#and I am both sorry and not sorry for that

[ittybittyfanblog]

me still in the trenches of not pulling lumiere

GAMING NEWS !!

expensive

[reidmotif]

Hands-On Learning

Summary: Reader is deep in preparation for her finals, much to Spencer’s frustration. When she creatively incorporates him into her anatomy review, it turns into a pleasurable experience for them both.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: f!receiving oral, face sitting, face riding, f!masturbation, softdom!spencer, but he's needy and desperate, anatomy terms that may have been used incorrectly (sorry), slight dry humping, overstimulation, yearning.

Word Count: 3.3k

Masterlist

Finals season. 

The ever-dreaded, ever-disliked period between the end of April to June where every student you know is scrambling to absorb roughly four months of material in a matter of weeks.

All bets are off in this lawless space of time. Coffee at 2 AM? Completely advised, go right ahead. Hundreds of dollars spent in food delivery? Sure. Anything to keep the grind going, right? Major papers that should’ve taken weeks to write being done in a frantic three hours? It’s a rite of passage, really. And luckily, you get to spend a much-needed summer break afterwards, recovering from all these horrific decisions you’ve put yourself through. 

Needless to say, your current setup involved many textbooks, flashcards scattered about, and highlighters in the most random of places, all in the name of preparation for this beast of a week. 

And of course, it was all set to the sounds of a very needy Spencer Reid, who’d been begging for your attention since he’d gotten here.

“You’ve studied so much already, I swear. Can’t you take a break?”Spencer questions petulantly, sitting on the bed adjacent to your desk, where you were currently hard at work memorizing the thirty-one pairs of nerves that made up the spine. 

You’d been studying intensely for this semester's finals. By making a couple of well-informed choices beforehand, you were actually quite on track when it came to your learning and retention of material.

For the most part, it seemed like you were on track to sail through all your classes without a hitch. That held true, until you brought up Introduction to Anatomy. 

Anatomy was fun, by all means. Interesting labs, interesting people, interesting content. However, what daunted you more than anything in pertinence to the material was the enormity of the terms and vocabulary you were expected to know in time for the exam.

“I haven’t studied enough.” Is your quick response, a small smirk finding its way to your lips. Despite loving your boyfriend, there was a certain pleasure in seeing him so desperate for you, a power-rush that felt unbelievably good.

And to your credit, you really were hard at work memorizing these terms. As much as you enjoyed his company (and the sex he wanted to engage in), it simply could not take precedence over the task at hand. 

“You know, multiple studies recommend at least twenty minutes of a break for every hour you study, for peak brain efficiency, and you-” He checks his watch, mentally calculating how long you’d been at that desk. “You’re due for at least an hour’s worth of break at this point.” 

You finally look up, your finger halting on the paper it’d been tracing over. “Spencer, you know I’d love to take a break but-” 

He sighs heavily. “I’m aware. This is important. I get it.” He grumbles, flopping onto the bed in a slightly dramatic fashion. 

You giggle at the scene. For all his propriety, there was never a more amusing sight than your boyfriend reduced to base desire and instinct. You take pity on him though, and smile gently at him. 

“Look, why don’t you get out? Go have lunch, do whatever, and come back. Hopefully I’ll be closer to finishing then, and we can hang out then?” You offer, hope in your voice. 

He sighs and nods, lifting himself off your bed. “Yeah, sounds good.” He murmurs, coming over to the desk to place an affectionate, chaste kiss upon the top of your head. “Good luck.” He says, cracking a half smile as he leaves, which you return with a smile of your own. 

The door closes, and you’re left with nothing but silence, and the lateral cutaneous branches looking up at you from their place on the page. Time to work at it, you suppose. 

It’s about two hours later, when you hear the tell-tale knock of your boyfriend at your door, presumably back from his excursion away from you. Your place at your desk is momentarily abandoned in favor of letting him in, and there’s instant delight in your eyes, considering the two cups of coffee he presents to you. One is iced, one is not. Without any words exchanged between either party, the iced coffee is grabbed and you grin. 

“Thank you.” You say, taking a sip. Of course he’d remember your order perfectly. 

“You know, that could’ve been my coffee, for all you know.” He teases, striding into the room. 

You roll your eyes fondly whilst you close the door. “Spencer Reid drinking iced coffee? I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“Coffee is supposed to be hot!” He protests, immediately, this being an obvious subject of passion for him. “Hot brewed coffee contains far more antioxidants, and doesn’t risk being watered down by ice- oh, and another thing-” 

You stifle a chuckle whilst watching him. This had been an ongoing debate for you two, essentially since the day you met. Your first date had been at a coffee shop. When he'd asked for your order, he looked almost appalled at the prefix of “iced” you’d tacked onto your statement.

Nevertheless, he still ordered it, and did his best to educate you on why hot coffee was “clearly” superior.

Somewhere between lecturing you on caffeine effectivity and nutritional information, you were head over heels. 

“Anyway.” He says, breaking your thoughts, and seemingly done with his argument. “How far are you into studying?” 

You make your way back to your desk, biting your lip as you stand over the material.  “Pretty far.” You murmur, reluctantly. “I dunno. I know I know this material, but I feel like it hasn’t solidified in my brain, you know? Like I need to keep hammering it in until it’s basically muscle memory for me.” 

He moves slowly to be behind you, his hands coming to rub your shoulders gently, soothing the worn out muscles on your back. His touch is warm and reassuring, a quiet way of saying, “You can rest.”

“You know.” He murmurs, softly. “You’d probably do better with a break. Take a breather, let your brain relax for a second.” 

There’s a pause, before he adds in a quiet voice, “Maybe spend some time with me?” His hand comes to move some hair away from your neck, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the side of it. 

You melt into the movement. He always knew exactly where your weak spots were, where you’d falter and give right into his ministries.

But you know you can’t. You force yourself to breathe and look away, as though that simple act might help you forget how his hands had lingered on you just a moment ago.

“I want to, I swear. But I won’t feel good about taking downtime until I’m absolutely sure I’ve got this.” You say, firmly extricating yourself from his grasp.

He gives another one of his heavy sighs, accepting his fate quietly, knowing he won’t be able to convince you outside of your own accord. 

“Alright then. I’ll just hang out here then.. For however long that might take.” 

You give a small, pained smile. “Thank you. I know I’m being difficult.” 

“You’re not. You could never be difficult.” He responds, immediately, returning your smile with one of his own. “It’s just finals season. I know your  performance will be wonderful, and we’ll have all the time in the world afterwards to spend time together.” 

Your heart melts. You were beyond lucky to have him, and that adoration and knowledge is displayed plainly through your expression. “Thank you.” You repeat, unable to verbalize just how much his support meant to you. “I hate finals.” 

“You and I both.” He shoots back, cracking a grin. “You’re going to do great.” 

There’s no trace of doubt in his tone at all. 

For the next hour or so, you both quietly coexist in the same space, the names of musculature and types of fibers muttered under your breath. After a while, the terms click into place, and with a quiet breath, you let the tension go. The final step in your preparation involved practicing the newly learned terms on a human model. Ideally, it would be one of the fake skeletons in the anatomy lab. Your gaze, however, drifted to your boyfriend on your bed, sprawled out, reading your physics textbook for fun. 

Nerd. 

An almost evil plan enters your brain, and your voice goes sickly sweet as you call out his name. 

“Spence?” “Mm?” He murmurs, looking over the book. 

“Can you strip down to your underwear, please?” A harmless smile plays on your lips as you ask.

Spencer’s all ears as he hears that, and in record time his clothes are shed. “Are you-” “Lie back on the bed.” You order. 

He’s so obedient and eager, immediately complying with what you’ve asked of him without question. You smile, and discreetly grab a washable marker before making your way to where he was laid out. 

“God. I’ve been so insanely needy for you all day. I’m so glad you’re done.” He says, his expression reeking of starvation as you straddle him. You can feel him harden under your touch, and choose to ignore that. 

You lean down, your head at about his chest. His breathing quickens in anticipation, already so turned on from the minimal contact between you two.

Before he can make a move of his own, you pull out your marker and mark the space between his clavicle and shoulder.

“Brachial plexus.” You murmur, much to his utter confusion and dismay. 

“You have to be kidding me.” He says, his look of confusion quickly morphing into one of realization. “I thought you were done-” 

“I’m not.” You say, with a small smirk on your lips. “But I will be, if you’re quiet and let me work on you.” 

He groans. “You’re evil, this is evil. I won’t-” 

“The faster we get through this, the faster I’m all yours.” You interrupt, mostly ignoring him, because you know he’ll do anything if it means touching you by the end of it. 

He takes a pained breath and tries to relax while you work on top of him,  his obvious erection straining against the fabric of his briefs.

The pen drags down his chest, as you move down on him to better position yourself in accordance to the medial pectoral nerve you were marking.

“Baby, please.” He groans out, his hands fisting in the sheets below him in an attempt to not grab you and take you right then and there.

The slightest bit of friction seems to set him off, and you can tell he isn’t playing it up in the slightest. He truly was, well and gone for you within this moment.

“Sorry.” You murmur. “Just marking your.. anterior cutaneous branches.. of the thoracic nerves.” The pen drags against a spot on his chest, and he shudders. 

“Won’t this stain my skin?” He says, a slight whine in his tone, doing absolutely anything to free himself from the absolute torture of this predicament he’d found himself in. 

