#Tried something a bit different with coloring this time ^^

[gilbertscurls]

holaa i got request that like 7 mins vids of chris and reader being in love but they are bsf like some fan did vid showing moments chris and reader do that shows their love to eachother

hope you like it!! <3

also, i think i've seen a similar story somewhere, so credits to the original

7 Minutes of Chris and Y/N Being in Love ➵ Chris Sturniolo

You stumbled upon the video late one night, alone in your room with the glow of your phone casting soft shadows across the walls. It was titled “7 Minutes of Chris and Y/N Being in Love But Not Admitting It”, posted by one of the Sturniolo Triplets’ most dedicated fans. Curious, you clicked on it, not quite ready for the trip down memory lane.

The video started with a soft piano tune, and each moment was introduced by a little title. You held your breath as the first clip began.

1. “The Hoodie Thing”

The video opened with a scene from a casual vlog, probably from a random day where the four of you had just been hanging out. The camera was set up on the counter, capturing Chris as he talked animatedly about something or another. In the middle of his story, he looked over and spotted you wrapped up in his hoodie. You saw his mouth twitch in that familiar way as he tried to keep his composure, but his cheeks betrayed him, turning just a bit pink.

“Is that mine?” he asked, pretending to be annoyed, though the sparkle in his eyes told a different story.

You shrugged, smiling as you hugged the hoodie tighter. “You left it here. Finders, keepers.”

The fan had zoomed in on his face just then, catching the soft expression he wore as he looked at you, that look he always gave when he thought you weren’t watching.

2. “The Arm Thing”

The next clip was from one of their prank videos, where Nick had decided to try scaring you by hiding behind the door. The plan went off without a hitch; you’d jumped in fright, letting out a little squeal. The moment Chris heard it, he stepped in close, putting an arm around your shoulders, almost instinctively, like a protective reflex.

“Are you okay?” he asked, not even giving Nick the satisfaction of a laugh.

You laughed, brushing it off, but Chris kept his arm around you for the rest of the video. The fan had added a heart overlay on that moment, making it all the more obvious to anyone watching that this wasn’t just a casual gesture. It was his way of telling you, without words, that he’d always be there to protect you.

3. “The Way He Looks At Her”

This cutscene played moments from several videos stitched together: every time Chris’s gaze lingered on you a little longer than necessary, his eyes softening, or the way his face would light up whenever you walked into the room.

One clip was from a road trip vlog where Nick had asked you a question, and you’d gone off on a tangent, laughing at your own story. The fan had slowed down the footage as Chris watched you, his smile widening with every word you spoke. They’d even added text overlay: Look at the way he smiles at her.

And there it was—that undeniable, heart-melting look that said so much more than words ever could.

4. “The Hand Thing”

The screen faded to another clip, this time from a Q&A the triplets had done with you sitting behind Chris. He’d been laughing at something Matt said, his hand reaching back to rest on yours almost absentmindedly. You’d barely registered it, but the fans clearly had, picking up on the way his fingers subtly intertwined with yours.

At one point, you noticed and looked down, a slight blush coloring your cheeks. But Chris didn’t pull away; he just squeezed your hand gently, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The fan had zoomed in here, highlighting the way his thumb rubbed small circles on your hand, creating a moment that had clearly been noticed by everyone but you two.

5. “Little Things He Remembers”

This section showed clips where Chris would mention something small about you, things you didn’t even realize he’d picked up on. In one of the videos, you’d talked about a favorite candy that you hadn’t had in years, and a month later, in a different video, Chris had surprised you with it.

Your face had lit up, and the fan had looped Chris’s shy smile when he saw your reaction. Then came another clip from a Christmas gift exchange vlog, where he’d somehow known exactly what to get you—a rare vinyl record you’d been looking for forever.

As you hugged him in gratitude, the fan captioned it: he remembers the little things.

6. “The Almost Kiss”

This was the clip that made you catch your breath. It was from a few weeks back, a late night when you and Chris had been filming a random vlog in his room. He’d been teasing you about something, and you’d leaned in to swat his shoulder, both of you laughing.

But then there was that moment—a pause—where your faces were just inches apart, his gaze locked on yours, and everything had gone quiet. You could almost feel the unspoken words hanging in the air, the what if.

The fan had zoomed in, adding a soft overlay to heighten the tension, and you watched yourself look up at him, eyes wide, both of you caught in that heart-stopping second. His face had softened, and he’d opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but then he’d pulled away, laughing to break the tension.

The screen faded to black as the fan added one final caption: maybe one day.

You stared at the end screen, your heart racing. You’d felt all those moments before, lingering on the edges of your friendship with Chris, but seeing them compiled like this left you breathless. Your mind raced back to that last clip, to the almost kiss. What would have happened if he hadn’t laughed it off? If you hadn’t pulled away?

Just as you were lost in thought, your phone buzzed with a text from Chris.

Chris: Yo, did you see this vid someone made of us? LMAO they really think we’re in love or something 😂

You felt a rush of nerves, unsure of how to respond.

You: Haha yeah, just saw it… it’s kinda cute though, don’t you think?

There was a pause, longer than usual, and you held your breath, waiting.

Chris: Yeah… kinda cute.

Chris: Listen, about that one clip… you know the one I’m talking about, right?

You: Yeah. I know.

Chris: What if I said I wasn’t just acting for the camera?

Your heart skipped a beat. You could almost picture him, staring down at his phone, wondering if he’d said too much. But something told you it was time to finally say the words that had been on the tip of your tongue for years.

You: Then I’d say… me neither.

It was a simple exchange, a confession years in the making, and yet somehow, that was all it took.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash

[waffle-runian]

Not to diverge much, or to hijack the conversation, but I'm gonna write about "translating art" a bit. I hope that it makes sense.

So, this feels like when I first started reading fantasy. Writing is a form of art that I love very much, so I remember a lot about my first impressions and all. I specifically remember reading a book about magic, the first book I bought because I wanted to read and nothing else. It was in a world where magic would be a focal point, get described with care and detail. Then idk, a popular book series about a demigod teenager that could control water, and what do you know? The water was described in full, the friendship, different dialogues, puns, the color of the eyes.

Then I read another series, this one about a boy with a dream and with a reality that made it difficult for him to pursue it, of course, the description of his sadness was longer too, his physical attributes were important, and they got a lot of attention, but not all the time either, and not really that in depth. What got the most attention were the comparisons, where he came short, and where coming short of something was being ahead on other things.

I remember reading a book following the story of a bard. It was art about art itself, in my opinion. Everything was described vividly. Stunning visuals, I could almost hear a song that doesn't even have a melody, I could grasp the process of creation without creating. It was something I was very bad at, after all. The author could make anything look beautiful and magical, even when it was the most ordinary of things.

Then came the magic. Well, part of it. It was logic, almost physics-like, followed hard rules, and you guessed it, the process of creation through it was also interesting. But then came the magic. Again. The magic that was hinted at, the soft kind, the magical kind, the one you have been preparing for up until now. The one that would require you to appreciate the art in order to understand, to appreciate everything as an artist. To see beyond what it is, what it is made of, what it looks like. To see inside, to see what it can be, what it represents and what it wants. In a way, to see it for what it _is_ (a different "is").

From top to bottom

Mage - Raymond E. Feist.

Percy Jackson - Rick Riordan

Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan

The name of the Wind - Patrick Rothfuss.

Rothfuss' writing isn't for everyone in a different way than the others. I don't know if I could explain it if I tried, but honestly? I feel great that it's something fewer people appreciate. This is, obviously, my take on those books. The actual intent behind it may differ strongly, but I don't think it matters, since art is something normally made to provoke thought and feelings. We hope the audience can get close to what we meant to say, but when they don't, we are happy that they got to experience something positive from our words/drawings/songs, etc.

I see his as the most complex out of these, the one that resonated the most with me, I guess? Probably because of the main character being the most relatable. And if just the eyes that tell the story can change so much about it, shouldn't we put much more thought into what our art could look like for people that can't "see" it the same as us? Like I already said, most of the time, your meaning will be lost, so, if you're "translating" art, how can you get close to this new audience's heart?

I mean, translating is all about that too. You can't just use the best words you think of and be done. Brazilian dubbing is famous for making jokes almost never fall flat.

If you localize the joke, you get a better reaction than when you explain the joke that only works in the original language (even though I am the kind of person that learns a language to appreciate the original material instead, and that's the reason I speak english.)

Anyway, if I got something wrong, just correct me, and if I don't get it, I'll ask.

"In recent years, there has been a rush on the internet to supply image descriptions and to call out those who don’t. This may be an example of community accountability at work, but it’s striking to observe that those doing the most fierce calling out or correcting are sighted people. Such efforts are largely self-defeating. I cannot count the times I’ve stopped reading a video transcript because it started with a dense word picture. Even if a description is short and well done, I often wish there were no description at all. Get to the point, already! How ironic that striving after access can actually create a barrier. When I pointed this out during one of my seminars, a participant made us all laugh by doing a parody: “Mary is wearing a green, blue, and red striped shirt; every fourth stripe also has a purple dot the size of a pea in it, and there are forty-seven stripes—”

“You’re killing me,” I said. “I can’t take any more of that!”

Now serious, she said it was clear to her that none of that stuff about Mary’s clothes mattered, at least if her clothes weren’t the point. What mattered most about the image was that Mary was holding her diploma and smiling. “But,” she wondered, “do I say, Mary has a huge smile on her face as she shows her diploma or Mary has an exuberant smile or showing her teeth in a smile and her eyes are crinkled at the edges?”

It’s simple. Mary has a huge smile on her face is the best one. It’s the don’t-second-guess-yourself option."

--Against Access, by John Lee Clark, a DeafBlind educator

[docdudo]

Aye, aye, you know how some people make their beds basically nests if they have enough sheets and plushies? What if- and hear me out- what if user does that, but like, they do it for the first time ever in the 141's house becase user had never had the chance to do it before bcs of stuff, so it's new to them and they feel a bit childish, maybe try to hide it, but the 141 is like "Aww, they're nesting >w<" Tini tiny idea, just saying

So, the thing is... even tho humans could technically "nest", we don't really have instincts to do that. So, to other races that actually nest, it might seem like we are doing a "pretend nest".

For example: Dragons, Harpies and Werewolves all nest. It's a different kind of nesting for all of them, but they all nest none the less. Wraiths like Ghost don't nest, but he's mated to races that nest, so he's used to the practice.

A nest for humans may feel more like a pillow fort. Like you're just playing with the bedding. For races that actually nest, they take nesting pretty serious, like a confort and safety kind of thing. It's something that can actually affect their health, because it will mess with their instincts if, for example, a Harpy can't nest. They could loose their feathers, sleep poorly, or even get depression.

So, as a human, you could technically nest. But you lack the instincts.

Of course, at some point, you would get curious and start to mess with your bedding a little. Move a few things here and there, maybe even start to use the nest in the middle of your room a bit more. And of course, you don't tell them anything about it, but they would notice.

They would probably think it's the cutest thing they have ever seen, when they first lay eyes on the modified nest in your room. One of them sees it first, and suddently, the four of them are standing around what you made. It's so... human. It lacks all and everything that makes a nest a home for other species.

For Harpies, and for Dragons, and for Werewolves... hell, even for a Wraith like Ghost who has decades of his life mated with these species, this little nest you tried to make was... pitiful, really.

But you made one. And humans don't make nests. But you made one. You made one because you were living with them, because you saw them nest. Because of them, you, a human, tried to nest.

And if they ended up with many, many pictures of your little nest in their cellphones, saved and well kept to show to the rest of their pack later, it's no one bussiness but theirs.

And if in the next time Kyle and Johnny talked to you they were gently and subtly trying to hint how to build a proper nest, you could only pretend you didn't understand what they were talking about as your cheeks burned a cute red color.

[livdomtruther]

FRAGMENTS OF US.

It had been almost a year since Liv and Dominik began their fragile, breathless dance of love—a love that felt impossibly new, like touching sunlight after a lifetime in shadow. To Liv, their love was effortless, but for Dominik, it was everything he hadn’t dared to believe he could have. She had woven her way into his life with quiet patience, her presence something warm, soft, something he had longed for but didn’t think he deserved.

Dominik still felt the weight of scars left by his last relationship, a storm that had ravaged him in ways that still bled, wounds he’d convinced himself would never heal. That relationship had been a series of emotional landmines, each step a shattering test of trust, leaving him bruised and hollowed, haunted by the twisted echoes of words meant to comfort but used as knives. There were days when he couldn’t escape the poison of those memories, when he could still feel the suffocating grip around his heart, a vice he thought he’d never free himself from.

But then, there was Liv. She walked into his life as if she belonged there, bringing with her a calmness that seeped into the spaces he had abandoned long ago. She didn’t demand him to be healed, didn’t ask him to forget his scars; instead, she ran her fingers over the wounds, her touch a promise that his brokenness didn’t make him unworthy. With her, love was tender and real, every moment something he wanted to hold onto but feared he might break.

Every time she laughed, it felt like she was stitching him back together, bit by fragile bit. With Liv, he was no longer the fractured, burdened man he’d been. She gave him the strength to believe that maybe he wasn’t destined to bleed forever, that maybe—just maybe—he could let himself be loved without looking over his shoulder for the pain he’d come to expect.

Their meeting felt ripped from a scene they’d both watched countless times on lonely nights, wondering if moments like these ever really happened. Liv was weaving through the crowds, lost in her own world, her headphones plugged in, blocking out the noise of the bustling city around her. Dominik, on the other hand, was darting through the crowd with his mind already at work, his eyes scanning the street for the time, for the next step, always rushing.

Then, without warning, they collided.

Their bags hit the ground, and Liv’s headphones fell to the pavement in a tangled mess. They both froze, mumbling a string of half-formed apologies, each word stumbling over the other’s. But the moment their eyes met, apologies dissolved into awkward, breathless laughter—laughter that filled the space between them and seemed to hush the city noise for a heartbeat.

Dominik knelt to help her, fumbling as he gathered her headphones and bag, handing them back with a shy, crooked smile. And he couldn’t stop staring. Her eyes, a shade of blue he’d never quite seen before, drew him in like the pull of a tide. “You... you have pretty eyes,” he blurted, as though the words had a mind of their own. The color in Liv’s cheeks deepened, her lips curling up as she tried to look away. “I love your hair,” she managed, her own voice soft, almost nervous, as if she’d just shared a secret.

