#and by recent i mean like. within the past few weeks

[bookwyrminspiration]

routine there's another account reposting kotlc fanart on pintrest post, including several artists and recent pieces from tumblr and ig. some of the art has credit in the descriptions, but several have "credit to the artist."

there are at least a couple accounts reposted despite no repost policies (e.g. @crescentpaws @tw-5), and there may be more; i don't have everyone's policies memorized.

don't be mean, people make mistakes and I doubt KeeperS is doing it maliciously, but fanartists you may want to double check for your work if that matters to you

[briefinquiries]

Spencer Reid x Reader: Until You Do

Prompt: You & Reid have unspoken feelings for each other.

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings: blood / injury mention

A/N: This is a shameless repost (still trying to repost my fics since they got deleted. Enjoy :)

“Sorry I’m late,” Spencer says as he hurries into the briefing room. In one swift motion he slides his bag off his shoulder, laying it gently on the floor beside him, as he takes a seat in the only empty chair around the table. 

Emily nods slightly in response, simultaneously telling Spencer that his lateness was excused, while also encouraging Garcia to continue presenting the team’s current case. 

“Right, um, two people have been murdered outside of Seattle in their homes all within the last two weeks-”

While Garcia continues to speak, you let your gaze wander towards Spencer.  His eyes are intently staring at the picture presented on the screen. He looks okay today, still tired, but not as disheveled as you’ve seen recently. You wonder if maybe he slept in today, and that was why he’d been late to work.  

Prentiss starts talking about the victimology of the case when Spencer’s eyes shift and catch yours. Instantly, you’re flooded with the embarrassment of being caught staring. You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly move your gaze into your hands resting in your lap. You feel Spencer’s eyes linger on you for a few moments longer, all the while hoping that he doesn’t notice the shade of pink your cheeks are slowly turning.  

Focus, you think to yourself.You have a job to do. You turn your attention to the grisly murder scene displayed on the screen and tune back into Garcia’s voice.

“But hold onto your hats, crime fighters, because that’s not even the worst of this whole thing,” she elaborates. “On top of… all the gory things Emily just said, these poor people were all found missing parts of their liver and pancreas.” Her face contorts into a look of disgust, as if just saying the words out loud brought a bad taste to her mouth. “And check this out,” Garcia clicks a button on her remote and brings up a coroner’s report on the screen.

Reid scans the document faster than anyone else. He’s the first to speak. “They were alive when the Unsub cut out their organs.”

Garcia’s sad inhale can be heard throughout the room. “And that is why I am perfectly happy staying in the safe confinement of my bat cave while you all go out and fight evil.”

After Emily calls for wheels up in twenty, the team disperses out of the briefing room, each heading to their desks to gather their to-go bags and whatever other materials they might need for the ride to Seattle. 

“Does Spence look off to you today?” JJ’s voice comes from behind you while you rummage through the top drawer of your desk for your cell phone. She leans against your chair casually and looks towards Reid. He’s standing across the room, clutching his shoulder bag and listening intently to something Matt was saying. 

“What?” you sputter, just the sound of Spencer’s name sending you into overdrive. “How should I know?”

You realize only after the words leave your mouth how defensive they sound. You bite your lip and try to backpedal. “I mean, I don’t know. He seems fine to me.”  

JJ narrows her eyes at you, clearly not buying your act. She is a profiler after all. But before she can interrogate your strange behavior any further, you stand up, grabbing hold of your duffel bag, and brush past her towards the exit. 

The truth is, you’ve had feelings for Spencer for a while now. Longer than you’d like to admit. But you’re barely able to admit that to yourself, let alone anyone else. Especially anyone on the team.  

Your love is unrealistic and unrequited. A combination that is destined for disaster. So, despite everything inside of you screaming for you to act on your feelings, you choose to bury them.  Because that is what’s best for everyone. Everyone except for you.  

…

Spencer tries not to overthink you staring at him. Or the way your cheeks blushed that beautiful shade of pink when he caught you. He can’t keep getting his hopes up when it comes to you, though. He’s already been let down so many times.  

He thinks back to the very first week you joined the Bureau. God, he was absolutely starstruck as soon as you walked through the door. And if Luke hadn’t commented on the drool pouring down Spencer’s chin, he’s sure his mouth would’ve dropped all the way to his feet.  

He’s even more intrigued the more he gets to know you- or rather, not know you, as time went on. Your incessant need for privacy peaked Spencer’s interest. You are mysterious, and Spencer’s always loved a good mystery. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me tonight?” Spencer had asked you, only a month after you’d joined the team.  

He still remembers how nervous he was, his clammy hands clutching tightly to the strap of his bag. He had to remind himself to breathe or else he might have passed out. 

You barely looked up from the paperwork at your desk before turning him down. “Can’t tonight, I’m playing catch up,” you had said, your voice was void of anything even resembling interest. 

“Don’t give up,” Luke had told him, clapping his shoulder roughly in the elevator. “I think she’s into you. Just ask again in a couple days, maybe she really was just busy.”

Now that his confidence was shaken, it took extra convincing in order to gain enough courage to ask you to dinner a second time.  His stomach was full of butterflies, which Spencer always thought was a stupid analogy until now. But he swears he can feel their wings fluttering around inside of him as he approaches you, putting your coat on and ready to head home. 

“Uh, H-Hi,” he stutters. “Do you want to grab some dinner? With uh, with me?” He can hear the shakiness in his own voice.  

“Sure,” you had replied, looking up just as you finished doing up the last button on your jacket.  You pushed the hair out of your face and smiled at him before turning around to face your coworkers. “Hey- JJ, Pen, Rossi. Spencer and I are gonna grab dinner, you guys in?”

All the butterflies in Spencer’s stomach instantly stilled.

You had made it painfully obvious to Spencer that you were not interested. And he wasn’t one to push. 

Spencer tried getting over you. He tried stifling his feelings, ignoring the way he’d drop anything as soon as he heard your voice, or the way his spirits would instantly be lifted if Emily assigned the two of you the same task during a case. He tried not to notice that your favorite breakfast was toast with avocados or that you always bite your lip whenever you were stressed. And he tried not to pay attention to the fact that you liked your coffee with honey and jiggled your leg whenever you had to sit in one place for too long. Because that’s not the type of thing coworkers noticed about one another. 

But you had a way of always pulling him back in.  Like that morning you brought Spencer a coffee. You had laughed and said the barista messed up your original order, so you got that one for free, honestly it was no big deal. But Spencer tasted the hint of cinnamon and extra cream, and smiled to himself. He spent the entire morning dwelling on the fact that you also knew exactly how he liked his coffee.    

Or, like when he’d catch you gazing at him during the briefing meetings. 

He’s almost sure that it was nothing. He did barge in late, afterall. Everyone stared at him, right?  So why can’t he stop thinking about it?

…

Seattle lived up to its rainy reputation. From the minute the team lands, the skies were dark with storm clouds.  

Currently, you are all held up at the police station. After coordinating with the captain and deputies, you all start setting up in the back conference room. You work with Matt to start tacking up the info you already knew– pictures of the current victims, lists of possible witnesses all within a three mile radius of each crime scene, and any evidence that had been found.  

Spencer immediately delves into cracking the geological profile, he has his nose practically pressed into the map of the area an officer had provided, seeing things no one else could. While the rest of the team worked through the Seattle PD’s casefiles, Garcia is on speaker phone, the light tapping of her keys can be heard faintly in the background.    

“Garcia, any known connection between the victims?”  

“Not that I can immediately see,” her voice rings through the speaker phone. “Katie is a second grade teacher, Ethan is a personal trainer at the local gym.”

“No gender preference,” JJ says while comparing the driver’s license photos of the victims. 

“No race preference either,” Luke observes. 

“Probably not surrogates,” Rossi drums his fingers together, too many differences.

“We have to be missing something,” Tara’s eyes wander from the photos of the victims.  

