fork, food all but forgotten.

Irked by your constant assignments, Simon’s temper had been short. And perhaps that’s why he’d said what he’d said. Perhaps that’s why he’d done what he’d done.

“Love,” he’d snapped, teeth grit, “Put your phone down.”

“But—But Simon, my professor—” you’d begun to explain, eyes filled with worry.

“Don’t care about your professor,” he’d grunted, pulling the phone out of your hand and shoving your fork into your fingers instead, “Care about you. Now, finish your food, love.”

“But, my homework—”

”I won’t say it again, love,” he’d pressed, voice firm, “Finish. Your food. Now.”

For a minute, you’d sat there in shock, watching as he pushed your phone into his pocket and continued eating as though nothing had happened. And yet, although you felt embarrassment in your veins, something else began to curl in your stomach—something eerily familiar, but shockingly new all the same.

Arousal.

Hot and burning arousal had hit you like a bucket of ice cold water right then and there, just at that simple command alone. It had felt so wrong, like something taboo, something meant to be hidden. You were a grown woman who could damn well carry herself. You didn’t need his guidance, and yet...

Somehow, you did.

Somehow, you needed it.

Somehow, you craved it.

When he spoke to you like that, like he’d take you over his knee if you didn’t listen to him…The thought of it had sparks igniting in your blood. However, overwhelmed with the sudden rush, you’d only continued eating, unable to meet his gaze when you shoveled another bite into your mouth. Simon had watched like a hawk the entire time, pushing your glass of water closer to you when you reached for it.

“There you go,” he’d commented as you’d taken a sip, “Good girl.”

-

And after that, those small moments somehow became something…more.

They came when you were slaving over your desk, lost in piles of research papers.

-

“C’mon,” he shocked you out of your reverie, hooking a strong arm under your armpit, “We’re going for a walk. Let’s go.”

“Wait—Simon, I only have one more page, just hold on—”

“That page’ll still be there when we get back, love,” he’d reprimanded, all but picking you up and setting you on your feet, “The sun won’t be. Now, go get changed.”

“But, Simon,” you’d whined, digging your heels into the carpet to stop him from moving you. HIs hand had only clenched tighter around your bicep, however, and he’d pinned you with a stern look.

“Do I have to say it again, love?” He’d warned, that now-familiar tone in his voice, the one he only used within the walls of your small apartment, soft with something that was all too familiar to how he spoke to you between the sheets.

“But, I…” you’d huffed, hypnotized by the fire in his eyes. It’s then that you found your body going limp in his hold, submitting to the squeezing pain of his palm around your arm. He’d watched intently, lips clenched with something he couldn’t name, as he surveyed the way you shrank under his gaze, the tension fleeing your body.

“No,” you’d whimpered, computer all but forgotten.

“Good,” he’d stepped closer, eyes flitting to your lips, “Now, go change. Something warm, yeah? S’cold outside.”

“Okay,” you’d answered meekly, jumping at the chance to escape the rapidly climbing temperature in the room. And when he’d patted you lightly on your bottom as you stepped out of the room, you’d be lying if you said your brain was still focused on your assignments.

“Good girl.”

-

Those two words echoed in your mind like a specter, following you throughout your home every time you stepped across the threshold. 

They buzzed under your skin when you listened to his words, when you did what he said.

They overshadowed your frustration, your exhaustion, your relentlessness.

Even when your professors showered you with praise, elevating you with their lofty words and recommendations, no single sentence amounted to the flood of dopamine that filled you when you heard Simon mutter those two, simple words.

Good girl.

-

Soon enough, those words were what you lived for, what you breathed for. And the way your body reacted to them—the way your mind clung to them, when diplomas and medals couldn’t satisfy you any longer—only made Simon all the more interested. 

Soon, it was so common you needn’t question it anymore.

-

When you achieved a high score on your first final exam, he’d been the one to greet you at the door.

“Great job, love,” he’d chuckled, pressing kisses against your neck while your arms squeezed his shoulders, “M’so proud of you.”

“Really?” You’d pulled back, looking up at him with tired shining eyes, “You mean it?”

“‘Course, love,” he’d brushed the hairs away from your forehead, expression softening, “Think this deserves a little celebration, yeah? How ‘bout dinner tonight? We’ll go to that place you like. The fancy one. Full courses ’n all.”

Immediately, you’d shaken your head, smile falling, “But, Simon, isn’t that a bit expensive? Wouldn’t it be better if we—”

“It’s not too expensive,” he’d rebuked, hands drifting lower over your waist, “Not for you. Not tonight. I mean…”

He’d pulled in a low breath, looking at you in your entirety. Entranced, you’d watched the way his expression melts, watch the way his dark eyes become even darker, even hungrier. And when his hands clench around your hips, dangerously low around your body, you hardly question it.

“You’ve been such a good girl, haven’t you?” He’d whispered, leaning in so that you can feel the length of his body, “Deserve a little reward, don’t you?”

And like that, you’d become lost in his voice once again, lost in the way that he looks at you, like all of your hopes, dreams, wants, and needs would be fulfilled with nothing more than a single look into his eyes.

“Yeah,” you’d muttered mindlessly, heat blazing under your skin, “I do.”

-

But those two words weren’t reserved for the high times only. No. Even when you were down in the dumps, when you thought you didn’t deserve it, Simon said it then, too. 

-

“But, Simon, I just—” you’d sobbed, struggling to gather your words. 

You’d been on edge all night, brain reeling with the sheer number of tasks you had to complete. And when you’d come home to see Simon packing his bags, preparing to leave on deployment the next morning, you’d finally crumbled. He’d raced to your side, bags all but forgotten.

In that moment, everything had fallen away. The tasks, the assignments, the hopes, the dreams—they all washed away. And for a single blessed moment, you were just you, and he was just him. You’d fallen into his arms just beyond the threshold, the tears finally falling. And without speaking a single word, he came to your rescue.

He’d guided you with hands on your shoulders, pushing you down onto the couch. He’d come to his knees in front of you, wiping away each and every tear with his thumb.

“Tell me what’s wrong, love,” he’d ordered, softly, “What’s happened? What do you need?”

“Simon, I—I…” you’d sniffled, kneeling over to bury your face in the crook of this shoulder and neck. 

But instead of freezing up, he’d only cradled the back of your neck, letting his shirt soak up your tears. Without a word, he’d circled his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. And you went willingly, body wracking with sobs while he stroked over your thighs and waist, letting you emotions dissolve under the weight of his scent and presence.

“S’okay, love, I’ve got you now,” he’d whispered, “I’ll make it better. Tell me what’s wrong, ’n I’ll make it right.”

Your voice had been muffled against the fabric of his shirt. And although you felt small and embarrassed, a crying puddle in his arms, your body was too exhausted to do anything more than cling to his frame as though he’d disappear if you let him go.

“You promise?” You’d managed, voice hitching.

“Promise,” he’d answered without hesitation, “Let me see you, love. C’mere.”

When his hand hooked under your chin, lifting your face into the light, you’re useless to fight against him. Tried and empty, you let him look upon you, let him cradle your jaw in this hand and take you in his hand—at his mercy.

“What is it, baby?” He’d asked, meeting your eye, “Hard day at work?”

Your voice was so choked with tears you couldn’t open your mouth. No, you’d nodded, furiously wiping tears away from your eyes. However, before you can lift your hand, he’d grabbed both of your wrists, effortlessly pinning them between your body. You don’t struggle against him. Not like you could, anyway.

“Yeah?” He’d cooed, cupping your cheek to swipe another tear away, “Little stressed, are you?”

“Yeah,” you’d sobbed, “There’s just—just so much to do—”

“What else, baby? Anythin’ else that hurts, right now?”

“No, it’s just—” you’d rocked on top of his thighs, melting down in his arms.

Your tense, fidgeting hands go limp where he holds your wrists together, body stilling as you look down at his calm face. When you were like this—a broken mess—Simon somehow managed to be the eye of the storm, just as clear and calm as he always was. That’s what made him such a good solider, you’d imagined.

“Just…” your breath hitched, and you took a deep breath, “Just—don’t wanna think anymore…”

“That it?” He’d leaned in then, so close you could smell the cologne on his skin, “Got too much in that pretty little head?”

Distraught, your mind doesn’t register the small quip. But something in your body—something in your core—yearned to be closer to him, to press yourself into him, until you couldn’t decipher where he ended and you began. And before you could question it, you’d collapsed against his chest, wrists pinned against your breasts.

“Yes,” you’d sobbed miserably.

And in that moment, unconsciously, you’d given yourself over to him completely, the world boiling down to nothing more than his strong arms and sweet voice. 

“Love,” he’d let go of your wrists, and yet, you hadn’t moved them an inch, “Look at me.”

Before you could even do it, Simon hooked his finger beneath your chin, raising your teary face to look him in the eye. Even with your raw, reddened vision, he sees you there, and meets you word for word.

“There she is,” he’d carefully swiped at your eyes, “Take a deep breath for me, love.”

Mindlessly, you’d done as he said, a simmering familiarity bleeding into your veins at the unspoken dominance. 

“Good,” he’d pulled you closer, never once letting his eyes drop, “Now, you’re gonna sit there and listen to me for a minute, yeah?”

Without an ounce of hesitation, you’d snapped your mouth shut, hands shaking against his chest.

“You’re not gonna think anymore. Not tonight. Not with me,” he commands lowly, “I’ve got you now, and you don’t have to worry about a thing. ‘Cause I’ll take care of it. All of it. And if you so much as mention that blasted assignment again, so help me god, I’ll have you over my knee before you can so much as tell me to stop. That clear?”

Usually, the firm set of his voice and the rigidity of the order would have irked you. But in that moment, vulnerable and wet with tears, it feels more like bandaid than a ball and chain. 

“Answer me.”

“Mm-hmm,” you’d hummed, chest rapidly expanding against his own.

“Good,” he’d inhaled, “Now…”

He’d reached for your wrists again, and limply, you let him situate your arms around his neck. 

“Hold me like this,” he’d told you, cradling your waistline, “And you’re gonna sit with me awhile, okay? Until you feel a bit better, love.”

“Simon,” you’d melted into his arms, letting him hold you like the fragile thing you’d always known you were. And he’d accepted you, even when you were a teary mess, unable to even breathe for yourself.

“Shush. No talking,” he’d guided you, “Just let me take care of you. Just for tonight.”

And yet, when you’d felt his stubble against your wet cheek, honeyed words drifting into your ear, you somehow find yourself mourning the time. That this would only last a night. That in the morning, you’d have to find your footing again, all by yourself.

But like that, with Simon’s beating heart against your own and his voice in your head, it felt like the moment could continue on forever, whether he was halfway across the world or sitting right next to you. And at the idea of it—at the prospect that his memory will linger long after he’s gone—you’d found yourself in awe of all that he was…of all that he made you feel.

“Simon,” you’d asked, wholly undone, “Can you…”

“Can I what?”

“Can you…” you’d sniffled, pulling away to face him, “Will you kiss me?”

His expression hadn’t moved an inch, just as calm, careful, and collected as it was before. And in that moment, you truly hadn’t known what you’d felt. Only that you’d needed him in his entirety, just as he had you now.

“Take what’s yours, love,” he’d whispered, straightening his neck just to graze his lips over yours.

And without even dwelling on how scrambled you’d felt, you’d reached for his face with a fervor, pulling you into him with every ounce of the warring desperation you felt inside. The instant his lips met yours, sharp stubble scrapping over your raw skin, the incessant noise halts all at once. 

And before long, the tears have dried up. Your mind is blank, all but empty. Your fingers claw at him with a hunger you’d never experienced before, with a need you didn’t even knew you had.

A need he’d let simmer for much too long. One that only he could sate. One that could only be cured with his touch, his lips, and his tongue. And when his hands curve over your waistline, groping at your ass to pull you up against the quickly forming bulge at the front of his jeans, you’re nothing short of distraught when he presses between your legs.

Helplessly, you cling to him, kissing him as if he was the air you needed to breathe. And as the seconds pass, so does the stress. It bleeds out of you like plasma, staining the air with each gasping breath you take.

“Simon,” you inhale, pulling back. Strings of saliva hang between his lips and yours, and just like your eyes, you find your tongue swollen. Without a doubt, you looked just as bad as you felt, and yet, something inside of you had taken control.

That feeling deep in your stomach, the pulsing between your legs. He can feel you there, your heartbeat right up against your covered pussy, pulsing against the fly of his jeans. Artlessly, your hips move against his own, and despite the nagging need in his mind to quell all the stormy thoughts that race inside that little head, he can’t help but marvel at how he’d got you.

Out of control.

Mindless.

Grasping at his shirt like it was your last tether to this earth, focused on nothing but the wetness between your thighs, and the promise of what would make it better.

Him.

His cock.

His lips.

His love. 

His praise, care, and commands.

So when you rock forward once again, clit brushing against the button on his jeans, you’re helpless to do anything more than drown in pure, utter submission when he pulls you off of his lap and bends you over the arm of the couch.

“Fuck, love,” he grunts, hands clenching around your hips while he grinds against the cleft of your ass.

“Simon,” you practically sob, desperately trying to rock your ass back against him, if only to make the aching between your legs feel even the slightest bit better.

“No,” he gropes at your asscheek, pulling your pants over your thighs to expose your soaked panties and throbbing cunt, “No more whining, baby.”

He leans back, and you swear you feel your body falling apart when he pulls away. However, before you can moan at the loss, you feel his fingers ghost over your pussy, pressing into the dribbles of slick that leak through the threads of the fabric.

“Feel me here, love,” he breathes, watching your ass rock back against his hand when he thumbs over your clit, “This where it hurts? Huh?”

Your body collapses against the cousins of the sofa with a sharp whine, and unbidden, tears begin to slide down your cheeks at the feeling.

God, it just feels so good. So good to let go. To let him make all the decisions. To let him play with you like you were a doll, a toy who couldn’t make her own choices or speak for herself. A girl ho didn’t even know that she had needs only a man like him could fix.

“Tell me. Now.” He commands, delivering a sharp slap over your ass. 

“Yes,” you blurt out.

“Yes what?”

“It hurts—hurts there…”

“Mm,” he hums, and you hear the fabric of his jeans move when he reaches for his belt, “Figures. Haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you?”

“Simon, p-please,” you plead helplessly, and when the bare skin of his cock meets the fabric of your panties, you can’t hide the flood of tears that pools on the leather seat underneath your cheek.

“Shh, baby,” he leans over you, strong chest like an impenetrable wall against your back, “Don’t cry. I’ve got you now. I know what you need.”

“Please,” you whine, reaching back to grapple uselessly at his hips—like that would make him hurry up. And yet, he only swats your hands away, effortlessly pinning them against the leather with nothing more than a single move. With his offhand, he pulls the panties to the side, looking down at your leaking, swollen pussy. It’s so pent up you’ve already got slick on the inside of your thighs.