They stood there, grinning like fools, suspended in the warmth of that single, charged moment. But reality tugged at them both, reminding them of places to be, and reluctantly, they pulled apart, each glancing back with smiles lingering long after the other had disappeared into the crowd.

Neither of them realized they were heading to the same place, just from different directions. When Dominik arrived at work, he was still thinking of her, and the memory of her laugh kept him smiling in a way he hadn’t in a long time. But then he glanced up, and his breath caught. There, standing under the spotlight, was the pretty blonde girl who’d just swept into his life, guitar in hand, her eyes shining under the stage lights—the girl he hadn’t known he’d been looking for.

As the final note of Liv’s song drifted into silence, her eyes lifted, scanning the crowd—and then, she saw him. They locked eyes, a spark flickering between them, and it was as if the rest of the room faded away, leaving just the two of them in the warm glow of the stage lights. Dominik’s heart thundered in his chest, each beat a reminder that he was feeling something he thought he’d buried long ago.

For the past year, he’d sworn off romance, his broken heart hardened by the bitterness of betrayal. Love at first sight, he used to think, was just a cheap trick, a fairy tale he’d long outgrown. He’d scoffed at every romantic comedy, every “meant to be” storyline, unwilling to believe in a magic he’d once foolishly chased. But now, here he was, spellbound by the girl on stage, his cynicism melting away like ice under her gaze.

Liv, in contrast, had always believed. Even when she was overlooked, cast aside as an afterthought, she’d never lost faith in the magic of love. She was a hopeless romantic, the kind who believed love could be found in the smallest moments—a soft glance, a shared laugh, the quiet warmth of someone simply being there. She poured her heart into her songs, her lyrics filled with stories of love she’d never known but desperately dreamed of. To her, love was endless, infinite; she held close the belief that everyone deserved it, even if it was fleeting.

Their lives began to intertwine in ways that felt almost like fate. Liv started performing at Dominik’s work regularly, and each time she stepped into the room, his pulse quickened, and the walls he’d built began to crack. She no longer performed just for the crowd; she sang for him, and he felt it in every note. Dominik, who had once drifted through his days with numb indifference, now felt something like hope, a strange warmth blossoming whenever she was near.

And so, they fell into an unspoken rhythm—Liv pouring her heart into each performance, her gaze finding him in the crowd, while Dominik waited, heart racing, for those few precious moments when their worlds collided. He knew she was the only reason he still showed up, and she, in turn, felt the fire she sang about, igniting every time their eyes met. It was as if fate had known all along: they were bound to cross paths, to be each other's light, each other’s reason to believe.

And so, that was how their love story began—a story that felt like it was written in the stars yet grounded in the simplest, sweetest moments. Liv was the spark that reignited Dominik’s belief in love, melting away years of hurt and mistrust, and Dominik was the first person who showed Liv that she was more than someone’s second choice, more than a fleeting thought. Together, they fit like two puzzle pieces finally finding their place, their edges worn but fitting all the more beautifully because of it.

They were inseparable, often seen side by side as if bound by some invisible thread. Their laughter became a familiar melody to anyone who knew them, and they had made a home in each other’s presence. Liv had met his friends, her warmth weaving easily into the group, and Dominik had met hers, his quiet strength endearing him to those closest to her. Even their families had grown close, recognizing that something rare and real had blossomed between them. Dominik’s boss, always quick with a quip, would often say, “This bar’s got magic—it’s where love finds its way.” Dominik would roll his eyes, brushing it off with a smile, but deep down, he knew it was true.

As their one-year anniversary approached, Liv felt her heart swell with the weight of her love for him, a feeling so big it seemed to leave no room to breathe. She wanted to give him something that would show him how he had changed her life. She planned, in secret, to surprise him with a love song, a piece of her heart she’d spent months pouring onto the crumpled pages she kept hidden away. She practiced tirelessly, her voice growing stronger as she sang, every word laced with a tender ache, a reminder of how deeply she loved him. Her tears had fallen on the paper as she wrote, her emotions staining the words, and with each rehearsal, her heart ached a little more with anticipation and hope.

The song was her gift, a piece of her soul offered up in a melody. She imagined his face when he heard it, imagined the way he’d look at her as he finally understood the depth of her feelings. For her, it was the purest way to say everything her words had fallen short of, to show him that he was the one who’d taken her wounded heart and made it whole. And as the days slipped closer to their anniversary, Liv held her secret close, her heart brimming with love, her voice carrying a promise only he would understand.

It was supposed to be a simple surprise, one of the many little gestures she loved to make for Dominik. She had come early to see him, just to spend a few more precious minutes together before his shift, her excitement buzzing beneath her skin. But she’d misread his schedule, arriving hours before he was due in, and found herself alone with his friends, Finn and Damian, the regular workers at the bar who always made her feel welcome. They’d laughed off her mistake, keeping her company while they worked, and she’d slipped off to the restroom, smiling at how everything just felt right, even in these small moments.

But as she was walking back, her steps slowed, her breath catching when she heard her name in their voices, hushed but sharp. She lingered by the doorway, heart beginning to pound, as Finn’s voice rose over the clinking of glasses.

“Don’t you think Liv is a bit…” he started, his voice carrying an edge she’d never heard before.

Damian cut him off, his tone light but cruel. “Clingy? Burdensome?” he sneered, a smirk in his voice that made her chest tighten.

A nervous laugh escaped from Finn, and then they were both laughing, a sound that seemed to echo around her like a haunting. She felt herself freeze, willing it to be some kind of joke, something she’d misunderstood, but the words kept coming, each one striking her harder than the last.

“Can’t believe Dom fell for a chick like her,” Damian said, his tone dismissive, biting. There was a cruelty in his voice that felt like it was slicing through her, word by word.

Finn chuckled darkly, not even hesitating. “I don’t either. Michelle was for sure prettier… and less of a hassle, you know?”

The knot in Liv’s stomach twisted, and she felt her hands clench into fists, her nails biting into her palms as she stood there, hidden but unable to turn away. She felt as though she were peeling back the glossy surface of something beautiful only to reveal something rotted underneath, something she had never wanted to see. These were Dominik’s friends, the people who knew him best, who had accepted her with open arms—or so she’d thought.

They continued, oblivious to the way their words were tearing her apart.

“Honestly,” Damian scoffed, “her coming here all the time? You can tell it has to be a burden for him. Poor Dom, putting up with all that…”

Liv felt her heart shatter, the pieces scattering as their laughter filled the empty spaces. Everything she’d told herself—her confidence, her belief in what she and Dominik shared—now felt like a fragile illusion, breaking under the weight of their words. She wanted to turn around, to flee before they could see the tears that stung her eyes, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.

All those moments she’d spent with Dominik, every smile, every whispered promise—they now felt tainted, tangled up in the doubt and pain that was tearing through her. Her mind spun, replaying every time she’d come to the bar just to see him, every time she’d caught him watching her with a soft look that had made her heart skip. But now she wondered if she’d been wrong all along. If, behind that gentle smile, he’d really been wishing she would just leave.

Her chest felt hollow, her heart a fragile thing on the verge of breaking, and for the first time, she wondered if she had been nothing but a burden all along.

They had no idea, no idea how every word of theirs clawed at old wounds Liv had tried so hard to bury. Each careless laugh, every cruel, dismissive remark echoed with the voices of her past, bringing them back to life with brutal clarity. She’d heard it before—too clingy, too needy, a burden to anyone who got close. That was what every guy before Dominik had told her, and she’d believed it, even as she’d tried to push those thoughts away, to convince herself that she deserved more, that she wasn’t too much.

But hearing it now, from his friends, the people who knew him best—it was as if they’d ripped the bandages off, exposing wounds she’d never really let heal. Her breath caught, becoming shallow, ragged, and all she could think was, Is that what I am to him? Am I really just a burden?

Every moment she’d spent with Dominik played back in her mind, warped and distorted. She remembered how she’d shown up early, how she’d stayed late, how she’d hung on every word he’d said. She thought of the countless times she’d come to his work, thinking she was making his day a little brighter. But now, all those memories twisted, darkening under the weight of her doubt. Maybe he’d just been tolerating her, too kind to tell her she was suffocating him, just like everyone else had.

She swallowed hard, trying to push down the thick lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry as she walked back into the bar, her hands trembling at her sides. Finn and Damian’s laughter fell silent the second they saw her, their expressions shifting to a casual, feigned innocence, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet their eyes. She forced a smile, her voice quivering despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

“Sorry, guys. I have to go. Work called me in suddenly,” she stammered, the words stumbling out of her as she tried to keep her tone polite, even gentle. “Please… tell Dom for me, thanks.”

Her words were barely out before she turned on her heel, leaving before they could see the hurt in her eyes, before her composure shattered entirely. She stumbled out into the street, feeling the weight of their words pressing down on her, suffocating her. She walked faster, then faster still, until she was running, her feet pounding against the pavement, each step a desperate attempt to escape the ache tightening around her chest. The city blurred around her, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the voices in her head, the ones telling her she was too much, that she’d ruined things all over again, that she’d never be enough.

When Dominik arrived at work that night, his face lit up as he looked around for her, his heart sinking when Finn casually told him, “Liv had to leave early—something about work calling her in.” Dominik’s smile faded, disappointment settling in his chest as he glanced toward the door, wishing he’d gotten there just a bit sooner. He had no idea she’d been there, waiting for him, only to leave with a heart weighed down by the voices of everyone who’d ever made her feel small, everyone who’d made her feel unworthy.

And miles away, Liv sat alone in her room, staring at the crumpled, tear-stained pages of the song she’d written for him, feeling every note turn to ash in her hands.

Weeks passed, and it felt like their relationship had unraveled, thread by fragile thread. Dominik was left standing in the middle of what had once felt like his whole world, only now it felt strangely empty, as though she had been the light keeping it alive. Liv had stopped coming by the bar, her laughter and presence a hollow absence that seemed to echo louder every day. He noticed the subtle changes, the way she stopped sending those chaotic, sweet messages that once had his phone buzzing at all hours, her words brimming with love and excitement. Now, there was nothing but silence—a void that grew bigger every day.

At first, he tried to tell himself it was nothing. She was busy; work was piling up. But every time he asked, her answer felt rehearsed, hollow. “I’ve gotten more shifts at my job,” she’d say, forcing a smile he’d once thought was real. “I’m sorry.” But he could see the walls she was building, the distance growing between them like a chasm he couldn’t cross, no matter how hard he tried.

She didn’t realize how deeply her withdrawal was wounding him, didn’t see the desperation in his eyes as he tried to hold onto her, hold onto the memories of who they’d been. He spent countless shifts staring at the door, his heart lifting with a fleeting hope every time someone walked in, only to fall again when it wasn’t her. Every night, he’d glance at the empty stage, hoping against hope that he’d look up and see her standing there, guitar in hand, her voice weaving magic that only she could create. But the stage stayed empty, the silence louder than any music.

Dominik missed her with a kind of ache he hadn’t known was possible, a constant, gnawing pain that left him feeling hollowed out. He missed her laugh, the way her voice softened when she looked at him, the way her eyes lit up as if he was the only person in the world who mattered. Now, he could barely recognize her. She was distant, a shadow of herself, her once-bright spirit dulled by something he couldn’t understand, something she wouldn’t let him touch. And every time she pulled away, it felt like she was slipping further and further out of reach, taking pieces of his heart with her.

He tried everything he could think of to hold on, to make her stay, to remind her of the love they’d built together, the bond that had once felt unbreakable. But all he had now were memories—of her smile, her laugh, the warmth of her hand in his. And no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing her, one heartbeat at a time, as she drifted further into a silence he couldn’t break, leaving him waiting, helpless, and brokenhearted.

What haunted Dominik the most was the twisted familiarity of it all, a nightmare he thought he’d already escaped. This was exactly how it had ended with Michelle—the slow withdrawal, the distant looks, the way every small interaction began to feel like a chore for her. With Michelle, he’d watched their love decay, piece by piece, and when he’d finally asked her why, her eyes were cold, her heart already long gone. She’d reduced him to someone disposable, someone unworthy, and he had spent months putting himself back together, rebuilding the pieces she’d broken.

Liv had been his safe haven, the one who’d made him believe that love could be gentle and good. She was nothing like Michelle, and he hated himself for even thinking there could be a comparison. But now, as she pulled away, he felt that same raw, gnawing fear in his chest. She was slipping through his fingers, and he was helpless to stop it.

Liv, the girl who’d always told him that communication was everything, the girl who had once stayed up all night just to talk him through his darkest moments, now wouldn’t even look him in the eyes. She was a stranger, her voice an echo of the girl he’d fallen for, and every time he reached for her, it was like his hand fell through air. She was there but not there, present but distant, leaving him grappling with the emptiness she was creating.

Liv’s mind was a mess of hurt and confusion, but she couldn't find it in herself to tell him why. She knew, logically, that his friends’ words were nothing more than careless remarks, echoes of a past that didn’t matter. But logic had nothing to do with how she felt. Their voices had reawakened old insecurities that she’d buried deep, scars that she’d convinced herself were healed. It was like reopening a wound that had barely begun to scar over—every word, every glance, a reminder of every past hurt. She couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe they were right, that maybe Dominik would eventually see her the way his friends did, and she couldn’t bear to watch him pull away.

So, she’d decided to be the one to step back, to give him space, to stop being a “burden.” She thought that maybe, if she faded quietly from his life, she could spare them both the inevitable pain, that her absence would make it easier for him. But what she didn’t realize was that her silence was tearing Dominik apart in ways she couldn’t imagine.

Every time he looked at her, all he saw was the beautiful soul he knew, the girl who had brought light into his life. But now that light was dimming, and with every passing day, she became less like the Liv he knew, more like a shadow. Dominik was left haunted, helpless, clutching onto whatever scraps of their love he could still feel, each one slipping from his grasp like grains of sand.

Liv no longer felt worthy of him; she was convinced she’d destroyed everything good between them. There were nights when, restless and aching, she’d walk past his work just to catch a glimpse of him through the large windows of the bar. She’d watch him, hidden in the shadows, her heart clenching painfully as she saw him laughing with his coworkers, his face lit up in a way she could only interpret as relief. In her mind, he looked freer, happier, as if her absence had lifted some weight from his shoulders. She told herself he was better off, that maybe she’d done him a favor by pulling away.