“I’ll keep digging,” Garcia assures you all. “I just might need to get my bigger shovel.”

That evening, a third victim is found just across town.  

“Luke, Matt– I want you to head to the dumpsite, canvas the area.” Emily orders. “Y/N, head to the coroner and check if the MO is the same for this victim as it was for the other two. See if you can find anything out about the missing organs. That has to mean something, we just don’t know what yet. JJ, Rossi, can you check out the victim’s house? Maybe we can start narrowing in how these people are all connected. Tara, the victims' family will be here soon. I’d like you to talk to them.”

Emily turns her back towards Spencer. He’s drawing lines on the map. “I’d like you to stay here, Reid. Maybe that third dumpsite can help you narrow down the geological profile.”  

The team all nod in agreement, before beginning to disperse out of the conference room.  

Garcia’s soft voice can be heard through the speaker ordering everyone to “Be safe!”

…

Once Reid is able to finish up his geological profile, pinpointing the Unsub’s comfort zone within the city, he really starts to feel like they’re closing in.  

“Using the abduction and dumpsites for each victim, I was able to narrow it down to this area,” Reid explains to Emily, drawing the lines on the board. Connected, they formed a small radius. “I think the Unsub lives in one of these three neighborhoods. Matt and Luke are in this area,” he points to one district. “And JJ and Rossi are here,” he points to the second. “If it’s alright, I’d like to head out to the last neighborhood, Medina. I’ll talk to the witnesses there and see what I can find out?”

Emily nods, “Good work, Reid.”

With Spencer gone, Tara and Emily are the only two left at the police station. Emily continues pouring over the evidence while Tara speaks to the victims’ families. About fifteen minutes after Reid leaves the precinct, Emily gets a call on her cell.

“What do you have?” 

“Emily, I think I might have found the connection we were missing between the victims.” You say through the phone. You’re at the coroner’s office still, the bodies of the three victims laid out in front of you. “The doctor said each of the victims had the blood type AB-negative.”

“That’s the rarest blood type,” Emily adds. 

“Exactly. Which could be a coincidence, but the fact that he’s removing organs makes me wonder– what if he’s trying to do a transplant?”

The pieces missing from the profile slowly start to click together in Emily’s mind. “Good work,” she says quickly. “Can you stay on the line for a minute? I’m going to patch Garcia through.”   

“Yeah,” you confirm. You wait a few moments before you hear a dial tone. After only one ring, the line connects. “Garcia, I need you to tell me if any of the names on our lists are suffering from fatal illnesses involving either the pancreas or the liver.”

Emily can hear the clicking of Garcia’s keyboard keys on the other end of the line as she works. 

“Zilch,” she says, disappointment evident in her voice.  

You sigh, but your gut really told you that this was important, so you pressed on. “What about family members of the names on our lists?”

After a few moments of searching Garcia inhales sharply. “There’s a Philip Gardiner on our list and his father, Joseph Gardiner, is currently suffering from stage 4 pancreatitis cancer.”  

There’s a brief pause before Garcia adds, “His medical records show that his father has AB negative blood type.”

“How would he know which victims have the same blood type as his father?” You ask. 

There’s a brief pause before Garcia says, “Philip Gardiner is a medical assistant at the family practice in Medina.”

“Let me guess–” Emily’s voice trails off. 

“All three victims were patients at that practice.”

That’s all that Emily needs. “What’s his address?”

“Already sent to all your phones.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” 

In a haste, Emily dials in the remaining members of the team. One by one, each group answers.  Everyone except for Spencer. His phone hits his voicemail, but Emily continues anyway. 

“Guys, I think we got him. A guy named Philip Gardiner, he was on our list of witnesses. His father has stage four pancreatitis cancer and we think he’s trying to find a healthy pancreas to give to his father.”

Emily looks up the address on the map Spencer so carefully drew out. She runs her finger along the map before finding the exact address.  

Meanwhile, you hear the ping of Garcia’s text ring through your phone. When you check the GPS distance, it says you’re only a mile away. In a haste, you offer the coroner a quick ‘thank you’, before heading out of the medical examiner’s room.  

“I’ve got his address here on the map,” Prentiss explains. Her finger trails around the region of the Unsub’s house, her heart stopping when she realizes that was the area that Reid was going to question witnesses… Alone.  “Penelope,” she says, her voice higher than usual. “Give me the list of witnesses in the Medina area.”   

Garcia begins rattling off a small list of names through the phone. But she inhales sharply after a moment before reading out the name, “Philip Gardiner.”

“Reid went to question the witnesses in the Medina area. He left just over an hour ago,” Prentiss explains.  

“What?” Your voice rings loudly on the line, as you hoist yourself into the SUV. Your entire insides fill with dread. 

“Can we try his phone again,” Matt suggests. 

“I’ve tried three times now, the first time it rang, but now it’s going straight to voicemail,” Garcia says worriedly.  

“Who’s closest to Medina?” Luke asks.  

“I am,” you say, checking your GPS. You’re only a few minutes away from where Reid was. Instantly, you fumble with your keys before harshly turning them and throwing the vehicle into gear. On impulse, you began speeding down the road in the direction of Spencer, pressing the pedal continuously harder.. 

“I want you to wait for backup,” Emily declares sternly. “This Unsub is armed and dangerous, I do not want you going there alone.”

“Emily–” you argue. Your knuckles are growing white with how hard you’re gripping the wheel. The sheer thought of Spencer, alone with that monster, makes you cringe. He had no clue that he was walking into the house of the Unsub– therefore he could have been jumped, or blitzed, or worse… You shake the thought out of your mind and focus instead on the road ahead. 

“Wait for Alvez and Simmons, they’re only ten minutes behind you,” Emily says over the phone.  

You shake your head, even though you know none of them can see you. “No, no, no,” you say, your voice starting to waiver. “No, that’s too long– he doesn’t know–”

“We’re on our way now,” Luke’s voice rings through the line.  

“It’s Reid–” you gasp, your eyes filling with tears. “I can’t leave him in there alone.”  You can’t stand the thought of Reid being hurt, when there’s the possibility of stopping it. If you go there now, you can save him– but if you wait for backup, like Prentiss suggested, he could die. 

“Y/L/N,” Emily states sternly. “I am ordering you to wait for backup, is that understood?”  

You continue speeding down the road, the Unsub’s house just up ahead. You can see Reid’s discarded vehicle parked on the side of the street, confirming what you already knew. He’s there. Your heart clenches in your chest.  

“It’s Spencer–” your voice is just above a whisper. You have direct orders from your supervisor.  Direct orders you know you need to follow, or else there would be serious repercussions. You could be demoted, or transferred, or fired from the Bureau all together. But then you imagine Spencer’s face, and you pictured the crime scene photos from the case. What if Spencer wound up like all those other victims? Cut up and discarded on the side of the road like a piece of garbage? You imagine him in there– alone with the Unsub, wondering if anyone was coming to save him. Yes, you think. You’re coming to save him. “I can’t wait, Emily. I’m sorry.”

You only hear the beginning part of her protest before you end the phone call with a click. You waste no time in launching yourself out of the black SUV, weapon drawn and quickly approaching the front door of the house.  

The drizzle that had been steady since that morning has turned into a hard rain fall. It makes seeing anything around you increasingly difficult. But once you approach the Unsub’s porch, you’re able to take a peek through the windows.  You’re hoping to see any sign of Spencer,  but instead, the curtains are drawn obstructing your view. 

With your heart beating wildly underneath your own chest, you burst through the unlocked door of Philip Gardiner’s home.  

As soon as your eyes adjust to the darkness inside the house, you’re shocked by what you see.  The first thing you notice is Reid. He’s kneeling on the ground with his hands placed above his head. His gun was laying on the ground five feet away from him, discarded like he’d been ordered to drop it. The second thing you realize is that you’re outnumbered. Because not only is Philip Gardiner pointing a gun at Spencer, but his father, Joseph is as well.  