“Nah. It’s one of those pens they use for surgery.” You respond, dragging it along his sternum to mark a few more necessary terms. “It’ll come right off in the shower.” 

You know exactly how to push his buttons. You lean in closer and whisper against his ear enticingly, “We can get clean together.” 

He squeezes his eyes at that, the feeling of your lips brushing against his earlobe triggering an involuntary response, a low moan escaping him. “This is.. so unfair. I just want to touch you. Please.” 

“Not until I’m done.” You fire back. “C'mon. You can be good and wait, right?” 

“Easy for you to say.” He grits out. “You’re not the one, half naked and hard and having to watch you be..” He trails off.

“Be what?” You ask, a bit distracted as you mark another nerve of importance.

“Be.. sexy.” He mumbles out, clearly embarrassed by his own musings. 

A small, wry smile comes upon your mouth. You lean back, a breath of laughter slipping free. “You think I look sexy?” You say, a teasing lilt in your tone.

He rubs a hand over his face, clearly mortified. “Yes. Yes, okay!” He grumbles out, clearly self-conscious by just how much he’s managed to be affected by you. “You’re on top of me, drawing on me, and I’m aware they’re just anatomical terms, but God the way you say them.” 

His voice devolves into a near whimper, pitiful and aching. “It’s killing me.” 

You hum, pleased with yourself. “Killing you, huh?”

“Yes.” He mewls. “Killing me. I want you so much, please. You’re so smart. Please. I know you’re going to do so good on this final. Just please, please, let me touch you.”

He collapses into his words, into you. No pride left, just need.

“Yeah? You think I’m smart?” You murmur teasingly, tracing the plastic of your marker along the side of his neck. 

“Yes.” He moans, lowly. “So smart. You’re so hot when you’re working so hard. Makes me want you so bad.” 

Your head turns back, and you can see the wetness of precum leaking from his cock on his briefs. He wasn’t faking it to get your attention. He yearned for you, plain and simple.

Your eyes find his, and they’re full of need, his expression absolutely shameless and desperate. “Please.” He repeats. “Please let me touch you. I don’t care how. Just- god. I can't do this. Please.” 

It’s enough to make you yield. You slide off of him, and he lets out a soft, needy sound, already missing the press of you, until his breath catches at the sight of you stripping, your clothes landing somewhere off the edge of the bed without a second thought.

“You wanna touch me?” You murmur, crawling up the bed a little. 

“Yes.” He whispers, nodding.

The way he looks at your naked body, eyes fixed, hungry, reverent.. it’s almost too much. You feel dizzy from the weight of it.

You straddle his face, a thigh on either side of him whilst you hover over his face, and then you look down. “Touch me then.” You murmur.

He practically growls as his hands wrap around your thighs. “With pleasure.” 

He pulls you down entirely, effectively forcing your core against his mouth, his tongue lapping against every inch of your wet folds.

You moan, your hands coming to grasp the headboard in front of you. There’s absolutely nothing he could be thinking about, besides the taste and smell of you flooding and overwhelming his senses. 

He devours you with a single-minded focus, his tongue expertly alternating between flattening  and lapping you in slow, deliberate strokes, and quick flicks against your clit. It’s all done in service to you, Spencer thinking of the fastest way to unravel you, desperate to taste your release against his tongue– to hear you moan his name and shake above him. 

He gets his wish when another stroke of his tongue finally causes you to come, your sweet release flooding his face, and him eagerly drinking it in. He moans as he attempts to pull you even closer to his mouth (if that was even possible). 

You let out a breathy laugh as he seems to slow down, indicating the end of your session. “Spence.. Oh god. That was so good.” You try to get off him, but his grip on your thighs is iron-clad. 

“Again.” He moans. 

“What?” You ask, not sure if you heard him right. 

“Again, please.” He begs, voice broken. “I need you.” 

The absolute depravity and torment in his voice lulls you into complacency, as you assume your previous position above him. 

“Okay. Okay, baby. We can go again.” You murmur, soothingly.

He wastes no time going right back in, his tongue albeit, a little slower now, keeping in mind that you’d just orgasmed, and that you were probably still sensitive. 

He’s right to do so, little high-pitched moans and drawn out of you as you get comfortable again, despite the overstimulation.

His tongue circles your clit slowly, never properly touching it, delaying your next release. After a while of this teasing, you finally moan out his name, your hips shamelessly rocking against him. 

“Spencer, god. Please. Need to come.” You beg, feeling yourself at the edge of a small death. 

Spencer responds in kind, rapidly flicking his tongue against your swollen bud, and in record time, you’re coming again, much to his delight.  He doesn't let up until he's absolutely sure he's lapped up every single drop, not letting any of it go to waste.

“Okay, baby. I gotta get off. Gotta breathe. So do you.” You pant out, as you get off from your seat on his face.

He shakes his head, tugging you closer. 

“Please, wanna keep touching you.” He pleads, eyes teary, your release practically dripping off his chin. His hand digs into your arm with a lustful urgency.  “Please. We can go again. I know we can.” 

You yield to his request, because honestly, who could deny him right now? His hair messy, lips shiny and his voice, fractured and full of ache, barely held together. 

You nod, lying down, on the bed, motioning for him to roll on top of you. 

He rolls over and kisses you, and it’s absolutely sinful. You can taste yourself on him, moaning as your lips easily part and make way for him, the wet warmth of his tongue sliding against yours. There’s nothing held back between the two of you as your lips connect and reconnect, as his hand slowly slides down the expanse of your skin, finding your clit and beginning to rub slow circles against it. 

“Oh god, Spencer.” You moan bonelessly, feeling the effects of your previous two orgasms and the one you were hurtling towards currently taking over you. 

“Yeah?” He mumbles. “That feel good?” 

“God, yes.” You moan. “You always know how to touch me, always know how to make me feel good- oh-” 

He groans in delight as he dives in for another kiss, his fingers sliding across the slick bud even faster now, determined to make you fall off the edge for him one last time. He humps your thigh, practically desperate for some relief for his aching cock as well.

“Say my name.” He murmurs against your lips. 

“Spencer.” You wail out, in response. 

“Louder.” 

“Oh god, Spencer, please!” You groan, your body beginning to tense up with the tell-tale signs of an orgasm, your body taut like a bowstring. 

“That’s right, come for me.” He whispers, placing a sweet kiss against your collarbone, his hips continuing their rut in an attempt to chase his release as well.

And with a shout, you come, your body seizing up and succumbing to his touch, your hands wrapping around his neck in an attempt to ground yourself as you experienced the intense pleasure that could only result from being with him.

He seems to follow shortly after to the sound of your moans, a wet patch appearing on the front of his briefs.

You whimper as you come down for your orgasm, Spencer stroking your skin soothingly, peppering little kisses wherever he could reach. 

“You doing okay?” He pants out.

“Better than okay.” You murmur, folding into his embrace, feeling as if you were floating on clouds, or some other poetic description of just how light you felt in this moment. 

“I pushed you pretty hard, huh?” He mumbles, his voice tinged with a slight bit of concern. 

“Don’t worry. I deserve it for teasing you so hard." You mumble.

"Thanks for helping me study, by the way." You tack on, already feeling yourself drift off into a quiet, peaceful slumber in his arms. 

He chuckles a bit, and places a kiss against your forehead. “Glad I could make the lesson... hands-on.”

woah!!! hello!! so unfortunately, much like reader, i have also been swamped by finals :( but, this idea came to me and i decided to write it and try to make my way back to writing even a little bit more regularly. as usual, please like, reblog and comment if you enjoyed this fic. reblogs are basically the lifeline of tumblr, and if you'd like my work to reach more people, i would 10000% appreciate it so much. thank you so much for reading regardless, and i hope it was enjoyable. thank you thank thank you for all your support!!!! <333

[jesuistrestriste]

this is my request for more patrick. dare i say artrick. dare i say them both totally pliable in your hands. i am terribly greedy and want to see sub!artrick and dom!reader written by you. please and thank

love youuuuu

eee hope this is to your liking annie ♥️ muah muah muah !

cw (18+) : sub!art donaldson, sub!patrick zweig, dom!reader, messy handjobs, desperation, dirty talk, patrick and art work for it

“does this feel good?” you breathe out, your voice almost shaky from the feeling of both sets of lips on your neck.

“mmn—yeah, yeah, i’m s’good,” art slurs into your left side, bucking up into your sticky hand, “can i—more—ah, faster—? aah-!”

patrick bites at your right earlobe and whimpers against your skin. his cock throbs in your right fist, dribbling with fluid from his attentive slit. it looks like melting glass pouring down his sensitive flesh.

“please,” he groans, “touch my tip, please.. oh, fuck, please—“

you chuckle and then suck in a soft breath when the blonde nips needily at your shoulder, lathing over it with his tongue after in apology. sometimes when his body starts to ache with arousal, he has to find an outlet for it—and sometimes that means biting, grabbing, sobbing, the like. patrick’s usually only slightly more restrained. they’re like two sides of the same coin, both constantly vying for attention, only in subtly different ways. it’s a good thing that you’ve trained them to stop bickering when you’re playing with their willing bodies. otherwise, they’d be at each other’s throats a bit right now.

“behave.”

that singular word from your mouth snaps them both back into place like rubber bands. art pants, high-pitched and whiny, while patrick grabs at the front of your body. he palms over your chest and squeezes whatever he can cup.