Needy girl.

“Fuck, baby, look at that. God, you’re fucking soaked,” he parts your sensitive folds with a single fingertip, looking at where dribbles of slick coat his pointer finger and thumb. You’re so wet that even his longer, thicker finger slides into you without resistance, eliciting a squeaking moan from your tired vocal cords.

“Tell me, baby,” he thrusts gently, watching at your nerves tense and relax with every move, “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

At the question, you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. You don’t even question it, why your boyfriend might need to know that, like it weren’t a deeply personal question. And yet, when he says it like that—like he’d make it all better with a single touch—your mind doesn’t even think to question it when you relent your autonomy to him with nothing more than a single sentence.

“I…” you mewl, pushing your pussy back onto his fingers like a cat in heat, barely able to find your words through the force of the delicious fullness between your legs, “The—the last time you touched me…”

“Fuck,” he grunts, smacking your ass once more. It’s harder this time, hard enough to leave a red handprint against your ass. And yet, even if you flinch, you don’t let his fingers fall out of you just yet. No, if anything, you only rock against them harder, lost in the waves of tears and pleasure that fill you from the inside out.

“No wonder you’re so goddamn needy,” he rubs against that spongy spot inside of you, watching as strings of slick fall from your pussy onto the couch cushions below, “Haven’t been fucked in a week. Don’t even know how to take care of yourself. God, baby…Will you even be able to make it through deployment without me, love?”

“Si—Simon, I—I can’t do this without you,” you sob, arms hanging limply over the arm of the couch.

“I know, baby,” he gently pulls his fingers away, flattening his stomach against your back before you can even think to whine out in protest. Like that, he circles your stomach with one arm, lifting his shining fingers to your lips. All it takes is a single brush of his slick thumb against your lower lip to get you to open up and let him push them into your mouth, quieting your thoughts with a single word.

“Suck.”

Thoughtlessly, you suckle on his fingers, the taste of your slick on your own tongue. Tears stain his hand with every move, but the way he holds you, the way he grinds his bare cock against your wet folds, clears your head all at once. 

“Need to do something about that,” he laments, swiveling his hips just enough to notch the tip of his cock up against your hole, “Might have to buy you something over deployment. Something that’ll fill up this needy cunt while I’m gone. Yeah? That what you need, baby? Need something to fuck yourself stupid with while I’m gone?”

Moaning around his fingers, you nod your head yes, desperately grinding down against the tip of his prick. And when he pushes just the slightest bit forward, nothing more than a single inch of his dick filling you up, you can’t help the way you sob against the arm of the couch. 

“Tell me, baby,” he whispers, slowly sliding into you, “Is this what you need? Need my cock?”

He pulls his fingers out of you, harshly grabbing you around the jaw to make you face him. His fingers are wet with spit and slick, and the hunger in his eyes is so ravenous it nearly devours you then and there. But all the voices—all the protests, tears, and worries—are muffled under the weight of his body and touch. And before you can mourn the independent woman you swear you were, you find yourself desperately arching your back underneath him, sinking down onto his cock so fast it pulls the air out of his lungs altogether.

“Need you, Simon,” you cry, beginning to fuck yourself on his cock when he won’t do it himself.

However, at your little fit of helplessness, he stills you with a hard grip around your hips, pushing into you once again to keep you in place.

“Shh, baby, I know,” he coos, slowly fucking into your cunt, “I’ll give you what you need. Don’t gotta think anymore. Just need to let it happen. Need to let me have you.”

-

Images of that night run circles around his mind, and before he can even register the passing time, thirty minutes had passed into the TV show he’d halfheartedly put on. Your echoing voice ringing in his ears, he shocks back to reality, and dumbly, he lets his hand fall to the couch, TV remote all but forgotten.

His ears are wholly attuned to the sound of your typing, and with every keystroke, his anger only climbs higher and higher—until sitting on the couch, ignoring the way you’re hurting yourself, turns into a burning, fiery rage.

With a grunt, he stands, storming over to your open door. Determined, he pushes open the door, coming to stand behind you in your office chair. You’re so focused on the paper you hardly notice him. 

That is, until his larger hand covers yours, stopping you halfway to the mouse. Surprised, you glance behind you, pointlessly trying to fight against him.

“Simon,” you say, gasping when he pulls the chair away from the desk, “What are you—”

“Turn the computer off, love. It’s done.”

“But—but the final page—”

“Is perfect,” he grunts, hauling you to your feet, “Now, c’mon. You need a break.”

“But this is the last assignment!” You cry, shoving against him to try and get back to the computer, “If it’s not perfect, then I won’t graduate—”

“Love,” he yanks you back by the wrist, grabbing you around the jaw, “Look at me.”

Frazzled, you go limp in his hold, blinking up at him confusedly.

“You are the smartest person I know,” he explains tersely, “And one day, you’ll have some big, important job, and you’ll be sitting on piles of cash. And trust me when I say that I would love for nothing more than to sit at home and be your house husband. But,” he growls, yanking your hand down to press into the growing bulge at the front of his jeans. Your eyes widen when you feel how hard he is, “I’ve waited three months to have you. Three. Fucking. Months. And I know for a fact you haven’t been using that little toy I bought you.”

“Simon,” you flush, unable to meet his eye, “I—I have been using it, I’ve just been busy—”

“Love,” he warns, cocking his head, “Look me in the eye and say that again.”

You swallow, barely managing to lift your gaze. However, when you open your mouth to speak, no words come out. And just like that, he’s got you.

He grinds his jaw, rolling his eyes, “Fucking knew it.”

Before you can even register what’s happening, he’s ducking down. Without warning, he lifts you up, hoisting you over his shoulder with barely more than a single arm. You gasp when you’re lifted off your feet, scrabbling uselessly at his back when he begins to walk towards your bedroom.

“But—” you whine, watching the floorboards slowly transition to carpet down the hallway, “I—I have been using it, I swear! I took it out of the packaging and everything—”

Your words grind to a halt when he slaps you on the ass, hard enough for the sound to ring in your eyes. His fingers dig into the fat of your thighs, and helplessly, you dangle over his shoulder.

“Lie to me again,” he grunts, groping at your ass cheek to prepare you for another spank, “And I’ll just hit you harder.”

At that, you have nothing more to say than a singular whine, one that sounds so out of character against the stark Times New Roman of that blasted essay.

“Now,” Simon says, pushing open the door of your bed room, “You gonna be a good girl? Gonna shut up and let me fuck you? Gonna let me take care of you?”

For a split second, your eyes stare down the hallway at where the blue light of your laptop illuminates the office walls. And a part of you screams to push at him until he lets you go, until he lets you run back to all your responsibilities and work.

And yet, the longer you stare down that buzzing, blue cloud, the more you come to understand the simple truth of who Simon is: if you fought back, he’d only spank you harder, fuck you faster, and nag at you longer.

After all, that’s the only way he could get you to take care of yourself, diploma be damned. 

“Yes,” you relent with a mewl, going limp in his arms. And as he kicks the bedroom door closed behind him, the feeling of your head going empty is punctuated only by two, simple words. 

“Good girl.”

-

Notes: thank you so much for the request!! AO3 version will be posted soon with notes!! ❤️

[les4elliewilliams]

can you pls write ellie talking reader through her first time having sex and just being really gentle? thank u!!

first time with loser!ellie ౨ৎ

✩ wc/cw: around 4k words ! tribbing bc😌, fingering + oral (r!receiving), corny pick up lines bc ellie's a nerd, happy trail and bushes<3 (i love body hair srry)...also shy reader??

!!mdni please!!

idk why but all i can think of is loser Ellie, so this is what you're gonna get. it sucks ass but it was fun to write so idc.

daily click・palestine masterpost・neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks.

She's such a huge women's lover, worshipping your body like it's the only and the best thing she has ever seen in her entire life, and she's so gentle with you that it makes you go insane. She'll take her time with you, and she'll say the most random shit ever during it because she's a nerd and she's awkward like that (but mostly to make you feel comfortable, especially if she can sense how nervous you are). No one can convince me otherwise.

You've been together for a few months, but she'd get nervous and pull back whenever things got too heated between you two. She would touch you, palming your titties as she explored your body, but when it came time to take things further, she'd blush furiously and freeze up at the slightest sound that escaped your swollen lips.

It made her pussy pathetically throb, and she felt almost ashamed for how her body reacted at your every touch; she didn't want to pressure you into doing anything, telling herself that if you ever were in the mood, you'd make the first move or would let her know in a way. However, considering how shy you tended to be around her, she knew you wouldn't likely make the first move. Your nerves always got the best of you in her presence; you were too nervous to actually initiate anything.

She knew she had to be the first to make a move, so she decided to test the waters one day. Her touch grew significantly bolder, her hand slipping underneath the hem of your shirt and directly touching the sensitive skin of your abdomen. She traced delicate patterns over your flesh, her fingers trailing across your body with practiced ease before reaching your boobs. Your limbs tangled together, your bodies pressing against each other as you passionately explored each other's mouths. The heat between you intensified, and you could feel her subtly grinding against you, almost to get a reaction out of you and see how far you'd let her go.

Her room was always charmingly chaotic and managed but still retained an element of disorder. Light blue walls were adorned with cute science-themed decorations while a TV softly played in the background. A lava lamp sat on her bedside table, an obsession of hers that added a soothing ambiance to the room.

Her hand gently groped your breast, her mouth leaving yours to trail a series of sweet kisses down your jawline and neck, leaving you breathless and panting, your core heating up with a growing desire. The sensations sent a fluttering wave of pleasure coursing through you, stirring up a whole menagerie inside your stomach, with pterodactyls flying freely and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. It was both exhilarating and overwhelming, all at once.

"Ellie..." You spoke her name in a hushed tone; your voice was soft and silky like butter, gently drawing her attention and pulling her out of her intense focus. Her worry and guilt immediately surfaced; the last thing she wanted was to make you uncomfortable. Yet, to her surprise, instead of discomfort or unease, she saw a whole new side to you. Your cheeks were flushed, and your eyes held a passionate intensity that she had never seen before.

"Yeah?" She couldn't help but whisper, the close proximity creating an intimate atmosphere. Her green eyes roamed over your features, drinking in every detail as if it were the first time seeing you. A single auburn lock of hair fell to the side of her face, adding to her natural, effortless beauty. She was mesmerizing, yet she remained blissfully unaware of the profound effect she had on you.

You averted your gaze for a moment, your eyes drawn to her discarded, worn-out converses lying on the floor just a few feet away from the bed. They seemed the most captivating thing at that moment, distracting you from her curious but piercing gaze. She studied you intently, her intense green eyes seemingly trying to read your thoughts, and you couldn't help but feel even more vulnerable under her scrutiny.

Her voice carried a tone of concern as she questioned, "Did I go too far?" causing your heart to fill with a swelling sense of warmth. It was almost too good to be true that such a stunning and caring person like her could genuinely love you for who you were, embracing you with all your quirks and insecurities. It was a difficult concept to fully comprehend, and at times, you found yourself doubting her sincerity, unable to fathom why someone as amazing as her would choose to be with you.

"No, no, it's not that," you hesitated for a moment, your voice quiet and uncertain as you gathered your thoughts. There was a brief pause as you swallowed, trying to suppress the nerves that fluttered in your stomach. "I lied," you blurted out, your gaze hesitantly meeting hers.

Her eyebrows knit together, her confusion evident as she gave you a puzzled look. She pulled back a little, creating space between you as she sat down directly before you, her curiosity piqued. "'bout what?"

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you thought about the little white lie you had told her before the two of you started dating. Your fingers nervously fiddled with the laces of your shorts. "I actually never done it before," You mumbled, your voice barely audible as a hot flush crept onto your cheeks. The heat in your face spread down your neck and chest in a wave of embarrassment, leaving you feeling flustered and exposed under her gaze. You just wanted the ground to swallow you whole at that moment.

Lying wasn't something you normally did, but when she confessed that she had been with two other girls before you, a rush of insecurity coursed through you. You felt inexperienced and vulnerable, embarrassed that, at your age, you were still a virgin. It wasn't that you hadn't had opportunities before, but rather that you were never comfortable enough with someone to take such a monumental step. However, with her, it felt different. You felt secure and at ease, and trust blossomed between you. You knew you could confide in her and she would give you precisely what you needed, fulfilling your every desire and need. That's what she was there for, after all.

Her eyebrows shot up, an expression of surprise flickering across her perfect features. A soft oh escaped her rosy lips, her head tilting slightly with confusion. Her brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of it all. "Wait, why did you lie about it?" she asked, her voice tinged with bewildered curiosity.

You gave her a slight shrug of your shoulders, "I dunno...I guess I just- I didn't want to seem- I don't know, it's embarrassing!" You burst out dramatically, your eyes darting everywhere but on your girlfriend, who was looking at you in awe.

Did she care? Not a damn bit. If you only knew how seethingly jealous she had been when you told her you had done it with your ex-girlfriend before. She was downright pissy for a whole week, and you had no idea why. Surprisingly, though, she never said a word about it. She couldn't help but feel a sense of relief knowing that no one had ever touched you that way—that she would be the one to claim you if you ever let her.

She let out a relieved huff, her words tumbling out without a second thought, drawing your entire focus. "Thank god," she muttered, a weight lifting off her chest.

"What?"

"Nothing, just- I'm glad I'm your first," She confessed, her voice tinged with a hint of bashfulness, eliciting an airy chuckle from you. "If you want me to be, that is," She added; she was a tangle of nerves, fearing that she might be pressuring you to move too quickly, pushing you into something you weren't ready for. Yet, if only she could see herself the way you saw her—the desire for her radiating from your every pore, plain as day and utterly undeniable, practically written all over your features for any blind person to see.

You nodded in agreement, a shy but confident look in your eyes. "Yeah, I think I'm ready," you whispered, your words filled with nerves and excited anticipation.

"We don't have to do anything if you're not ready," Her touch was like a delicate whisper, her thumb gliding tenderly across your cheek, leaving behind a trail of reassurance and comfort.

"No, I'm ready, I promise...and I trust you," Your timid voice's gentle timbre sent a rush of butterflies fluttering through her stomach, causing her insides to somersault recklessly. The fact that you trusted her to take the lead and guide you filled her with a special kind of flattery. Knowing that your trust in her was absolute was a unique form of validation.

Ellie gave you a brief nod in acknowledgment before closing the gap between you with a sly smirk. Her focus remained fixed on your lips as she inched closer, her eyes never straying from their destination. "We'll take it slow."

"I trust you," You repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, the words escaping your lips in a hushed tone. Your gaze locked onto hers, and in that moment, you swore you could see her eyes sparkle with unabashed excitement.