You realize that you just assumed Philip’s father was incapacitated, too sickly and unwell to play any part in these murders. But now you can see that obviously isn’t the case.  

All eyes turn towards you upon your sudden entrance. But you only look at Reid. His sunken eyes widening when he sees you.    

“Put the gun down,” Philip orders, his voice deep and thick with malice. Joseph steps forward and grabs the back of Reid’s head, hoisting it back. He presses the barrel of his pistol right into Reid’s temple.    

“Okay,” you say instantly, trying not to panic. “Okay, okay–” you slowly start to lower your gun.  “I’m putting it down.” Don’t shoot him, don’t shoot him, your mind raced.  

You slide your glock across the floor towards Philip and his father carefully. The younger of the two Unsub’s wastes no time in scooping it up off the floor, before aiming his own gun at you.  

“Why’re you here?” he bellows, his voice shaking with emotion. “Why can’t you people just leave us alone!”

You take a deep breath, a feeble attempt at steadying yourself. “Philip, I’m here to help you,” you say calmly. 

The confusion on his face urges you to continue. “Actually, I’m here to help your father,” you tell him.

“My father?” he asks, his voice littered with skepticism.  

“That’s right, I heard he was sick.”

Philip steps closer to you, the gun never wavering in his hand. “That’s right.”

“I’m here to help. You need a transplant. Pancreas, right?”

Philip’s eyes widen and that’s when you realize you’ve gotten him right where you wanted him.  “Your father is AB-negative, right? That’s the rarest blood type, it’s hard to find a match.”

Your eyes dart to Spencer quickly, who’s still kneeling on the floor. He’s looking at you with desperation and fear plastered over his face. You wish he could read your mind, could hear what you were thinking. You are going to get out of here, you’d tell him. I am going to make sure that you get out of here alive.  

Even if it means I don’t. 

“He can’t help you. He won’t be a match,” you tell them, gesturing towards Spencer.  “But I am.”

“Is this a trick?” Philip asks, his hand was starting to shake from how firmly he was holding the gun. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head in unison with your words. You’re surprised at how calm you’re starting to feel. “No tricks. Just a trade. Let him go, and you can take me instead. Cut me open, take what you want. Just– just let him go,” you plead.  

Philip and his dad both nod slowly.

“Okay,” you say, slowly walking towards the unsubs, your hands raised in the air to show them you aren’t going to play any tricks.  

“What’re you doing?” Reid’s voice is high pitched and panicked. He’s looking frantically at you for answers 

But you ignore him.  

“Let him go,” you urge Gardiner. He nods, and his father uses the fist full of Reid’s hair he still had a hold of to hoist him up on his feet. 

Reid stands, but his eyes remain trained on you. “Y/N, stop– what’re you doing?”

Gardiner grabs a hold of your vest when you’re close enough, tugging you into his embrace. He bars his arm around your neck and plants the gun on your temple. “Go–” he orders Reid.   

Spencer’s stumbling towards the door. “No, no, no–” he stutters. 

“Go, or I’ll shoot her right here,” Gardiner orders. You feel the hard, cold barrel of the gun press deeper into the tissue of your temple, but you still don’t shake. Spencer is going to be safe, you think. That’s all that mattered.  

Reid’s eyes are wide and watery. He’s looking at you wildly, like his genius brain can’t comprehend anything that’s happening.   

But you nod towards him reassuringly. “Spencer, it’s okay,” you tell him, surprised, yet again, by how calm you feel. “Go, it’s okay.” 

It was an easy choice sacrificing yourself for Spencer. The concept of death was scary, but the idea of losing Spencer? That was just unbearable. Plus, there’s no doubt that he’s infinitely more valuable to the team than you are. You know they’d mourn your loss. But they’d get over it, you were replaceable with any other agent. But Spencer? That would leave a wound no other profiler could fill. 

You catch one last glimpse of Spencer before Joseph Gardiner's dad escorts him outside of the house. As the door shuts, ensuring Reid is safe, you’re finally able to exhale the breath of air you’ve been holding in. Spencer is going to be okay.  

“Come with me,” Gardiner orders gruffly. He grabs you by your elbow and drags you towards the back of the house. You stumble on your feet, trying to keep up with his pace. Gardiner leads you all the way through the hallway, around a corner, and through the sliding back door. The exit leads to a deck on the back of the house. It looks old, with chipped red paint and clutter scattered all around it.  

You make your way across it and down a few stairs. When your feet hit the ground, they squish from impact on the wet grass beneath them. Gardiner leads you just a few feet forward. Attached to the back of his house is a cellar door. He undoes the latch before hoisting it open, revealing a pitch black basement. 

“Get in,” he orders, pointing the gun right between your shoulder blades.  

You hesitate briefly, which proves to be a costly mistake. Gardiner hoists the pistol back and rams it into the side of your head. Your entire body whips forward and you stumble on your feet.  “I said get in!” he screams. 

As you feel the blood already trickling down your temple, you nod.  

Taking one step forward, you begin descending into Philip Gardiner’s basement.  

The first thing you do when you’re fully inside is gasp at the smell. It ensnares all of your senses, completely overwhelming you. The back of your hand pressed against your nose does little to mask it.  

Gardiner climbs into the basement after you and turns on a light, illuminating the horror scene in front of you. There are surgical tools and blades on a metal tray wheeled next to a bed with restraints. The bed has dark, crimson blood still on it.  

You’ve walked into horror scenes, much like this one, a countless number of times. But now that you knew this scene was set for you, it sent unsettling shivers down your spine. Better you than Spencer, you remind yourself. The thought makes you instantly feel calmer.  

Gardiner grabs a pair of zip ties on top of the shelf and throws them towards you. “Put them on,” he orders. You nod, and quickly obey him, your head still throbbing from the last time you hesitated. 

Now that you’re restrained, Philip steadily works to set up equipment by placing a wide variety of tools on the metal tray. You realize that he was getting ready to kill you.  

Despite the obvious fear running through your veins, your mind slowly begins to wander to Spencer. The look on his face when Joseph hauled him out of the room, away from you, is burned into your mind. The hurt, the fear, and the confusion all on full display. But he is safe now, and that is all that mattered. 

You wonder if Spencer would figure out why you took his place tonight. You wonder if he’d realize that it wasn’t even an option for you not to, that you had no other choice. You wonder if he knew you couldn’t live without him, or would ever want to.

Philip Gardiner continues stalking around the room. The knives laid out on display make you nauseous. You combat it by taking slow, deep breaths, all while repeating the mantra in your head; he was safe. 

Except suddenly, your mantra is interrupted when the latch to the cellar door bursts open with a bang. Two tall, muscular figures descend down the stairs and into the cellar, their guns drawn.  

“Drop it,” Luke orders sternly, he’s moving in towards Gardiner with a look of pure hatred on his face. Philip raises his hand above his head, the scalpel still clutched tightly in his grasp. But Luke is quick to disarm him before grabbing a pair of handcuffs and clicking them around Gardiner’s wrists.   

Matt, meanwhile, attends to you. He uses his knife to break through the zip ties that have managed to almost cut all the circulation off from your wrists.  

“Let me see,” he says softly, tending to the cut on your forehead. You only now realize that the blood oozing from it had mostly dried, caking itself to the side of your face.    

“I’m fine,” you grumble, trying to stand up. Luke drags Gardiner past you and Matt and up the stairs.  

“That doesn’t look fine,” Matt says. “You’re going to need stitches.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, raising your hand to touch the wound. Despite your efforts, you wince at the contact. As you finally make it to your feet, you’re woozier than expected. You waiver slightly in place, your head spinning.   

“Easy,” he says, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.  

“Said ‘m fine,” you grumble again.  

Matt nods and adds sarcastically, “Whatever you say.”

He leads you out of the basement, his hand never leaving your shoulder. It’s not until you’re outside, in the cool night air, when you see an entire scene unfolding around you.  