“i’m sorry,” you hear earnestly from the left side, accompanied by a calloused hand rubbing your inner thigh. you fist the back of his golden curls, which elicits a sharp, guttural cry to spring forth. his length twitches, balls drawn up.

“sorry, ungh, sorry,” comes from the right side, but less earnest and more please, just don’t stop. your other hand rubs at his bouncing leg. his eyes roll back under heavy lids, eclipsing his colorful irises.

“who wants to come?”

art smushes himself into your side and accidentally slides his dick through your returned grip, shuddering, “me, me—i wanna—.. please, it hurts—“

he swallows his mouthful of drool and buries his face into your neck. whines like a newborn puppy. grabs at your bicep.

patrick tugs roughly at the waistband of your bottoms, desperately wanting to slide his hand down and make you feel good. you can practically feel the waves of heat radiating off of his dazed body.

“i’m ready to come for you, feel me,” he takes his other hand and wraps it around your hand that’s holding his length, urging you to squeeze him a bit more and feel how much he needs it, “i’m so close.. so close, s’ close, i feel it coming..”

you slide your hands off of them at the same time. they crumple forward and moan brokenly at nearly the exact same moment, both feeling the swell of their peaks taper off painfully when your curled fingers caress the undersides. they pout and look up to your eyes.

“are you both going to be good for me?”

simultaneous nods follow the question. unsurprising. they share a look between themselves, then back to you.

you place a hand on the back of art’s neck first, then patrick’s. a soft smirk creeping over your lips as you urge them both forward in front of your eyeline.

they seem to get the hint, their gazes immediately fixating on one another. patrick’s the first to move, reaching his touch from your body to cup art’s ruddy cheek. the blonde leans into the touch like its some sort of lifeline, pleading for any point of contact he can get. he dives in and smushes his lips to the brunette’s, licking at his bottom one to beg for entry. pat obliges.

while you watch them begin to sync up, all broken sounds and lewd smacking and furrowed brows, you spit into your palms and bring them back down to begin pumping them. watching them kiss is like watching them play tennis: they know exactly what to do. it’s almost like they’re doing a dance.

art’s eyes flutter open and roll back, patrick’s squeezing shut tighter. their jaws slack and they lick into each other’s open mouths, gulping each other’s cries down greedily—like they’re consuming one another’s pleasure in the midst of their own. you feel a blurt of warm lubricant seep between your fingers from art’s cock, and a thrum of heat runs through your spine at the realization. he’s always been one to enjoy making-out. thoroughly, actually. he can finish just from it alone. patrick needs a bit more stimulation.

so, expectantly, the brunette chokes on a soft sob against his opposite’s bottom lip and drags his tongue over it. “more,” he murmurs, “aangh, jus’ a bit more—“

you stroke them both faster and they nearly break. pat bites down hard on art’s lip and art yelps, his hips bouncing with your touch.

“gentle, patrick, gentle,” you remind him, thumbing the ridge of his cockhead, the area pulsing and hot to the touch.

art sniffles, kissing his tennis partner deeper despite the sting from the clamp of his teeth. their hands are all over each other now. clawing at forearms and snagging handfuls of hair and gripping over shoulders. it’s a mess.

suddenly, patrick breaks the kiss and whimpers against art’s jaw—low and stuttered. art tries to kiss him again, too lost in the feeling to realize he’s stopped, but misses his lips and mouths at his cheek instead.

“i’m too close,” the brunette shudders, “please, can i come yet? i can’t hold it anymore, it’s gonna come out, gonna come,” he murmurs urgently.

“art, are you ready too?”

he nods, licking over the sweat on pat’s skin depravedly. he kisses him again, finding his lips. “mhmmmn—!”

you slide your hands up to begin rapidly jerking their tips, using their oozing evidence of arousal to work them up to their frayed ends. art squeezes patrick’s arm, mouth open and letting out little sounds that rise in pitch—higher, higher, higher—almost there. patrick tries in vain to fuck into your touch, his pelvis stuttering, his fluids leaking over his happy-trail.

“are you boys going to come now?”

art mewls sharply, patrick swallows thickly around a throaty sob. any more teasing, and you’d never hear the end of it. it’d be cruel, really.. and they’ve been good enough.

you press your thumbs to their tacky frenulums. rubbing quick, successive circles there. just how they like it—just what they need.

“.. let it all go.. show me how obscene and filthy you both look when you break..”

and they do.

they shatter.

their visions white out dizzily as the stimulation reaches the point of no-return; their mouths opening and bodies convulsing in ways that are nothing short of pornographic.

“oh, fuuuck—!” patrick gushes, ropes pouring from him in heavy waves, the paralyzing jabs of pleasure rendering him useless and twitchy as he orgasms. the thick, clotted load spills copiously.

a string of clinging spit bridges their lips as art leans back to pant raggedly. he looks down and watches as his own climax floods the gaps between your fingers and bubbles frothily as your movements refuse to relent. he uses his free hand to grab your wrist, thrusting reflexively as he hiccups and nearly squeals from the overstimulation. “ow—hmmngh—coming, coming, so much—“

you touch both of them until tears spring to the corners of their eyes, threatening to spill down their cheeks as they writhe and squirm in their seats. you suck your inner cheek between your teeth and bite down to resist the desire to torture their parts until they’re too fucked-out to form a thought. you’ve done it before, and it backfired when they weren’t able to stand up afterwards. all limp and shaky. maybe another time.

you slow your movements and slide your fists off of their shafts with a wet squelch, both of them curling inward from the oversensitivity.

“good job,” you croon, “didn’t realize you both were so pent up.. look at my hands..”

you hold up your messy palms to show them what they did. they look up with vacant stares, still breathing heavy and lost in the aftershocks.

“what do you say, hmm? you know what i need to hear.”

art lolls his head to rest on your shoulder and moans lowly, chest rumbling. patrick leans forward to sigh against your neck.

“thank you,” you hear on your left, “thank you so much,” follows on your right.

you smile.

“you’re welcome.”

[buckadoodledoo]

no listen. listen to meeeeee. buddie in the field blood transfusion is the next natural step for them. other than you know kissing sloppy style and fucking raw. whatever. BLOOD TRANSFUSION. they would get off on this so, so bad. after they're both fine. but also during, when they're Not. eddie is literally suffering from blood loss, forcing himself to stay conscious to talk buck through this transfusion. and despite this. the literal blood loss. he's still like, fuck. buck. this is—i don’t think it's supposed to feel like this. he says this out loud, accidentally. and buck's panicking, like. am i doing it wrong????? eddie????? and eddie's like. no, no it's working. it's just—and he lets out a little sound that could be. probably is. should be. a groan of pain, on account of his injuries. but. uh. Well. it sounds like something else. and he feels a little—well. he can literally feel where buck's blood is entering his veins right now. and it's A Lot. (later he will tell himself he was just delirious. from the blood loss). meanwhile buck is out of his head crazy beside himself, talking a million miles an hour to try and keep eddie conscious. but also he can’t stop staring. at the blood. in the tube. his blood. flowing into eddie. and eddie makes that sound. like a groan. and buck feels his skin heat up and a breathless gasp leave his mouth and it's—probably just the adrenaline, right? he's amped up. because of the adrenaline. yeah. has to be that.... anyway later. when they're fine. and they're having like, an erotically charged moment. on account of eddie almost dying and the whole. blood thing. eddie says, you're in my veins. almost sort of, like he’s admitting something. and buck gets so hard so fast it's insane. says, yeah... and eddie's like, is it— swallows. steps closer. is it crazy that this morning i nearly bit into my own lip to try and. taste you. and buck's like, jesus christ, eddie. and eddie's like, fuck. yeah. that's—crazy. God. uh—sorry. and buck's like, no. no!!! it's not crazy, it's—i want that. too. i—eddie. and eddie's eyes go dark and he just. bites down into his lip. and buck lets out a gasp. a whimper. watches the blood bloom. and now they're like, a breath away. and they're both shaking. and eddie's tongue is running over his lip. over—their blood. and he's like, kiss me. and buck's like, half-delirious with want, what? and eddie's like, kiss me, buck. and buck does. and he's tasting eddie's blood again except it's not just eddie's this time. it's theirs

[luna-loveboop]

Ok Sky and Hyrule

I have tried forever to write up a good Sky and Hyrule post. I wanna clarify their relationship because it is kind of hard to make sense of, and I've had several ask after I mentioned my thinking that they have issues in this post. However I am tired and just want the thoughts out there, so I'm just gonna give a low-effort post with a bunch of screenshots. Read. Have fun.

Hyrule is very stubborn and Sky is very stubborn. They do not vibe. The clearest starting point of them butting heads was in divine dark reflections when Hyrule showed his ability to get ahead of himself and left Sky behind, something Sky does not take kindly too.

They fight with opposite hands, which isn't a problem when Hyrule is fighting with Wars for example, but with Sky they don't fight well together and clash.

We don't see these two clash that much bc they are both very friendly people! So I think them actively scowling at each other after they bumped elbows is pretty telling. They have beef with each other ok.

HOWEVER for the positive aspects of their irritatingly-ambiguous relationship, their main point of bonding is the master sword. Yeah. bc Hyrule can wield it and Sky falls in love /plat lol with anyone who compliments it

They also both like to joke around/prank others, so they have that in common too yay!