But she couldn’t have been more wrong. What she didn’t see were the nights Dominik spent in quiet agony, her silence gnawing at him, the ghost of her presence haunting every corner of the bar where they’d once shared moments filled with laughter and warmth. Every time the door swung open, he would look up, his heart racing, hoping she would walk in. And every time it wasn’t her, the emptiness inside him deepened, a hollow ache that no amount of work or laughter with friends could fill. Her absence was like a slow poison, eating away at him, piece by piece.

One week before what would have been their anniversary, Liv gathered the courage to step into his world again. She took a deep breath as she walked into the bar, every instinct in her body screaming at her to turn back, to disappear. But she couldn’t stay away. Dominik’s eyes met hers, and in that moment, his heart both ached and leaped, warmth spreading through him despite the hurt. He’d missed her more than he could ever put into words.

“Liv,” he murmured, his voice soft, laced with a pain he couldn’t hide. Her weak smile barely reached her eyes, and she forced herself to hold his gaze for a moment, before her eyes drifted toward his coworkers, Finn and Damian. Their expressions were indifferent, unreadable, but in her mind, their eyes were filled with silent judgment, their stares cutting her down to nothing. She felt as small as ever, a deep shame settling over her like a heavy blanket, and she could feel herself shrinking under their gaze, unable to shake the memory of the words they’d spoken about her.

Her voice was barely a whisper as she greeted Dominik, every part of her wanting to melt into the floor, to disappear from the weight of her own insecurities. She glanced quickly at his coworkers, her heart sinking as they exchanged a look that, in her mind, was full of disdain. She felt foolish, unworthy, as if she didn’t belong in his life, as if her very presence here was an intrusion. And though she couldn’t bring herself to say it, she wanted nothing more than to tell Dominik how sorry she was—for everything, for the pain she’d caused, for being the burden she’d convinced herself she was.

Dominik saw it all in her eyes, the pain she tried so hard to hide, the sadness that lingered behind her fragile smile. He wanted to reach out, to take her hand, to tell her she was everything to him, that he hadn’t felt whole since she’d started pulling away. But she looked so broken, so distant, he didn’t know if he could reach her. And in that silence, as they stood there together yet worlds apart, he felt the weight of his own helplessness, of watching the woman he loved drift further away, just out of his grasp.

Dominik held Liv tightly in his arms, pulling her close, and for a fleeting moment, the world outside faded away. Her arms instinctively wrapped around him, clinging to the warmth that felt so right yet so wrong. Each heartbeat felt like a reminder of how far they had drifted, how she had convinced herself that she was a burden in his life, a source of irritation rather than the joy she longed to be. She could feel the heaviness of those thoughts pressing against her chest, and no matter how much she wanted to revel in the comfort of his embrace, the shadows of her insecurities loomed large.

“I missed you so much, baby,” Dominik murmured against her hair, the familiar warmth of his breath sending shivers down her spine. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, and the sweet scent of her vanilla shampoo enveloped him like a comforting hug. It was his favorite scent, one that brought back memories of lazy mornings and stolen kisses, and yet it only deepened the ache in Liv’s heart. She wanted to bask in his affection, to let the moment linger, but the gnawing feeling that she was somehow an imposition held her captive.

“I missed you more,” she replied, her voice catching slightly in her throat, as if the weight of unspoken words threatened to spill over. There were so many things she wanted to say, apologies that clawed at her insides, but they remained stuck, lodged in her heart like stones. Just as she opened her mouth to express the depths of her feelings, Finn’s voice boomed across the bar, shattering the moment.

“Dom, you have customers waiting!”

Dominik pulled away, regret flashing in his eyes, and all she could do was watch as he scurried off, his smile lingering just a moment longer before it vanished. Liv sighed heavily, her gaze dropping to the floor. That nagging sensation of being an annoyance swelled within her. She’d come to perform, to share her heart with the very people who’d supported her, but now it felt like a burden all over again.

As she walked towards the stage, her heart pounded in her chest, each step heavier than the last. She could feel the weight of the bar’s atmosphere pressing down on her, the excited chatter of the customers swirling around her. Pulling out her guitar, she reread the lyrics scrawled on the crumpled paper in her hand. The pink ink shone brightly against the backdrop of her inner turmoil, and she hesitated. What had once been a joyful anthem of love now felt tainted by her doubts.

The regulars greeted her with cheers and applause, and though their enthusiasm warmed her, it did little to quell the storm brewing inside. Dominik, standing off to the side, cast glances her way, a smile tugging at his lips, but the look in his eyes was different—conflicted, concerned. He had missed her, she could see that, but would he understand the turmoil that had driven her to this moment?

When she began to sing, the familiar chords felt foreign under her fingertips, and the words, which once flowed effortlessly, now tasted bitter on her tongue. Instead of the usual love song, a haunting melody poured out, a lament that resonated with her pain. It was raw and unfiltered, an anguished expression of everything she’d been holding back. Her voice cracked with emotion, and she poured her heart into every lyric, each note tinged with sorrow.

The regulars exchanged confused glances, and Dominik’s smile faltered as the realization settled in. This wasn’t the song he’d anticipated; it was a breakup ballad, a painful reflection of their fractured connection. As Liv’s voice trembled, she could see the worry etched on his face, the way his brow furrowed in concern. The truth was spilling out with every note, unraveling in a way she hadn’t intended, and in that moment, she felt both liberated and trapped.

As the final chord faded, she looked out at the sea of faces—some sympathetic, others bewildered—and felt the crushing weight of her choices. She had come to share her love, but instead, she had laid bare her broken heart, and now she feared it would all come crashing down around them. Dominik stood frozen, his heart aching as he watched the girl he loved unravel before him, and he felt helpless, desperately wishing he could pull her back from the edge of her pain.

Liv felt like she was walking through a fog as she left the stage, the applause of the crowd fading into a distant echo that barely registered in her mind. The song had torn her open, exposing wounds she had buried deep, and now she felt raw, like she had just committed the most unforgivable mistake. Her fingers fumbled as she scrambled to collect her things, the guitar slipping slightly from her grasp as she stumbled toward the exit, her heart racing with a mixture of panic and regret. She couldn’t bear to face Dominik, to see the confusion and hurt in his eyes after everything she had just revealed.

But just as she pushed through the door, she felt his grip on her wrist, strong and unyielding. He pulled her to the side, away from the laughter and chatter of the bar, into the cool night air that felt heavy with unspoken words. They stood before the big windows, the glow of the bar’s interior illuminating their faces, casting shadows that mirrored the turmoil in her heart.

“Liv, what’s been happening between us?” His voice was soft but strained, his eyes searching for the answers that eluded her. There was a desperation in his gaze, a deep-seated pain that twisted like a knife in her gut. “I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”

She could see it in his eyes—an anguish that mirrored her own—and it made her want to scream, to tell him everything that had been weighing on her heart. But the lump in her throat constricted tighter, suffocating her words before they could escape. She bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to cry, forcing her gaze up to the sky, as if the stars could provide her with some clarity.

“Please, talk to me,” he urged, his voice trembling with emotion. “I want to know what’s wrong. I want to be there for you, Liv. I love you so much it makes my heart feel like it’ll explode any moment!” His confession poured out like a flood, raw and unfiltered, and she felt every syllable cut through her like glass. “I’ve never felt like this for anyone ever. You’re the reason I even believe in love, Liv. Please, talk to me.”

His words echoed in her mind, a siren call that both soothed and shattered her. She took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to say would shatter the fragile connection they had built. She didn’t want to say it; she had fought against the urge, but she felt as though it was the only way to save him from the burden of her pain.

“Let’s break up.” The words slipped out in a whisper, but they struck like lightning, bright and destructive.

Dominik froze, the world around them falling silent as if time itself had stopped. His expression shifted from confusion to heartbreak, a visceral pain crossing his features as if her words had physically wounded him. “You don’t mean that, Liv,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, filled with disbelief and desperation.

“Look at me and say it.” His tone cracked like ice underfoot, and she felt the weight of his gaze piercing into her, demanding the truth.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she forced herself to meet his gaze. But the moment their eyes locked, the reality of her words sank in, wrapping around her heart like a vice. She could see the flicker of hope dimming in his eyes, the light fading away, and it threatened to tear her apart from the inside out.

“Please,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Don’t do this, Liv.”

Every part of her wanted to take it back, to tell him that she was scared, that she didn’t know how to navigate the chasm that had opened between them. But the fear of being a burden loomed larger than her love, and she felt like she was losing herself, losing him, losing everything that mattered in the process.

Liv felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs, her heart a lead weight in her chest, so heavy that speaking was impossible. The world around them faded, leaving just the two of them locked in this moment of agony. She loved Dominik fiercely, more than she could ever articulate, and the thought of breaking up felt like plunging a knife into her own heart. But what if her very presence was a burden? What if staying only held him back? She was terrified of being the reason for his unhappiness, of him feeling trapped because of her struggles. She couldn't bear the thought of weighing him down with her insecurities, her darkness.

“It’s over between us, Dominik.” The words slipped from her lips like poison, each syllable tasting bitter and acrid. She forced herself to meet his gaze, her blue eyes clashing with his dark brown ones, which shimmered with confusion and hurt. They were glossy, reflecting the pain she was causing him, and it made her heart ache more than she thought possible.

“Why?” His voice broke, a fragile whisper laced with desperation, and Liv felt her soul shatter at the sound. Tears streamed down his face, each droplet a testament to the love they had shared, to the connection that felt so vital just moments before.

“W-we’re just not compatible,” she stammered, the lie hanging in the air between them like a thick fog. She hated herself for it, every word cutting deeper than any blade. Her mind raced with the thoughts of how different they truly were, but not in the way she was saying. “I’m just too different compared to you. I’m a burden, Dominik.” The confession slipped from her lips, each word dripped with a truth she had been fighting against for so long.

He opened his mouth to argue, to protest that she could never be a burden, that she was everything but. But the pain etched on her face silenced him. The sadness that had twisted in his gut coiled tighter, and he felt powerless, unable to reach her, to pull her back from the brink she had thrown herself over.

“I’m sorry. I don’t deserve you.” Her voice was small, barely a whisper above the night’s breeze, and Dominik’s heart broke further at the sight of her withdrawing from him. “May you find someone who is actually worthy and not so… ruined.” Each word was a dagger, thrusting deeper into the already gaping wound in his heart.

With that, she turned on her heel, running away from him, each step echoing the finality of her decision. Dominik felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted, leaving him unmoored and desperate. He wanted to chase after her, to pull her back into his arms, to tell her that she was everything to him and more. But as she fled, something fell from her backpack, landing softly at his feet.

His gaze dropped to the folded and crumpled paper, the sight making his stomach drop. Picking it up, he unfolded it with trembling hands, dread pooling in his gut. The familiar lyrics spilled across the page, a song meant for their one-year anniversary, each line a reminder of all the love they had shared. But as he flipped it over, the words scrawled on the back shattered him anew: “I’m sorry for being a burden.”

The realization crushed him, the weight of her words suffocating. He staggered back, his heart crumbling under the weight of her despair, the hopelessness she had wrapped around herself like a cloak. He stood alone under the stars, tears streaming down his face, the cool night air doing nothing to soothe the fire of anguish burning in his chest. He cried out into the darkness, a sound of pure heartache, unfiltered and raw, unaware of how Liv had come to such a devastating conclusion about herself.

Every moment they had spent together flashed before his eyes—her laughter, the way she lit up a room, the warmth of her touch, and the way she had made him believe in love again. And now, all he could see was the distance she had created, the walls she had built around herself that he had been powerless to breach. The stars twinkled above, indifferent to the heartache unfolding below, and in that moment, Dominik felt more alone than ever, his heart splintering into countless pieces that seemed impossible to put back together.

Liv, the radiant light who had mended the shattered fragments of Dominik's heart, was now the very reason those pieces were fracturing once more. She was the one who had breathed life back into him, reigniting a belief in love that he thought had been extinguished forever. Her laughter had been a balm to his wounds, her touch a gentle promise that happiness was possible. Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, she had become the architect of his heartache, the one to snatch away the fragile hope she had painstakingly built.

Each moment they had shared—the whispered secrets, the tender embraces, the shared dreams—now felt tainted by the bitter reality of her departure. Dominik could hardly reconcile the image of her bright smile with the pain radiating from his chest, the hollow echo of her absence resonating in every corner of his being. It was as if she had not only taken love from him but had also stripped away the very essence of joy, leaving behind a chasm that seemed insurmountable.

His heart ached with the weight of her choice, the knowledge that the person who had once illuminated his world had now cast him into shadow. He could still feel the warmth of her presence lingering in the air, yet it was laced with the coldness of her words—her confessions that she felt unworthy, that she was a burden. Every syllable she had spoken echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of the love that had transformed into despair.

In those final moments, as she turned to walk away, it was as if a part of his soul had been wrenched from him, leaving an emptiness so profound that it threatened to swallow him whole. Liv, who had healed him, had unwittingly become the knife that carved through his heart once again. And now, as he stood under the vast expanse of the night sky, the stars looked down upon him with indifference, mocking him for believing that love could ever truly be his again.

[writingtraumaforever]

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 1

Notes: I’m wanting to start some sort of fluffier story. I do a lot of angsty one-shots, but I need something soft in the mix too. So here it is! I’ve been thinking of this concept since Sonic X Shadow Generations came out and it all got me thinking about alternate timelines and dimensions and such. Be patient with me! I’m not use to writing big projects so this will be trial and error..

Summary: Chaos Control is unpredictable. And when used improperly, it can create— well.. CHAOS. Shadow wakes up after using it with the fake chaos emerald and things are definitely off. Especially with a certain blue hedgehog..

Rating: Currently T for language, but prolly will end up being mature (18+). 👀

Chapter Select: Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Cover Art:

Start:

There has been some crazy things happen to Shadow while using chaos control. And he usually isn’t one to experiment with such abilities messily. However, he currently doesn’t have much of a choice.