All four of the black SUV’s are parked outside the Unsub’s house– yours with the driver’s side door still wide open from when you’d previously left it in a haste. There’s also an abundance of squad cars gathered, their lights flashing blues and reds, reflecting grimly in the dark. There’s two ambulances parked near the road, two medics rushing frantically towards you.   

“Where’s Reid?” you ask Matt, your eyes searching the crowd for him. 

“Medic’s checking him out right now. He’s okay though.”

You sigh a breath of relief, exhaling tension that you didn’t even realize was still inside of you.  That’s all that mattered. You can handle everything else. 

At least that’s what you thought. You groan when you see Emily jogging over, her vest still strapped on.  

After disobeying her direct orders, you immediately know you were in for it. 

“Matt, how is she?” she asks, refusing to actually look at you. 

“Banged up, possible concussion– I think she’ll need stitches.”

“I can hear you,” you say, wondering why the two of them were talking about you like you were unconscious, or not even present. 

“Get her to the medics,” Emily orders. “We’ll talk later,” she says, her dark eyes piercing yours. 

You nod slowly. You’d gone against her wishes and broken her trust. The adrenaline that had previously been rushing through your body prevented you from originally seeing that. But the rush is starting to fade, and in its wake left a tremendous amount of guilt and shame. You never meant to cross Emily. You had only wanted to save Reid. She had to understand that, right?  

Either way, you made a choice, and now you’d pay the consequences. But it was an easy choice. One that you would make over and over again. Because you’d always choose Spencer, no matter what.  

Matt only lets you go when the medics reach you. They lead you the rest of the way to the ambulance, where you sit on the edge of the back door. The EMT wraps a coarse blanket around your shoulders before starting an exam. He shines lights in your eyes, asks you repetitive questions, and checks your wound. After a while, you zone it all out.  

Until you see him. 

He’s walking past the second ambulance with his hands stuffed in his pants pockets. He has a small bandage placed just above his left eyebrow. You gaze at Spencer, checking him over. He looks okay, other than the bandage, he’s unharmed. You exhale another breath of relief. When he locks eyes with you, you can’t help but smile.  

He keeps his gaze locked on yours, but he doesn’t smile back. Instead, his face remains stoic and serious, his eyes glaring with anger, before looking away. He turns on his feet and walks towards one of the black SUV’s, climbing into the front seat and snapping the door shut  Your smile quickly melts away. 

… 

On the plane ride home, you take a seat directly across from Spencer.  He’s got his nose already stuffed in a book. He doesn’t even glance up when you sit down.  

“Spencer,” you say, trying to get his attention.  

But he ignores you.  

“Reid,” you huff, quickly growing frustrated by his silence. 

Spencer snaps his book shut suddenly and stands up from his seat. Without so much as a single glance he strides across the jet and finds a seat next to Luke and Matt. He crosses one leg over the other and opens his book back up again, going back to his literature like nothing had just happened– like he hadn’t just ripped out your entire heart. 

You’re in the process of biting back tears when Emily replaces Reid’s seat directly across from you. You tuck your feet up on the seat and wrap your arms around yourself, trying to take up less space, or better yet, disappear altogether. 

For a moment, neither one of you speaks.  

After a few seconds, Emily sighs. “How’s your head?” she asks, breaking the silence.  

“It’s fine,” you mumble. That’s a plain lie. Your head throbs. But it’s nothing compared to the ache inside your chest.    

“You were out of line.” Emily states calmly.     

“I know,” you whisper, refusing to meet her gaze. 

“I gave you a direct order–”

“I know,” you repeat. 

“When I give you an order, I need to be able to trust that you’re going to follow it. If this team doesn’t have trust, this team doesn’t have anything.”

You nod, your cheeks flushing hot. She’s putting you on the spot, and speaking loud enough for the entire jet to hear. You deserve it though, you know you did. 

Emily lets out a sigh, her tone suddenly softening and her voice growing quiet.  “What were you thinking?” 

You bite your lip harshly, fighting to hold back the sob boiling in your chest. You wipe your cheeks feverishly before replying. “I was thinking better me than Spencer,” you whisper. “I’m replaceable. He’s not.”

Emily shakes her head.  “You are important to this team.”

You stare down at your lap, unable to truly hear the words Emily was saying. 

But she reaches across the gap and gathers your hands in hers. “Listen to me,” she says sternly. You finally gather up enough courage to look up. “You are important to this team.”  She repeats the words slower and enunciates them more. 

You slowly nod, letting them seep into your skin. You aren’t sure if you believed her, but it’s a start. 

“Okay,” you say. Slowly, you pull your hands away.  

“Do you want to tell me what else is bothering you?” she asks gently. 

You bite your lip harder. You aren’t sure if you can trust yourself to speak without crying.  

“I did it for him,” you finally say. “Because I wanted to keep him safe. But now he’s so angry at me.”

Emily scoffs at your statement, making you narrow your eyebrows in confusion at her.  

“Yeah, right,” she says, amusement dancing in her words. 

“He won’t even look at me,” you say quietly. “I mean– I get why you’re mad at me,” you admit. “I disobeyed your orders, I broke protocol– you could’ve gotten in trouble if anything had happened. But I don’t understand why he is too,” you admit, your voice breaking slightly. “I was just trying to do the right thing… And now he hates me for it.”

Emily shakes her head. “I may not know much, but what I do know is that Spencer Reid isn’t capable of hating you.”

…

Reid hurries off the jet before you’re able to talk to him, which is what you’d been planning since taking off in Seattle. You groan and wonder if maybe you should just give him space. Clearly that’s what he wants.  

But, when you’re back inside the BAU, cleaning out your desk. Just as you’re about to go home, you look up and see him in the briefing room. Through the glass, Spencer’s thin frame can be seen cleaning up some case files that were left on the table. His back is to you and suddenly, the idea of cornering him in there entered your mind. He has to hear you out, he has to understand why you did what you did.  

Before you can chicken out or change your mind, you hurry upstairs and hoist open the glass doors to the room. Spencer turns around, your sudden entrance jumping him. His face actually looks angrier when he realizes it’s you entering his space. 

“Spencer–” you say, your voice already cracking. You aren’t sure how you’re going to do this. 

“What?” he snaps back harshly, the first words he’s spoken to you since the event. His eyes are sunken and tired, his hair disheveled and messy– still you don’t think you’d ever seen someone so beautiful in your entire life.  

“What did I do?” you plead. 

“Are you kidding me?” he says in disbelief.  

“I just– I was trying to do the right thing,” you explain. 

But Reid cuts you off. “You completely disobeyed Emily’s orders,” he takes a step closer to you.  “You were reckless and selfish and stupid and–”

Your eyes widen. “Selfish?” 

“Yes, selfish!” he bellows, his hands raising in frustration. “You broke protocol. And willingly put yourself into the arms of an Unsub, just so that you could play the hero!”

“I was not trying to be a hero!” you start to raise your own voice in defense. 

But Spencer shakes his head. “Then why’d you do it?”

By now, you’re biting your lip so hard you can taste blood. The anger and frustration you’re feeling towards Spencer left a bad taste in your mouth. Why can’t he understand, why can’t you make him understand?

Did you have to spell it out?

“I did it because I couldn’t stand the idea of something bad happening to my team,” your voice is low. “Even if that meant something bad had to happen to me.”

Spencer stands still, his gaze never softening. After a few moments you speak again. “It worked, didn’t it? I don’t get why you’re so upset–”

In a rushed tone, he blurts out, “I’m upset because you put yourself in danger! I could have lost you!”

Spencer’s words take you back. And you find yourself speechless. Your face immediately softens as you try to absorb what he said, but you’re exhausted and concussed and honestly, don’t trust your own judgment at the moment. 

All you can manage to mutter out is a soft, “Oh.”

Spencer’s anger seems to slowly be melting into just plain sorrow. It hurts to see him looking like he’s in pain. 