Her lips landed on yours again, kissing you gently yet with a hint of urgency. Her fingers skimmed across the bare skin of your stomach under your shirt, "Stop me if anything feels wrong," She murmured softly against your neck, trailing a trail of kisses down your neck. Your hum resonated in response, a gentle vibration of contentment and pleasure escaping you in a small, involuntary sound.

Her mouth worked its magic on your neck, painting it with a constellation of small, colorful marks. It was as though she were an artist, and your body her blank canvas, eagerly accepting everything she had to give to you. Her hands never left your breasts, gently squeezing and pinching your hardened nubs as she left feather-like kisses all over your torso, claiming you all for herself. Her knee pressed lightly against your throbbing, drenched core, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips.

A few moments later, both of your bodies were bared to each other's eager and hungry gazes. She trailed soft kisses down your body, her lips lingering as they approached the edge of your panties. She paused to take in the sight of the dark, damp spot blooming on the thin fabric of your pink underwear, her eyes lighting up with satisfaction. With deliberate slowness, she pressed a kiss just above the waistband, sending a shiver through you. Her hands gripped your thighs gently but firmly, the warmth of her touch contrasting with the cool air. She spread your legs wider, positioning them over her shoulders, her green, dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mix of hunger and playful intent.

Her face, poised between your thighs, radiated with beauty as she looked up at you with a mixture of desire and adoration.

What a picturesque sight, she looked even better between your thighs.

Her cheeks glowed with a rosy hue, contrasting beautifully with the smattered freckles across her face. Her eyes were wide and expressive, her pupils dilated almost as if she was under the effect of some extremely addictive drug.

"I sure am no astronaut, but I'd love to explore your universe," You couldn't help but chuckle softly at her words, the sound escaping you as she continued to pepper your inner thighs with feather-light kisses, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. Her fingertips danced tantalizingly along the waistband of your panties.

"You didn't just say that," You couldn't help but giggle in disbelief.

"Oh, I did," her lips formed a small, self-satisfied grin. She loved how worked up you were getting despite you trying to hide it.

"Such a nerd."

"Hmmm...'m not," She protested softly with a slight pout on her face, slowly tugging at the hem of your panties, a silent plea for permission to continue.

You caught on to her intention almost instantly. "Take 'em off." Your command was direct.  

"You sure about this, babe?" She asked, her fingers traced along the contours of your hips. Her gaze was locked onto your face, her eyes searching yours intently for any sign of discomfort. But there wasn't any. You wanted her as much as she wanted you, and you weren't going to back down. Not now.

"Very," you reassured her.

Ellie's promise to take it slow lingers in the back of your mind. True to her word, she was taking it slow—agonizingly, deliciously slow. Her lips wandered over your inner thighs, teasing and tormenting everywhere but the one place where your need burned the most. Each kiss, each brush of her lips, was a deliberate torture, making you grow more impatient by the second, not that patience had ever been your strong suit.

Only after pleading and begging did she finally give you what you craved. The wait had left you aching for more, and the build-up only made you wetter, if that was even possible—nearly soaking the sheets of her bed.

Her breath hovered close to your wetness, coaxing goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth instinctively. She gently explored your slickness with her fingers, collecting the essence of your arousal on her digits. Her smirk was a subtle hint of the satisfaction she felt, her expression one of quiet contentment as she admired the result of her touch. "Prettiest pussy I've ever fuckin' seen," she murmured under her breath, admiring your throbbing and aching core, which was begging for her touch.

You gasped sharply, your breath hitching as she touched you. Her touch was tentative and curious, trying to figure out what felt good for you and what didn't, observing your body language attentively.

Your hand instinctively found its way into her cinnamon locks, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as she feasted on you like a starved animal. She could feel the subtle twitch of your body and clit against her tongue; her movements were deliciously slow, each lick and suck intended to savor each drop of your essence and relish the taste of you.

She had been fantasizing about this moment for a while now, touching herself at the thought of it, at the thought of you writhing and squirming in her hands, moaning for her and giving her the prettiest sounds and expressions you had to offer. And it was just like in her little fantasy. You were so ethereal, so precious, so gorgeous. None of her ex's were even close to you, you were something else; tasting like you were the one for her.

"Feels so good, El," You couldn't help but let out a breathy moan; your hands found their way to her head, gently pushing her closer to your core. Her fingers tightened around the plush curves of your hips, digging into the soft flesh as she allowed you to guide her.

She moaned in response to your words, her middle finger gently teasing your entrance. Her green eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign to stop, but all she saw was your blissed-out expression. "Can I?" she asked, her voice breathless as she took a moment to fill her lungs with oxygen. You nodded vigorously, unable to form words, your need for her touch overwhelming.

She slowly slid her middle finger in, allowing your body to adjust to the sensation. "Does it hurt?" she asked, pushing it deeper in response to the slight shake of your head. Her eyes widened with amazement at how effortlessly her finger moved inside you, the slickness making it easy. You gasped, arching your back and bucking your hips against her in response, craving more of her touch. Sweet moans escaped your lips, sounds that once might have made her pause but now only fueled her desire. Your need for her was evident by every movement and ragged breath that came from you. The sound of your pleasure spurred her on, driving her to give you even more.

You were soaking her sheets, but she didn't mind one bit, too caught up in the moment. She hoped you wouldn't notice her subtly humping against the mattress, just as turned on as you were.

But you came first; she would make you feel good first. She could wait.

Her breaths grew heavier, mirroring your own, as she focused on your pleasure, her movements driven by both care and desire.

"No, it feels just perfect," you replied after a few seconds. You were a whimpering mess, and she loved it—she loved every second of it.

"You feel so good 'round my fingers...sucking me in like a black hole," She cooed softly, a coy smirk never leaving her face as she continued to finger-fuck you, adding another finger with a smooth motion. She was amazed at how well you took her, your body greedily sucking in her fingers. What a sight you were—she felt so fucking lucky. Every little twitch of your body was like a symphony to her senses, each movement driving her insane. Her auburn little bush glistened with her own arousal, dripping down her pussy and making a mess on her pastel blue sheets. Her eyes stayed fixed on your face, savoring every expression of pleasure you gave her, feeling the connection between you grow with every passing moment.

"You're so fuckin' weird," You struggled to speak, your words broken and punctuated by soft moans that threatened to escape from your lips.

"Is that any way to talk to your girlfriend?" She asked mockingly, her digits curling ever so slightly to reach that soft spot inside you. The movement coaxed a loud and filthy moan from your lips, echoing in the room mingled with the wet, rhythmic sounds of your slickness and her thrusts. A look of triumph flashed in her eyes, an expression you wished you could've ripped off her face.

"Oh my god!" your eyes squeezed shut as your head sank into the soft embrace of her pillow, her fingers hitting your g-spot over and over. Each sound that escaped you was a soft, needy whine. Your gummy walls squeezed her fingers so much that she could barely move them.

"Gonna cum, baby? I can barely move my fingers..." She observed your every movement, her eyes drinking in how your muscles tensed and tightened with each thrust; she could tell you were close. Her green orbs observed the subtle tells that gave away your imminent release—the arch of your back, the quiver of your thighs, your high-pitched moans. "You're doing so good, babe. Let it alll out," she encouraged you sweetly, her thumb rubbing your clit in a circular motion, slowly, not wanting to overwhelm you; she wanted you to enjoy every second of it, and she didn't wanna rush anything.

"Yes, yes! 'm so close, please," You pleaded, though you didn't need to. Ellie had no intention of stopping anytime soon. Her only focus was to make you feel good, to treat you as you deserved, and to pour her love and affection onto your body.

"Come for me, sweet girl. Can you do that for me?" She purred softly, her fingers continuing to tease and torment you, knowing it was a matter of seconds until you milked her fingers just like she wanted you to. You could only manage a frenetic nod in response, your words lost in a haze of pleasure. Your body arched towards her, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yeah?" she cooed. "Go ahead, beautiful. Let go for me." She guided you through the waves of orgasm, letting you ride her fingers until you came down off your high, your hips meeting her thrusts halfway with urgency.

Slowly, she withdrew her fingers from you, her lips enveloping each digit, sucking them clean. A low, guttural moan escapes her lips as she relishes the taste of you, finding it utterly intoxicating. You, an exquisite delicacy, have become her newfound obsession, a craving she knew would haunt her long from now on. Hopefully, you won't mind when she'll be begging on her knees to taste you once again. Begging you to let her make you feel good just so she could feel you twitch and throb on her tongue.

Her tattooed hand glided gently along your side, her lips bestowing soft kisses upon your thighs and mound, slowly trailing a path of affection upon your skin. She made her way to your lips, you could taste the remnants of your pleasure on her own as she kissed you lovingly.

She gently kissed your forehead, her hand still idly tracing patterns on your skin, shoving a few praises your way. "Did so well, for me," her tone was warm and caring. "So beautiful, so responsive." Her fingers lingered on your face, her touch almost reverent as she took in your flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance, looking even more beautiful to her eyes. "You taste so fuckin' good, I can't get enough of you."

A delightful darker hue staining your cheeks and giving you an almost otherworldly glow. Your eyes looked up at her, still glazed with ecstasy, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to catch your breath. "I love you."

She smirked, her eyes glinting with a playful sparkle as she straddled your lap, her body fitting perfectly between your spread-open thighs. Leaning closer to you, she spoke in a soft, sultry tone, "I love you more—Think you got one more for me?"

"Yeah, I can do one more,"

Those words were all she needed to proceed with her intentions. Her body hovered above yours, her movements controlled as she aligned her dripping cunt with your still-sensitive one. Your hands instinctively grasped her hips, guiding her to your desired rhythm. A low groan slipped past your lips as her hips started to roll and grind against yours, the sensation of her warmth and pulsating core pressing against yours causing you to arch your back and meet her movements with eager thrusts. You loved how her clit felt against yours, it was so pretty and puffy, and she was so fucking wet, so needy for you; it was adorable.

"Ooooh fuck!" You cried out, her head arched backward in response, a symphony of needy moans escaping her lips as she clung to the leg you had draped over her shoulder, using it to steady her movements. Your slickness mingled with hers, painting a glistening trail across your inner thighs. She loved feeling you; she loved how good it felt each time your clit kissed hers.

"You feel so fuckin' good, fuck," She murmured, her words punctuated by soft gasps as she continued to move against you. "Wanna feel you come all over my pussy" Her movements grew erratic, her hips moving more urgently against yours, the pace of her grinding becoming frantic and sloppy, using you to chase her orgasm. A constant stream of needy sounds fell from her plush lips nonstop; soft strands of her hair fell loose from her messy bun, framing her freckled and scrunched-up face. Ellie seemed so focused on her movements, trying to keep them steady and controlled but failing pathetically, growing needier and needier each second. Her expression was one of intense focus and desire, her eyes locked onto your face as she rode you with determination.

"Ellie, fuck," you groaned. "Slow down, 'm not gonna last," You gasped out a warning, your nails digging into her pale skin as your body began to tense up once again. The soft curls of her pubic mound soaked with both of your cum, your eyes silently admiring her cute happy trail, tracing it with your thumb.

"Me neither," her voice ragged and breathless as she increased her pace, grinding against you more forcefully and urgently. Her hips began to rotate, moving in a desperate, frantic motion as she sought to bring you both to your climax. Her free hand reached down to intertwine with yours, squeezing your hand tightly. "Eyes on me, pretty," She managed to utter, the words broken by cute little moans, her speech barely comprehensible. Your gaze slowly roamed up her body, taking in the sight of her toned abs and her pretty happy trail. You traced your eyes upward, taking in the sight of her perky breasts before finally meeting her face and locking eyes with her.

"You're so hot," You cried out in ecstasy, the words leaving your lips before you could stop it. She snorted in response, her eyes hazy and lidded as she looked down at you. Her mouth twitched into a lazy smile, revealing her pearly white teeth before she spoke.

"Have you met you?" Her voice was ragged and raw, the following sound escaping her lips like a gasp. She was flushed and breathless, her cheeks stained a deep scarlet hue, like tomatoes in the height of summer. But suddenly, her smile faded, replaced by a look of concentration as her brows furrowed together. "'m gonna-" but you cut her off.

"Me too," You whined as your other hand reached up to play with one of her breasts, your fingers teasing her nipple. The sensation elicited a louder moan from her, a melodic cry of your name that echoed through the room, her body arching into your touch.

You both came together, your cores clenching around nothing and twitching against each other in a mutual climax. The auburnette's movements slowed gradually until she finally collapsed by your side, her eyes wide and cheeks still flushed. She was completely out of breath, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling. For a moment, neither of you spoke, both of you still reeling from the intensity of what had just happened.  

"Mind-blowing," Your words pulled her out of her trance, making her roll onto her side to face you. She propped herself up on her elbow, her eyes roaming over your flushed and breathless face as she spoke.

"Mind-blowing, hm?" she teased, a sly grin spreading across her lips as she leaned closer to you. Sliding her tattooed arm around your waist, she pulled you closer to her until your bodies were pressed together. She placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, her lips lingering against your hair as she spoke. "You did so good, baby,"

"Did I?" She nodded in response to your question, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her hand brushed gently against your face, her fingers gliding softly through your hair as she swept loose strands away from your face. You couldn't help but stare at her, taking in her soft features and tender expression, feeling a pang of awe and admiration in your chest.

She gently caressed your face, the touch of her fingers like a subtle whisper against your skin. "You sure did," she murmured, her voice soft and affectionate as she kissed the tip of your nose. "You are one beautiful celestial body," she added cheekily, her tone laced with sarcasm. You chuckled and rolled your eyes at her, unable to keep the affectionate grin off your face.

"That's so dumb," She laughed along with you, her arms wrapping around you tightly as she held onto you like a koala clinging to a tree. She cuddled and snuggled against you, her body molding against yours as you settled into a comfortable embrace. As you gradually drifted off to sleep, you couldn't help but notice a stupid smile spreading across her face.

daily click・palestine masterpost・neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks. (takes a second, fuckers)

[nickynclark]

I'D BE ONE NOCTURNAL SON OF A GUN

Eddie Munson x Female! Reader

Word Count: 2,748

Content warning: SMUT (18+ only below the cut), no use of (Y/N), lowkey toxic parents, harsh language, mentions of drug use (mary jane, bby), mentions of reader being on birth control, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it for the love of god), choking and breeding if you squint.

Summary: Your parents hate Eddie Munson, and you just can't find it in you to leave the crazy haired freak.

Authors Note: Y'all this is porn with plot. And it's my first ever smut so pls be nice to me. I'll be publishing a Spencer Reid fic soon enough ;) Love ya! - nick

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Growing up, you were a perfect child. You did ballet and took piano lessons. You ate all of your vegetables. You got straight A’s. You played nicely with the other children.