AnD ANothEr thING! Sky can be Very judgy about appearance, and those traits obviously carried over into lu from sksw canon. Whereas Wars showed respect towards Hyrule despite him not being a knight, we never got that from Sky. What internal thoughts does Sky have about the humble traveler?

Sky can tend to be prideful, and Hyrule absolutely could not be prideful. Rulie is still confident in who he is! Firecracker boy. Also they both can have tempers and are stubborn.

Random note: Hyrule thinks himself incapable compared to the knights, but in the discord Jojo mentioned at one point that she thought Hyrule could hold his own in a fight against Sky due to his own skill set. No. Sharing. Discord. Documents. Outside. Of. There. Casual mention only. Mhmm. So I think this is ok. I'm gonna set the discord rules as my wallpaper I check them so often. anyways.

Also please note that I am NOT hating on either of the babies, I love them very much and BOTH have flaws in their relationship with the other. The thing that's so hard about Sky and Hyrule's relationship is that they are both so very friendly it's hard to discern. They're two nice guys who wanna chill! But they do not chill or vibe with the other, most of the time Sky and Hyrule are not commonly hanging out. Yeah there ya go, Sky and Hyrule ramble. Bye!

Art is by Jojo @linkeduniverse au!

:)

Thanks to everyone who asked for elaboration <3 Sorry for the wait.

[p1astr81]

could I please request oscar and a quiet night in monaco. sort of like walking around at night, watching a movie and cuddling etc (if you've already done this I'm sorry and don't feel pressured to write this ❤️ )

Idk how this got SO angsty sorrryyyyy 🙈

“Where are you going?” Oscar asked, seeing your shoes laced up on your feet. He could see your exhaustion in the way your shoulders slumped.

“Going for a walk.” You gave him a soft, pained smile. “need to clear my head.” You explained.

He understood. He knew you weren’t adjusting well after having moved to Monaco from England. You missed the quiet countryside and the acres of space that came with it. Everything was so loud here. Busy. Cramped. “I can come with you if you want.” He offered, hoping you’d agree.

Sighing, you turned your gaze to the floor. “I don’t want to bother you. I know you’re working.” She gestured to where he sat on the sim.

The headphones were torn off his head quickly as he stood. “No, it’s no bother. I wanna go.” He could see the conflict behind your eyes.

“Okay.”

The streets weren’t exactly quiet at night. Expensive cars still roared. Drunk travelers laughing into the air as they exited the casinos. but it was certainly calmer compared to the daytime.

Oscar held your hand in his. He’d been feeling guilty for dragging you to Monaco with him. No matter how many times you tried to tell him this was your choice to come with, he couldn’t buy it. “You could always go back. I won’t be upset.” He told you, breaking your comforting silence.

There was no stutter in your step. No visible indicator that you had even heard him. After awhile you spoke. “No. I want to be with you. I’ll get used to it eventually.” It broke his heart to hear how reserved your voice was. How you didn’t even look up at him to spare him a glance.

The silence prologued, quiet steps in sync. You continued to stare at the pavement while he stared at the top of your head. His thumb brushed against the back of your hand.

“I want you to be happy.” He spoke finally.

You raised your head, and for a moment he thought you might meet his eyes. “I am happy. Being with you makes me happy. I’m just not… comfortable.” Still, your eyes didn’t meet his. They took in the sights of the city instead.

He squeezed your hand. “I’m sorry.” He muttered.

“Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.” You shook your head. “I just need time.”

When you got back to the flat, Oscar led you to the couch. “Stay there. I’ll get the snacks.” His smile was soft, inviting like a warm hug.

He came back with his arms full of your favorite candies and cans of your favorite sodas. You laughed lightly. “Thank you.”

You curled up into his side as he joined you, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. When he selected your favorite movie, you giggled and held him tighter.

It had been four months since you guys moved in. And while you still weren’t fully adjusted, you were back to your regular cheery self.

His lips split into a toothy smile when he saw you practically skip to where he stood in the kitchen. “Heyyy,” you dragged out the word. “I’m gonna go get some ice cream from the parlor down the street if you wanna come with?” You grinned, placing your head on his shoulder. You knew he couldn’t say no to you.

“Can I have a taste of yours?” You asked, beaming at him.

He didn’t respond with words, just held the spoon out towards you. He was boring, ordering his ice cream in a bowl instead of in a cone. You both paused on the pavement as you took the spoon from his hand.

The frozen treat slid from the plastic ware onto your tongue. The sweet flavor hit your tastebuds, and you responded with a delighted hum. “Ooh, it’s good!”

Then your gaze went to the cone in your hand, looking guilty with a little frown.

“Do you want to switch?” He asked the question for you, seeing it already etched on your face. But he knew you’d never ask it yourself.

And you looked up at him, your smile brighter than the sun. “Yeah,” you said sheepishly.

He chuckled, taking the cone from your hand and giving you his bowl.

He didn’t want a cone. He thought they were too messy, and he hated when the ice cream would drip onto his hand and make it all sticky.

But it made you happy, and he’d do just about anything to see you happy.

You continued your walk back to the flat, standing so close to each other that your arms kept brushing. The brush of his skin against yours was comforting.

And you realized that it didn’t matter where you were, whether it be Monaco or England. You felt at home as long as you were with him. He was home.

[sourle]

I love your Au so much! I feel so bad to the y/n so much..so I got a idea came out of my mind while I listened to silly billy(a dang popular fnf song) and it remind me of that au of if y/n get heavily tired of been ignored just because of they past..So if y/n became a killer like the other, they would sing the line of the silly billy song( IM SO SORRY IF YOU DONT UNDERSTAND ENGLISH ISBT NY FIRST LANGUAGE AND IT WAS THE IDEA I HAVE-)

Proud of me

Silly Billy

WARNINGS: BLOOD, VIOLENCE, SLIGHT GORE, READ AT YOUR OWN RISKS!

Note: "I'll make— you say— how proud you are of me."

It wasn't intended, really. You've never thought the hatred could get this bad. How? Why? Taph..

Did they lied to him? Did they influenced him?

You choked on your tears, gripping the picture frame. It hurts so much to know no one trusted you anymore, not even Taph.

The sound of your shuddering breathing and sobs filled the silence in the cabin. You were moved by Shedletsky to another cabin, furthest from the other, saying it was necessary. But seeing as how close it is to the path leading to where the killer's hideout was, worried you.

Though he insisted on you staying there, alone. Taph were previously your cabin-mates. Guess now he isn't seeing as he moved his belongings into Dusekkar's cabin before you were moved.

Did you do something? What wrong did you do? You can't remember.

Alone. Everytime. Every second. Every hour. Every day. Every. Ticking. Time.

Are they not convinced enough you've changed?

You still stay friendly with them despite everything.

You stare at the familiar panel in front of you, seeing the screen you vouch to never touch ever again.

The time is almost over. It's almost the end time.

You heard a scream, one that's familiar to Dussekkar's voice. You got up, hiding the panel away from everyone, and left the hill.

Running towards the voice you saw both Dussekkar and Guest limping, Chance's gun exploded on him in an attempt to save Dusekkar from Jason.

Taking out your gun, you shoot it at Jason. It hits, stunning him. Giving both Dussekkar and Guest to escape, without even a thanks from either one.

Are you that bad? They never acknowledge you anymore. Not even Him. Taph.

You snapped back into reality hearing Chance pained groans. Your eyes widen as he runs up to you and shoves you behind them towards the killer

Then you felt it. The machete hitting your neck. Scar so deep it bleeds a river, unfortunately not enough to end you from the pain.

You felt him pull the machete back, resuming chase on Chance who's low. You choked, grasping at the wound on your neck.

Falling to the ground with sob you can't even get out of your mouth. The pain felt like it was burning, it's agonizing.

You heard another scream. Shouting out Taph's name. No.

He's in danger, get up. GET UP!

You can't, despite you trying. You can't. You're close to death, yet seems like The Spectre didn't want you to.

You squint your eyes, remembering something. You held back the pain, clenching your teeth.

The second tick, 10 seconds.

You muster up all your energy, a panel opened up in front of you.

You can't give up.

5 seconds.

You pulled yourself towards the panel. Reaching a hand out to click that one button.

3

You hissed, feeling the pain sharpened.

2

You're good enough! You're enough! You'll prove them!

1

I'll make them proud of me.

Builderman stares at the timer, confused on why it restarted. He turns to the other who looks confused as well.

Is there a continuous round? Last time he check there's none. New event?

He turns to Shedletsky and Guest, both staring out at the area near the mansion. Everyone is here, except Two time. Said they'll go check the whole map to see what's going on.

SNAP—

Builderman, Shedletsky, and Guest turn their attention to the snapping noise. It sounds so familiar— Is it c00lkid?

There they stood, over Two time's mangled body.

Is that— [Name]?

"Am I strong enough? Did I prove enough to be better!? Please say you're proud of me!"

They stare at you, eyes widen. Shedletsky took out his sword, Guest ready himself. Builderman, oh.

He's having a flashback. He knows what your capabilities are.

I'm sorry.

[27spoons]

CRUSH | NATALIE'S INTERLUDE TWO

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Well... those were a fun few hours, huh?

wc: 1070

warnings: post-nut guilt, i've decided van is nonbinary you have to live with it now

a/n: i'd apologize for the photo but im really not sorry mb

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

NEXT - ACT THREE: SAFE FROM HEARTBREAK (IF YOU NEVER FALL IN LOVE)

NATALIE

It's been a few hours since you fell asleep.