“Why would you sacrifice yourself like that?” he asks, his voice is gentler now. 

“Because,” you whisper. It seems like you do have to spell it out for him. “Because that seemed more bearable than the idea of anything happening to you.” The words spilled out of you uncontrollably. You've kept your feelings a secret from Reid for so long, you’re afraid what would happen if you finally revealed them. “The truth is… I’m kind of in love with you. And I couldn’t live with myself if anything ever happened to you.”

At that, Spencer's mouth fell open slightly, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  

He takes another step forward, and in that moment, for the second time that evening, you wish you could disappear, just dissolve into nothingness, out of sight. You’re feeling so vulnerable, so exposed, you wish you could take the words back– just suck them right back into your mouth and keep them there, a secret forever. 

But Spencer speaks softly, interrupting your thoughts. “What?”

You shake your head. “Don’t make me say it again–”

“I love you too.”

You hear it– but you don’t believe it. Because it can’t be true. 

“Please,” you whisper, wondering if this was just some cruel joke. There is no way Spencer could love you back. “Don’t mess with me. I can’t take it, not from you.” 

Reid shakes his head. “I swear to you, I would never joke about something like this.” 

“Don’t–”

He takes another step forward and reaches his hand out, touching your cheek softly. His fingers graze your jaw line. “I am in love with you, and I have been for quite some time. Pretty much since the first day I met you. That’s why I was so angry today– imagine if I’d done that to you– taken your place in that house– forced you to leave me with that monster.”

Just the thought made your blood start to boil. The idea of Spencer actually loving you back was just over the horizon– the thought that maybe it’s true was within reach. 

You bite your lip nervously, the feeling of Reid’s thumb gliding across your skin sends shivers down your spine. “I don’t know if I can believe you,” you whisper. 

“Then I’ll just keep telling you,” Spencer says softly. “Until you do.”

[mellifexfarm]

News

My flock has contracted Marek's Disease.

Since 2019, after I brought home Lyra and Wren, my flock has been a closed flock. Meaning I take biosecurity very seriously, and opted to not bring any new chickens in or allow other poultry-keepers access to the yard where they are kept. The only birds that were added from 2019 until now have been from hatching eggs. There are a select few diseases that can pass from mother to egg, but not Marek's.

But within the past few weeks one chicken displayed symptoms of leg weakness and became unable to walk. I brought them indoors and started treating for vitamin deficiency, since that is by far the most common cause of sudden lameness in poultry. But she didn't get better, and then Lyra started walking unsteadily, and I knew something else was wrong. I suspected something was wrong with my feed and sent off a sample to get tested for mycotoxins, and switched feeds, because I know a lot of people have had issues with that lately. But then one morning I found Moss deceased in the coop, and it all kind of went downhill from there.

Sebrights are known for having extremely low resistance to disease. They are very inbred. It is the reason I lost Kip to fowl pox when everyone else recovered fine. And why all but one (her unnamed cockerel "emo" son) of the members of my flock who are descended from Lyra are affected. But none of the other tiny breeds I have, Seramas or Kikirkis, are known for being particularly disease resistant either. So. I am extremely cautious at jumping the gun and saying they wont be effected.

I sent off Moss's body for a necropsy on monday and got the results today, September 29th.

I do not know how this got into my flock. Our nextdoor neighbor got chickens a few months ago, but our birds don't have any direct contact. That is the only way I can think of.

There is a vaccine but it can only be administered to day old chicks. Vaccinating to prevent this was not an option.

It generally takes 4-10 weeks for the disease to develop after the chicken has been exposed, so it had to have been fairly recent. My flock has not been carrying this sub-clinically.

I genuinely don't know how this is going to go from here. There is no treatment for marek's disease. It is a virus. I have ordered a few herbal remedies with vague studies to back up some kind of efficacy helping reduce the damage the virus does and boost their immunity, but its mostly a crapshoot. The only good news I have with all this is that older birds are somewhat less likely to succumb to this disease. And the fact turkies and pigeons can't contract it.

The only birds displaying symptoms right now are Lyra, and Moss's unnamed pullet daughter.

Lyra is tentatively okay. I have crafted a sling for her, and she has been increasing in mobility over the last few days. She did not ever have full paralysis, so I am hopeful. Her daughter and Mouse, one of the younger keep-back pullets from this summers chicks, are the only casualties so far.

I'll be doing all that I can in terms of supportive care, but if any symptomatic birds get to the point I don't think they will recover from I will be euthanizing them. I will not be selling chickens anymore.

This disease has been a nightmare of mine for such a long time and now it is really happening. I am pretty crushed.

[rhysazriel]

Meet Me in the Copy Room [CEO!Rhysand]

SUMMARY: Rhysand is Y/N’s boss but he likes his secretary more than he should. (10.8k)

WARNINGS: teasing, swearing, kissing, smut; dirty talk, fingering, oral (both receiving and face sitting), protected sex, multiple orgasms

A/N: this is a fic from my other account that I no longer use, I changed some bits around for it to fit Rhys' character after an anon had requested it!! Also, this is a Modern AU bc Rhys’ vibe screams CEO hehe

Y/N has worked in many places before Velaris LTD. She was a waitress for a brief few months when she was in college at a diner near her dorm. She was also a librarian for six months and a part-time barista in the cafe down the street from her parents home. 

She’s done her share in retail and even a year working in the bank, but as of recent, the past seven months, she’s been employed by Velaris LTD, one of the worlds finest trading companies.

She’s no longer assigned a God awful uniform, nor does she have to converse with the general public and adhere to the customers' every need. No. Now, Y/N has her own little office area with a big reception desk with her own phone and separate line across her boss’ office. 

Now, she has her own computer and a little fax machine and she wears heels with pencil skirts and pretty blouses.

Given, she’s a secretary, but an important one at that. She’s not the kind of secretary that runs pointless errands and gets her boss coffee while adhering to their every beck and call. She arranges meetings in the most elite of clubs and restaurants. She files the reports she’s meant to and she handles his schedule and phone calls. 

He may be the CEO, but Y/N is the one behind closed doors that ensures everything runs as smoothly as it does.

And sure, Rhysand is the literal face and name of his damn company and he should ideally hire someone to run the damn business for him, but he’s also narcissistic and refuses whenever it’s brought up to let another man or woman run his business for him. 

Maybe that’s what she likes so much about her job. That he doesn’t trust anyone to be by his side except her.

It’s something she’s struggled to understand for the longest time. She’s three years younger than him, barely just turned twenty-six, yet he chose to hire her over all the other highly-qualified applicants. 

She hasn’t complained about it, would never. Her job is too good. As his personal secretary, her monthly wage is what four months at the diner used to get her. And don’t get her started on the other perks her position offers.

She’s thankful, and she makes that very clear in every opportunity she gets. She didn’t know Rhysand before she got the job, and if she’s completely honest, she’d never ever heard of him. 

She expected him to be some stuck up prick that didn’t respect women and only cared for his company and business. She was proven incredibly wrong at her interview when he made her a cup of tea and asked inclusive questions her previous employers didn’t care to think of.

Within three weeks of having the job, she’d learned more about him than the colleagues that have worked for him since the beginning of his firm. And she doesn’t mean things like how he takes his coffee and his favourite places to go for lunch. She means she knows what laundry detergent he can’t use because it irritates his skin. 

She knows his mother and sister are the most important women to him, that he sometimes misses his mundane life working with his brothers. She knows the meanings behind almost every single tattoo he has and that while the press made him out to be a cheating womaniser when his fiancee left him two years ago, it was actually her that did the cheating and left him heartbroken.

She’s always wondered why Rhysand trusts her so much. She’s never given him a reason not to, and she never would, but it’s always been in the back of her mind. But then, she supposes she doesn’t know why Rhys does a lot of things that regard her. 