So you can imagine your parents’ reaction when their perfect little girl told them about her friendship with Eddie Munson.

“That freak?” Your mom gasped, “my god, you must be joking.”

“Are you doing drugs with him?” Your dad quickly intervened.

You sat in front of them like a kicked puppy, quietly looking at your hands as they lectured you over Eddie.

You and Eddie met your freshman year of high school in chemistry class. He wasn’t good at english or science, and you were. You would help him do his homework (aka give him your answers) and he would let you sit with his odd ball friends at lunch. To you, rumors and all, he was lovely.

You two had been best friends for a long time, despite your parents' distaste. They even decided to set you up on a date with Steve Harrington your senior year: a sad attempt to separate you and Eddie.

It only lasted a week or two, and when you explained the situation to Steve, he understood. He was kind and promised to never let your parents know you even broke up.

“I could tell,” Steve said on your last date, “your head is always somewhere else. No sweat.”

To your parents, you are back to their perfect daughter. But everyday after school, when your parents think you're at a study hall, you're in the little room with a group of ‘freaks’, Eddie wearing the crown.

***

Eddie displayed the table in front of him, with only two characters left standing- yourself and Vecna.

“There is nothing wrong with running, sweetheart." Eddie's tone is cocky, "You can walk away now, everything will be okay.”

You squint up at him, “when have you ever known me to run?”

Eddie just laughs, signature smirk on his lips, “then roll.”

You grab the twenty sided die, fondling it in your hand. You roll the die between your fingers, a focused look on your face.

“C'mon! Just walk away,” Mike whispered, “if you roll then you can lose. Walking away isn’t a loss.”

“Shut up, Freshy,” you smile and elbow him in the side, “you’ve only been with me through one campaign. I never run away.”

You bring the die up to your lips and blow on it, keeping eye contact with Eddie through the process. He keeps his signature smirk on his face, but his eyes are nervous.

With a final smile, the die leaves your hand, rolling across the table, clambering it’s way down.

When it stops, Eddie looks down with a smile on his face, “natural twenty, sweetheart," he looks back up to you, "that's a hit."

The group at the table erupted into cheers, Dustin laughing at Eddie while pointing aggressively.

“Well done, Princess.” Eddie smiles and sits back in his throne.

**

After all the boys clear out, it’s just you and Eddie in the Hellfire room. Eddie let his smile falter as soon as they were gone; you knew he hated to lose a campaign, but it was always a little easier on him when you were the last man standing.

You walk towards him and stand in between his spread knees, “hi,” you look down at his slumped body, “hell of a campaign, you know. I was convinced I wasn’t going to roll right, you know my luck.”

Eddie looks at you shyly, “I know, Sweetheart. But I was really expecting a loss from you guys.”

“You always are, Eds.”

He smiles and sits up a little bit, “you’re right,” then he shifts himself to lean closer to you, “how’s Harrington?”

You step back from him with a small smile, “Done. He couldn’t handle me.”

Eddie sits up all the way, smirking, “no one can, Princess,” his hands lift to rest on your hips, “except me, my Queen of Hellfire.”

You laugh, “it was my call, though. He wasn’t my guy.”

“How so?”

You step back up into him looking down at him, “he’s not tall enough, he doesn’t have enough tattoos,” Eddie begins to stand up to tower over you, “he doesn’t smoke, and, most of all,” you move your hand to his hair, his face inches away from yours, “he doesn’t have good enough curly hair.”

Eddies breath hitches in his throat, clearly nervous and excited, and, when you almost gave in, your parent’s voice came into your head.

You back up from him reluctantly “It was a great campaign, Eds.”

And you walked out of the room listening for Eddie to call for you, but he never did.

**

Two days later, your parents were at church while you stayed home. Around 10 o'clock that morning, you heard a knock on the door. You quickly pulled your hair back and went to the front door. When you opened it, you were shocked to see Eddie standing in front of you, hair disheveled, still in his flannel pajama bottoms and a crinkled white shirt, smelling of weed and a his woody cologne.

He looked down at you as if you were a stranger before speaking, “why did you do that?”

“Eddie, why did I do what?”

“Friday. After Hellfire. Why did you do that?” He reached his hand up to rest on your cheek, “did you not know what you do to me?”

You stutter out an apology, “Eds, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would upset you-“

“Upset me?�� Eddie laughed, “Sweetheart, I need to know if it was a play. Did you mean what you said?”

You look into his chocolate eyes before finally giving in, lean into his warm touch, “yes, Eddie, god, yes, I meant every word.”

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was bruising, and the entire time you couldn’t stop thinking about how bad you needed to know how he tasted, and now you knew: a beautiful mix of mint and herb.

As you pulled away panting, he rested his forehead against yours.

“My parents will kill me if they see you here,” you tell him quietly through kisses.

He picked you up bridal style, kissing your forehead and whispering “I won’t let them,” while he carries you upstairs to your room.

You planted gentle kisses to his neck until he dropped you onto your bed, leaning over you and kissing you roughly. As he kissed you, his hands found their way to your hips and yours around his neck.

“Fuck, Princess, I’ve waited for this for too damn long,” Eddie whispered into your neck where he was sucking and biting, attacking the soft skin connecting your neck and shoulder.

You started to tug on his hair, “Eds,” and he pulled up and looked at you, “you are my perfect person.”

He smiled softly and kissed your lips, hands finding your pajama shorts and slipping his pinkie underneath the band, touching more of your bare hips. Your back arched up into his grip as his rings chilled your skin, and he smirked into your kiss.

“Eddie, please,” you whine to him.

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“Anything, Eddie, please.”

Eddie looks up at you before his hands fully grip your waistband, “are you sure?”

You lift your hips, begging, “yes, Eddie, god yes, please.”

He smirked, pulling down your sleep shorts, “easy, Tiger.”

As soon as your shorts are down your legs, you are pulling off the lace thong that conceals you from him.

When he notices this, he’s sliding down to the foot of your bed, grabbing your ankles and pulling you down with him. He makes easy work of spreading your thighs, smiling as he sees your already wet pussy.

“Damn, Sweetheart, is all of this for me?” He mumbles as he moves his hand up to spread your lips, getting a better view.

You whine at the contact, “yes Eddie, all for you.”

Eddie starts to plant open mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs while he slowly slides one of his ringed fingers inside of you, watching you wiggle at the sensitive contact. He starts to suck deep purple bruises onto your thighs as he inserts another finger, quickly curling and scissoring them, smiling as you moan loudly at his doing, your hands finding their way to his hair.

“Eddie, god, babe, your mouth, please,” you whine loudly, causing him to bite down on your thigh.

“You want my mouth, darling? Want my tongue?” You whimper in response, “Words, baby.”

You huff loudly, “yes, Eds, I need your mouth on me.”

He licked a thick stripe up your opening to your clit, moaning at the taste. He took your clit it into his mouth and started sucking lightly, causing you to see stars.

He continued to eat you out like his life depends on it, his fingers finding their way back inside of you, working you closer and closer to your orgasm.

He adds one more finger, stretching you out so fully arounds his three large digits, and licking and sucking so feverishly you don’t know how much longer you can last.

“Eddie, baby, fuck-“ you moan, grinding on his tongue, “I’m going to cum. Fuck, can I come? Should I even be asking you?”

Eddie laughs at you rambling, sending a vibration through your pussy up to the knot in your stomach.

He keeps working you until your thighs are shaking and trying to close around his head. He works you into a mewling mess, and only then does he pull away just enough to say, “come on my tongue, princess.”

His lips reconnect with you, working you through your high, your moans loud until you finally come to a stop.

Eddie climbs up your body, kissing you feverishly, and you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Baby, you’re so sweet. Could eat you out forever.”

You smile and kiss him, sitting up, “your turn.”

He stands up, and you sink to your knees in front of him. He watches happily as you work his pants off of him, your eyes growing at the print of him in his boxers. He was long and thick, and had a glorious spot of pre-cum on the fabric. You connect your lips to the wet spot, moaning at the salty flavor.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie placed a hand on your cheek pulling you away from him, “we can stop at any time. You don’t have to do this.”

You smile up at him from your knees, “I want to. Stop worrying.”

He looks down at you lovingly, swiping your cheek with his thumb, “then, as much as I love how it looks on you, that hellfire shirt’s got to go.”

You raise your arms as he pulls it off of you, groaning at the sight of your braless chest.

You quickly pull down his boxers, admiring the beautiful cock in front of you. It’s thick and even longer than it looked when concealed. It has a vein running along the side of it, and his tip is a pretty pink color with a bead of pre-cum leaking out of his slit.

You lean in and place a quick kiss to his tip before taking it into your mouth, sucking softly on his cock, then quickly pulling off.

“Of course your cock would be pretty too,” you smile before licking a stripe underneath him, then taking him into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat.

He moans loudly, his hands gripping your hair as you settle on a tempo, occasionally popping off to breathe or spit onto his dick.

“Sweetheart, holy hell,” Eddie moans as you look up at him as innocently as you can with a mouth stuffed with his cock, “I can’t tell if you came from, fuck, heaven or hell with that mouth. I could have had this this entire time?”

You hum around him in agreement, causing him to moan again.

After a little while of constant sucking, a sore jaw, and hands gripping his thighs, he stills your head and begins fucking your face.

You gag around him at the intrusion, then you settle into the pace, meeting him half way.

“Fuck, darling, I won’t last. Sweetheart, god fuck-“ he pulls away from me before he’s able to finish.

“Why’d you-“

He smiles, “ I want to cum inside you for our first time,” he rushes over to his pants and feels the pocket, “shit. I left my wallet at home, do you have condoms?”

You shake your head quietly.

He sighs, “it’s okay, I’ll just-“

“I'm on the pill.”

He smiles, “you sure?” And you nod.

As he climbs on top of you, with a panicked look, he starts, “you promise this isn’t some weird way of getting child support out of me? ‘Cause selling weed doesn’t exactly pay the-“

You laugh loudly, “Hey, Eddie?”

“Hey, baby?”

You look at him with doe eyes, “wanna fuck me?”

He groans loudly, “God, I thought you’d never ask.”

He climbed on top of you, spreading your legs apart and lining his dick up with your slick hole, “you ready, sweetheart?”

You smile softly, “yes, please.”

As soon as you feel the tip of him slip inside of you, a loud moan leaves your lips, your eyes widening and your hands gripping Eddies back.

He rests his head on your shoulder, leaving soft kisses on your neck, “I know baby, I know. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He slowly pushes in further until he’s all the way inside of you, then he stills to allow you to adjust to his size.

His teeth sink into the skin of your neck as he grunts, "you're so tight, Baby."

You whimper at the praise, “God, Eddie, move, please god, fuck me.”

He didn't need any more convincing. His hips suddenly snap in and out of you with fever. The sound of skin hitting skin and your moans mixing together fills your small room.

Eddie bites and sucks on your chest, moaning at the sensation, “fuck, princess, 's like you were made for me. Can’t wait to ruin this sweet pussy of yours.”

As Eddie keeps talking, fucking you harder and faster, your head is spinning with ecstasy, moans slipping out of your mouth faster than you can stop them, until, quickly, Eddie pushes one of your knees to your chest, pushing himself even deeper inside of you.

“Fuck, Eds. Right there, baby! Shit!”

Eddie moves one of his hands to your throat, pounding into you rapidly, showing no mercy to your body.

“Eds, fuck! I’m gunna cum, can I please fucking cum?” Your moans echo around the small room.

Eddie holds onto you tightly, his thrusts becoming sloppy and irregular, “hang on, sweetheart, I’m almost there,” he thrusts quickly, “where do you want it?”

You drag your nails down his back, “inside me.”

“Are you sure?”

You moan, “yes! Eddie, please! Fill me up with your cum, please!”

He groans and thrusted once or twice more, “cum, baby, cum with me.”

The knot that built in your stomach untied as you felt hot spurts of cum filling you up. You let out loud whimpers of ecstasy while Eddie rocked you through it, whispering sweet praises into your ear.

As you finished, he rolled off of you, laying next to you on your bed.

“Wow.”

You giggle in agreement, “definitely wow.”

Suddenly, the front door slams open, “honey, we’re home!”

Your mom shouts through the house, causing you and Eddie to scramble getting dressed.

Your mom walked in just as you both got clothed, sitting on the bed with a magazine and him messing with his guitar pick necklace.

“Hi,” you say gently, as if Eddies cum wasn’t leaking out of you onto your light pink bed spread beneath you.

“Honey," her tone is sickly sweet, "what is he doing here?” She smiled tightly.

“Oh, him?” You point to Eddie, “we’re just hanging out. He is my boyfriend you know.”

Eddie looks at you shocked before a smirk settles on his kiss swollen lips, and he reaches out to hold your hand.

Your mom looks at you, her smile now a glare.

“You can either leave this man, or never see the light of day again.”

Eddie stood up and grabbed his shoes, preparing to leave. His lips sat in a frown.

He thought this was over.

“Hey babe?” You grab his arm.

“Huh?” He looked at you confused.

You give him a quick kiss and your mom gasps, “I’ll see you at sunset.”

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Taglist: @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @deadbolted

To join taglist just dm me!! i'm new here and would love some new friends!

[froggibus]

Saw your post!! Any thoughts on what Junkrat, Mei, Venture, and Sombra might do if their respective s/o's wanted a prize from a claw machine? Who can actually do? What do they do if they can't?

Claw Machine - Junkrat, Mei, Sombra & Venture

Genre: fluff, little crack

Summary: how your s/o would win (or steal) you a prize from a claw machine

CW: sombra’s a jerk, established relationships, theft (in a funny silly goofy way), Ven gets stuck in a claw machine, none of these people are good at games sorry

thanks so much for giving me a cute fluffy req ^^ I really appreciate it. sometimes writing so much smut gets a little overwhelming so I am grateful for fun little ideas like this!! 💓 hope you’re having a great day lovely someone pls remind me in the morning to give this a proper banner

@kitsune-loves-fics wrote a beautiful continuation of Venture’s part! come check it out here 💓

Junkrat:

insists he’s the best at claw machine games

he is not.

however he will spend all day and all the money he has just so he could get you whatever prize you wanted

unrelated but Mako is probably crazy at claw games

keeps promising he’ll win it for you but progressively gets worse and worse at the game

eventually gets annoyed and starts shaking the machine

please walk away it’s so embarassing

if that doesn’t work he will literally break the glass and just grab the toy for you

gets down on his knee like a dork and hands it to you

“for you, little cricket”

grabs your hand and runs away giggling from security

you’re legally obligated to keep the toy forever or else he’ll get sad

Mei:

probably average at the claw game

she won’t try all day but if you really want it, she’ll give it at least ten tries

gets kind of confused when she can’t win and decides to apply some science to it

literally calculates a bunch of math based on how fast it moves, how far away it is, size of everything etc

the math still doesn’t help

some kid probably comes up and does it on the first try and she’s staring at them like ‘how’

is completely focused on this damn claw machine now just to get you a little plushy

please bring her a drink or something to boost her mood

when you walk away she’ll try to put her hand in the machine but her arms are too short :(

in the end she recruits snowball and together they manage to get you your little plushy ^^

however she feels so guilty about it after she has to confess to you

Sombra:

she will never let herself be defeated by ANY machine

she’ll probably tell you to win it for yourself and lean against the machine with a smirk while she watches you

you’ll pout at her and beg for her help but she wants to see how ‘dedicated’ you are first (whatever that means)

eventually she gives in (she can never resist you) and steps up to try the game

and immediately loses.

doesn’t even try again, she just hacks it and forces it to do whatever she wants

doesn’t just grab you one plushy, she practically cleans out the whole machine

“liv can we just leave? people are starting to stare?”