She thinks.

You had seemed so… happy when you fell asleep. Your hand resting on her shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into the skin as you kissed the top of her head every few minutes, as if you were reminding yourself she was still there.

Her original plan was to leave right after you fell asleep, you know? Let you deal with everything on your own. The aftermath and the unfortunate light that morning brings.

She hates that she can't.

You lay there, looking relaxed and calm, and she sits on your windowsill, prepared to jump out into the snowbanks below. But she can't bring herself to leave, not after everything. The least she could do was stay to say good morning, then leave. Just so that you know… you know she didn't just… take your virginity and leave.

Nat's face contorts at that thought. God, she really did that, didn't she? And despite your willingness, she can't help but feel like she coerced you into it. She knows, realistically, that she didn't. You were willing, your skin was willing, your voice was willing. She knows.

It doesn't stop the full-body shiver from raking up her spine at the idea that she might have.

She glances back at you before digging around in her jacket pocket. Her phone—old, cracked, barely functioning at this point—buzzes faintly when she taps the screen.

2:36 AM

She sighs as she plugs her earbuds into the jack, jamming it in and angling the cord just to get sound playing in both ears. It works—barely, even on full volume, but it works nonetheless. She scrolls through whatever music she has downloaded and clicks the song that always hits when her thoughts won't shut the fuck up.

'So What'cha Want' by Beastie Boys blares into her ears with tinny aggression, a welcome reprieve from the silence of your room. Hell, she doesn't even realize she's muttering the lyrics until the cigarette's halfway to her lips. 

The window opens with a reluctant creak. She places the filter of the smoke between her cracked and bruised lips and lights the tip, taking a long drag before blowing it slowly out into the cold night, letting it mix with the frosty air.

In a way, it feels like she's exhaling the ever-present guilt that gnaws at her insides most days. The only time she doesn't feel that guilt is when she's doing something she shouldn't be doing. Whether that thing is drugs, crime, or having sex…

"Fuck," Nat hisses to herself, almost pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration before she remembers that it's busted.

Great. Right. She got beat to shit only a handful of hours ago. How the fuck is she gonna explain this one away to anyone else? To the team? To her mom (who probably won't care)? To Kevyn and Rich? 

'Fuck' indeed.

She opens up her messages—out of post-hookup habit—and taps something stupid out to Van. 

[nat]

ever jus commit a felony then feel sad abt it lol ike hypotheticaly

No response. It's almost three in the morning. And Van is basically technologically illiterate. What the fuck would they even say—

[van]

who did you murder?????? do I need to call tai do we need a shovel I'll help you hide the body

Nat has to fight the twitch in her lips. Leave it to Van's dumbassery to cheer her up right now.

[nat]

no1 murdred yet

[van]

then what crime did you commit arson? cannibalism? identity theft?

[nat]

no dumbass i fuked that chick i was telling u abt

Silence. Complete radio silence on the other end. 

As the song shifts to 'Date With The Night' by Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Nat curses herself internally as she ashes the cigarette on the cracked window pane. God, she's really done it this time, huh? Maybe Lottie was—

[van]

DUDE!!!! ARE YOU THERE?

She scoffs before taking another drag from the Marlboro, rolling her eyes as she debates dignifying that with a response. The obvious answer is yes, but Van knows that. They just want Nat to admit it.

[nat]

yes

[van]

YOU'RE STAYING THE NIGHT, RIGHT? CORRECT?

[nat]

i think 

[van]

WRONG ANSWER!  CORRECT ANSWER IS YES! GO BACK TO BED WITH HER TAI SENDS HER WARMEST REGARDS

As much as Nat hates to admit it, Van has a point. She should stay the night. After all, didn't she tell Lottie you were 'different'?

If Nat were playing this by her own rules, she would have already been halfway across town by now. But instead, she's standing in your room, still half-dressed, nursing a cigarette and her own idiotic sense of guilt. 

She flicks what's left of the smoke into the snow hills two stories down and lets the brisk night air cling to her skin one last time before closing the window with a heavy sigh.

She doesn't crawl back into your bed right away. 

She stares at you for a long time, perched on the windowsill. She watches your chest's slow rise and fall, the furrow in your brow that hasn't gone away even in sleep. She wonders what the hell you're dreaming about, if anything. Wonders if it's her. Wonders if that's a good or bad thing.

Probably bad.

Eventually, Nat runs a hand through her greasy hair, grimacing slightly when her fingers snag on a knot, and then finally gives in to the bone-deep need for sleep, quietly sliding back into bed beside you.

Your body shifts instinctively, curling toward her like it's second nature. Maybe she should have expected it. Maybe this is what she wanted the whole time.

Her arm moves before she can stop it, wrapping loosely around your waist as she tucks her head under your chin once more, and she catches herself before she can purr like a fucking cat.

She tells herself this is just to keep both of you from getting cold.

She doesn't fall asleep for a long while. She's had trouble sleeping since she was a kid, courtesy of her father and his drunken actions, and tonight proves to be no different. She doesn't sleep until your fingers twitch against her stomach, and you mumble something incoherent.

Not until the silence starts to feel less like punishment and more like peace.

Nat wants to get used to this feeling.

She knows she won't.

a/n: if u actually clicked on the song hotlink in the title. yes. take certain lyrics literally.

[moonstruckme]

hii! im not sure if you're taking requests, but i love your work! this might sound weird, but as a muscular girl who works out a lot, i get insecure sometimes about looking "too masculine." i was wondering if you could do something like poly!marauders reassuring the reader that it's actually really hot or something? im sorry if this comes off as weird!! i just don’t see too many fics with a muscular fem reader and finally decided to bite the bullet and request something for the first time! thank youuu ❤️

Thanks for requesting angel <3

cw: reader is insecure about her shoulders, reflects on narrow ideas of femininity

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 869 words

“You’re such a pleb,” Sirius teases Remus, taking his tie from him. 

“I am a pleb,” Remus grumbles. “I wasn’t meant to wear things like this.” 

“No, only sweaters and scowls for you, is that right?” 

Remus’ cheeks color. Sirius grins, pecking them both. 

You think Remus was made to wear things like this. He and Sirius both look very dashing, though different shades of it. Remus’ tie is a muted gray while Sirius wears a suit all of the darkest blue to set off his eyes. Sirius gives Remus’ tie a flirtatious tug, and Remus cracks, smiling as Sirius kisses him once more. 

“Angel, will you help me with mine?” James asks, coming in from the bathroom with wet curls already trying to spring up above his head. 

You turn away from where you’d been tugging at your dress in the mirror. Sirius scoffs, finishing with Remus’ tie. 

“You know how to tie a tie, James, I’ve seen you.” 

“I didn’t say I don’t know how,” says James. “I just want her to do it.” 

“Such a man-baby.” 

“Me? You’re one to talk.” 

“Now what could you mean by that?” 

“You look really beautiful, dove,” Remus says quietly, coming up behind you to twine his arms around your waist. You leave your boyfriends to their bantery foreplay. 

Your face warms at his notice. “Thank you. So do you.” 

Sometimes Remus seems to have an easier time taking compliments from you. Maybe it’s that you don’t make as big a production of them as either James or Sirius, but rather than flushing and deflecting Remus only presses a thankful kiss to your cheek. 

You look at the two of you in the mirror. You do look rather nice together, though a worm of insecurity eats at your middle. Remus doesn’t dwarf you. You don’t mind how you look, most of the time. You like that you’re strong, that your body shows the work you’ve put into it, that you look capable. And yet. Sometimes, times like now, you just wish you were…daintier. Not dainty as in feeble, but slight. Sylphlike. Feminine in the way you were taught what feminine is. 

“I think I’m going to change,” you confess. 

Remus frowns. It appears you’ve caught Sirius’ notice, too, who turns from where he’s picking out shoes near the closet. “What? What’s wrong with this dress?” 

“It’s…” You straighten your posture a little bit, and the effect makes you grimace. You try to quell it when you catch Remus watching your face. “I just don’t like it very much.” 

“I think it’s lovely,” says Remus, in his mild way. 

Sirius nods, assessing. “Yeah, babe, that’s your color.”

“Thanks.” You try to smile at him. “It’s not really the color, it’s just how it makes me look.” 

Sirius cocks an eyebrow. His arms cross, defensive. “And how is that?” 

You shrink, feeling chastised already. “I don’t love how my shoulders look in it, that’s all.” 

Sirius’ eyes narrow like he wants to fight with you. Remus murmurs his name warningly. 

“Your shoulders?” James seems surprised. “They look killer in that, lovely.” 

“I don’t really want them to look killer,” you admit. 

“What’s your issue with them?” asks Sirius. 

“Sirius,” Remus groans.

“What?” 

“A bit of tact, please.” 

“It’s fine.” You roll your eyes, trying not to squirm under all the attention. “I just feel like they look pretty broad with the neckline like this.” 

Remus meets your eyes in the mirror, a perplexed notch between his brows. “And you’d rather they didn’t?” 

“Ideally, yeah.” 

“Angel,” says James, “do you have any idea how ridiculously fit your shoulders look like that?” 

This stumps you. Realistically, the answer is no?

James goes on as though he’s heard it telepathically. “You look like you could lift me. Me. That’s, like, a fantasy.” 