Like how, in the mornings, he brings her coffee on his way past her desk. How he always insists he delivers paperwork to her himself and softly apologises for how much she has to file away. 

Or how he’ll send her cheeky emails from his personal about how annoying Gerione is when she tries to flirt with him. And on more than one occasion, she’s noticed him leaning in his chair to get a peek at her through the window of his office; craning his neck up to see her past the high wall of her reception-like desk.

She doesn’t say anything to him, though. She supposes he’s trying to sneakily check in on her to make sure she’s actually doing the work. Y/N knows she’s not the youngest to work for Velaris LTD, but she is the youngest to be fully employed and not as an intern. 

She’s faced ageism within the company since her first day. She’s either babied by the mothers of the company, or criticised and borderline bullied by the ones a few years older and higher up. She hasn’t much let it get to her, though. She figures she’s clearly a valuable asset if the company is still running and Rhysand still wants her by his side.

Today feels no different from any other. She gets to work at 7:45 AM, a sleepy smile on her lips as she greets Amora at the front desk. He smiles through tightly pursed lips and quickly avoids her gaze, greeting another worker with a high-pitched laugh and kissing their cheek. 

Y/N keeps walking, doesn’t let herself dwell and makes for the elevator. She’s alone until she gets up to the twelfth floor and the keycard clipped to her pencil skirt is gently patting against the left side of her lower tummy.

She doesn’t let her eyes take in her appearance as she walks past the floor-to-ceiling mirror that encompasses an entire 15-foot long wall. She knows her ponytail is tight enough and that her shirt is probably a little wonky because her bag that rests on her shoulder is tugging at the collar of it. 

She also doesn’t let herself look to her right because she doesn’t think she has the energy to pretend to ignore the snickers and grimaces from a few of the thirteenth-floor girls this morning.

Instead, Y/N rounds the corner and gets comfortable behind her desk. Her bag is tucked underneath it and her fingers make quick work of logging onto her computer and getting started for the day. Rhysand’s office is directly opposite her, thin windows either side of the tall door and from her seat, she can see his empty desk and a gorgeous view of the city.

It’s exactly 8 AM when Rhysand greets her with her morning coffee. He’s dressed in his usual slick black suit with a charming smile on those pink lips. Y/N would be lying if she said she’s never thought about her boss in more than a professional way. She’s thought about him in many different scenarios where he has her in many different positions.

“Good morning, Rhysand,” she greets him softly, a gentle smile on her plump lips. 

That was another thing that took her a while to get the hang of. Rhys doesn’t like to be referred to by his last name. The first time she greeted him as such, he waved it off and insisted she called him Rhysand or Rhys. 

It’s been months since she even thought of his last time… to the point where every time she sees it on some paperwork, she struggles to pair it with him.

Rhys takes his time every morning to admire her and her outfit of the day. He’s thoroughly pleased about the tight blouse and many open buttons at the top that offer the delicious view of the swell of her perky tits.

He averts his gaze with another charming grin, and can feel his trousers slowly begin to tighten as he places her coffee on her desk. “Morning, darling. How did you sleep?” he asks, always taking a few minutes out of his morning to make sure she feels okay and slept well the night before.

Rhysand’s never really known himself why he purposely goes out of his way to ask her these things. He doesn’t bother to do much with any other of his workers, nor his previous personal secretaries. 

He tells himself it’s because she’s young and new, so he wants to make sure she feels as comfortable and as included as he can. But she’s only three years younger than him and she’s been working for him for over a year.

He needs to stop feeding himself that same bullshit excuse.

Y/N gleams a pretty smile and leans forward with her elbows on the desk, subsequently pressing her tits together deliciously. Rhysand licks his lips, eyeing up her chest before gazing back at her pretty smile again. But it doesn’t go unnoticed and it stirs something that oozes confidence inside her.

She tilts her head a little, a hint of something mischievous in her eyes but Rhys doesn’t notice. Figures she’s too innocent to catch on to his somewhat advances, but little does he know. 

“Slept okay, it’s just really hot in my house lately… I need to speak with my landlord about getting a new AC fitted or I’ll be stuck sleeping naked until further notice,” she tells him through a seemingly innocent sigh, shrugging her shoulders and as hard as Rhysand tries to hide his bulging eyes, she catches them, along with the bulging in his pants.

He raises his brows in amusement and a lopsided grin pulls at the corners of his pink lips. He tilts his head like she did. “Do you only sleep naked when your air con is broken? Thought that’s something people living alone normally did? Freeing and all. I do it,” he shrugs his shoulders. He’s subtly prying, trying to learn if she still lives alone in that cutsey townhouse just twenty minutes away, or if she’s got a man on the scene.

He watches the apples of her cheeks twitch and he wonders if she’s imagining him sleeping naked. She is. He smirks to himself at the thought of what she must be mustering up in that pretty little head of hers. 

It’s nothing new between the two; occasional flirting and topics that definitely should not be discussed between a boss and his secretary. He likes to watch her squirm and splutter and innocently reply in a way that has blood rushing to his cock. 

He’s always observed her closely during these types of interactions, knows how to read her body language. He’s come to learn when she feels uncomfortable, and she’s never shown any signs of discomfort during said topics.

“And it would be freeing if I didn’t have a friend staying with me that often forgets to knock on my bedroom door before storming in,” she chuckles dryly, wondering if her words would rile him up or not. 

She doesn’t know why they would. 

She figures it’s all just harmless banter between the two; a little bit of flirtatious teasing to loosen them up when things get a little stressy. She’s dead certain someone as successful as him would never actually want anything romantic with his fucking assistant.

His brows raise higher than before, can feel his hand ball into tightly clenched fists and he clears his throat, gritting his teeth behind a hard smile. “Oh? You’ve got a friend staying with you?” he asks in a soft tone that doesn’t suggest he’s pissy that her friend gets to see her naked and between her sheets. 

He wonders what else she does naked between the sheets in the dead of night when she can’t sleep. 

She nods, soft hum verberating in her closed mouth as she types something quickly on her computer. “Yeah, he just broke up with his girlfriend so he’s staying at mine until he can get his stuff out and move into the new flat he’s found.” She watches him inhale a shaky breath through his flared nostrils and avert his gaze to the wall behind her.

She’s got a glimmer of a smirk on her lips, eyes light and playful but he doesn’t notice that. Rhysand’s too caught up with the newfound knowledge that it’s a male friend that’s walking in on her naked. 

She wonders if he’s imagining her naked in bed… or maybe entertaining the idea of her fucking her friend one night when he walks in on her. She thinks that might be it but it doesn’t explain why he looks royally pissed… dare she say; jealous?

She tilts her head when he looks back down at her, jaw still set and he clears his throat, seemingly trying to cool himself down. His elbows are bent as his forearms rest on the top of his desk, his back arched just slightly. 

“Not got anyone else he can stay with? What did they break up for?” he pushes further, hopes she’ll turn around and say it’s because he realised he’s gay. She doesn’t.

Instead, Y/N shrugs her shoulders and her elbow leans on the desk, her chin sitting in the palm of her hands as she gazes up at him leaning on the second level of her station. 

“Things weren’t working, he didn’t wanna be tied down just yet. Wanted to have a bit of fun before settling.” She can see the gears in his head turn and tick away as he hums absentmindedly.

She tries not to squint at him, to gauge his reaction and decipher what the meaning behind his distant gaze is. She tries not to look too closely into his blushing cheeks and set jaw. She tries not to let herself fantasise about him being jealous and wanting her to himself. She tries, but it doesn’t work.

Rhysand hums, nodding as if he gets it and maybe he does. She knows all about his one night stands and sleepless nights at the strip clubs he frequents. She also knows about the countless booty calls that tend to frequent his office, only for him to ask her to call security to escort the women out. 

And she absolutely should not find great joy in watching them huff as security links their beefy arms in their dainty ones, but she does.