“just one more, cariño”

it will not be just one more, but how can you resist when she’s being so sweet?

Venture:

dork ass steps right up the minute you press your face on the glass and coo about how cute it is

“don’t worry babe, I got this”

(they really do not)

they will hyperfocus on it and play it for literal hours

they’re not even bad at it—they keep winning prizes, just not the one that you want

you could leave for ten minutes and come back and they’ll still be trying it

after maybe an hour of playing they get you to stand on the side and shake it for them

if that doesn’t work, they try to shove their arm up there but they’re so muscly they get stuck

you end up having to call the fire department to get them unstuck lol

and the owner of the place feels so bad (or maybe embarrassed) for you guys that they unlock the machine and just give you the toy

masterlist | overwatch masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[violettwrites]

season of the witch 🦇 eddie munson

author’s note: LOOSELY based on a tiktok headcanon thing i saw of eddie AGES ago where he met an actual witch and got so scared he stopped playing d&d for a month. but thought she was super hot.

also this is based before any of the upside down stuff in s4 so eddie is simply oblivious.

this is my first piece of work ever pls bear with me 😭 but if you like it, i’d love it if you supported me by liking, commenting, and/or reblogging !! thank you 🫶🏻

warnings: nothing really ?? just the tiniest bit of spiritualism and that stuff idk

word count: 995

before today, eddie had never really noticed you at school before. you tried your hardest to blend in, not wanting to be noticed by people anyway. it wasn’t really your thing— talking to people. but when you had passed by him in the cafeteria one day during lunch, the smell of your perfume hit him like a truck and he couldn’t help but stare.

he was mad that he hadn’t noticed you before, because how dare he not notice someone as breathtakingly beautiful as you? you had such a mysterious aura about yourself that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. it was captivating.

“who’s that?” he asked his friends who were sitting at the table with him, eyes still staring you down as you sat alone in the cafeteria, your nose stuck into a stephen king book — it looked like… misery? he couldn’t exactly tell from all the way over here.

“oh, that’s (y/n).” gareth spoke up, his head turning to look at you before he looked back at eddie. “rumor has it that she’s a witch. apparently she cast a spell on mr. john’s once because he failed her in chemistry and that’s how he ended up with that burn down the left side of his face.”

eddie looked at gareth with a confused look on his face, brows furrowed together slightly. “i thought that was just a science experiment gone wrong?” he looked back over at you, swallowing the lump in his throat. you definitely looked like you could be a witch, but that was stupid. witches weren’t real… right?

“yeah that’s what the school wants us to think.” gareth shook his head with a smirk, not exactly believing that eddie was starting to actually think you were a witch. “why? wanna talk to her do ya?” he teased, making eddie look back at him with almost fearful eyes, shaking his head side to side rather quickly.

as the bell rang, eddie watched you pack your things into your bag— that’s when he noticed the pentagram around your neck, and the lump in his throat grew thicker. okay, maybe you were a witch.

— — —

throughout the week, you had occupied eddie’s mind. when he was playing d&d with his friends, he was distracted by his mind racing with thoughts about you, wondering if what gareth said was true. it’s not like he didn’t believe in the supernatural, because he definitely believed in vampires and all that, but he didn’t expect them to be walking with him.

so when he found himself at the record store on saturday, perusing the heavy metal albums for his latest addition to his collection, he could smell that all to familiar perfume that he had only smelt on you. he looked up, seeing you standing on the other side of the aisle facing him, fingers flicking through records before pulling one out to look at it.

he wasn’t sure how long he had been staring at you, but your voice had pulled him from his thoughts. “hi?” you spoke, your voice soft yet full of confusion. his mouth was slightly agape as he looked at you, and you had to admit. you found him quite adorable.

“h-hello.” he stuttered out, eyes looking at your as his fingers held the latest dio album.

“the last in line. good album.” you nodded, offering him a small smile. eddie swore his heart was about to burst now. you had good music taste. he nodded his head quite quickly, not really having the words to speak to you properly. he still couldn’t shake the fact that you were a witch. “did you cast a spell on mr. john’s? is that why his face is all burnt up?” he blurted out, eyes going a little wide and cheeks turning pink.

you furrowed your brows slightly in confusion, shaking your head slowly. “i’m… not following you?” you tilted your head a little, your own fingers still holding the latest album from echo and the bunnymen.

“gareth said you were a witch— i mean, you have that uh— that pentagram on your necklace.” he pointed out, and you almost let out a HA! but you had to stop yourself. “it’s a pentacle, bit of a different thing.” you laughed softly, shaking your head. “it’s used for protection and to banish unwanted spirits.” you went back to looking through the albums, having set the one you were previously holding aside.

eddie stood there, mouth still agape. “so you are a witch?” he asked, and you almost rolled your eyes as you stopped browsing the albums again. the good thing that came from being unnoticed was you didn’t have to deal with situations like this. “yes, and no. it’s not like i have magic flowing through my fingers or anything dumb like that. it’s more of a spirituality thing. like a religion, but it’s not.”

still staring at you, eddie nodded his head a little before going back to looking through the albums, his mind slightly at ease knowing you weren’t a supernatural being. it was quiet between the two of you for the next ten minutes, but when you had gathered the albums you were ready to buy, starting to head towards the register, eddie called out to you.

“can i get your number?” he asked, shyly rubbing the back of his neck. you raised an eyebrow at him, a small smirk on your lips as you made your way over to him. you dug through your bag, pulling out a sharpie before grabbing his arm to write your landline on his forearm. “call me after 8. that’s when i finish my sacrificial work.” you winked at him teasingly, leaving him and heading over to the register.

he stood there baffled as you left, arm still held in the position it was when you had been writing on his arm. he watched you leave the store, his heart racing as he wondered if he’d be your next victim.

[icallhimjoey]

now you’re allowed to write again, this is a formal request for the smut pls 🤝🏼😌

okay so, im bringing back bet!joe for you, because part of your brand is privately requesting specific smut, so our double or nothing boy's back with a new bet! (lil tw: it's.... it's right there, in the request, 18+) Wordcount: 2.4K

---

All The Aces

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“You’re wrong.”

He was wrong.

“Am I?” Joe smirked before he threw his head back to catch a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Izzy, please tell him he’s wrong.”

He was so, so wrong.

The flake of popcorn he then threw over that got stuck in your hair went vocally ignored – you just fished it out and threw it back, watched how Joe was chewing an open mouthful of his own, smugly smiling at your bad aim.

That flake landed on the floor about two feet away from him. Izzy picked it up as she walked past, already annoyed with the two of you before she’d even sat down.

Him visibly enjoying her disdain wasn’t exactly helping his case.

“Don’t get me involved in whatever you two do to get each other off.” Izzy commented as she sat down next to you to which you audibly gasped.

You were pressed into the corner of your sofa with a little bowl of crisps balanced on the side – your own one, because neither Joe or Izzy wanted any crisps. They wanted popcorn, so they got to share the big bowl.

With your flatmate slash best friend next to you, your legs pretty much filled out the entire sofa, leaving Joe sit by himself in the armchair and thus placing Izzy in between the two of you, right in line of your crossfire.

“We don’t–” you started, but the dropped jaw you’d had on show for a second too long had prompted Joe to chuck a whole handful of popcorn at you.

None actually made it into your mouth.

“I genuinely don’t need to hear about what does or doesn’t get you off.” Izzy raised her voice slightly as she looked at Joe, telling him off for throwing food. He immediately stopped his laughter and apologised by handing the bowl over to her before he sat back, giving you the opportunity to pick and drop all thrown flakes back into the bowl.

“Just, just take it from me that he’s– you’re wrong.” you urged, and Joe just laughed.

Izzy shook her head as she took a deep breath in through flared nostrils.

Joe took that to mean more than just sheer annoyance at being dragged into whatever childish fight you had going.

“Izzy knows what’s up,” Joe held up a hand, ready to high five her, absolutely willing her refusal to get into this argument with you as an agreement to him being right.

Which, he very much wasn’t.

Izzy ignored him though, left him hanging like a loser, which made you chuckle.

“Will you just, hear me out? Did you hear what he said just now?” you sat up a little, legs crossing in front of you as you turned to Izzy who was now finding whatever she said she wanted to watch on the TV, remote in hand, eyes trained on the screen.

“She did hear me, which is why she won’t.” Joe simply said, leaning back in his chair all relaxed, hands behind his head, legs crossing at the ankles as he placed them on the coffee table.

“No, but, listen. Joe said–”

“I don’t care what Joe said,” Izzy deadpanned. “These lovers quarrels ain’t it. I know you live here so I can’t just kick you out, but…” Izzy’s eyes flicked to Joe, which made him scoff in mock-shock before he let his face turn kind.

Sarcastically kind.

 “No, she’s right. It’s okay. I’m wrong. I’m wrong. I’m just a man, and what do I really know, right? You know, besides the fact that you have like, a billion more nerve endings than we do, which arguably should mean I’m right, just by the science and biology of everything, but, fine. I’ll be wrong if that makes you feel better. I accept my defeat.”

As Joe finished his small monologue, you were both frowning at him - for different reasons.

You, because he was being a little shit.

Izzy, because she was slowly trying to puzzle together what the fuck he was on about.

She then slowly turned her head towards you, eyes squinted in thought, and you sighed as you looked at her. You pretended Joe wasn’t able to hear you when you said, “Maybe you should kick him out, I’m not–”

“It’s 8000.”  She interrupted you sort of casually.

“What?”

“If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, it’s 8000 nerve endings for you,” Izzy nodded at you, and then turned to Joe to nod at him, “And 4000 for you.”

Joe raised his eyebrows in slight surprise as he smiled, reaching for another hand of popcorn with one hand whilst pointing the other at you.

“See? Double! That’s double the pleasure!”

“What do you mean, see? Like that proves you’re right?”

“Are you forgetting that we’re talking about something I am witness to? You can’t make such wild claims when I literally know how you–”

“Oh, my God. Stop!”

Izzy rapidly turned her head a few times between the two of you, trying to follow along, before she muted the TV and sat back a little.

“All right, I’m too invested now. What the fuck is the problem…”

“She said women don’t care for orgasms.”

“That’s not what I said, you– No, Izzy,” you had to laugh at the vile facial expression she gave you. “That’s not what I said! I said that for me–”

“No, no no. You said for women.” Joe was quick to correct you, wagging a complacent finger at you.

“Sure, yes. Fine. For women, sex isn’t just about the orgasm at the end. Like, that’s not the most important thing. It’s not all about that.”

Izzy’s face dropped as she blinked slowly, and you saw how Joe was studying her face as he did his very best to keep his own laughter inside of his body.

“Don’t you agree there’s so many other things–”

“Shh shh,” Joe held up a hand, “Let her think.”

You obliged with an eye roll.

Joe was wrong.

“I don’t…” Izzy seemed at a fucking loss. What the fuck was this conversation she’d just accepted herself into? It was bad enough that these were sometimes the type of discussions held within your group of friends, wild accusations thrown over a table that you all got far too passionate about. It was a whole other thing to have two of those said friends now together, as a couple, having the debate in Izzy’s living room where the issue was wholly personal and, worst of all, inescapable.

She sighed as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers.

“Sex isn’t just about the orgasm, right?” you tried, speaking softly, praying she’d at least sort of agree with you. You knew she did, but didn’t know if she’s vocalise it in the moment because you also understood she thought you and Joe were being fucking ridiculous.

She just wanted to watch her favourite show on TV.

Have a quiet night in.

And yet, here you were.

Talking about if orgasms mattered or not.

“Oh, then what is it about?” Joe couldn’t help spatting out as he went for another handful of popcorn from the bowl Izzy had now placed on the table in front of him.

“Um,” you sat up more, now borderline sitting on your knees and nearly knocking off the small bowl of crisps behind you, holding both hands up, ready to count on your fingers.

“Foreplay, intimacy, being close, feeling connected–” you saw Joe slump back into his seat, pushing his chin up as he sarcastically nodded at you with squinted eyes and a deep frown.

It was stupid how that made you laugh whilst you also tried your best at raising your voice to make sure he was hearing what you were saying. To convey you weren’t lying. Which, you truly weren’t!

You continued, “Doing a fun activity together, it’s like quality time, isn’t it?” you tried, nudging Izzy, but not waiting for an answer as you quickly carried on with, “The attention, being appreciated– giving appreciation! Learning about each other! All of these things go both ways, Joe, there’s just… there’s so many things.”

You looked at him a second whilst he seemed to think it over. Just when his facial expression seemed to give way with a raised eyebrow and a small cock to the side of his head, you sternly demanded, “Admit you’re wrong.” which was exactly the wrong thing to say.

“I’ll admit those things are nice, sure.”

Joe threw back his handful of popcorn and wiped his hands, giving himself a moment to think of how he was going to phrase what he was about to say.

You and Izzy waited expectantly, both sets of eyes on Joe who seemed far too relaxed for a single guy sat opposite two women, making wild claims that he somehow would know more about sex from a woman’s perspective than they would.

He truly did believe that to be the case, though.

So wrong.

“But, if we’re not crossing the finish line, what’s the point?”

“Did you not listen to the whole list of things I just gave you?”

“I’m not wrong.”

“You absolutely are wrong.”

“I’m not only not wrong. I am also, right.”

Izzy, who had been quiet for a bit, stared into the space in front of her as she suddenly loudly scoffed.

“He’s wrong right?” you pushed just slightly, desperately needing your best friend to be on your side for this one.

“Listen,” Izzy started, holding up a hand. “I’ve…” she faltered, and you made eye contact with Joe, a little panicked, a little confused.

What if she was going to tell you that you were wrong?

Oh no.

Best friend betrayal.