“You fantasize about me lifting you?” you ask skeptically. 

All three of your boyfriends nod, Remus somewhat sheepishly. 

“Why would you want them to look smaller?” James seems genuinely bewildered. “You worked for those, lovely.” 

“And they look good,” Sirius chimes in. 

You look at yourself in the mirror again, shifting in your dress uncomfortably. “You don’t think…when they look wide like this, it makes me feel a bit mannish.” 

“Mannish,” Sirius deadpans. “Really.” 

“Sweetheart,” Remus tries in a gentler tone, “you should wear what makes you feel good, but do you really think that you look like any of us?” 

In the mirror, Sirius raises an eyebrow at you in challenge. 

“My shoulders are about the same size as yours,” you confess in a small voice. 

“And do you think that makes Remus look womanly?” James asks. 

“No,” you reply quickly, hastening to clarify that that is not what you’re saying. 

Sirius hums, smug. “Can’t have it both ways, gorgeous.” 

“You look beautiful,” Remus says again, cupping his hands over your shoulders. He lets them coast down your arms, admiring. 

Your voice softens. “Thank you.” 

“And if I have to look plebeian and absurd in a suit,” he goes on at a murmur, “you can show off how fit you look in that dress.” 

Your eyes roll, though you know your boyfriends all see the smile you’re trying to suppress. “Fair enough.”  

[yukioos]

when you’re teasing eijiro but he doesn’t realize it

in your eyes, eijiro was the best boyfriend ever. he was attentive, caring, handsome, smart, strong, funny, and everything a girl could wish for. he treated you like an equal, sometimes even higher than him, as if you were a goddess. you were all he ever wanted, and it was clear through how he treated you.

he’d shower you in multiple compliments every day, commenting, ‘you look really pretty today,’ when you didn’t even change your looks, or complimenting you on a cute shirt he bought you. he didn’t have one specific love language, often always having a hand on your body, whether it was holding your hand in his or a kiss on your cheek. sometimes he would just like to lay with you in silence, enjoying your presence more than anything.

a light in his eyes would always flicker when you reciprocated his love, and his lips would always shyly stretch into a smile. even if you just gave him a simple and quick peck on the cheek, he would grin like he was the luckiest man in the world. which, he believed he was indeed the luckiest man in the world.

so you began to take it a step further, rather than leaving in the middle of a hangout with a quick peck on the cheek before fighting villains for a quick mission, you would let it linger, knowing you’d be able to defeat them. a few more seconds of intimacy wouldn’t hurt.

eijiro noticed the change in time but didn’t think much of it. maybe you noticed how happy he was whenever you showed the slightest ounce of love towards him, so you did it more often. he also saw how you would always move closer to him even if you weren’t talking, just wanting to feel his body heat radiating off of him, a reminder that he was close to you.

and you began to give him gifts more often, sometimes it was just a cool rock or a keychain from a store you found on patrol. he would normally display it somewhere in his room, but again, he didn’t think much of it. you probably just had a switch go off in your brain to be more affectionate, maybe.

however, the days were becoming even more frustrating. eijiro wasn’t confronting you about your teasing behavior, how your lips would linger on his neck a few seconds too long in public. maybe he thought your affection was normal, and that’s why he wasn’t bothered by it. weirdly enough, it was a bit reassuring that he wasn’t grossed out by your behavior.

sooner or later, your ‘teasing’ behavior wasn’t so much a joke anymore. your hand would linger on his bare, sweaty chest after he worked out, and your eyes would run up and down his body, more interested in his stylish outfit than anything else.

so the two of you lay on the couch in the common room, across from each other but legs on each other’s. both of you were on your phones, scrolling through social media when you came across a post that made you think of eijiro. the ‘spin fifteen times and try to kiss’ trend, specifically.

the girl and boy spun, giggling as it was sped up, and after fifteen spins, they wobbled over to each other, the boy kissed her forehead and the girl kissed his chest, and both of them fell to the ground.

you giggled and sat up, eijiro immediately doing the same. your laugh was music to his ears, and he would die to hear it again.

you scooted over to his side of the couch and lay your legs over his thighs, then suggested, “eiji, we should do this trend!” and showed him the video, as your whole body was almost on his, chest pressed against his own.

he watched the video in awe. it was adorable, and he immediately nodded. “hell yeah, babe! that was so cute!”

his sharp teeth shone in the sunlight, and his eyes squinted, he truly was happy with you.

hey sorry this was short but here’s the eijiro version of him getting teased. also, i will most likely not be posting as often because i have long requests i am working on, so it will take longer for me to work on my writings. sorry i posted this late by the way.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 08. A state of dreams

PREV PART trigger warnings: mental + physical + emotional neglect, Reader is in a ‘limbo’ of nightmares, grief, shouting, I am a bit unsure on what trigger warnings suit this chapter so if you think I missed anything pls do say so main m.list        series m.list

Sleep is supposed to keep pain away from you, it’s supposed to give you a break. But your sleep has been haunted by nightmares from the day of the attack to today, your nightmares filled with violence and the Gods are punishing you. Punishing you for not fighting back, that’s what these dreams have to be.

Nightmares that talk about the ‘what if’, the nightmares that kill your soul. You’re stuck in them, you’re stuck in a river of pain and you don’t know how to get out of it. You don’t want to be asleep, you don’t want to sleep.

“Come on, (Nickname),” your mother chuckles as she opens her arms, no she isn’t. “you don’t want to keep me waiting, right?”

You don’t, you want to rush into her embrace, cry as you wish for a better life. Cry as you ask her why Bruce hates you, cry as you beg for a reason why your family doesn’t love you. But you can’t.

You can’t run into her loving embrace, because before you’ll reach her the scene will change, it will be Bruce holding your shoulders in a crushing grip. Asking you why you couldn’t just stay silent, asking you why you just couldn’t be a good doll and stay in the corner to be forgotten. So you’ll make her wait. Just to see her face.

“Baby,” your mother gasps dramatically, putting her hand on her heart. “did mama do something wrong? Is that why you don’t want to give me a hug?”

You shake your head as you ignore the shifting scene, oh how you hate being aware. “I just want to keep looking at you, mama,” you whisper. “you look so beautiful.”

Your mama laughs as she takes you in her arms but then she disappears. Leaving a younger you behind in a hospital gown, a gown that you remember all too well. It was from the hospital you almost died in. It was the last time you remember being comforted by your mama. “You vowed to stay healthy,” younger you whispers in anger. “you broke that vow!”

“I did,” you admit, not even trying to placate them, not even looking them in their eyes. “health isn’t something you can control. We were destined for this, we are destined for pain. But we’ll find our people through that pain.”

“It’s not fair!” younger you shouts, clenching their hospital gown in their hands. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! We did everything right!” Younger you was sobbing, sobbing to the point you could feel their tears in your own hearts. “Why can’t we be happy?!”

You look at the ground, the scene was shifting again. It was the manor, and this time it was Alfred in front of you. His nose flaring as he raises his arm and starts shouting at you, you can’t hear him but it scares you. You feel threatened, you feel unsafe and most of all you feel like you’re in danger. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it wasn’t enough for him. He grabs your shoulders as spit flies from his mouth as he shouts, your heart just becoming numb. “it’s not my fault… I didn’t do anything!”

Exactly, a voice whispers in the back of your head, you were complicate to your own abuse. You kept the key of your own jail for so long, so can you fully blame Alfred?

You close your eyes and shake your head. That voice is wrong, you weren’t complicate in to the neglect that they gave you. It was never your fault, it never will be. You just need to ignore Alfred, both in dream and when you are awake, just because he wants you a certain way doesn’t mean you have to be that way. You know that right? You just need to wake up for now, can you do that for me?

Can you open your beautiful eyes? (Oh, is that Duke you hear or someone else? Is your mother calling for you?)

But for now you will continue to stay in state. A state of grieving what you could have had, a state where in you experience all the fear that you have ever felt once more, a state where you see your mother but barely can remember her face and voice, a state that reminds you of the hell that awaits you once you open your eyes.

But that hell is your story, and you can take it to another road. You’ll try and try, and you’ll fail. Don’t get me wrong. But after all that failure you are bound to learn, and you are bound to grow. So take the hands that hold out to you, you’ll never have to walk this path alone.

NEXT PART Heard my grandpa is the hospital while writingso updates might be slow for a while, or a bit darker and more chaotic. I have also closed the taglist since whenever I add new people in the editor it shows up but not in the post??

taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret,

[meazalykov]

floral fragrance

niamh charles x f!reader

nobody is obsessed with your signature scent like she is

warnings: established relationship. spicy at the end

it is rainy and the grass damp beneath your boots kind of bothers you, however, you decide to not let that stress you out today. it smells nice outside, the post-rain atmosphere making the grass look so green and smell so earthy.

to the rest of the team, it's the floral fragrance they smell and not the rain. it trails you, a soft whisper of jasmine and rose that cuts through the sharpness of sweat and turf. it’s your signature, as much a part of you as the pink training kit clinging to your frame. 

naimh, your girlfriend of three years, is already warming up across the field, her eyes finding you like they always do. 

she’s all focus but the moment she spots you, her lips curve into a smile that’s just for you.

“you smell like a bloody garden again,” she teases later, when you’re stretching side by side. the woman’s voice is low, meant only for your ears, and her hand brushes yours deliberately as she adjusts her shin guards.