Y/N thinks she keeps that secret to herself, but more times than not, Rhysand’s seen the hint of a smirk tug at the corner of her lips when he leans on the doorframe of his office. He knows she doesn’t notice him watching her, he likes knowing she thinks he doesn’t see things. He sees it all.

“Well hopefully he’ll be out of your hair soon enough,” he proposes and she has a sneaky suspicion that he’s subtly asking how long he’ll be staying with her. Which is exactly what he’s doing. Y/N hums again and shrugs her shoulders. 

“Actually, I don’t mind him being there, I quite enjoy the company. Gets a bit lonely in the evenings sometimes, to be honest,” she baits.

She watches with a small smirk as Rhys inhales a deep and hollow breath, bowing his head a little so his chin almost rests against his black tie, his jaw knocking against his shirt collar. She doesn’t know where this sudden confidence is coming from. Can she even call it confidence? She isn’t flirting, just baiting him to gauge his reactions.

“Don’t fancy going out with your girlfriends?” He tries to steer away from the topic of other men in her life, but Y/N isn’t finished just yet. 

“Sometimes, on the weekends, sure. But it gets a bit annoying when guys don’t know how to take a hint and keep trying to hit on you all night,” she sighs in fake annoyance and she’s certain she sees red flash through Rhysand’s eyes.

She lets herself think he’s jealous, protective. The thought of her boss thinking of her in a sexual manner and hating the idea of other men being in her home or hitting on her is exciting. It’s a thrilling rush of blood that causes tingles between her thighs and has her pressing them together beneath her desk.

Rhysand’s none the wiser. His fists clench at the image of another man dancing up her but his cock bloats at the thought of her dancing on a night out. No doubt in a short and tight dress. He knows tonight he’ll let himself think he can feel the swell of her ass rubbing against his crotch, let himself think he can taste her lips on his tongue.

He doesn’t say anything else and Y/N thinks he’s thoroughly fucked in his head. “Well, I’ve emailed over your schedule for the morning. Have a good day, Rhys.”

//

Through the rest of the morning, Rhysand struggles to focus on anything that isn’t her. He’s had two conference calls and for both video meetings from his office, he’s been leaned over in his chair with a strained neck, trying to catch sight of what she’s doing at her desk through the thin window in his door. 

He was more than thankful when the calls ended because when she sat on her knees on her chair and leaned over the top of the desk, her tits almost spilled out of her blouse and Rhysand spent the rest of the hour sporting a rock hard boner.

He thinks she’s doing it on purpose when she comes into him after her lunch break. She’s taken her hair out of her ponytail and it falls in loose waves down her shoulders. 

She enters his office with her hands full of paperwork that just so happen to stop beneath the swell of her breasts so they’re able to sit on the pile; all perky and swollen. She’s got a shy smirk on her lips, too. Like she knows she’s taking her end of the teasing a little further and she lets out a little huff of relief after she plops them onto his desk.

Rhys doesn’t try to hide his stare on her chest and she wonders if he catches her staring at the thick bulge in his pants. Neither parties say anything to the other but as their eyes meet, it’s like an unspoken understanding is pieced together. 

A silent acknowledgement that they both know what the other is doing and that they’re more than okay with it. Like all lines between them are completely blurred and any boundaries are ready to be pushed aside.

He watches her hips sway as she leaves his office, closing the door behind her when she leaves. His neck cranes again as he leans to his side in his swivel chair, watching her type something on her computer through the window again. 

Her brows are furrowed softly as she stands and rounds her desk, meeting his gaze through the thin glass and walking past his office completely. He tries to watch her but she disappears from his line of sight and an email pings through his laptop.

Y/N: Meet me in the copy room.

He’s leaping out of his chair before he can even push himself away from his desk. His strides are long and quick as he rips his office door open and slams it closed behind him. He clears his throat and avoids the gaze of his employees, ignores the ogling looks he earns from the women he knows touch themselves to the thought of him late at night.

Rhysand sneaks his way into the copy room, kicking the door closed behind him. She stands in front of him, leaning against the copier with a flirtatiously shy smile. He reaches blindly behind him and twists the lock, his bottom lip taut between his teeth as he ogles her shamelessly. She feels shy under his gaze, knowing he doesn’t care to hide how attracted he is to her.

She doesn’t have time to feel awkward or rake her brain for something to say because he’s rushing toward her and with both large hands caressing her cheeks, his lips are smearing against hers. 

Y/N reaches up and tangles her fingers in his messily styled hair, twisting the curls and tugging softly. His hands leave her face in desperation as they pinch at her hips before rounding her body and squeezing deliciously at her ass.

She tastes like strawberries; her tongue swirling against his. His mind is swimming and all he wants to do is taste her little honey pot, wants to know if she tastes as sweet down there as she does on her tongue. 

She’s no better. His tongue works skilfully against her, licking into her warm mouth and nibbling softly at her bottom lip. She can’t help but suckle filthily on his tongue, wishing to God she was on her knees as he fucks her mouth.

Both of their minds are hazy; like everything they feel is overwhelming and yet not enough all at once. Y/N feels the pulsing between her thighs, can feel her little lace panties soaking up her arousal and Rhysand’s cock is painfully hard in his pants—knows his tip is fucking leaking and no doubt a delicious purple shade.

“God, I‘ve been wanting to do this for so long,” he admits gruffly into her mouth, grabbing handfuls of her ass over her skirt but it’s too tight for him to spread her cheeks like he fucking needs to. 

Y/N whimpers into his mouth and he hikes her up and onto the desk, just beside the copier machine. He rolls her skirt up her thighs until it’s bunched tightly around her waist. Her clothed pussy sits against the cold wood and she shudders, tugging him between her spread legs.

“Why didn’t you?” She breathes heavily into the kiss. 

His hands are gripping at her thighs; the cool metal of his rings sending chills through her body and she’s desperately stripping him from his suit jacket. He groans, hands rushing back up to her face to cup her jaw while he struggles to fight against her to keep his jacket on. 

He kisses her lips and pulls away, mind foggy but he wants to take his time with her, not have a quick fuck in the copy room and never again after that.

“Didn’t know if you wanted it, too,” he breathes, warm breath fanning across her lips and she reaches up blindly to kiss him again. Her eyes are hooded, lips swollen, and Rhysand’s fucked at the sight of her. 

“I do want to, if it wasn’t already obvious,” she groans shyly, a heavy heat sitting on her cheeks and he chuckles, ego inflating as his cock pulses in his pants.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he promises and her eyes light up before she lets him finish his sentence. “But not here, not now. I want to take my time with you,” he rumbles through his chest, cupping her cheeks again and Y/N pouts breathlessly, her once confident demeanour slowly shifting and she feels a little small under his gaze.

“Fuck me now and take your time with me later,” she bargains, not even the slightest bit ashamed of how forward and desperate she’s letting herself seem. 

He’s no better. The second the words slip from her lips, he’s kissing her again; harder than before. It’s desperate; needy and raw. His fingers are tugging her shirt down and her breasts spill over and out of her bra.

Y/N’s head falls back as he tweaks a taut nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and twisting as he continues his assault down her lean neck. She’s letting breathy whimpers slip past her lips as her head rolls against her shoulder. Y/N scratches at his back, tugging off his suit jacket and he throws it across the boxed room.

Rhys dips his head from her neck, kissing across her clavicle and nipping at her collarbones. He massages hungry open-mouthed kisses across the swell of her tits, circling her pearled nipple with his skilled tongue and she shudders as he envelopes his lips around it, suckling softly and flicking his tongue.

“Rhys,” she breathes in a wanton pant. 

He feels his cock bloat at the sound of his name slipping past her lips in a desperate whimper. Hearing her shudder his name as he latches on her nipple is something he didn’t know he needed to hear.

“Best tits I‘ve ever seen,” he mumbles as he pulls off her with a kiss to her areola, biting at her cleavage. 