If Izzy disagreed with you, she could be an adult about it and pretend, just for the sake of it, that you were right and then tell you about her real feelings later, outside of Joe’s earshot.

Bros before hoes and all that.

“The finish line is important…”

Yes.

You smiled as smugly as you could and saw Joe’s slowly fade.

Izzy was a bro.

Yes.

You could just feel how she was about to side with you on this before she’d even said the words.

“But if it’s between all that she said and just, as you put it, crossing the finish line... she wins. She’s right.”

There.

End of discussion.

You didn’t cheer, or high five your best friend, or point at Joe to shriek at him that he was an idiot. You just accepted Izzy’s answer and gave a small shrug that quietly said, “See?”

Izzy reached for the remote she’d put down, unmuted the TV, and Joe watched as the two of you got comfortable on the sofa together. How you sat back and reached for snacks and laid the throw blankets across your laps just right.

It was a little suspicious how long he stayed quiet, but you knew it would only be a moment for him to try and argue his case once more.

There was no point, you knew, but you also knew Joe had an ego that was fragile, like all men had egos that were fragile.

Male egos couldn’t just take hits like this one, even if he was outnumbered.

You were chewing on a crisp when, from the corner of your eye, you saw Joe’s finger wag from left to right, pointing at the two of you before he spoke.

“You can’t actually be serious…”

“Oh yea.” Izzy didn’t even look at him as she answered, and it was hard to hide your smile. “So serious.”

“So, you’re saying…” Joe sat up, both elbows on his knees, whilst neither of you moved. “You’d rather have sex and not come–”

“Half the time, that’s just life,” Izzy complained, and you both laughed.

Joe didn’t.

Your moment of haha-men-suck that had its feet stuck in truths had you laughing louder when you saw how Joe definitely wasn’t in on the joke.

When Izzy saw, she snapped her head towards you and stage whispered, “Uh oh…” through her giggles.

Joe scooted forward even further and doubled down, “You would rather have sex and not orgasm, than have an orgasm? Is that what you are saying?”

He needed to hear you say it.

“Joe… please accept that you’re wrong and let it rest.” You were very much trying to be the bigger person, which was easy when your friend had just helped you win the argument.

But then Izzy grabbed hold of your arm as she looked at your boyfriend.

“Careful...” she warned alarmingly. “I’ve seen that face before.”

“Tell me you mean that. What I just said. Say that you would rather have sex without an orgasm than one with one...” Joe ignored Izzy, dark eyes locked right onto yours, facial expression made of stone.

“No, that’s not...” you sighed, looked at Izzy, said, “He doesn’t get it.”

“He doesn’t get it.” Izzy echoed.

You were still making fun, unable to stop your giggles.

“Say what you mean, then.” Joe was still leant forward, was still staring you down, all serious and urgent.

“Can we just watch TV now, please?” Izzy interupted, increasing the volume of the TV slightly.

Joe didn’t falter in this weird staring contest he’d started, one you weren’t participating in.

You looked down at your bowl of crisps as you fished out another one.

You bit it in half and saw how Joe grew a little impatient as his eyes followed your hand as you fed yourself.

Then, you finally answered, “Sex isn’t about the orgasm.” And Joe immediately clapped his hands together loudly, making both you and Izzy jump slightly. He seemed incredibly pleased as he sat back in the armchair, rubbing his hands together before he pointed a quick finger at you.

“I’m going to prove you wrong.”

A startled laugh escaped you as you and Izzy shared a look.

“All right, good luck mate.”

This time, it was Joe’s turn to scoff, and that smug little smile from before made its return.

“Won’t need it. You just wait.”

You looked at each other for a moment, and you didn’t trust his confident bearing one bit, but were too stubborn to let your own satisfied smile fade.

“Fine.” you said challengingly.

Joe was wrong.

“Fine.” Joe copied.

So wrong.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959, @hanahkatexo

@hazelenys, @imjustjen14, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[if-loves]

etude op. 10 no. 4 (torrent)

// Yandere Dr Ratio

Sum: When the rain falls, so too does your tears.

wc: 3278

warnings: implied depression, suicidal thoughts, implied suicide attempt, ooc ratio probably

a/n: sorry for the disappearance LMAO uni was holding me by the neck and not in the way i enjoy

also this was a whole load of yapping ngl maybe i projected too much xd

also pls let me know if i missed any tags!! i’d hate to mistag/forget any cw tags

likes & reblogs are appreciated! asks are more than welcome ❤️

As a student with the honor of studying directly under the one and only Veritas Ratio, you’re more than used to the bluntness of his words and his marking. After all, he’s the Dr Veritas Ratio, arguably one of the most intelligent people, beings even, in the cosmos, and you’re just a mere academic. Sure, you’ve had your theories and whatnot, but compared to someone like Dr Ratio you’re basically a child.

Everyone tells you that you’re incredibly fortunate to be able to have someone as prestiged as him as your tutor, that you would take advantage of the opportunity and use it to further your own studies and knowledge, but you’re not quite sure if furthering your studies is truly what you desire. Coming to university was already an expectation from your parents, who in their right mind would reject them when they’ve already saved all that money exclusively for your studies?

You don’t think yourself to be especially smart or gifted in anything. To yourself, you are just a regular person who will go on to graduate, find a job, and maybe settle down if you were given the chance. You don’t expect much for and from yourself.

However, Dr Ratio clearly seems to think otherwise; or else why would he choose you of all people to be under his tutelage?

It has been almost twelve cycles of the moon, and you have yet to figure out why. The agreed period of mentoring is coming to its end, and he expects a full length thesis and three separate reports from you concerning your studies and experience under him, and you cannot for the life of you think of anything that could ever satisfy him. In the whole period of his guidance, he has never once scored you above a low thirties. The more it happened, the more you thought it was more of a him issue than yours - but that’s what people who can’t take criticism say, so perhaps you’ll refrain from thinking that thought.

The sun had long set, leaving your side of the planet at the mercy of the night. In front of you, a too-bright screen from your laptop glares at you with a blank page, as if demanding you finally do something instead of staring out of the window wistfully as if you were some widow lamenting the loss of her husband.

It takes you everything not to just give up and curl up in the warmth of your bed.

With the nth sigh of the day, you woefully start typing, frustration in the pits of your mind. What in the world could you even write about, anyway? The spinning of the sun? No, you’re sure there’s thousands of papers written about that, similarly for the moon; you’re not one for mathematics either, so that was out of the question. Science isn’t really your forte either, so your options for a paper that would gain Dr Ratio’s approval is about zero. Maybe you should just drop out.

When the world is asleep, you remain awake, and so too does something else.

~~~

There are still a few days left before your thesis and reports are to be submitted, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve written utter nonsense.

What in the world are you talking about? Even you didn’t know. Something about some mythicised substance known as Xuixzedlm, that’s apparently supposed to be what the deep oceans of your world is made of, but none have been able to explore said oceans due to their size, toxicity and the creatures lurking beneath its surface. In fact, almost 99% of the oceans have remained unexplored.

You kind of regret choosing such a substance to be the main part of your thesis, considering how little information there is of it. Sure, the main point of a thesis is to propose a theory to be proved, but for something like this where the research is extremely minimal, you’ve ended up circling back to your previous points due to the lack of ideas and, of course, proven research. Not that he’d care about your excuses.

Your days leading up to the submission date are spent typing, deleting, and referencing your paper. You’re a little less stressed about the report because it didn’t exactly require the same thinking as a thesis did, so you managed to finish those in a week. You’d still need to proofread them a few more times to ensure grammar and whatnot was perfect, but ultimately, its priority was far lower on your list.

However, something odd has happened recently.

One evening when you had finally arrived back home after spending most of the day at one of the university’s libraries, you found a silver key with lilac purple highlights and a strange symbol in the middle. You’d asked your parents, but they hadn’t a clue either, leading to some concern that your room may have been broken into. There were a few off parts about that theory, some being that none of your belongings were missing, there was no evidence of lock tampering on your windows, and most of all, why said person would leave an expensive and important looking key on your table.

The sudden and suspicious appearance of the key led to you keeping it on your person at all times, for a reason you’re not exactly quite sure of other than because it felt right. There’s an inexplicable familiarity to it, as if it belongs to you, but you can never seem to recall where you’ve seen it before, if you ever have in the first place.

Another weird thing has been happening ever since you found the key - you’ve been feeling a strange desire to enter the toxic ocean.

The sounds of the waves splashing against the shore invites you in your dreams, and you always take a step forward, one step after another until the water almost touches your toes. The sun is setting upon you, the breeze gently blowing; the sight in front of you is the picture of ethereal. Just as you take one more step, just as you fall into the abyss, someone pulls you back and you are jolted awake.

Scholars say dreams are the subconscious taking its turn, toying with fantasies and fears indiscriminately. Sometimes they mix, giving birth to hopes that only end in hopelessness, happiness that only ends in despair. If this is true, does your subconscious desire death?

~~~

Veritas Ratio has always thought himself as logical. Most have thought the same of him as well, the rest thinking him some sharp-tongued snake that will not hesitate to bite them should he see fit.

When it comes to you however, he feels an unexplainable feeling in his chest and head, a desire that has only grown since the moment he chose you to be under his guidance for a year. His harshness may not reflect it, but it is merely his way of showing he cares - by being extra critical of your work so that you know how to improve. Veritas Ratio truly wants nothing but the best for a student like you.

Lately, this feeling has grown much in size and desire, leaving him finding trouble in resisting it. It lingers like a persistent headache, and acts up when you are around, leaving him in a constant battle for retention of sanity. His mental fortitude currently leaves him with the upper hand, but who knows for how long.

For someone who prides themself on being logical, he sure feels illogical as he stares at your student ID photo.

It’s one of your least flattering pictures he’s sure, but he finds himself staring at it all the same. The nuisance in his head keeps telling him frankly worrisome thoughts, but he feels no desire to act upon them… at least, the sane part of him doesn’t.

He knows there’s something special about you, and some selfish part of him doesn’t want this mentorship to end, to let you go. There’s no way of being able to guarantee ever seeing you again, so what if…

No. Irrationality has no place in his ideals, let alone in his life.

~~~

You’ve submitted your thesis and reports to him, and now you sit in front of him with your heart pounding in your chest. Is there anything scarier than the judgment of your teacher?

Your hands are laid on your lap, the key in your pocket. The coldness of it transcends the fabric of your pants, a constant reminder of the mystery it holds, and the thoughts it brings. Even now, you find your heart yearning for the sea.

You’re afraid to look at him. You’re afraid of what his expression could tell you, of the disapproval you’re expecting. You’re afraid of disappointing him once again, afraid of his rejection and the harsh words that will inevitably leave his lips. He will berate you once more, and you will be left to silently take it because truthfully, you know he’s right.

The silence continues, and you feel a sudden dizziness and the urge to throw up. You wish the sea would swallow you whole.

“I do not have enough time to finish reviewing everything today, so proper feedback will be given one week from now in person. As for the next few days, they shall continue as normal, as you are still under my tutelage. Do not forget, you still have readings to finish before tomorrow’s class.” He shuts his laptop and takes his alabaster head with him, once again leaving you to drown in the torrent of self-deprecation.

The sea embraces all, doesn’t it? It will lap up all those who dare to offer it their lives, no matter what achievements the person has made in their life, no matter if they are even a person at all. The sea… welcomes all.

(It’ll welcome you, right?)

~~~

After you left the university, you found yourself on the train to the beach. Night is upon the city, but the ocean doesn’t sleep.

People filter out of the trains one by one, until only you are left in the carriage. Announcement after announcement of stops and the sound of the train’s wheels scraping the tracks below it are the only disturbances in the otherwise peaceful silence. Despite the quietness, you cannot hear yourself. The key in your pocket feels like it is burning itself into your skin, but it is also the only thing keeping you awake, a reminder that you are still alive.

You wonder if the ocean too will eat the key, or if it will sink into its depths. Will you sink to the depths?

The train stops at its end, and your legs automatically move. You walk until you hear the sound of waves crashing onto the shore, until you are stopped by a barrier. In an act of madness (or is it desire?), you scale the wall until there is no more to scale, until you see the other side.

There is a certain beauty about the ocean that you can’t quite describe to anyone, that pictures cannot replicate. It brings you a sense of peace, like all will be right in the world. If you could just…

The jump down from the barrier is no easy task. It is a long way down, and the sand can only soften the drop so much; yet, you jump.

Something hurts, but you’re enamored by the sparkling surface of the water. It beckons you, inviting you to a new world beneath its surface, a place to be free of all worries and pains. A place to sleep peacefully, no nightmares or dreams to plague you. It offers you everything the world cannot.

You feel your bag drop off your shoulders, like a weight lifted. A hand takes the key out, holding it tightly as you walk towards the promise of a home. What mysteries will be answered by this new world?

You’d like to apologize to your parents for the disappointment that you are. You had neither the mental fortitude nor the drive to be a success, and you’d like to apologize to Dr Ratio for wasting a year’s worth of his time on an incompetent student like you. His time would have been better spent on honor students, not a mundane, average student like you. You are destined to be just another cog in the wheel, and once you rust, you will be thrown out just like everyone else has and will be.

You find yourself a step away from the water, just like in your dream. You think you see a door. The key in your hand burns hotter. The world pauses. You take a step.

The feeling of the liquid never comes, but being pulled does.

“Just what in the universe are you thinking?!” This voice… is familiar. This voice… Who is it? It can’t be Dr Ratio, no…

But those amber eyes, so familiar, it has to be…

But why? Why?

“I…” Words fail you, just like they always have. What could you possibly say to him? He must think you mad, unfit to graduate, unfit to live perhaps.

“Do you wish to be swallowed by the gaping abyss? For what? To prove the existence of Xuixzedlm? Do you think your life so worthless that you think sacrificing it for nothing is what will make it meaningful?!” He is… angry. You’ve never seen him like this. Dr Ratio doesn’t get angry. “So? Say something, anything, that could possibly help me understand why you’d attempt such an act of foolishness!”

“Why does it matter to you?!” You shout, wringing your arm free from his tight grip. He has pulled you far enough from the gentle ocean, far away from the door. You look back at it, and it remains floating above the water. The key is still in your hand.

“Are you so dull that you need to ask such a useless question?” He scoffs. He moves to grab your arm again, but you instinctively bring the hand holding the key to your chest, afraid that he would take it from you. His eyes, shades of intense amber, follow your hand and lock on to the key you hold. He frowns.

“Yes! Yes, I am! I am so utterly stupid that teaching me is a waste of time, that you should leave me alone! If… if I wasn’t here, then there’d be one less stupid person in the universe! Isn’t that what you want?” Are tears running down your face, or is the sky weeping on your behalf?