In a mission alone, he found himself struggling. Which is saying something since he doesn’t often struggle at all, thus him being assigned jobs alone. But this was different. His chaos emerald had disappeared a while back due to a place called—what Rouge informed him as— Starfall Islands. She had been panicky at the time because Knuckles had disappeared, taking on guarding the Master Emerald herself and guising it as her trying to steal it when he returned. He informed her that Sonic and co. had been investigating these islands due to the emeralds being pulled there, and apparently a lot went down.

Either way, Shadow was out a chaos emerald. But he did still have the fake one the young fox had made all those years ago.

And that’s where things went wrong.

He remembered Sonic had been able to use chaos control with it, though it wiped out Sonic’s energy for a while. Either way, Shadow didn’t have much choice as he was running out of time. The detonators he had set up were nearing their end and Shadow still hadn’t made it out yet.

He pulled out the fake chaos emerald, gripping it in his gloved hand as he gritted his teeth and skated down the long halls of the supposedly abandoned GUN facility. ‘Supposedly’ because they had detected movement on their scans of it and sent Shadow to investigate only to find Eggman sniffing around with more bots than they had originally anticipated.

He huffed out labored breaths, dodging the shots from the robots behind him as he skated down the hall. Glancing down to his watch, he saw he had 10 seconds left. An agitated growl escaped him as his eyes looked up to see the exit blocked by several more bots. He could take them down and get out easy. But not within 10 seconds.

10.

Shadow’s ruby eyes look down at the amber-colored emerald in his hands.

9.

His eyes shut as he kept skating.

8.

If Sonic could do it, he could do it. He’s the Ultimate Lifeform.

7.

He tried to focus on the emerald, the minimal energy flowing through it.

6.

It wasn’t near as much as a real one.. but it could work.

5.

While concentrating, he is hit by a blast in his back, stumbling a bit with a grunt before hissing and quickly regaining his footing to continue on.

4.

Ignoring the sting, he opened his eyes, filled with determination.

3.

“Chaos—“

2.

“—Control!!”

1.

A flash of light, the facility explodes along with the badniks inside.

Shadow has that familiar feeling of the chaos energy flowing out of him and through the emerald back inside him.. moving him through reality as he envisions himself standing on the cliff side far away at the rendezvous point..

But then he feels something else.

He gasps, eyes clamping shut at the sudden loss of a massive amount of his energy. Gritting his teeth through the empty pain, he feels what can only be described as a tug..

And then a yank.

And then nothing.

•••

Shadow begins to slowly feel again.

And by slowly feel, he means absolute exhaustion.

His muscles feel as though they won’t work if he tries to move them, his bones feel like jelly. Even his eyelids don’t seem to want to open quite yet.

His ear flicks.. the sound of birds through a window to his left.

He sniffs. Sage and lavender..

Is he…?

His eyes finally flutter open, a small grunt escaping him at the brightness coming from the window that is indeed to his left.

His window.

He’s.. home..?

Trying to sit up, he grunts and finds himself unable to just yet. He doesn’t hurt so much as he just feels… drained.

Though, there is a lingering ache to his back.. must be where he had gotten shot.

He glances down at himself to see a bandage wrapped around him.. so someone must’ve found him and mended him.

Probably Rouge if he had to guess. She has a nurturing streak in her even if she’d never admit it.

He lets his head sink into his pillow, eyes fluttering a bit from how tired he is. But he’s rested enough. It’s daylight out, and which means he had to at least been out for the night. And he doesn’t need sleep.

Taking a deep breath and just about to try and force himself up, he hears footsteps.

He pauses, head lifting and eyes moving to look at the door and watch the bat enter.

Except.. the bat doesn’t enter.

Instead, Shadow is met by emerald eyes peeking inside. Opening the door fully, Sonic steps into the room holding a bottle of water. He’s smiling, soft and gentle as if approaching an infant. His ears are slightly folded back, the way he’s tense but slightly hunched screams relief. His eyes hold concern in them, worry. But he tries not to show it with how he’s all smiles and bright eyes. Shadow can see how bloodshot they are though. Has he slept?? Probably not. The dumb hedgehog is too irresponsible to properly take care of himself and-

What is he doing in Shadow’s house???

“Hey, Faker..,” Sonic says in a tone that throws Shadow off a bit. It’s not cocky and energized and loud; it’s small and breathy and almost affectionate.

Still annoying, though.

Shadow doesn’t speak, just watches Sonic with a scowl as the blue hedgehog approaches. Sonic sits on the side of the bed, Shadow’s ruby eyes looking him up and down in an ‘excuse you’ and ‘who do you think you are??’ sort of manner. Sonic either doesn’t notice or ignores this, moving to open the bottle of water for Shadow and holding it to his mouth, “Drink up for me, huh?”

Shadow raises a hand to snatch the bottle away, nearly spilling it in the process but glaring at Sonic nonetheless, “I am perfectly capable of drinking myself.”

Sonic blinks and then chuckles with a roll of his eyes, “Well excuuuse me for caring.”

Shadow grunts, lifting the bottle a bit shakily to take a long sip from it. He downs it all in one go, sighing in relief once he’s done and setting the empty bottle on his lap. He really needed that. It almost made him dizzy with the energy boost that alone gave him.

But he still felt a bit off.

Closing his eyes to take a deep breath, his attention is swiftly turned back to the blue hedgehog when he feels a hand touching his head. It rubs along the top of it down Shadow’s back to underneath his back quills and lightly scratches there.

Shadow tenses up then jolts a bit, shifting away from Sonic the best he can in the moment as his wide eyes stare at the hero in both disbelief and disgust.

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” Shadow nearly growls out, his fangs showing with how he sneers at Sonic. Sonic’s hand is returned to himself as if it had been burned, staring at Shadow a bit surprised before speaking with an awkward smile, “Sorry..” His ears flatten further to his head, looking a bit like a kicked puppy.

Shadow’s eyes narrow at him a moment before he frowns and looks around, “What are you even doing here?? How did you get here??” Last Shadow checked, Sonic didn’t know where he lived.

Sonic pauses and then looks away with a knitted brow, “I brought you back here after we found you.. You were hurt, and you wouldn’t wake up. It really scared me—“

“Who is ‘we’?? Why were you near GUN property—“

He pauses.

Blinks.

Scared???

Sonic looks at Shadow with an even more concerned look now, “GUN property? Shadow, what are you talking about??”

Shadow frowns at him, trying to determine if this is some sort of obnoxious prank of some sort.

“...What are you talking about?” Shadow asks skeptically.

Sonic chuckles a bit at that, “I asked you first.”

“I don’t care.”

“What is with your attitude??” Sonic huffs, his arms crossing impatiently over his chest, “Are you mad at me??? I get it if you’re mad, but can’t we just talk about it without you being an asshole??”

“Excuse me?!”

“I know I messed up, and I am genuinely so sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt! But I also didn’t ask for you to save my butt like that or take the hit-”

“You’re making no sense!” Shadow snaps again, feeling his head start to throb now. He was getting overwhelmed.

Why was Sonic in his house?

Why was Sonic talking about Shadow saving him when he did no such thing??

Why was Sonic comfortable enough to sit on his bed and touch him???

What is going on!?

“Calm down, Shadow!” Sonic scolds a bit softer, brows knitted with worry as he watches Shadow seethe in his stress, “Why are you being so easily-agitated???”

“What are you doing here!? Where’s Rouge???”

Sonic looks at Shadow like he’s got two heads, “Shadow, did you hit your head???”

Sonic doesn’t even hesitate, moving a hand to cup Shadow’s cheek and gently tilt his head towards him so he can get a better look of it. His other hand gently feeling through Shadow’s quills, and Shadow feels his face heating up. His cheeks puff as he tries not to explode.

It’s too much.

It’s TOO MUCH.

“Stop touching me!!!!”

Sonic immediately moves to stand up, staring at Shadow with surprise at how angry he seems. The hero doesn’t look angry, though. He looks worried. And scared almost.

Taking a small breath, he backs up a bit towards the door and then looks down a moment, “...Okay.” His eyes lift again to Shadow, looking determined, “Okay. Let’s just calm down, huh?? Let’s talk..”

Shadow growls at him, “And why would I talk to you??”

“Because I’m the one here listening??” Sonic says with a little tilt of his head, his hands resting on his hips, “...Why are you being so hostile?”

“Because you’ve invaded my home and my personal space!” Shadow sneers back, glaring daggers at Sonic.

Sonic’s hands raise a bit at that in a surrender sort of way, “Well, that’s fair about the personal space, I guess. You just woke up and you’re probably overwhelmed. But I thought we were cool on calling this our home at this point.”

Shadow’s eyes widen a bit at that, scoffing as if absolutely baffled at Sonic’s words, “Our home?? What the hell are you on about now???”

Sonic stares at Shadow looking a bit confused now as well, that worry returning again with an done expression on his face, “...That’s it. I’m calling Tails,” he huffs, turning to walk out the bedroom door.

Shadow’s eyes widen, leaning up to yell after him, “DO NOT INVITE MORE PEOPLE TO MY HOUSE!”

[official-cvntified-gay]

GIRLY I AM CRAVING FOR SOME LARISSA "MILF" WEEMS RN

Would you write Larissa falling for Reader, (She literally just simps over Reader lmao) and Reader is just oblivious to it until Larissa just blurts it out and Reader buffers then has a 'oooh' moment 😭

Idk it's silly lol. Anyways thanks babes! Love you lotssss 💞💞💞

Clueless

note: thank you so much for this dear anon<3 I tried with this, u have my love<3

The rain drummed softly against the windows of Larissa’s quarters, the golden glow of her lamps casting a cozy warmth over the room. She’d invited you over after a particularly long day, saying that a quiet night in with wine and “some well-deserved relaxation” was just what she needed. You, ever the good friend, had happily agreed, chalking it up to nothing more than a comforting night spent together—like a sleepover, you’d thought with a smile.

You curled up on one end of her sofa, your glass of wine in hand, marveling at how different Larissa looked in her own space, freed from the crisp professionalism she wore around Nevermore. She’d let her hair down, the loose waves cascading over her shoulders, and swapped her usual formal clothes for a soft, cream-colored sweater that only made her look more striking.

“Thank you for coming over tonight,” she said, smiling softly as she settled beside you with her own glass. “It’s… been a day.”

“Oh, of course!” you replied with a grin, nudging her shoulder. “This is what friends are for, right? Besides, it’s nice to just… relax with you.” You took a sip of your wine, missing the way her eyes lingered on you, something tender and longing in her gaze.

You’d come to know Larissa quite well over the last few months, and you’d grown close, often spending evenings like this together, sharing laughter and conversation. But lately, she’d been acting a bit different. The little gifts, the way she would sometimes touch your arm or shoulder when she laughed, the look she got in her eyes when she thought you weren’t paying attention—all of it confused you. You’d chalked it up to her being friendly, affectionate, even if it did make your heart race now and then. She was just… generous, right?

She turned to you now, a small, almost hesitant smile on her face. “Do you ever think about love?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Love? Well, sure, I guess.” You laughed, brushing it off, but her expression stayed intent, her blue eyes steady on yours in a way that made your breath catch.

She took a deep breath, her fingers toying with the stem of her wine glass. “Have you ever been in love?”

You pondered the question, not sure how to answer. “I’m… not sure,” you admitted. “Maybe someday, if the right person comes along.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze slipping away as she looked down into her wine. “It’s a strange thing, love. To be around someone and feel your heart speed up, to bring them little things just to see them smile, to want to be near them in every way… even if they have no idea what they’re doing to you.”

You blinked, suddenly taken aback by her tone. She sounded almost frustrated, her usual calm composure faltering just slightly, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. You opened your mouth to say something, but she continued, as though she’d held these words back for too long.

“All the times I’ve sat here with you, hoping you’d notice the way I look at you… the compliments, the little gifts…” Her eyes softened as she looked up at you, her gaze raw and almost pleading. “Merlin’s sake, I’ve been trying to show you. I’m in love with you.”

You stared at her, her words settling over you like a gentle but jarring realization. She’d been leaving signs all along, hadn’t she? The lingering glances, the little touches, the gifts, the affectionate way she’d always smiled at you. You’d thought it was all part of her warmth and kindness, but now—now it was as if a veil had lifted.

“Oh,” you breathed, your heart racing as each moment with her came rushing back. She’d been in love with you this whole time. And you… you’d been too oblivious to see it.

“A-all those times…” you murmured, feeling warmth flood your cheeks. “They were for me? Because you love me?”

A hint of relief crossed her face as she nodded, a small, shy smile breaking through her usual poise. “Yes. All of it was for you.”

You were at a loss of words, your brain having a malfunction at her words, "say something... please"

You quickly gather yourself. You felt a wave of emotions rise within you, a rush of warmth and realization that filled the space between you. “Larissa… I—I didn’t realize…” You trailed off, searching for the right words, feeling your own feelings for her bubbling to the surface, feelings you’d buried without understanding why.

And before you could second-guess yourself, you reached for her hand, entwining your fingers with hers. She let out a soft, almost surprised breath, her smile widening as her thumb brushed gently over your knuckles.

“Well,” you whispered, a bit breathless, “I think we need to schedule a proper date. I’ve clearly missed a few things…”

Her laughter was soft, affectionate, as she leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with a newfound joy. “I think I’d like that very much.”

And in the quiet of her quarters, the rain tapping against the window, you realized that your heart had known long before your mind did.

[nell0-0]

Mask will let the captain have this. Just this once. It wasn't just once.

Poor Mask kept falling to the ground. Luckily for him, either the captain or Tune are there to catch him

A continuation of THIS

Fun fact I didn't know until I started researching for this: apparently when someone looses an eye, it's possible that the other eye adapts. This is not good in the beginning as the remaining eye stops working for a while (???!). While long term it's not as noticeable (just less field of vision and some problems with depth perception sometimes) it's, uh... interesting :,D

Correct me if I'm wrong about this tho. I did my research, but sometimes there's misinformation out there so don't trust it 100% without checking it first.

[forecast0ctopus]

i knwo a lot of people like the aos cadet and dress uniforms but i do Not and am actively trying to think up alternatives…… with tos kirk though lmao sorry

[elvenbeard]

Did some blorbo modding this past weekend and updated Vince's shoulder and back tattoos a little bit :3 still the same design overall with some minor tweaks in coloring etc, because while I liked my original idea, some things I'd been meaning to adjust forever. And now I finally got around to, and that warrants a topless photoshoot of course \o/

[evilmagician430]

[the-piano]

Diavlo and Furi

A remake !