“you love it,” you shoot back grinning, “don’t pretend you’re not sniffing me every chance you get.”

naimh laughs with a sound that makes your chest feel light. she leans closer, her breath warm against your ear, “guilty, but i can’t help it when you’re this distracting.”

on the pitch, you and naimh move like you’re tethered by something invisible. you’re a midfielder, weaving through opponents as your sharp passes get to your forwards. naimh, your defender, is a shield, her presence steady. 

during a tense moment against arsenal, an opponent barrels toward you. the ball is knocked off of your feet as you tumble to the ground but naimh is there, intercepting with a clean pass up to catarina that sends the ball rolling out of danger. 

as she gets up, she winks at you. during a corner kick from cat, you catch a faint trace of your girlfriend’s cedarwood-scented deodorant mixing with your floral notes since she stands behind you. 

after the whistle blows with london staying blue (ahhhh) you’re both sweaty and exhilarated. 

naimh jogs over, slinging an arm around your shoulders. 

“you were brilliant out there,” she says, her voice soft but proud, “that assist to sandy was filthy.”

“you weren’t bad yourself,” you reply, leaning into her. your fragrance clings to you even now, and you notice her inhale subtly, her eyes half-closing for a second.

“keep wearing that scent, and i’m not letting you out of my sight tonight,” she murmurs, her tone playful but edged with something deeper.

outside of football, your love blooms in quiet moments. you and naimh share a flat in london, a cozy space filled with plants you both tend to and framed photos of your travels while with the club team (and national team if you’re english). 

one saturday morning, you’re in the kitchen, brewing coffee, your floral perfume lingering in the air. you’re wearing a loose sweater and jeans, your hair still slightly messy from nine hours of sleep, but naimh can’t stop staring. 

she’s sprawled on the couch, pretending to scroll through her phone, but her eyes keep drifting to you.

“stop doing that. you’re gonna burn a hole through me,” you call out, pouring coffee into two mugs.

“sorry, can’t help it,” she says, setting her phone down and crossing the room. you know she is never sorry. 

she wraps her arms around your waist from behind, her chin resting on your shoulder. 

“you smell so good, it’s unfair. like, how am i supposed to function knowing you’re in my senses?”

you laugh while turning in her arms to face her, “you’re dramatic.”

“and you’re addictive,” she counters, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. naimh’s lips linger, and you feel her breathe you in, like your scent is something she needs to ground herself. 

“i’d bottle you if i could.”

you spend the day wandering through a local market, hand in hand. naimh insists on buying you a new perfume. it is a floral one, of course, with notes of peony and lily. 

“it’s not as good as yours,” she says as you test it on your wrist, “but it’ll do for when you’re not around.”

you roll your eyes but spritz it on, and she pulls you close right there in the shop, ignoring the amused glance from the cashier. 

“yep,” she says, her nose brushing your wrist, “still prefer the original.”

another evening, after a long training session, you’re both at a team dinner. the restaurant is calm but your teammates laughing and causing chaotic conversations. naimh’s attention is on you. 

you’re seated next to her, your floral scent mingling with the aroma of pasta and wine. she’s got her hand resting on your thigh under the table, her thumb tracing lazy circles.

“you’re quiet tonight,” you say, leaning toward her.

“just thinking about how lucky i am,” she replies, her voice soft enough that only you can hear. 

“you, this team, us. and, you know, how you smell better than anything in this place.”

you nudge her with your elbow, but your cheeks warm, “shut up, you’re such a simp.”

“only for you,” she says, squeezing your thigh gently. naimh’s bright eyes hold yours, and for a moment, the noise of the restaurant fades. it’s just you and her. teammates notice, but decide to just leave you to yourselves and leave the teasing for another day.

later, when you’re back home, the mood shifts. you’re in the bedroom, changing into pajamas, and naimh is watching you from the bed, her gaze intense. you catch her eye and pause, a smirk tugging at your lips. 

“what?”

“come here,” she says, her voice low and inviting. 

you do, and she pulls you onto her lap, her hands sliding under your shirt to rest on your hips. “you have no idea what you do to me,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your collarbone. your floral scent is stronger here, warm from your skin, and she breathes it in like it’s a drug. 

naimh’s kisses trail lower, teasing but deliberate, and you feel her smile against your skin as you shiver. 

she whispers, “you are going be the death of me.”

you laugh softly, but it catches in your throat as her hands wander, her touch light but electric. it’s a dance of restraint and want, her adoration woven into every brush of her lips. you pull her closer, and the world narrows to the heat of her, and the floral notes that cling to you.

[rafesorchid]

Hii i LOVEEE your work!! I love baker reader and mechanic rafe!! I was wondering maybe you could write something of them getting into an argument!!???💕

BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDS

when mechanic!rafe & baker!reader get into their first argument

plot: when a busy day at the bakery causes miscommunication, rafe's insecurities boil over into an argument that leaves both of you hurting. but love has a way of pulling you back — even when the words cut deep.

CONTENT: heavy angst, yelling, hurtful language (driven by insecurity), emotional breakdown (crying), temporary separation, rafe leaves, hurt/comfort, soft fluffy ending, kissing, lots of apologizing, love confession

thank you so much for this idea lovie 🩵 really enjoyed writing it, have fun!

the smell of burnt sugar clung to your hair, a sweet, sticky reminder of the morning’s chaos at the bakery. you’d barely had time to throw your apron in the wash before rafe showed up at your door, grease still smudged along his jawline, knuckles raw from god knows what.

he didn’t even say hello. just stormed in like a hurricane, rattling your little kitchen with his heavy boots and heavier sighs.

"where the fuck were you?" he snapped, voice sharper than you’d ever heard it.

you blinked, still holding the basket of freshly wrapped pastries you’d planned to bring to him. "i was at work," you said carefully. "where i always am."

rafe scrubbed a hand over his face, leaving a dark streak across his temple. "i went by. you weren’t there."

you set the basket down on the counter, heart thudding loud in your ears. "i had to run deliveries," you said. "mrs. harper needed a last-minute birthday cake, and—"

"you didn’t answer your phone."

you reached for your apron, wringing the fabric between your hands. "i left it in the kitchen. it gets crazy sometimes, you know that."

he stared at you like he didn’t know you at all. like you were some stranger he didn’t recognize.

"rafe," you said, stepping toward him. "what’s really going on?"

he flinched like you’d slapped him. "what’s going on is you don’t give a shit," he hissed. "you’re too busy playing house with your fucking cupcakes to care about anything else."

you recoiled, the words slicing deeper than they should have. "that’s not fair," you whispered.

"no?" he laughed, but there was no humor in it. "i sat outside that bakery for two fuckin’ hours. waited like a damn fool. and you couldn’t even bother to check your phone."

guilt pooled heavy in your stomach. you hadn’t known he was waiting. hadn’t known he needed you.

"i didn’t mean to—"

"you never mean to," he cut you off. "but you always do."

the kitchen felt too small, the walls pressing in around you. you wanted to reach for him, wipe the grease from his cheek, kiss the hurt out of his voice — but he wouldn’t let you.

"i’m sorry," you said, and meant it with every broken piece of you. "i didn’t know."

rafe shook his head, stepping back like he couldn’t stand to be near you. "you never know," he muttered. "you’re too busy baking your goddamn cookies."

"it’s not just cookies, rafe," you said, anger sparking hot in your chest now. "it’s my job. it’s my dream. i’m building something for myself."

"and where does that leave me?" he snapped. "standing in the fuckin’ parking lot like an idiot? waiting for scraps of your attention?"

you bit the inside of your cheek, tasted blood. "you’re not scraps," you said fiercely. "you’re—you’re everything."

"doesn’t feel like it."

silence thickened between you, a heavy thing neither of you knew how to lift.

finally, rafe muttered, "i’ll get out of your way," and turned for the door.

rafe doesn’t get far.

he makes it to the truck, shoves the key into the ignition, but doesn’t turn it.

he just sits there, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles go white.

his mind replays everything — your face when he yelled, the way your voice cracked when you said "you’re everything,"the goddamn basket on the counter — and the guilt crashes down on him like a tidal wave.

"fuck," he mutters, slamming his head back against the seat.

he hadn’t meant to be so cruel. hadn’t meant to tear you down when all you ever did was try to love him.

but he was scared. scared in a way he didn’t know how to name. scared that you were slipping away, that your bright, sweet world would outgrow the messy, broken boy who only knew how to fix engines and break hearts.

scared that loving you would never be enough.

he wipes his face with the back of his hand, breath hitching.

then he sees it — your silhouette in the window, sitting on the kitchen floor, curled in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear.

and something in his chest shatters.

he can’t leave you like this. he won’t.

not when you’re the only good thing he’s ever had.

you don’t hear the truck door open. don’t hear the boots crunching back across the gravel.

you only notice he’s back when you feel his arms around you, pulling you up off the floor and into him.

you gasp, clutching at his jacket, the smell of him — oil and leather and something purely rafe — hitting you like a drug.

"m’sorry," he says against your hair, voice wrecked. "baby, m’so fuckin’ sorry."

you shake your head, sob catching in your throat. "you don’t have to—"

"yes, i do," he says fiercely, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. "i was an asshole. said shit i didn’t mean. i—I just get so scared, sometimes."

you blink up at him, vision blurry with tears. "scared of what?"