He stares at you, and his lips do not move. It goes on like this, until you are both drenched in the rain, clothes wet and only the tempting sound of the ocean, and the pitter-patter of raindrops blending into the dark waters. Moonlight briefly shines upon the both of you, and you see his face clear - there is no anger, only contemplation.

“If you have nothing more to say, then leave me alone.” You turn around and set your sights upon the floating door once more, the key still held to your heart. With a resolved mind, you once more walk towards the beckoning arms of the abyss, the promise of no tomorrow.

Dr Ratio doesn’t stop you until you are one foot in the water. There is a searing pain, but you are one step closer to the door, to a stagnancy that life could never offer you. You are one foot in the water when a familiar symbol appears on the door, like an eye staring at you. You are one foot out of the water when you realize what it is.

“You have lost your mind.” He says, pointedly. You struggle in his grip, but he doesn’t falter. If anything, his hold only tightens. The pain from the water is nothing compared to the pain of losing freedom.

“Let- me- GO!” You desperately push against his chest, legs swinging. Why couldn’t he just let you go? Why did he care so much? What value do you bring to him, other than more evidence that he is far more blessed than the rest of the universe ever could be?

“Struggling will do you no good. Stay still, and I would not have to restrain you like this.” He glares at you from the corner of his eye as he brings you further away from your salvation, and the final straw is when he wrestles the key out of your hand. You’re inconsolable as he takes you past the barrier, brings you to his vehicle, and takes you to the place you can only assume is his apartment.

You let him guide you to the bath and clean your injured foot with a gentleness that is unbecoming of him, and he runs you a bath all while you grieve. Both of you say nothing as he treats you like a child, and you let him bind you to the bedpost without any struggle. To struggle is to fight, to fight is to have a desire to spread your wings; you lost that the moment he took you away.

Dr Ratio, or rather Veritas as he insists you call him, has shown you such a different side of him that you don’t know what to make of it. He holds you at night like you’re lovers, kisses you like he means it. He dutifully takes care of you, and you do not respond in kind. Despite this, he treats you all the same, with no trace of the Dr Ratio you’ve known for the last year, and only of the Veritas that you’ve met ever since that night.