Yay

[incognit0slut]

Angel

PART 5 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Single Dad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader Spencer likes having you around to look after his daughter, in fact, he likes you a bit too much.

content: (18+) 5.4k, breeding kink, fingering, fem oral, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, d/s dynamic but he still tries to be a gentleman although reader doesn’t want him to, mutual pining, body worship with slight religious metaphors bc he’s down so bad, and of course sweet aftercare a/n: 1) i know the gif isn’t spencer but i just had to; 2) i changed the title from the original plan bc i was listening to angel baby while writing this; 3) if i have the chance to describe his happy trail and tummy i will in a heartbeat; 4) this fic is basically the epitome of D-I-L-F!

“I want you to understand,” he mutters against your skin, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear, “that I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

A hand creeps up the back of his neck. “What if I want you to?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am serious. I’m not the one hesitating.”

His hand glides slowly up your side, fingertips barely ghosting over your skin, and a soft, shaky breath escapes his lips. “I’m trying to be responsible."

“I think we’re past being responsible,” you counter as his fingers trace your waist. “What are you so worried about, anyway? You’re not forcing me into anything.”

“I want to make sure you don’t feel like—” his fingers twitch, lingering over your bare skin, “—like I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

“I’m literally naked under you,” you remind him. “If anyone’s taking advantage here, it’s me.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he exhales. “You’re making this really hard, you know that?”

“That’s kind of the point.”

And it’s true, Spencer realizes with a rush of heat, because he’s incredibly hard, the heavy length of his cock pressed against your stomach while he braces his weight above you. His lungs tighten, squeezing around breaths that feel too thick to swallow as his teeth graze his lower lip. It takes everything in him to keep from losing himself when his mind is already slipping.

How could he have ever imagined it would go this far?

Spencer can’t quite make sense of how this quiet, unassuming crush that crept in the first time he saw you with his daughter has led to this. It wasn’t anything grand or sudden, just this slow bloom that unfurled every time he caught you reading to Violet or laughing with her over some little joke in the living room. There was just something about the way you slipped so easily into his life, fitting into the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty until you filled them.

He’d never let himself imagine it would go beyond that. He’d convinced himself those feelings for you were just something he’d have to live with quietly, a small ache that would fade with time. But somehow, despite his best efforts to keep it hidden, you’d found your way to him. And against all his expectations, you liked him back. You like him enough that you’re now wearing nothing but a smile.

Flushed skin kissed by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Innocent eyes touched with a hint temptation.

It all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

The moment that led to this replays in his mind, clear as daylight even if it happened well past midnight. He’d gotten home somewhere between too late and way too late, running on nothing but caffeine and sugar, and there you were, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You started talking about your day with Violet, recounting how you’d taken her to the park, read her favorite book before bed, and how she’d peppered you with endless questions about why the sky changes colors when the day changes into night. But something was different in your voice, a softness to the way you said his name, and your gaze lingered on him just a beat longer than usual. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing he could point to and say that’s it, but he felt it. An almost imperceptible shift in the air.

Before he knew it, he had crossed the room and kissed you. He should’ve thought it through or paused to consider the consequences, but the way you responded made it clear you’d been waiting just as long for his attention.

His shoulders fall with a quiet exhale.

“This could get complicated,” he continues, as if reminding you (and maybe himself) that there’s a line between employee and employer that he’s about to cross. A line that could change everything between you both once it’s blurred. “We should think about what this means.”

“We’ve had plenty of time to think. If you wanted to stop, you would’ve done it already.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Then please enlighten me.”

Instead of answering right away, he leans in, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and then he’s gently pulling the tender flesh between his lips that draws a sudden moan from your throat. The sound seems to fuel him, and before you can even register what’s happening, his fingers are already slipping lower, exploring the soft space between your thighs.

“What if I want more than this?” His fingers inch closer, teasingly brushing against your heat with a slowness that borders on torment. “What if I want everything?”

Your hips buck against his hand. “Everything?”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Not just tonight.”

The words send a ripple of electricity that blooms deep in your core. When his fingers finally slip between your folds, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

“You… you mean you want… more than this? More than just us… here?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice catching like gravel in his throat as his fingers trace over the slickness he’s found. “Does that scare you?”

For a moment, words fail you. The slow, coaxing rhythm of his fingers pulls you deeper into a haze where coherent thoughts are hard to grasp. There’s a pause, a heartbeat where he stops. Waiting.

“No,” you confess, the truth slipping out more easily than you expected. “It doesn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “It doesn’t?”

Your lungs expand, filling with a rush of oxygen and a nervous flutter that lands somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “I think this is the right time to tell you I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

Spencer stays motionless for a beat. Then something shifts—his gaze softens, and a small, almost incredulous smile curves his lips. “You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah.”

“As in… you have feelings for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you’re not just… turned on right now?”

“Well, that too,” you admit with a grin, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “But it’s more than that. I really like you.”

His smile widens, and his fingers begin to move again, circling your clit with just the right pressure to pull a sharp intake of breath from you. It’s as though your confession is a final green light he’d been waiting for. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Your teeth catch your lip, struggling to hold back fragments of breath. “I thought it was obvious,” you manage between heavy exhales. “Why do you think I always stay late?"

"To avoid traffic?"

You huff. "I tried to be around you as much as possible, Spencer."

His fingers toy at the edge of your entrance, tracing the slick, warm wetness that clings to his skin as a quiet hum rumbles in his chest. “You know I’m not always the best at picking up social cues.”

“You’re a profiler.” Your breath catches halfway between a gasp and a sigh when he slides a finger in. “You're supposed to notice everything."

He lets your words settle, eyes narrowing slightly as he turns them over in his mind.

“I guess I was too focused on trying not to cross any lines to see the ones you were trying to draw."

A soft moan escapes your lips as another finger slides in.

“I'm… glad you finally caught on."

"I'm catching on now.”

His eyes drop to the way your body greedily takes his fingers. The sight alone sends a rush of heat straight to his gut like a line of fire winding up through his chest and spreading into his limbs. You’re dripping, the slick sound of your arousal nearly derails him as he continues to watch the wetness coat his fingers with every slow thrust.

“Since when have you had this crush?” He asks curiously.

There’s a beat of silence, only punctuated by the soft, breathy noises escaping you. When he finally looks up, he catches the way your face scrunches in pleasure, brows furrowed and eyes barely open, and he can’t help but find it almost unbearably adorable. The corners of his lips twitch with a quiet laugh before he leans in, pressing the softest it’s okay, you can tell me kiss against your lips.

“Since when?”

You blink your eyes open at his question, and there’s a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Since—” you start, but your voice catches when he curls his fingers slightly, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a barely-contained grin.

“Since?” he prompts again.

You swallow the lump tightening in your throat. “Since you interviewed me for the job."

He absorbs your words. "That’s… more than a while."

"It was innocent at the time," you confess, trying to regain some control over your thoughts. "Just a silly little crush."

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, and whatever sense of composure you had left is slipping away piece by piece. “What changed?”

Desperation claws at you with every passing second, your hips moving against his hand as you scramble to gather your thoughts. But the way his fingers are mapping every sensitive spot makes it nearly impossible to articulate anything coherent. He doesn’t miss the way your breath stutters, or how your words break apart into fragmented attempts to answer.

“I-I—” you stammer, wincing as the words catch in your throat before you finally manage to continue, “I probably shouldn’t say…”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing."

He lets out a soft laugh. ���Tell me anyway,” he urges. “I want to hear it.”

You fall quiet again, and the only sounds that fill the space between you is the ragged pull of your breaths and the slick rhythm of his fingers pumping lazily inside you. The words sit heavy on your tongue, threatening to disappear if you don’t say them quickly enough.

"Remember when… you taught Violet how to… ride her bike?”

He tilts his head slightly. There’s a furrow in his brow as he searches your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, there were a lot of lessons.”

“The very first time.”

“Ah,” he muses. “Around June, then.”

You nod. “When I… saw you with her that day, I-I… I got curious.”

His fingers falter, just slightly, the subtle pause enough to show that you’ve grabbed his attention. “Curious?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You were so adorable with her… and I started thinking about what it would be like… to have your kids.”

If there was ever a moment to leave him utterly speechless, this was it. His brain seems to stall, the gears grinding to a halt as the reality of what you’ve said settles in. He’s spent so much time trying to be the one holding it all together, but now? Now all he could picture was you holding a baby—his baby—and the thought sent his mind reeling, knocking him off balance in a way he didn’t expect.

“You… thought about that?”

Your fingers trails his shoulder before slipping up into his hair, curling gently at the nape of his neck. “It crossed my mind more than once.”

“That’s—” wow. He leans his forehead against yours. “Not embarrassing. At all.”

“Really?”

“That’s probably the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

You let out a soft chuckle, gently pulling on his curls before drawing his bottom lip into a gentle suck. “It’s never been innocent since then.”

Goosebumps rises along his skin, and the heat pooling low in his stomach tightens as he grows impossibly harder. “Yeah?”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time.”

His jaw clenches.

He’s so close to completely losing it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he mutters, pressing his fingers deeper inside you.

“Why.. why not?”

“Because I might give you exactly what you want.” When he feels you clench around him, he huffs in amusement. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a tender spot he finds deep inside, one that feels achingly sensitive, and your mouth falls open, a soundless gasp escaping before you can catch it.

“You really mean it,” he says, more a realization than a question, as he watches your body go pliant beneath his touch.

“I do,” you manage to say.

“You want me that way?”

You nod frantically. “Want your cum in me.”

The second those words leave your lips, his groan rumbles through his chest, and you swallow it down as his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in a chaotic rhythm that’s both desperate and needy. When he finally pulls away, you’re left panting, your lips swollen, his forehead resting against yours.

“Never would’ve guessed you had such a dirty mouth."

"There's a lot of thing you don't know about me."

His breath brushes against your lips as he whispers, “I’m starting to figure that out.”

When he slowly withdraws his fingers, you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your throat. Your eyes follow his every move as he sits up and settles between your thighs. You’ve always thought Spencer was an attractive man, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t admired the way his shirts fit just snug enough to hint at what was underneath. But seeing him naked like this? That was a whole new level of breathtaking.

Your gaze trails down his frame, landing on the soft curve of his stomach, something you'd secretly adored every time it pressed against his dress shirts. It was even more captivating without anything hiding it now, especially with the trail of dark hair leading down. Soft, scattered strands, drawing your eyes right to the place where you can’t help but stare.

He gives himself a slow pump. Once. Twice. And then, finally, you feel the firm pressure of his tip pressing between your folds.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the head of his cock sliding over your sensitive skin. “There's a condom in my drawer."

Your body tenses at the thought of him pulling back, and without thinking, your hand reaches between the two of you, wrapping around his cock before he can pull away. “When was the last time you got tested?”

He exhales sharply. “A few months ago,” he mutters, hips twitching against your grip despite himself. “If there was any risk, I wouldn’t even consider this without telling you.”

“I got tested last month,” you assure him quickly. “We’re both safe.”

He nods absentmindedly. “We can… still grab the condom if you want…”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, gently brushing the bead of precum that had formed at his tip. “I thought I made it clear I want you to cum inside me.”

He can only stare as your delicate finger trails along the thick vein. It feels like all the oxygen he’s desperately clinging to has been sucked from his lungs.

“I know you said you don’t want to take advantage of me…” you continue, guiding him right to your entrance. “But I really want you to.”

He finally lets out a low, gruff sound, something between a growl and a sigh as he slowly pushes himself in. His eyes are locked on the sight of your walls stretching to accommodate his size, watching as your body struggles to take him.

"You should stop talking like that," he rasps through gritted teeth. "I’m barely holding it together."

"Here's another thing you should know about me.”

He ruts gently into you. A push. A pull.

A heartbeat in between.

“I really like it rough."

That’s all it takes.

He slams his hips into yours.

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels. It’s more like a surge, a rush of heat and desperation that floods every inch of him the same time you cry out. His throat tightens, constricting around breaths he can’t seem to catch as he resorts to inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Jesus… you feel so—” His words falter, his voice rough and breathless as his fingers figs into your skin. His chest rises and falls with each labored breaths, and his eyes squeezes shut for a moment.

Tight. Warm. Wet. That’s exactly how you feel.

"Perfect." His large hands grips your waist. “You’re perfect.”

You mewl at his words, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it, and the soft, needy noise is enough to make his eyes flicker open. He begins to pull back, just enough to make you whimper from the sudden loss of contact, but before you can catch your breath, he snaps his hips forward with a rough, powerful thrust.

Your hands fly to his arms, holding onto him tightly. "Spencer… Please…”

He lets out a sigh.

No man is immune to that tone of desperation, least of all Spencer. Not when you’re offering yourself to him like something out of a dream. Not when your eyes lock onto his with a look that belongs more to an angel—if angels could be so helpless and desperate. Because what angel pleads with every breath for more?

What angel cries out as he holds your hips firmly in place and thrusts with a force that drives you to the brink of sanity?

He’s mesmerized. His eyes track the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips. There’s something almost greedy in the way his gaze roams over you, but it’s when he locks onto where your bodies meet that he really loses himself. A glossy ring coats his cock each time he pulls out, and when he pushes back in, the friction between your bodies creates a lewd, wet sound that fills the room.

He laughs. Not out of mockery, but out of sheer delight.

You’re an angel wrapped in sin.

“I can’t—oh god, right there—” Your nails leave little crescents moon on his skin. “You’re so… so deep.”

You’re really testing his limits, and Spencer knows he’s very far from a violent man, but right now, the temptation to cover your mouth with his hand is becoming dangerously real. Although with the way you’re writhing beneath him, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, he’s sure you’d probably enjoy it.

“Spencer…”

His balls slaps your ass as he slams into you.

“O-Oh—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He squeezes your waist tightly. “Already?”

“Ngh.”

Your grip loosens on his arm, and before he can fully process what’s happening, your fingers dance along your clit. It takes all his willpower not to spill into you right then and there when he feels you tighten around him in response. But he holds on, because he needs you to cum first. He needs to feel your velvety walls flutter along the rigid veins of his cock, needs to watch the way your body tenses with pleasure.