"scared of losin’ you," he says, voice breaking. "scared you’ll wake up one day and realize you deserve better than...this."

he gestures at himself like he’s nothing. like he’s worthless.

you grab his wrists, holding on tight. "there’s no better than you, rafe," you say, fierce through the tears. "i don’t want perfect. i just want you."

he closes his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek. he’s always been so bad at this part — the feeling part — but right now, he’s trying.

"i love you," he says, raw and broken. "love you so much it hurts."

you press your forehead to his, breathing him in. "i love you too," you whisper. "even when you’re an idiot."

a shaky laugh escapes him. "yeah?"

"yeah," you say, smiling through the tears. "especially then."

he kisses you again, softer this time. slower. like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

when you finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

"let me make it up to you," he murmurs.

"you already have," you say.

but he’s stubborn. he pulls you to your feet, guiding you over to the counter where the basket still sits.

he unwraps it carefully, like it’s something sacred, and pulls out a turnover.

then he holds it up to your mouth. "open," he says gently.

you laugh, sniffling. "rafe—"

"c’mon, baby. let me take care of you."

so you do. you take a bite, the sweet peach filling bursting on your tongue, and rafe watches you like you’re the only thing that matters.

"good?" he asks, thumb brushing your cheek.

"perfect," you say.

"yeah," he murmurs, eyes soft. "you are."

he pulls you into his arms again, swaying a little like there’s music only he can hear.

and in that messy, sugar-dusted kitchen, with the taste of peaches still on your lips and rafe’s heart beating against yours, you realize something:

he’s not perfect. neither are you.

but together, you’re something damn close.

and that’s enough.

it’s more than enough.

authors note

hello my sweet beautiful people, i'm genuinely so thankful for all your support this past week <3 lov u all lots

[kamelika]

hi hii!! could u possibly do a pt 2 to the reader w anxiety? maybe w rin, isagi and shidou🙌🏻 thankyouuu!! 🩷

bllk boys x reader with social anxiety part 2

a/n: sorry i havent been posting much, writing has been feeling like a chore rather than a hobby lately. aside from that, i am very happy to write your request

rin itoshi:

-he looks like he doesnt care but hes actually doing his very best to help you

-doesnt pressure you at all. waits patiently if your stuttering or struggling to find the correct words

-he contemplates sending messages of encouragement to you, but when he does, he immediately deletes it out of embarrassment and hopes you didnt see it (you did)

-doesnt actually help you until you ask for it (he wants to keep his cool exterior)

-until then, he slightly hints about your anxiety and how to help it once in a while

-calls you names playfully if you take 10 minutes trying to ask the shopkeeper if they accept cash

-watches youtube videos on "how to help somebody with social anxiety"

-careful not to be too harsh because hes scared of his words actually hurting you

yoichi isagi:

-if were being honest, he'd struggle with helping you get rid of your struggle with words

-he puts in 100% effort though

-comforts you and reassures you everytime you think an interaction when wrong

-finishes your sentences when you pause mid way a conversation with someone in public because you didnt know the right words to say

-brainstorms day and night on how to help you

-nudges you on to atleast try to talk to someone, because if you mess up, he'll cover

shidou ryusei:

-kind of just jokes about it 24/7

-jumpscares you (he hopes that you'll get used to his jumpscares so that when someone suddenly talks to you out of nowhere in public, you wont be as surprised and blue screen like you used to)

-flirts with you too

-really careful on not to cross the line

-if he accidentally does though, he pats your back soothingly amd apologizes

-this man will shower you with physical touch. slowly, though. he wants you to get used to it. it starts off from small, brief brushes of both of your shoulder, then to holding hands, and eventually escalating to cuddling.

-obnoxiously supportive. like, he yells "HELL YEAH!! THATS MY BAE!! YOU DIDNT STUTTER FOR 2 WHOLE SENTENCES!!!!! I'M SO PROUD OF YOU... YOU'VE GROWN SO MUCH!!!" in public.

a/n: uhhh im so slepey

[drdemonprince]

Holy shit. I’ve never been on Reddit until recently. So I missed the fact that people are like completely feral about you on there. For unhinged reasons like not believing you’re really autistic, mad because you don’t like diagnosis, you being a social psychologist, calling you ableist and weirdly misgendering you as if pronouns were really hard to understand. Why are people like this? I’m just an autistic person who follows a ton of autistic people but most don’t get the hate that you do. I mean maybe that’s like a positive thing because it shows your level of unmasking where you’re ok with being unliked by some? But it’s still shit. I’m sorry people are like that about you. It’s not ok.

awww wow thank you. That's really nice of you to recognize and say. There are several reasons why things have gotten to be like this. One of them is that people on reddit generally adopt a more medicalized understanding of everything from Autism to transness -- and so they reallly hate someone who pushes back against the medicalization of both. There's a lot of conservativism and self-hatred in reddit communities for marginalized groups, and really high respectability standards. The Autism in women subreddit hates me because i have challenged the idea that there's gendered variants of Autism, and it makes them uncomfortable to see trans women, queer people, and men of color lumped in with themselves.

There are also things I have done to contribute to this problem -- I used to fire off hot-take versions of my opinions on Twitter that were very easily misunderstood by those with the intention to do so or no context on the conversation, and there's the fact that I write about and for a predominately masked Autistic audience that has a lot of privileges that higher-support-needs Autistics do not have. People take umbrage at that and I don't really fault them for it, because even I am troubled by the ways in which the online Autistic community caters to those who can speak/mask/neuroconform more than those who are nonspeaking, intellectually disabled, or more visibly disabled in general. If people would really pay attention to my work they'd understand that I'm not the Aspie supremacist dipshit they think that I am, and that I actually do find the exact same things as them concerning, but some of them are just so sick of how overhyped they perceive me to be to really care about the nuances, or they've seen full on hate videos about me made on Tiktok by a few people who stalk me.

There sadly is a small but vocal community of people who viscerally hate me and spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about me and my work. It's sad. I've done my best to detach from the aspects of public life that would force me to deal with all of that, but some people are obsessive enough that it still breaks in.

[revelboo]

I hate to be that one person, but I just had to experience something really horrible between my dad and my dog. He manhandled my dog, who is elderly, out of frustration from work and I need comfort and something to help ground me back down… Can I ask for that comfort from Kup? Or Blurr?

Sure and I’m sorry that happened to you.

How about both of them?

Kup

• “You did good, kid,” he growls, servos faintly trembling as his grip tightens on his weapon. Can feel you wedged against the mesh of his neck, trembling uncontrollably. Terrified and his optics scan the tree line. Looking for more of those toothy things that had swarmed him, trying to climb his frame to get to you. Reaching up a hand, he cups it against you, pressing his servos against you and feeling your rapid heartbeat, your ragged breathing. “Talk to me.” Needs to know you’re okay, that none of them touched you.

• Can’t. Can’t even seem to get enough air. Those things had come out of nowhere and hadn’t been scared of Kup at all. They’d been focused on getting at you and he’d driven them back. Protected you. Trembling, you press your face against his neck. “I’m okay,” you manage, hating that you’re about to break down. That he has to spend all his time babysitting you because you’re helpless. And he’s reaching up, coaxing you into his hands.

• Had wanted to teach you survival skills, but hadn’t imagined anything like that. He’s run into those things before and they never bothered him or any of the other bots. Had outright ignored them. Knows he’s not equipped for this, never was great at comforting others. Too gruff, too serious. But he lifts you and cups you against his face, lips brushing your shoulder and neck. You’d scared him and so little does at his age. But he’d been terrified one of those things would seize you and dart off into the woods before he could reach you. That you’d just be gone and it’d be his fault for bringing you out here when you’d trusted him to keep you safe. “I’ve got you, kid,” he growls, voice trembling as he noses against you, grounding himself with the scent and feel of you, venting deeply against you. Spark aching when you brush your mouth against the corner of his, like you don’t blame him even though he blames himself enough for both of you.

TFA Blurr

• Frustratedly gesturing as he paces laying out his latest surveillance run, it takes him a klik to register your silence. That you’re not teasing him or calling him Zippy and his servos flex as he glances at you. And you’re not even looking at him, eyes focused on the far wall. Not even listening to him, either, apparently. “I’m sorry. Am I boring you again?”

• Blinking, you force a weak smile. “Sorry. What?” And the speedy bot stiffens. Offended again. “Don’t be that way, I’ve got a lot going on.” Not that he’d know, so caught up in his spy games, you feel like an afterthought a lot of the time. After the day you had? You need to be seen, especially by him. And he’s too wound up, unable to slow down and just talk to you.

• Still not teasing or mocking him. You’re serious. Not really used to you serious and you’re not smiling either. You’re always smiling. Servos nervously tapping against his thigh as you force a smile and it’s all wrong. Going completely still as that smile becomes strained, expression wavering and you’re turning away, reaching up to scrub at your eyes. “Wait,” he says, following as you stride away, mass shifting and reaching to catch you by the arm. “Wait.” And you’re leaking, tears streaming down your face when he makes you look at him. Had you been trying to tell him something and he’d talked right over you, caught up in his own worries? Your face crumples and he pulls you into his frame, not really sure how to make this better. “I don’t listen very well sometimes,” he manages, cradling the back of your head as you press your face against his neck. “I have trouble focusing and I get distracted. But you do matter to me.” More than his own mission and he’s not sure when that happened. When you became the most important thing in his life.