You never see the key again.

~~~

One day, he has packed up everything. You briefly wonder if this meant that he’d be leaving you behind, but to your disappointment, he brings you along. He has cuffed you to himself, a reminder of the rights you have lost when you let him have his way with you.

“Veritas,” his name tastes like poison. “Where are we going?”

“The IPC has assigned me to Penacony, the land of dreams.” He responds without hesitation, turning to face you. “Naturally, you’ll be coming with me.”

You want to say no. You want him to leave you here, to give you back your key, to bring you back to the sea. The scar on your foot is a reminder of what could’ve been, what he has taken from you, and you haven’t - or rather, will never - forgive him. He will never deserve your forgiveness.

“Have… have you told my family?” You whisper, your throat as dry as the sand on the beach. Your hands fidget, and you find yourself unable to look at him; but truthfully, you don’t need to. He has ensured that every part of him has been engraved into the depths of your brain, and carved into your heart.

“…There is no point dwelling on the past. I am your family now. Clinging to such bygones will only serve to erode your mind, and limit your ability to live life.” He is firm, sounding more like the Dr Ratio you knew. He holds the hand that he has chained to his own and brings it to lips, the band of silver gleaming in the sunlight. It is a reminder. A firm, cruel, reminder of who he really is.

Veritas Ratio is nothing more than an illogical, selfish, arrogant, cruel and lovesick beast who allowed his heart (if you could even call it that) to take the reins.

Veritas Ratio is nothing more than a liar.

[ctimenefic]

uhh sooo this needs fic for science (and me) pls could you oblige

always and forever my darling. thank you for this absolute treat of a photo set. you'll notice I basically didn't get past photo one, hope that's alright

“Can you do my back?”

George sounds fucked out; that’s the only reason Alex cracks open an eye, to check the sun and sea and sand haven’t decided to challenge him personally on making George William Russell achieve ultimate bliss. From his own lounger he can just about see George’s face smushed into the crook of his elbow, the corner of his mouth tipped up, and what is no doubt a pleading look unfortunately entirely concealed behind sunglasses. 

“Please,” he adds, and Alex can’t tell if he imagines eyelashes fluttering madly beyond the dark lenses. “I’ll get tan lines.”

“Just take your shorts off,” he grumbles back. He has; an artful grecian fold of towel is all that lies between him and cockburn. It’d been a faff to get it just so, and he’s at that itchy-good stage of his tanning, where sweat’s beading on his skin enough to make it feel tight and stretched, but not uncomfortable. A primitive pleasure. Not something to interrupt with the slime of factor five.

George hmphs into his arm. “It’s not a nudist beach.”

“It’s a private beach. On a private island.” Alex tries to sound annoyed, but it’s actually a fucking marvel that George’s inhibitions reset on a goldfish-like timer; it doesn’t seem to matter how many times Alex fucks him til he shouts on the sand, or sends him back to the villa glistening chin-to-chest with his own come, a few hours later it’s back to baseline, and Alex gets to make a spectacle out of him all over again.

“Aleex.” It’s always like that, stretched out just long enough to be noticed, but short enough to read like a typo, sound slurred and drunk and happy, like George just wants his name on his lips a little longer. And it’s always enough to work, Alex has to concede, as he scrabbles in George’s beach tote for the spray. 

“Alright princess,” Alex snarks, but even that can’t shift George’s smug expression. He straddles George’s thighs and over-spritzes til George’s back is gleaming wet with the stuff. It’s shiny, and smells faintly of cucumber; it makes him think of his sisters doing spa days at home, face masks and fluffy slippers. George might like that.

Another spritz for good measure and George huffs. “That’s expensive.”

“You’ll get another win bonus after the break,” Alex retorts, fond. He follows it up with a smooth press of both palms, right the way up George’s back, either side of his spine, and down his arms, and George melts under him. The cucumber scent darkens as it meets skin and sweat; Alex feels thirsty even as his mouth waters. He skims up the sides of George’s ribs next, even though George could obviously have reached there himself; lets the pads of his fingers linger in each hollow just a second. There’s not a part of George he hasn’t touched, but there are places he hasn’t memorised yet. It’s summer. They have time. 

When he glides his palms up to George’s neck, rubs the suncream with his fingertips right up to the base of his hairline, George shivers and stretches like a cat under him, pliant and satisfied, and it takes more of the weight of a bad half season off Alex’s shoulders than a dozen hours of sunbathing and swimming could. He presses his thumbs in at the top of George’s traps, revels in the open mouth moan he barely muffles against his arm. 

“Maybe I should take my shorts off after all,” George murmurs, smug - and there it is, there’s the fucking play. He wiggles a little, arse suddenly straining to escape his Hilfiger swim trunks.  

Alex swats his shoulder. “Hussy.” Just to be petty, he slides over George’s arse instead, wedges his knees against George’s ribs and lets some of his weight sit there against his mid-back. That’ll teach him not to ask for what he wants flat out. 

And then George shifts his arms - moves his head round, to give Alex a look, maybe, or just to get comfy - and his shoulders pull in. Just a fraction. Just enough to turn the long line of his spine into a gully between thick, strong muscle. Just enough to catch the head of Alex’s dick where it sat soft against one of his vertebrae, and squeeze.

George doesn’t even notice, that’s the thing. But Alex - Alex can see it, how fucking fast he’s getting hard at the feel, the look of it, the pink of him against the soft brown of George’s tan. He can imagine how it might-

No. No, that’s not- He’s heard of blowing someone’s back out, but it’s not literal, it’s an expression. It’s George last night, shiny eyed and weak all over, when Alex gave him fingers to suck and fed him ice cubes and mango slices and stayed inside him until he was hard again, because he could, because it’s summer and they have time. 

He’s not going fuck George’s back. He’s not. He’s- he can be normal about this. Even if it would be like when his ex-girlfriend would lie him flat on the floor, core tensed, and then run her pussy over his cock, slide back and forth until her thighs shook and she was dripping wet - actually dripping, fat drops he could hear hitting the skin of his stomach, his dick. Like that, but better, because it would be George stuck just taking it, feeling it, not even able to watch as Alex fucked up into the tight space between his shoulderblades.

He’s utterly hard now, dark and straining. A drop of precome appears. If he moved, it’d smear on George. He could rub it in. He could smear more. 

He could watch his come sluice down the whole long length of George’s spine, pool in the small of George’s back, or slide down to his arse, push it inside and fuck him there too, fuck every place he could be fucked until he was more inside George than out. 

He’d had an idle plan to finger George until he gaped for their last night on the island - not fisting, that was one of the words George couldn’t say, had blinked at rapidly when Alex had tried probably the world’s most ill-advised conversation on kink. But as close as he could get without George bolting. Four, and his mouth, until George cried, late enough into the night that he’d squirm on the jet home in the morning, empty and needy. Maybe then he’d finally let Alex fuck him mid-flight, whatever the pilot might hear. 

George shifts again, a tiny movement, but enough that Alex hisses at the change, the heat of a fresh centimetre of George’s skin under the head of him. Precome rolls down, splatters silently out of sight, in the gully of his spine. Alex closes his eyes for a breath.

“Georgie,” he starts. “Be a very good girl for me and stay still.”

[sublimecatgalaxy]

heyy didnt know if you were down for requests but i js though elliot or dom teaching you how to play the guitar would be rlly cute and shit 😭

(also i love ur fics sm like pls marry me)

Okay well this is literally the cutest request ever!

Also you're the cutest, I accept your proposal! Thank you so much for the love and support, I adore you- reach out any time bestie <3

"You should take a break from school, ya know, give your boyfriend some attention while he's here in your vicinity." Elliot whines from the bed, sprawling out across the comforter as he groans, rubbing his tired eyes as I look over at the clock, not expecting it to be well after midnight. Guilt suddenly swarms around me, realizing he's been sitting here for hours, waiting for me to give him attention while I completely and utterly focus on school.

"Finals are coming up soon and I am completely and utterly unprepared." I trail off, the pit in my stomach only growing as I think of my upcoming tests in three different classes, knowing that I'm totally unprepared for all of them combined.

It's been a rough year, don't judge me.

"Well who's fault is that, you decided to wait until the last minute to even start-"

"Don't finish that sentence." I point a finger at him and he laughs, his bright smile making me feel a little bit better as I swing around in my chair, looking back and forth between him and the flashcards in front of me.

"Well, if you wanna take a break and come over here, I promise to help you with your flashcards." I ponder his offer for a minute, not expecting him to offer his help, especially when he hates everything that has to do with school, especially all the science classes that I'm in.

"Really?" I bite at my lip and give him a look, a look that he can tell that I feel bad that he would have to help me but I could never decline the help, especially given how desperate I am.

"Really." He nods firmly and I pause, smiling softly at him as I pull my hair down from it's bun, itching at my scalp with a groan.

"Okay." I launch myself out of my chair, flopping onto the bed beside him as he immediately wraps me in his arms, tightly squeezing me as I let out a brief sigh of relief, not realizing how much I missed his arms around me. It feels like I've been gone a century. "Only like twenty minutes and then I have to get back to studying or else I'm seriously going to fail this exam."

"Sounds good." He sighs, sitting up on the bed as he reaches down beside the bed to grab his guitar, strumming quietly as I settle down beside him, watching him with a fond, loving look.

"How did you learn that?" I ask simply, pulling his gaze away from the instrument but he continues to play, shocking me even more.

"The guitar?" I nod. "It's muscle memory. I can teach you."

"I'll probably be ass at it. I'm not the most musically inclined." I laugh and his eyes widen with a knowing glance and I reach out to smack his arm with a loud, offended laugh.

"Trust me, I know- I hear you singing in the shower." Elliot teases and I gasp, sitting up and giving him the most incredulous look, shocked that he hears me and noting to myself to be quieter with my concerts.

"Rude." I mumble.

"It's a good thing you're cute." He presses his finger to the tip of my nose and it scrunches under his touch, my head tilting playfully at him. "Here, you can strum and I'll show you the fingering of it."

"Fingering." I snort and his jaw drops at my innuendo, pinching my side.

"Shut up." He continues to move his fingers around the strings as I strum softly, my gaze stuck on the way his fingers move without the need for him to even watch what he's doing. "See it's not that bad?"

"Don't your fingers get tired?" I ask, feeling the tips of my fingers burn as if there's carpet burn on the tips of each of them and he gives me a shrug, taking my fingers in his grasp to press a kiss to each individual finger.

"Never, I have fingers of steel."

"Trust me, I know." I mock him and his head tips back in laughter, red dusting his cheeks at my taunting.

"Shut up."

[swe3tte4rs]

" Like a cinnamon roll " - Batfam x Little Sister!Reader

Request: Can I request a batfamily hc with an adopted little batsis who is younger than Damian pls? She's a cute little cinnamon roll and gets spoiled by her rich ansd supportive family.

A/N: (Ignore the tittle and image, I have no ideas) Thank you for the request!! And... I DIDN'T HAVE TIME TO UPLOAD THIS 😓😭😓💔💔💔 I'M SO SORRY

It's short, yes ok, I admit it. But at least I uploaded thiss! And I'm also sorry if this isn't written the way you want, I'm sorry.

As usual. This Au is a combination of headcanons, comics, video games, series and wattpad, so not everything will be canon.

TW: nothing? no canon

Dick Grayson / Nightwing

he loves you.

but he hardly has time to spend.

I think he is one of those brothers who lift you up in their arms as a tender greeting. (💗)

"What? I thought kids liked cereal for dinner…"

Don't take this the wrong way, he would like to have time to spend with you, but he has a VERY tight schedule…

Dick would be very protective and he would do everything possible so that you don't have any trauma (or something like that).

He is one of the charismatic brothers, always making you smile with his bad jokes.

And obviously always being by your side as a brother.

If you ever have a bad relationship with Bruce, Dick would cure those daddy issues for you. 🫶

Always giving you life lessons...

Dick would take you out for a walk in the afternoons (if he had time) to have a shake or ice cream.

Jason Todd / Red hood

okey, just let me.

"You want a beer, kid?"

I guess you hardly ever have interaction with each other.

yk, he has daddy issues x100

Jason is one of the brothers who sits you in front of the TV, puts on some cartoon and leaves you there while he does something.

He simply found out about your existence from the news that Bruce Wayne adopted another little girl or Dick told him.

Once he met you and saw how sweet, kind and innocent, he said to himself: "Time to be a good big brother."

Jason would be very overprotective of you, he wouldn't want anything to happen to you.

Sometimes he starts to think and goes blank when he thinks that you are going to be a teenager and have a partner who will hurt you.

He already planned different ways to kill them. Even if they are aliens.

Despite his tough and stern attitude, he also shows his emotional and tender side with you.

Tim Drake / Red Robin

It's a good brotherly relationship between you, honestly.

Tim, seeing you, so innocent and sweet, decided to be your biggest guardian. (Although there is Alfred as your "protector", but he wants to do it anyway)

Tim would help you with science, geography, math and whatever homework you need.

He may be a coffee addict, but he wouldn't give you coffee even if he was threatened with death. You are very small.

"ALFRED! Y/N ACCIDENTALLY DRINK FROM MY COFFEE MUG AND NOW LOOKS LIKE A DAMN ZOMBIE!!" (like you, fucking brum brum)

Forget what I say...

Support for you... whenever he feels like it.

Nah just kidding, he's very good to you, he loves you.

He would scold you, yes, but then he sees that you are angry with him, he feels bad now.

Cassandra Cain / Orphan

Cass would just be so sweet to you 😭

#bestbigsisterinthefuckingworld

She always makes sure you get anywhere safely and eat all your meals.

I feel like it would be two kinds of big sisters every time you get angry with her because you scolded her… It depends on her mood.

Like like. You go to your room, yell at her and close the door forcefully, she would be sad for your scream and feel bad about herself. BUT, in another case she may simply not care and yell back at you. "FINE!"

But you always return to being the united sisters you always were.

Very sweet, she will always be your support and is always giving you love.

She's someone who takes everything seriously, because you know. So...

If they insult you, let me tell you, she will give any child a death glare. Oh, and she would accuse those children to their parents.

Damian Wayne / Robin

NO INSPO WITH HIM, SORRY DAMIAN FANS, I LOVE YOU

At first he would be like: "And who is this..."

First, you must spend a lot of time with him so that he can trust you and that you are not some spy. /jk

Dami is a very mature boy for his age, so I don't think they do the typical jokes between brothers.

Although, he likes to make you laugh with bad jokes that he copied from Dick.

Damian is not so good at "cohabit" with small children or those his age, but he would try with you.

He would also be a very protective brother, like a faithful guardian.

At first there would be a bit of misunderstanding between him and bruce, but it was later resolved once he liked you.

It would help you with nightmares (if you have them), allow you to go into his room and sleep with him.

A good brother once you know him well. He loves you.

Duke Thomas / The Signal

I think he would also be a very sweet and loving brother.

I think he's one of those older brothers who lifts your feet up to his and starts doing a silly, adorable little dance. Love him.

Sometimes he doesn't take you seriously because of how adorable you are.

I just imagined Duke having cuteness overload watching you try to help him in the kitchen or with his homework.

He would let you try your "makeups" on him, he doesn't care about the teasing, anything just to be your favorite big brother.

The tremendous scolding that kids who make fun of you get from Duke.

I feel like he would be very patient with you, always.

He finds it funny that anyone can bribe you with a simple chocolate or candy.

He would teach you how to play different games. Like football, he would celebrate every time you score a simple silly goal.

[If you like you can add more headcanons <3 || Divider not mine! You can find the user who did it in a reblog of my account!]

[radiant-reid]

i don’t want you to ever stop🫶🏻

wd you be down to possibly write a dad!spence piece where they pick up their kid from school together? i bet their kiddo wd be so stoked to see both parents after school & wanna just tell them all about their day

(bonus: if it’s not too much to ask; could their kid pls be called gus or margot in it?? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 ur the best!)

I did both !! even figuratively I can’t resist giving that man children

It's never been unusual for Spencer to be away for work. In fact, Gus and Margot have known him to be away their whole lives. What is odd is Spencer being away for 15 days, much more than usual, thanks to back-to-back cases.

They only got to talk to him on the phone twice, making them miss him even more, and he was home after they went off to school this morning.

Having to leave you three has always been the worst part of his job, and after a long nap, he’s preparing snacks for his babies after school, planning for when you bring them home.

With a plan of your own, you leave work early so you can swing by home and pick him up.

He’s excited on the way there, like you imagine little Spencer was when he attended school, and he tells you all about the exhausting fortnight he’s had while you fill him in on some of the moments he’s missed at home, purposefully leaving some out for the kids to tell him.

You wait at the school gate holding hands, and Spencer thinks it’s admirable that you know so many of the moms and dads.

Gus gets out first and he always comes through the gate to find you quickly. Today, he sees Spencer first, probably thanks to his dad’s height and sprints over.

Spencer crouches down to let his little boy jump into his arms, picking him up and spinning him around. “Hey, buddy.” Spencer says, tightly hugging him.

“You’re home!” Gus cheers. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” Spencer tells him. You watch them in awe, not even a little mad that you’re left holding your son’s backpack without acknowledgment.

When he pulls back, Gus looks at you, then back at Spencer as he double checks what he’s seeing. “Mom and dad?”

You nod, enjoying his excitement. “And maybe an after school treat.”

His eyes widen even more as he looks at Spencer again. “Donuts?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” He says.

“Then I must be really smart because you’re really smart.” Gus giggles, always music to your ears.

Spencer chuckles with him. “I’m pretty sure that you’re the smart one. What place did you win in the science fair?”

Gus can talk forever, and he starts to about his science fair victory last week for the project he and Spencer worked hard on. It does pay to have a dad with 3 STEM PhDs.

Margot always takes longer to reach the gate, dawdling and chatting with her little friends about important 7 year old girl stuff.

When she gets there, she sees you first and then her brother before her eyes land on the man holding her brother, and her face lights up.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.” She chants as she comes skipping over.

“Hey, sweet girl.” Spencer greets her, leaning down to pick her up with his other arm.

She snuggles into his side, kissing his cheek. “I missed you, daddy.”

“I missed you too, princess.” Spencer tells her. “Do you want to go get a treat? I want to hear all about your dance.”

“All of us?” She looks between you and Spencer for confirmation.

You nod. “The boys thought we could get donuts.”

Identically to Gus and Spencer’s, her eyes go wide at the mention of the food. “Yes, please. Let’s go right now because I have so much to tell you about today and dance.”

“I’ve got lots to tell as well.” Gus pipes up and you know you’re going to be spending all afternoon listening to slightly embellished truths and every detail a 5 and 7 year old deem important about their days, but there’s nowhere you’d rather be.

[hwanchaesong]

Altschmerz Teaser

a/n: imma give you a sneak peek for now to give y'all some idea about my works (i'm terribly sorry bc like i said, i type so slow idek why and my brain lags every 5 mins) this is an apology i can manage for the mean time 😭😭 pls do not hesitate to tell me, whatever means, if you wanted to be added to the taglist, tysm! 🥀✨

genre: angst, fluff, smut, university au, part of the ATEEZ Minisode Series

It is a good day to live and breathe like any normal person.

The weather is actually nice, a little cloudy with a nice touch of spring air, the skies are bluer than Taylor Swift's eyes and said singer's song titled 'The Man' is blasting through your earphones. You feel vigorous, your pristine white uniform for your medical course gives you a certain glow. Your classes went well, acing all of the assessments without much studying done, oh, truly a lucky day for you.

Then all hell breaks loose when your lovely friend, Felix, spills the tea during lunch at the cafeteria, his thick aussie accent that you usually love screeched like a racing car's tire in your ears.

"I heard that Kim Hongjoong of the music department has a crush on you."

"What the fuck?"

He held his hands up, explaining that he heard it while passing by their building. The way people narrated the 'girl' sounds exactly like you, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the information as Felix lists out the descriptions that caught his ears.

'She's from the Allied of Health and Sciences department.'

'She's really intelligent and kind, well, that's what the professors had said.'

'A fluent speaker! Shy at times but really bubbly with her friends.'

"I did say that I want some spice in my boring college life but not like this!" you exclaimed, stabbing a kimchi with your fork and aggressively eating it, the spice further heating your head up.

"Not like what?" just then, your other friend Lily, sat down beside you with her own tray of food.

"Felix here is spreading some fake news, he said that someone named Kim Hongjoong has a crush on me." you explained, side eyeing the freckled man before continuing to eat the remainder of your lunch.

"Oh yeah, he does. Some people are already shipping you together."

Then you choked at Lily's nonchalant reply, making her grimace and pat your back as an attempt to soothe your burning pharynx.

You did not expect her to agree at all, and you made sure to tell her that with the way you glared at her.

"He's not that bad, yes he is a music major like Hee-" you stare at her hard, not wanting to hear that specific name. Lily clears her throat and rephrases her sentence, "It is true that he is a music major, but you don't have to lump them all in one category. He's nice, my cousin knows him."

Felix nods, gulping his food before speaking, "Plus, it's just a crush. It's not like he's gonna court you all of a sudden."

They have a point, you don't have to make a big deal out of it. Besides, it's a rumor, most of the time it's plain bullshit.

You need to calm down. You're having a great day, a great start of the semester and you'll be damned if it'll be ruined this early.

Then the students at the library squealed like dying squirrels when they saw you enter. The other music majors at the university gates gave you a wink, hell, even one of the freshmen congratulated you and even said, 'You and Hongjoong-hyung will look good together!'

You mustered a smile throughout the ordeals, opting to finish the day peacefully like how you started it. Whatever happened today shall pass.

Well.. it should be but then you find yourself stalking the man's social media. You have already found his facebook, twitter, instagram, even his fucking youtube account (he has uploaded some guitar covers and you have to admit he's great at playing the instrument.)

You could defend yourself and blame curiosity later, but now, you'll indulge in some information that you could find on the internet. Surely you haven't seen him before, his face is unfamiliar, heck, you don't even know his name, not until your friends brought it up today.

Kim Hongjoong. A music major born on November 7, plays a lot of musical instruments, can write lyrics and is also a good producer. He sings, raps and dances (he was tagged in a dance cover on instagram, courtesy of someone named Park Seonghwa.) A passionate one in his career you assume as you watch one of his vlogs on facebook. You also listened to his recordings posted in his accounts, and you have to give him applause for his aesthetic instagram account.

He takes nice photos of his surroundings, even himself, and he does know how to make himself look good. He definitely knows the colors that suit him, outfits that make him stand out yet fully blended in the crowd if he wanted to. His hair is also unique, seems healthy despite the dyes that had stayed there for months before being layered by another one.

You lie on your bed, thinking that maybe the man himself isn't that bad. That you may have judged him early prior to knowing him. A fault on your part but it's not like you're going to meet or get to know him or the likes, you were simply curious about him and now that you have seen that his surface isn't dry nor rotten, your curiosity shall now die before the cat inside you does... and it's 3 in the fucking morning and you have 7 am classes so really, you'll still die either way.

What you did not expect though, as you wake up at 6:00 am, getting ready with max speed, was a notification that had you stumbling over your feet.

'Hongstagram has followed you back!'

Follow you back what? Since when did you follow him on his instagram?

You were careful! Very careful in what you were clicking and all that shit, not wanting to leave a trace of your visit in his social media accounts but you were so fucking wrong. You could blame the fuzzy feeling of drowsiness but you were so sure that you didn't click anything out of the ordinary.

Fuck your life.

That was your motto all day long, going as far as being dramatic with your friends during lunch break. Rambling about how he'll think you're a creep for stalking him or, or, how he'll think that you're interested in him when you swear to every rat out there that you're most certainly not.

It was horrible, except for the fact that you gotta eat coffee jelly for dinner because your father bought tons during a sale in the grocery and he couldn't resist his sweet tooth ass to buy some desserts.

Maybe you can sleep all of this away, yes, one night of beauty sleep will rejuvenate all of your worries except when Kim Hongjoong himself messaged you.

You jumped up from your bed when you accidentally tapped the notification on the upper half of your phone, due to your persistent tapping all over the screen because fuck that chop chop filter in tiktok (you're pretty sure you can cut that cucumber up to 200), opening the message and you contemplated whether to left it on read or be polite enough to reply.

You chose the latter, not really wanting for your name to be tarnished if this Hongjoong guy goes around and says that you're a snob.

Hongstagram: Hey Y/N! Sorry to disturb you, but may I talk to you tomorrow?

You: Good evening Hongjoong! I'm sorry my sched is kind of packed tomorrow, you can tell it now though.

Hongstagram: It's kind of embarrassing to say it through dms.

Oh my god. No fucking way. He's gonna confess.

Hongstagram: But okay, here goes nothing.

Hongstagram: I heard that you're one of the best students, so, could I borrow your notes for History? I've been meaning to ask you this for a while now because Mr. Lee talks about you every time he's in class and tbh, I couldn't care less about the minor subject. But still, I need to pass it in order to advance soo..

He was yapping so hard and you're ridiculing him inside your head but, the guy needs help and you're not some kind of witch with a stone heart. So you, being the kindest soul out there, decided to help him out.

You agreed to give him your notes and print-outs, but you didn't reply to him when he sent you a time and place for the meet-up.

Imagine his surprise when you arrived at the said café, on time and with a big, thick envelope in your hands, sitting in front of him without any trace of hesitance.

"Hi." you greeted him calmly, offering a handshake which he accepted with a smile, "Y/N here. Nice meeting you Hongjoong."

"Likewise. Thank you for entertaining my request." he replied, short but enthusiastic nonetheless.

Still, the awkward air is suffocating you and thank god the coffee and pastries can provide you some distraction because you truly cannot do this without going crazy.

Whatever confidence you had before was some kind of fallacy because you're a nervous wreck in front of this man. You're suddenly hit by the realization that this is the same guy that was rumored to have a crush on you and now you're sitting in this coffee shop with him, alone.

If someone from your university sees you two, that will surely cause a ruckus and your friends will probably bombard you with questions.

"Thank you for this, by the way." Hongjoong speaks up and it brings you back to reality, this time, you took a moment to take him in.

He really is fashionable, you'll give him that. His previously pink hair had turned into burgundy, he pairs his denims with leather better than anybody, and his color scheme for today is on point.

"You're most certainly welcome, I-"

"Listen, I know you know the rumors."

He cuts you off, rude. But he's getting straightforward now, nice.

Then you held a breath, is he actually confessing? If he did, how should you react? How should you answer?

You gulped, your palms getting sweaty and you couldn't help the tiny bit of excitement that coursed through your veins.

Your first ever confession after your dark, thunderous days of romance.

"Yes, I heard about it." you answered truthfully, giving him a small smile which he purposely avoided. This baffled you, shouldn't he be happy that you're giving him the time of your day?

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience but my friends are idiots. It's not you that I like." he admits, biting his lower lip and cautiously peers over your confused form.

You almost sputtered your coffee out, the sweetness of your iced hazelnut compensates well to the bitterness that was starting to spread out.

You faked a cough, sporting a feigned understanding countenance before asking for more elaboration, "If not me, then who is?"

He beams at you giddily and his answer almost made you want to leave.. almost.

"It's your friend, the cute one that you always help out during 21st Century Literature, Sakura." 

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