He needs to feel it more than once.

He lets you have your first orgasm. Although letting seems like the wrong word. There’s nothing passive about it. He’s making you cum, driving you to it with each calculated thrust. You’re toying with your clit, rubbing in frantic circles just like you do whenever you touch yourself with the thought of him, but this time, it’s even more intense. This time, he’s inside you. And this time, it takes only a few moments for the tension to snap.

You clamp down on him. Hard. So hard that his movement falters for a second, but he quickly recovers, thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm. Just as you start to catch your breath, he pulls out, and you’re left in that delicious, dizzy haze, but your mind is even more disoriented when his face suddenly lowers between your thighs.

“Oh, you’re gonna—” you moan as his shoulders nudge your legs apart, opening you wider for him. “Spencer, you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, before you even take another breath, the tip of his tongue flicks out.

“I want to.”

And he means it. He dives in with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt. His tongue starts firm and flat, pressing against you before dragging slowly upward, gathering your slickness in one deliberate sweep. Then he changes rhythm, the broad strokes shifting into something more focused, alternating between gentle flicks and deep, hungry pulls, and it’s doing things to you that no amount of late-night fantasies could have prepared you for.

Your head is all over the place that you reach out blindly, trying to find something solid, but the air merely glides over your skin. You stretch for the edge of the bed, fingertips just skimming the surface before your arms flail helplessly in the empty space. He notices your struggle almost immediately, and without missing a beat, he pulls back, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Here,” he says, reaching out his arms toward you. “Give me your hands.”

Gladly. The second your fingers lock with his, a sense of grounding floods you, though it does nothing to ease the intensity of what he’s doing. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders flex under your thighs as he positions himself. And sure, your legs somehow feel weightless, like they’re floating in the air, but the rest of you?

You’re a mess of nerve endings on fire.

It’s impossible to think clearly when every cell in your body is buzzing. Your thoughts scatter the second his mouth moves in that devastating way, driving you out of your mind. You try to hold on to some semblance of control, but who are you kidding? He has officially turned you into a puddle of desperate, needy nerves, and you don’t even care.

It doesn’t take long before that coil snaps, and when it does, your entire body trembles. It’s always the second orgasm. The first is a tease, a little warm-up. The second one is the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. It doesn’t just tug at your edges, it tears right through, leaving you gasping and shaking and completely undone like every part of you has been pulled apart and put back together very wrong.

His mouth is glazed with your slick when he finally pulls away. “Good?”

You can barely feel your legs.

“Speechless,” is your answer.

His nose twitches in amusement as his hand leaves yours only for them to slide down your body, gently coaxing your legs to wrap around his waist. “Continue?”

“Please.”

A palm slips down your thigh. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as he hovers above you. “About what?”

“About taking advantage of you.”

You huff out a sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Say it again,” he urges, guiding his cock smoothly along your folds before your whines travel into his ears. Ah, there it is. This is the sound that would greet him in heaven, if such a place existed for someone like him. Men who’ve taken lives to save others. Men who carry too many regrets to count. Spencer knows he’s not the kind of person heaven was built for, but if it were, he’s certain it would sound exactly like the breathy moan that escapes your lips.

And he’s tasted the afterlife, once, when he was younger—drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion with a ghost of a needle stuck in his arm. But nothing about that brush with death was like this. This feels like he’s been pulled back into something he didn’t believe he deserved.

“Say it again.”

He’s pleading now. It sounds awfully like a prayer.

“I want you to take advantage of me,” you say, the words spilling from your lips like a soft, sinful confession, music to his ears. An angel. “I want all of it.”

He takes your hands again. “So you won’t be mad if I get a little rough?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

That’s all he needs. He gently pushes your hands above your head, pinning them to the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours as his weight presses you into the bed. There’s a sudden rush—like a switch has flipped that it knocks the breath out of you. Your heart skips a beat, but not from nerves. No, this is anticipation, excitement.

You test his hold on you, just to see what happens, but his grip stays firm, almost daring you to resist.

“You asked for this,” he warns as he shifts his hips, aligning himself right to your entrance.

You shake your head. “I begged for this.”

He laughs, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “Yeah,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he presses deeper, “you did.”

A breathless whine escapes your lips as he fills you.

Angel, angel, angel.

He looks at you with a kind of reverence that borders on worship, though his movements are anything but saintly. There’s nothing gentle or innocent about the way he’s taking you, and there’s a quiet madness in the way you respond. Making love would be too tame, too soft for what this is. But fucking seems too crude, too disconnected for the way your eyes meet his, for the way you say his name like a prayer and a demand all at once.

The moment your voice breaks, breathless and needy, something inside him snaps. He feels the tightness coiling in his gut, and once it starts, there’s no stopping it. The pressure is mounting, and with every hard thrust it becomes harder to hold back. He knows he should slow down, give you a moment to catch your breath, but he can’t—his body won’t let him.

His fingers tighten around yours. He’s moving with a single-minded intensity now, pushing you flat against the mattress, your body pliant beneath him. The bed creaks every time he moves and your legs wrap tighter around his hips as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer leans down, brushing his lips against yours, so close but never quite closing the distance, like even the simplest kiss would shatter him too soon. Instead, he rests his forehead on top of yours and whispers, “l’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, like he’s stuck on some endless loop. It’s not a real apology, not for anything he’s done, but for how much he needs you and how he’s afraid of breaking you with how much he can’t hold back.

He’s so close and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m—” He groans as he feels the tension in his body snap, the wave building up in his spine and crashing down with brutal intensity. “I—fuck—I can’t hold it—”

You’re barely coherent yourself, but your voice comes out strong. A little breathless.

“Inside,” you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it inside.”

Your words push him over the edge. He shudders, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can the moment the last thread of his restraint snaps. He can feel it, the way he pulses inside you, filling you completely. Every thrust is accompanied by a harsh groan as his release paints your walls, and the sound of your soft, desperate whines only pushes him deeper into the overwhelming pleasure.

When it finally becomes too much, he carefully pulls out. But the intensity is still coursing through his veins, and he’s too addicted to the sound of your sound, too drawn to the way your body trembles beneath him.

His hand drifts from your wrist almost on instinct, tracing its way down between your legs. He doesn’t need to see the mess he’s made—he can feel it. There’s a fleeting moment where he pauses, almost in awe, before his fingers brush over your clit, and your hips jerk in response. He’s not even sure if he’s teasing you or himself at this point, but he’s too far gone to care.

He slides two fingers inside you.

Your back arches instantly, your nipples brushing against his chest, and you gasp, fully aware of what he’s trying to do. “Oh… I—I can’t…”

He shakes his head. “You can,” he reassures you, watching in fascination as he pushes the white liquid of his release deeper into you. His gaze snaps back to yours. “I think you can give me one more.”

Your body trembles, and you can’t hold back the soft, broken cry that escapes your lips.

“Spencer…”

He loosens his grip on your hand, guiding it gently to rest around his neck. “Please,” he begs, his lips brushing your skin, “for me?”

The way he says it makes it impossible for you to deny him. And he knows it. He feels it in the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the tension inside you builds again. His fingers work faster, more desperate now, curling inside you just the way you like.

He’s watching, waiting, and when you finally cum again, it’s like witnessing something so divine. Your body shakes beneath him, a violent, beautiful quake that feels like it’s pulling him into its orbit. He’s unable to tear his eyes away as your head tilts back, lips parting with a choked moan that’s as delicate as it is devastating like an angel’s breath caught on the edge of rapture.

If angels looked this breathtaking in heaven, no wonder people were willing to risk damnation.

Spencer smiles wryly to himself.

Since when did he become so religious?

Another strangled moan escapes your lips. When your orgasm finally subsides, your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, and with what little strength you have left, you reach up and yank weakly at his mop of brown curls.

“…no more.”

He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “No more,” he agrees, pulling his fingers from you carefully.

Without saying a word, he slips off the bed and disappears from the room, only to come back with a damp towel in his hand. You expect him to hand it over to you, but you’re surprised when he kneels at the edge of the bed, gently spreading your legs apart.

Your skin tingles under his gaze as he stares at the mess between your thighs.

“That was…” he starts as he begins to wipe the towel over you. “…very reckless of us.”

With a small, tired smile, you mutter, “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

He glances up at you. “I’m not,” he admits, finishing his cleanup and setting the towel aside. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least pretend to be responsible.”

You reach for him as he climbs back into bed. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m on birth control?”

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his body visibly relaxing as he lets out a quiet laugh. “It definitely helps,” he says, tucking you under his chin, “but I’m still going to try to be more careful next time.”

Your grin is as wide as the warmth spreading through your chest. “Next time?”

He smiles softly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part? You said a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean,” he insists.

“I know. But I want to hear it again.”

The tip of his nose brushes yours. “I want everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single part of you.”

You take a deep breath. A whiff of his sweat and the faintest trace of soap clings around your senses until you release a happy sigh. “Do you think Violet will be okay with this? With us?”

His hand slips to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head to look at you. “She already loves you,” he reassures you. “She’s more adaptable than you think. And she trusts you.”

“But... what if it changes things for her?”

“It will change things,” he admits. “But all the changes will be good ones."

You mull over his words. “You think so?”

“I know so, because you make her happy. You make both of us happy, an—”

He stops, his lips just barely parted as he catches himself.

He almost said it. He almost called you angel.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly, a faint embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m just really happy,” he explains, his fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. There’s a curious look in your eyes, but instead of pressing him, you bury yourself into his neck, which he’s quietly grateful for because he’s not sure he could have explained himself without sounding like a total sap.

And maybe he is a sap, but even he’s aware that words like that shouldn’t be thrown around too soon, especially after just one night. Not before things settle in, before everything feels a little less like a dream and more like reality.

But he thinks about it. Oh, he thinks about it. The word stubbornly lingers at the edge of his mind he’s keeping for another time. He imagines letting it slip on some quiet morning, when you’re half-asleep and bundled in his shirt, golden sunlight filtering through the window to cast a warm glow across your skin. Or maybe when you meet him at the door after a long day, and Violet runs up, chattering away while you smile at him with that look that feels like coming home.

He can picture it falling easily from his lips someday, maybe even in a future where you’re holding the baby you had wondered about having with him and he’s standing there, watching you like someone who can’t quite believe his luck.

He’ll say it with a kind of certainty then. Not as a prayer, not as some lofty declaration of divine grace.

And when that moment comes, without hesitation, he’ll finally call you his angel.

[kathaynesart]

Took a bit of time to myself to finally sketch out my vision for Frida based off Andy Suriano’s Farewell. More design thoughts under the cut.

I know some were wary of her appearing too feminine, but honestly I enjoyed the challenge of finding a way to feminize the base turtle model and stay true to Andy’s wonderful design. I don’t want her to just look like her brothers in a show that embraces their differences.

The biggest thing I added to her design was an exposed heart. My own little twist inspired by a real life issue some turtles deal with as well as a fitting ode to the artist she is named after, Frida Kahlo, who often drew herself with her heart floating outside of her body. (And yes I made the creative decision to keep her heart at her center as with many turtles.)

This deformity occurred during her mutation where the sudden growth spurt tore open a hole at the seam of her plastron. She has survived as long as she has because of Big Mama who uses mystic wards to keep her heart physically safe and emotionally numb. If you look closely to her plastron in the show it’s not actually a natural body part but rather seems to be an attachment of her trench coat. Likely a false cover to hide her obvious weak spot (or at least that is my head canon!)

I love the idea of her and Donnie having something they can relate to and I’m sure he’ll be happy to design chest armor for her down the line once she’s free of Big Mama. Maybe someday I’ll figure out her full Mad Dogs outfit, but for now this is just her base and bandana.

As each of the boys embodies a shape, I found it all too fitting to have Frida’s be a heart. It’s honestly a cool shape that uses both rounded forms and sharp points, which I think would encapsulate her character well. Prickly on the surface but a softy deep down. I tried to find less typical ways of feminizing her. Sharpening her beak and digits while retaining the style of feminine eyes present in most of the female cast but matching it more closely to the unsettling shape of the eyes on her assistant’s mask.

Her markings are a color flip of Mikey’s, where as his are yellow spots with orange outlines hers are orange with yellow outlines. Coupled with her yellow eyes to match Donnie and Raph, it gives her this fiery vibe that I think still sets her far apart from Mikey.

The mask was honestly the hardest part. I love that it further accentuates her heart motif and made her more expressive, but just giving her the obvious bow and calling it a day did not sit well with me. I decided to try more of a high ponytail look, but I think it still needs some work. I’m pretty sure I like her with yellow though, both as a nod to Jennika and the idea of April giving her something of her own to help form the bond between the two.

Would love to flesh her out further but back to my usual stuff first.

[mrslestappen]

Disease : paranoid ✦ cl16

summary: The fact that you have to work as a Formula One driver's assistant for your final college grade is not the worst of your problems; the true issue is that no one told you that you would become a emotional support human for him.

pairing: charles leclerc x assistant!reader

tags: fluff + angst?, caring charles (tiny bit) + comfort, bad thoughts.

# part one - next part [ series masterlist ]

Everything feels unreal. You're watching the mechanics work in the garage, and the only thing you can think is: has red always been such a pretty color?

It was the first race of the season, and you didn't have much to do yet, they told you that you just needed to make sure that Charles did everything that they asked him to do, and that was easy, thanks to him.

“Have you seen my notebook?" Charles asks as he looks around to see if he can catch a glimpse of the tiny notebook somewhere, you let out a chuckle, grab your purse from the floor and give him what he needs. 

“How is it that you always have everything I need?” he took the notebook from your hands and opened it “I try my best” he gave you a knowing look.

Charles still remembers the first time he saw you at the Ferrari headquarters in Maranello, you had just signed your contract with them and he had just been told that he had a new assistant. 

You were quite awkward and a bit clumsy when he first struck up a conversation with you. He learned that this was your first job, and he made a mental note to make you feel welcome, and also he didn't want you to leave him like the others. 

He tried his best to make you feel as comfortable as possible before the season started, he was patient and generally nice, which was what you really needed at that moment. 

When you made your first mistake and didn't tell Charles that he was supposed to be in a meeting, he took the blame and told Fred that it was his fault. 

You thought he would be angry, but he just said "It's okay, everyone makes mistakes" and in that moment you thank the angels for making him such a nice person. 

"Thank you, Mr. Leclerc" 

"None of that, we are a team you and I, if you ever need help just come to me." 

That was a month ago when you were still new and walking on eggshells trying not to make any mistakes, luckily you got better after all your final grade depended on it. 

"Have you eaten today?" Charles asks, handing his notebook back to you, just needed to check something he thought he should comment on the car in the next meeting they will have. 

"I haven't, but I was about to do so," you told him as you walked out of the garage with him beside you, trying your best not to look at him to see his face, which probably had a disappointed look on it. 

"I thought you said you already ate." 

"I did." 

"What did you have?" 

"Coffee," you mumble softly as you enter the Ferrari hospitality, "that's not food y/n," he scolds you again, you already lose count of how many times he does this.

Charles grabs a plate and starts to put different kinds of fruit on it, "you already ate," he nods, "This is for you," you try to grab the plate out of his hands, but he stretches his arm as high as he can to make sure you don't have a chance to grab it. 

"It's my food, let me grab what I want," he ignores you, grabs your wrist, and walks over to one of the tables. 

He pulls out a chair for you and you sit down, he puts the plate in front of you and sits across from you, motioning for you to start eating, which you do, but not before giving him the meanest look you can.

You take out your phone and play a YouTube video while you eat, it is a bad habit and Charles has told you several times but he still watches with you. 

When you put the phone at the right angle so that you and Charles can see the video without any problems, you notice that he is not watching.

“Mr. Leclerc" you called him but he didn't answer, you sighed softly, you know he heard you. 

"Charlie?" 

"Yes?"

"You have to stop doing that," he tilted his head as if he didn't know what you were saying, "I shouldn't call you that," "Why not?" "Because you're my boss.”

"There's nothing wrong with calling me that, besides it makes me feel old when you call me Mr. Leclerc."

"You are old" 

"I'm twenty-six." 

The look you gave him was enough to make a dramatic gasp come out of his mouth, you were already used to his tactics so you didn't apologize for calling him old. 

When the alarm on your phone went off, you grabbed it and stopped it before it could keep ringing, "Time to go, you have a meeting," you said as you handed him his notebook that he needed for to take notes. 

He gave you a quick thanks, but you grabbed him and raised your hand, he gave you a pout, but you shook your head at that, he took his phone out of his pocket and placed it in your hand, "it was worth the try," he muttered to himself. 

✦ ✦ ✦

While you were waiting for Charles' meeting to end, you took out your laptop and started to finish the assignment you were supposed to send for this month. 

You were quite happy when your professor told you that all you had to do was to send in a report on what you had done, the experience you had gained, and what you had become better at, for your monthly assignment. 

It was a pretty easy assignment since you were traveling around the world and learning things that you didn't even know existed, and since this was your first job, it was easier for you because you were learning a lot of new things. 

“Y/n?" You took your eyes off the computer and looked at the person calling your name, you tilted your head as if to ask if they needed anything but they shook their head and motioned with their hand towards the hospitality door. 

You quickly grab your things and walk to the door to greet your friend, "Did you see what Professor Brown posted in the announcements?" You shake your head and ask, "Is it something important?" "Depends, he wants us to take pictures of what we have been doing lately." 

It didn't sound too bad, if the assignments continued to be like this, you were pretty sure you'd get an easy A. 

"Did you do it?" You ask her, "I did," she nods, "but I came here to tell you because I know sometimes you don't check the announcements," you give her an embarrassed smile, "I'm not that bad," you mutter softly, and she gives you a look, which you shrug off. 

"Well, I'm going back, I'm pretty sure Lando is already out of control again, see you, take care," she gave you a quick hug before walking quickly towards the McLaren hospitality. 

You watched her go and sighed, taking your phone out of your pocket, ready to take some pictures to send with the assignment, "Hey, have you seen Andrea?" You jump a little at the voice next to you, "Don't do that, and yes he’s in your driver's room, are you okay? You've been acting weird since yesterday" you ask him with concern evident in your voice, but he quickly shrugs it off and tells you that he is fine. 

You make a mental note to ask him later. "I'm going to exercise, go to my driver's room if you need anything, okay?" You nod, take his phone out of your purse and hand it to him. 

He quickly says goodbye and walks away before you can say anything else to him, you have noticed that Charles has been acting strange since you arrived in Bahrain. 

You have been meaning to ask him about it, but every time you get the chance he seems to run away, which is so unlike him. 

You snap out of your thoughts and head back into the hospitality area, ready to take some pictures and send off the assignment. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Practice one is about to start and everyone is running around making sure everything is perfect. The only thing that seems not to be here is the driver. 

"Y/n, where is Charles?" Fred asks, you want to shrug your shoulders but then you remember that this is your job, and you should know where he is, you look at him and tell him you're going to get Charles, and he gives you a thumbs up.

You look for Charles everywhere, including his driver's room and the hospitality area. Has he left? You were pretty sure you saw him a few minutes ago.  

How can a person disappear so quickly? you even ask people from other garages and they haven't seen him. 

You tried to call him, but his phone was dead, it didn't even send you to voicemail. 

"Y/n!" You hear someone yell your name and quickly turn your head towards Carlos, he seems out of breath, and you can see his chest rising and falling faster than normal.

"Charles is in my driver's room, I don't know what happened," he said, but that was enough for you to start running towards the Ferrari driver's room. You still shouted a thank you to Carlos and that seemed to have caught the attention of other people who looked at you strangely.

But you did not care about that, you needed it to find Charles and to make sure that he was ready to get into the car. 

You reach the driver's room trying to catch your breath as much as you can, you probably look terrible with hair sticking in your face from how much you've been sweating, you want to kill him for making you suffer like this.

You were now outside Carlos' driver's door and you could hear soft mumbling, was he talking to himself?

You knocked softly on the door and waited for an answer, when you got none you decided to open the door. 

"Charles how can-" you couldn't continue as Charles was lying on the floor with his hands on his head rocking back and forth as if trying to calm himself down, your thoughts of scolding him left you just by seeing him in such a vulnerable state.

You walked as slowly as you could and bent down to his level. You grabbed one of his hands, and that was enough for him to look at you quickly. 

"I'm sorry - I can't, it's going to be like last year," he said quickly, you know from what you heard that last year was not a good one for Charles, the car didn't seem to work for him at all, you didn't know he was that affected by it, and now looking at him you didn't want him to feel that way. 

He's such an amazing person and always so happy and joking with you, but he was hiding a lot of things that had hurt him and you couldn't let that happen.

"Hey, you can do this, okay?" both your hands grab his face and you give him a tiny smile, "I can't..." you shush him and try to get as close to him as you can, were you allowed to hug him? You did not know, but at that moment he probably needed it. 

"Hey, those bad days don't define you, you're amazing and such a talented driver, last year the car wasn't good, let's leave that in the past, okay? This is a new opportunity and you're going to show everyone who Charles is, you're going to make them eat their words, so go and destroy them, champ". 

That seems to make Charles' worries melt away a bit, you told him to take a deep breath with you, and when you felt that he was better you slowly let him go. But that seems to be a wrong move, because when you do, Charles seems to look at you as if you took something away from him, but you ignored it. 

"Okay champ get up, time to make jaws drop with your amazing driving" you joked and you were quite happy because you could see the corner of his mouth move up a bit. 

"Thank you, Mon ange" 

"None of that, we are a team, you and I, remember?" 

He nodded and in that moment he let himself look at you while you smiled at him, he felt as if your smile had the power to melt away his worries leaving behind a feeling of peace, in that moment he was grateful for you, he took a deep breath and let it out, there was nothing to worry about.

He's pretty sure this season will go well with you by his side because you wouldn't leave him, would you?

Scuderia :: @evie-119 @tempo-rary-fix @spookystitchery @boiohboii @halleest @itsjustkhaos @aphroditeisamilf @vicurious28 @lozzamez3 @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @heyheyheyggg @teamnovalak @fakeplastiqtree @michelleyw81 @lillyssh-tposts @these-books-are-ruining-my-life @kqliie @deliciousfestsalad @biitch-with-wifi @xohollie01 @charlesleclerc2003 @loloekie @elliegrey2803 @steamy-smoker @doesnt-care @delululeclerc @vip-access @theseerbetweenus @haikyuen @arian-directioner @marvelfangirl04 @melagem02 @rach3164 @zucchinimalfoy @scopeiguess @landoslutmeout @reiofsuns2001 @badussybumper @nixily @forevercaffeinated-lee @i-wish-this-was-me @gabys-gabs @entr4p3 @trouble-sistar @thef1diary @puttyly @solo2leo @f1and1d4eva @liliummz

Team radio: I hope you like! it I feel I could have done better but English is not my first language but I will do my best to improve, I will keep practicing and improving my writing every day.

[ervans]

Care for You (Mizu x F!reader)

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, and violence, soft sex, fingering (r! receiving)

a/n: wow. it's been a minute since i've truly sat down and wrote something. i'm absolutely obsessed with BES and mizu, i haven't felt so passionate about something since TLOU. this is my adaptation of what seems to be the most cliche scenario in this fandom so far: reader finding an injured mizu. i'm a bit rusty when it comes to writing so any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated, follows and notes as well. i have more ideas for works surrounding mizu (including a brothel fic muahahaha) so keep your eyes peeled for my posts :))

The sound of your sandals shuffling against the ground and your heavy pants were the only noises that pierced the otherwise quiet night. The moon, stars, and faint glow of your home in the distance were your only source of light as you trekked up the hill where the soft orange hue was coming from. The walk up this specific hill usually caused you no trouble, having done it dozens of times; however, this time was a tad bit different. Why? The limp, unconscious body that was currently draped over your shoulder.

Earlier in the evening you had heard a commotion down at the lake below the hill your home rested on. It was normal for stragglers, crooks, and opium addicts to travel through this part of Japan and mixing those groups of people usually ended up in some sort of fight. You had paid no mind to the noise, continuing with your cleaning. It wasn’t until you realized you needed more water for your tea that you made your way down the hill. As you reached the shore and saw the mess in front of you your stomach lurched.

Four bodies laid lifeless in front of you on the sand. From what you could tell they all had various stab and slash wounds across their bodies. Fifteen feet away from the tattered bodies lay another smaller one clad in baggy black trousers and stockings, a dark blue haori, and white scarf around his neck with a brown straw hat, round glasses with an orange tinted lens, and a sword, the telltale sign of a samurai on the ground beside him.

 From where you stood you could see his chest still moving as he tried to shallowly breathe in oxygen from the air surrounding his struggling body. That brings you to where you are now, struggling up a damn hill trying to save this unknown samurai’s life. Was he responsible for the four bodies you had pushed into the lake? It didn’t matter to you; you weren’t one to judge in a world where it was kill or be killed.

You push the door to your house open and lay the injured stranger onto your mat near the fire. You start to boil water to disinfect whatever wounds he had and open a drawer to grab a needle and thread just in case stitches were needed. They very much were. You quickly realized the source of what seemed like never-ending blood on the top half of his body as you stripped the bloodstained clothing away. A gash about 4 inches long and deeper than you’d like it to be starting towards the base of his ribcage, skin around it starting to turn a yellowish color. It almost distracted you from the way the stranger was wearing chest wraps. Almost.

You frowned looking down at the shallow breathing of the samurai’s chest. Why would he need chest wraps? You thought, fingers brushing over the once white cloth now stained. Unless? You slowly started to undo the bindings, telling yourself you needed to anyways to properly clean the wound. As the cloth unraveled in your hands your small suspicion was confirmed. Two small breasts sat atop the chest of the slender samurai that laid before you, nipples hardening as they became exposed to the air. Your eyebrows raised, head tilting slightly to the side. A female samurai? How? Questions began to fill your mind as you started to clean the wound, gently washing it with the now hot water. It was unheard of for a woman to even touch a sword as it was said to make the blade impure. Where had this woman gotten her sword? Who did she get taught by? Clearly from the mess on the beach she knew her way around a fight.

You finished cleaning and stitching the larger wound and got to work on disinfecting the smaller cuts and scrapes on the upper half of her body. Once you were satisfied with your work, you began removing the woman’s trousers and stockings, revealing another deep gash running from the top of her knee down to her shin. Sighing you started the same process as her chest and prepared yourself for the unknown amount of time you would be caring for this mysterious female samurai.

════════════════════════════════════════════

It took three days for the samurai to fully regain her consciousness. In those days you had changed the dressings on her wounds, forced broth and water down her throat for some form of sustenance, and carefully studied her whenever you found the chance to. You noticed small things others would easily miss. The way her face seemed like it was always in a permanent frown, her subtly toned muscles from what had to be from years of training, how her calloused hands would twitch in her sleep, stress being the cause of it you had concluded after watching her for a good hour whilst you sipped on your tea, and how insanely handsome she was. Wait what? Handsome? That thought scared you so much that you had refused to watch her for the remainder of the evening besides checking her wounds thoroughly before you went to bed. But you couldn’t ignore those thoughts that plagued your head as your touch lingered for more time than it should’ve.

You were sat cross-legged waiting for your tea to steep when you heard a thud from behind you. Quickly turning around to find what the source of the noise was, you were met with the samurai staring back at you, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit space. And oh, were they blue. You had never seen or known something could be as piercingly blue as the eyes that met yours.

“Who are you? Where am I?” The samurai demanded in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer right away, mouth slightly agape with shock at the stranger who had, just minutes ago, been passed out. “I asked you a question, now answer it.” She said sternly after a beat of silence between the two of you.

You blinked, raising an eyebrow and rising to your feet. “Well that’s no way to talk to someone who saved your life now is it?”

The woman, stern frown never leaving her features, quickly looked around the room taking in her surroundings. She then looked down at herself, usual blue haori missing and replaced with a softer red one. You hadn’t wanted to leave her bare in the middle of your home and opted to dress her in one of yours while you worked on scrubbing the stains out of hers.

You saw her tentatively try to move, and the flash of pain the appeared on her face for just a second didn’t go unnoticed by you. She pursed her lips and looked back up at you. “Thank you for stitching me up, but I would rather not stay a hostage here any longer. I have more important places to be.”

Your eyes widen and you scoff. “Hostage? Are you fucking serious? By all means you can leave, makes my life ten times easier if you do.” You were lying, you quite enjoyed caring for the handsome samurai, but you would never admit that to her. At least not now. “Good luck walking on that knee by the way, I’m sure it won’t be any trouble for you though.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as the blue-eyed woman looked you up and down once more before attempting to get up. After a few minutes she was standing, hand against the top of the fireplace to keep her from falling over. You could see her chest rising and falling quickly from the struggle of just standing. She looked back over at you, still leaning with your arms crossed. “Where are my belongings?”

“On the table to your right.” You responded, eyes never leaving hers. You watched her glance over to the table. It was about five feet away; it should’ve been no problem for her to walk over and grab her things. Should’ve. It took her almost ten minutes to reach the edge of the table, her injured leg making it difficult to have a full range of motion. She opted to shuffle inch by inch over to the edge. By the time she got there she was out of breath, looking down at her hands placed on the wood in front of her. You hadn’t moved at all, the only change being your expression shifting from annoyance to amusement as you watched the fit samurai struggle.

After a moment she let out a shaky breath. You saw her knuckles tighten as if she was having an internal battle with herself. “Can you help me back to the mat?” She asked so quietly you almost missed it. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to where she stood, taking notice in the way her legs were shaking from lack of use over the past three days. She refused to look at you as you placed her arm over your shoulders and helped guide her back to the mat on the floor. “Thank you.” She muttered.

You looked at her, worry spreading across your features. “Of course. I’m here for anything you need. Consider me your personal caretaker.” You joked. “Although, a good caretaker should know her patients name.” Your words hung in the air for a moment before she responded.

“Mizu.”

════════════════════════════════════════════

It had been three weeks since Mizu had introduced herself to you. She didn’t talk much about her personal life, which you respected, instead filling the silence between the two of you with your own stories from your childhood. In that time her leg wound had been healing considerably quick, mostly due to the bedrest you ordered her to stay on. The only time she was allowed to move her legs was when she needed to relieve herself or when you would do small stretches with her to keep her blood flow moving. After some time, she was able to get up and walk for short periods of time on her own. The only problem with her quick recovery in her leg was the fact that her chest wound had hardly any progress to it.

Since Mizu couldn’t walk for some time, she exerted all her energy to her upper half, much to your dismay. She would sit up on the mat doing stretches on her arms and shoulders, sometimes raising them so far up you were afraid a stitch was going to pop. It did.

Mizu had been practicing arm movements with her sword, stating that “If I want to achieve my goals, my skills must always be honed and sharp.” Bullshit you thought. She just wanted to aggravate you. How could you tell? The small smirk that would grace her lips whenever she went to pick up her sword, even after you told her it was dangerous, and she could hurt herself anymore. Alas, she was a stubborn woman and it’s how you ended up rushing inside from chopping wood after hearing a sharp yelp from inside your home.

She sat on her mat, one hand clutching the spot above her wound while the other reached for the needle and thread you always kept close by. Once you realized she was going to try to stitch herself back up you rushed over to snatch the needle from her hands and straddle her lap, careful of the wound on her knee. She looked startled for a moment before her whole face turned a deep shade of red once she realized the position you both were in. You had a faint blush as well as you plucked the thread from her hand as well.

“I’m not letting you stitch yourself. You’re going to make your injury worse.” You said looking down at her. She looked up at you with those damn blue eyes you could get lost in for ages, cheeks still red but an amused expression on her face.

“You don’t think I know how to stitch myself up?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Well, no. I just…you just…you just popped a stitch by doing something I told you not to do! How can I be sure you’ll do it correctly?!” Mizu laughed. A sound so beautiful you were sure it would play through your mind for months to come. “I guess you have a point. C’mon then doc, fix me up.” She smirked. You felt your face grow even hotter.

Still straddling her you pushed her robe off her shoulders revealing her chest wraps with blood from the reopened wound soaking through them. You gulped. To stitch her back up you’d have to remove her bindings. And this time she was awake. And would definitely take notice in the way your eyes would roam her chest. Sensing your hesitation, she smiled looking up at you. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen them before, obviously you have, or I wouldn’t have stitches here.” She was teasing you, you realized. “Here I’ll make it easier for you.” Her hand reached around to begin to undo her wraps. You sat there dumbfounded as they fell to the floor and her breasts were exposed to you once again.

“You just gonna stare sweetheart or are you gonna patch me up?” Mizu’s teasing question broke you out of your trance as you swallowed thickly and got to work on restitching her wound. You felt her piercing gaze on you the entire time and did your best to try and ignore the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Later that night after the excitement of the day you sat sipping on your tea while Mizu slept next to the fire. You couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those beautiful blue eyes, the way her lips turned up into a smirk whenever it seemed you were flustered, and the sound of her laugh plagued you. You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Suddenly Mizu woke with a gasp, shooting up from the mat. You turned to her startled as you took in her appearance. Eyes wide with fear, chest heaving up and down, and her hands gripping tightly onto her blanket. “Nightmare?” You asked softly as to not startle her even more than she was. She just nodded as she looked at you, eyes bright in the darkness.

You softly rose to your feet, padded over to where was sat up, and sat down next to her. Her eyes had never left your figure as you made your way to her. You looked down at the blanket, then back up to her asking a silent question.

Slowly she lifted the blanket up and laid back down, giving you room to scoot in next to her. You wrapped your arms around her and brought her closer to your chest in the most intimate position the both of you had ever been in. You had never slept as well as you did that night.

════════════════════════════════════════════

It had been four days since Mizu’s nightmare, and every night since then you two had slept together, arms wrapped around each other. The dynamic between you had changed drastically, lingering touches and glances to each other becoming a new normal.

Tonight was no different to the past few. You lay facing Mizu while her back was turned to the fire, tracing circles into her rough and calloused hands. The silence was comfortable, but you chose to break it in that moment.

“When do you think you’ll leave?” A flash of hurt ran across Mizu’s face.

“I can leave whenever you want me to, I think I’m healed enough by now. Would you like me to leave tomorrow?” Your heart clenched at the sadness in her voice. You didn’t want that at all.

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to leave me. Ever.” Her eyes softened, moving closer to you she brushed her nose against yours.

“Then I won’t.”

Your lips met her soft ones in a searing kiss, one that knocked the air right out of your lungs. You let out at soft noise as she titled her head, running her tongue across your bottom lip to deepen the kiss and ask for permission to enter. You parted your mouth for her, tongues running against each other as she rolled on top of you, straddling your hips. Her fingers ran down your sides and under your top, tips of them brushing the underside of your breasts as you pushed your chest up into her, silently asking for more.

She pulled away from the kiss, a trail of spit the only thing keeping you connected, and smiled. “I’m going to need you to tell me you want more. Tell me you want it and I’ll stay.”

You moaned at her words. “Yes! Mizu please I want it, I need you.” She leaned down to kiss you once those words left your lips, fingers moving up to circle and pinch your hardened nipples. You let out a gasp into Mizu’s mouth at the sensation and she smiled into you, moving her head to trail kisses down your face to your neck, sucking a purple mark just below your ear.

You raised your arms over your head as she stripped you of your top, eyes lingering on your now bare breasts. “Beautiful.” Was all she said. You let out a whimper at her words. She kissed down your shoulders to your breasts and licked a long stripe up your nipple, the sensation causing you to moan and buck your hips up into hers. As she continued her assault on your breasts, her hand traveled lower down your stomach and slipped her hand into your trousers to run a finger through your slick folds.

You were a moaning, withering mess below her at this point. Between her mouth on your tits and her finger slowly brushing against your clit, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. “Please Mizu. I need you, please.” You begged, grinding your hips up into her hand hoping she got the message. She did. Slowly she pushed her middle finger into your wet heat, savoring the noise that left your lips as she did. Experimentally she curled her finger, finding that spongy spot at the front of your walls.

It wasn’t enough for you. “More, I need more.” You whimpered. Smiling against your breast, she pushed another finger in, thrusting at a quicker pace. You were close, she could tell by the way your pussy clenched around her digits. You just needed one last thing to push you over the edge. Removing her mouth from your nipple, she brought her forehead against yours admiring the way your mouth was slightly agape and the furrow between your brows.

“Open your eyes. You’re to look at me when you cum.”

At her words and her thumb suddenly circling your clit matching the pace at which she thrust, your eyes shot open meeting her icy blue ones, the last thread keeping you from falling snapping.

“‘m gonna cum Mizu, fuck m’ gonna fuckfuck-“ You were sent over the edge, cunt clenching and gushing around her fingers while your back arched off the mat, eyes never leaving hers as she guided and talked you through it.

As you caught your breath, chest heaving, she peppered soft kisses all over your face causing you to giggle breathlessly. She smiled down at you as you looked up at her still panting. “Give me a second, let me return the favor.” She leaned down capturing your lips once again as she removed her fingers from your core, wiping the slick on her pants and rolling to lay next to you. She pulled you into her chest and nuzzled her nose into your hair.

“You’ve taken care of me these last few weeks, let me take care of you. We have all the time in the world, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

And Mizu always kept her promises.

[pathologicalreid]

an ode to a conversation stuck in your throat | s.r.

in which Spencer tries to talk you out of taking a job across the country

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: miscommunication (sigh), very cheesy, brief mention of wine, defining the relationship, insecure spencer, easily confused reader, chemist!reader word count: 1.04k a/n: if i could go a week without writing a dwg song fic that would be crazy. also surprise it's chemist!reader again.

"Thanks for stopping so I could change,” you say to Spencer, leading the way into your apartment and locking the door behind you. “I’m sure lab dress code and David Rossi dress code are miles apart,” you continue, hanging your backpack on the wall.

Spencer hums in response, “You’d look great in anything you wear.”

Your face warms at the compliment, “You’re sweet. You can just wait out here, I shouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes,” you gesture to the living room, smiling at him before heading off to your room.

Nervously, you pull off your lab-safe attire and discard all of it into the laundry hamper before putting on the dress you’d chosen for dinner tonight. It’s not overly fancy, but you hope his team will like it. You hope his team will like you.

Looking at yourself in your dresser mirror, you reconsider your choice of shoes, switching from a pair of kitten heels to flats before walking out the door, “Hey, Spence, is Rossi’s patio heated, or should I bring a sweater for when the sun goes down?” You stop in your tracks when you find Spencer, still in the entryway, looking at the color-coded whiteboard calendar you keep by your front door, “What’s up?”

His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his slacks, and he looks upset. What’s worse is you think he might be upset with you. “What’s this dinner you have planned next Friday?”

You feel like a child who’s been caught doing something they shouldn’t be, draping the proposed sweater over the back of a kitchen stool and crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “It’s a work dinner,” you answer nervously.

“With?” Spencer asks, but he’s not pushy about it, there’s something desperate in his tone.

Pursing your lips, you look at the purple writing on the calendar, “The chair of Biochemistry and Molecular Genetics at Northwestern, and a representative from the college's dean. They’re offering me a job with a private lab and my own team of researchers… so they’re taking me out to dinner.”

Spencer’s face fell, “They’re offering you a job in Chicago?”

“Well, that’s where Northwestern is. Evanston, if you want to get technical about it,” you respond, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He looks at you dumbfoundedly, “I don’t want to get technical about it. When were you going to tell me that you’re taking a job in Chicago?” It almost seems like he’s afraid.

You raise your eyebrows in curiosity, you’ve been seeing each other for a month, and you’ve never known Spencer to jump to conclusions. “I’m not,” you tell him, keeping your tone void of any accusation, “They’re just taking me to dinner.”

Spencer sighs, “But they’re offering you a job. In a different state. In a different timezone.”

Admittedly, he was beginning to sound a bit ridiculous to you, “Don’t you field offers from colleges all the time? They want you to teach or tell you to become Spencer Reid, PhD, PhD, PhD, PhD, or whatever?” 

His eyes follow you as you move to sit down at the kitchen counter, “It never gets as far as dinner.”

“I’m not taking the job,” you tell him simply, shrugging your shoulders demurely.

Spencer falters at that, knitting his brows together as he tries to piece together the answers you’re willingly giving him, “If you’re not taking the job then why are you going to dinner with them?”

Hiding a small smile, you give him the truth, “They pick up the tab. I go to a lot of these and I get good food out of the deal. These people love to schmooze but I’ve never been offered anything that I would be inclined to accept.” This specific job seemed perfect on the surface, but they weren’t willing to let you choose what to research. That was non-negotiable for you.

“I could schmooze you,” he insists, “You don’t need other people to schmooze you.”

You giggle at him, waving him over to you so you can look him in the eyes when you tell him, “I go for free food and good wine. No other reason.” Your smile was gentle, but inside your heart was pounding. He was scared I was going to leave, you think to yourself.

He sighs, “Will you… will you tell me in the future when you get these dinner offers?” His voice is tentative, almost as if he’s afraid you’ll think he’s asking too much of you.

Nodding, you reach out and take one of his hands in yours, “I can, but I didn’t think were at the ‘I’m being courted by another workplace, and I wanted to let you know’ stage yet. That’s kind of a girlfriend thing,” you explain.  

Spencer frowns, “Aren’t you?”

Tilting your head to the side, you look at him curiously, “Aren’t I what?”

“My girlfriend,” he clarifies.

Your eyes go wide, “Oh! I didn’t think so, I thought you had to ask yet.” Although you’re far from a relationship expert, you’d had to ask your PhD advisee what to wear before your first date with Spencer.

The panicked look on his face returns, “I’ve been telling people you’re my girlfriend. Should I not have been doing that?”

Shaking your head, you beam up at him, “I don’t mind. I just thought you had to ask about that kind of thing.”

“I don’t know,” he admits, “I’ve never really done this before.”

The two of you sit in an awkward silence for a moment before you decide to speak up again, “So, just so we’re on the same page. I’m not moving to Chicago.”

Spencer frowns again, and you have to hold yourself back from using your thumb to smooth out the crease on his forehead, “Will you?”

Confused, you lean your head back, “Move to Chicago?”

“Be my girlfriend,” he amends quickly.

You nod, “I would love to.”  

“And just so we’re on the same page,” he ducks his head down, so close to a kiss that it makes you feel dizzy, “I like to think I’m the only one who can really court you.”

Laughing, you lean forward and peck his lips, “I would be insulted if you didn’t think that.”