Y/N’s fingers are desperately fumbling with his tie, tugging it loose and popping open a few buttons. Rhysand doesn’t give her the time or chance to open more than two before he’s shoving her tiny lace panties to the side and swirling his middle finger through her dripping folds.

Rhys groans at the feel of her; soft and warm, completely fucking drenched. The tip of his finger teases at her hole, swirling around her soaked folds but she wants more, needs it. He seems to sense her desperation because, without a second longer of anticipation, he pushes his finger in and massages at her squishy walls.

He splutters pathetically against her chest, his grip on her hip tightening as he slowly pumps his digit in and out of her dripping heat. 

“Oh shit, you’re so tight,” he groans, completely fucking mesmerised by the way her little pussy is clenching onto him. 

He wonders if his cock will even fit. She shudders breathlessly, thighs willing to clench shut but he doesn’t let them.

His fingers are much longer than hers; hitting deeper than she’s ever able to in the dead of night when she can’t sleep. Her head falls back and Rhysand latches his lips onto her neck, pulling out so his fingertip rests at her hole before he lunges back in with a second digit.

They’re twisting in a ‘come hither’ motion, pads of his fingertips massaging at her squishy spot and she’s quivering and trembling under his touch. Her clit feels like it’s on fire, angry and desperate from the neglect it’s facing so she sneaks a hand between their bodies, holding her weight on one arm as she leans back, and offers herself a pinch of relief.

It’s a filthy fucking sight for Rhys to be privy to; watching her little fingers rub deliciously at her soaked, swollen clit. He’s painfully hard but fuck, he wants to see her cum all over his hand before he releases his bloated cock. 

“Fuck, Rhysand… oh shit,” she’s gasping frantically, legs twitching and toes curling.

He can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since someone last touched her this good. He’s only had his hands on her for a couple of minutes and he can feel how close she is to her tipping point, how badly she needs to explode. He wonders if he’s about to make her cum harder than she ever has before.

She’s getting loud, too vocal for them to get away with the quick rendezvous they’re playing at. It’s when he tests the waters and scissors his fingers before picking up his pace that she falls uncontrollable with the desperate cries and filthy whines. 

He has no other choice than to shove her until her back is pressed against the desk and he’s leaning over her trembling body to press a hand over her mouth.

Y/N’s muffled moans vibrate against his palm and he watches the delicious sight with a deep hunger in his eyes. His teeth are gritted, breaths and grunts seething between them at the sight of her tits bouncing across her chest. 

“Cum, gonna cum!” he hears her muffled voice beg into his hand, a smug grin tugging helplessly at the corners of his lips and he coaxes it out of her.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me. Gonna cum all over my fingers like a good girl? My good girl?” he spurs her on, eyes rolling at the sensation of her tiny pussy spasming around his thick fingers and fuck, he’s sure he’s about to cum in his pants over it.

Y/N thrashes against the table, chasing her high as he finger fucks her through it. The sounds are obscene; muffled pleas and filthy squelching noises that sound from her messy cunt.

He slows his pace and lets her calm from her orgasm, nosing through her chest and he smears his parted lips across her tits, his tongue sitting on his bottom lip as he does so. Rhysand suckles gently on her pearled nipple as he moves his hand from her mouth and she’s tangling her fingers in his hair, deep breaths causing her chest to ripple.

Y/N’s eyes are fluttering, dazed and overwhelmed and they both know her legs are still trembling in the after-shock. She’s still desperate, though – inhibitions out the window and she no longer wants to play coy or hard to get. She wants his cock and she wants it shoved so deep inside of her that she won’t be able to walk for weeks.

“Please,” she murmurs through half-lidded eyes. Rhys’ brows furrow gently as he pulls off her chest, licking his lips and trying to chase her wanton gaze. When he finally does, he notices just how flushed and fucked she is. He’s a little taken back, if he’s honest. He knows the effect he has on women in the bedroom, but none quite like this for a quick fingerbang in the copy room.

Rhysand reaches for her face, cupping her jaw in his palm and she finally meets his eyes. She’s blinking back rose-tinted hues of arousal to try and see him clearer, but even when her vision isn’t stained with lust, he still looks ravishing and it’s painful.

“Please, what, Miss Y/L/N?” he teases.

Rhysand’s got a sick grin on his face at the way her entire body shudders at his tone and choice of words. She’s a whimpering mess again but he’s barely got his hands on her – one on her hip and the other cupping her jaw. 

“Use your words,” he coaxes. Her lashes flutter angelically across her cheekbones and her lips blabber open and closed like a helpless fish out of water.

“Fuck, need you inside of me. Want your cock.” Y/N’s shuddering at her own choice of words. She’s always loved a bit of dirty talk but not once has it ever really come into play with past partners and if she’s honest, she feels way too shy and filthy. But she fucking loves it.

She loves the way he takes a deep breath – the way he growls to himself to try and fix his composure. She thinks he’s about to give into her, pound her raw and have her sobbing for more, baby, please, I need more! But what she gets is the complete opposite.

Rhysand’s lips hover over her ear, nosing at her neck on his way up before he’s nibbling his way across her jaw until his lips ghost hers.

“Not when you’re so fucked out, Princess. Let me come home with you tonight, back to your place. I’ll be your company,” he nips at her bottom lip, nosing at her jaw again and her head flutters back for a moment, eyes rolling. 

“My place? But my – my friend is there…” she trails off breathlessly, struggling to keep her grip on reality when Rhys begins to suck a bruise against her neck.

He pulls away with a sly grin, eyes hooded and dark and her lashes flutter as she drinks him in. He reaches forward and nips at her bottom lip again. “I know.”

//

She’s nervous as she climbs into his car. He insisted he drive them home and back to work tomorrow morning, which means he plans on staying the night and Y/N is not opposed to that in the slightest. 

But her nerves are getting the best of her when he reaches across the console and lets his hand rest on her thigh, squeezing generously and gnawing on his own bottom lip.

Her mind is working so hard on overdrive that she can’t even focus on one thing to worry about. Rhysand on the other hand, has one thing on his mind and one thing only. Her. 

Excitement is rushing through his veins and he’s sure he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. Blood is rushing to his thick cock and all he can think about is her sweet pussy and how it’ll taste when he has her sitting on his face; the only seat she’ll ever want and need.

They make it to her townhouse in no time and she’s clambering out of the car before he has the chance to switch the engine off. He knows she’s just as nervous as she is excited but he doesn’t say anything on the matter – at least, not yet. 

He follows her up the steps to the door, arms shaking around her waist and he kisses across the exposed expanse of her neck, flicking his tongue over the fresh bruise that’s darkened as the day dwindled on.

Neither of them seem to care that it’s still partly daylight and wandering eyes are no doubt watching on with sickening glances and judgemental stares. Y/N struggles to unlock the front door, too busy trying not to roll her head back in pleasure and anticipation. She loosens up a little as he licks wet stripes up her neck, nibbling on the tender skin and the second the door is open, he’s pinning her against it as it slams shut behind them.

His mouth is on her neck, suckling and licking his way up to her jaw, nipping at the curved edge before he licks across the shell of her ear. “Gonna have you dripping on my cock and screaming in my mouth, Princess,” he promises. His tone is dirty, dark and raspy and Y/N’s thinks she’s ready to submit to absolutely anything he fucking wants.

She’s pathetic, really – nodding frantically – eager to please. She doesn’t make an effort to hurry them to her bedroom. She’s too caught in the moment Rhysand thinks he wants to have her friend catch her being fucked roughly against her front door, let him know she’s already being treated as good as it fucking gets.

“Please, Rhys. Need it so bad, please,” she blabbers wetly. 

He kisses her quickly; hot and sticky. Their tongues are dancing a frantic rhythm but their lips still manage to mould and fit like puzzle pieces. Rhysand’s hands are hot on her waist, trailing up her body until he cups beneath the swell of her pretty tits.

“Please, what? What do you need, my love?” he coaxes, suckling on her bottom lip and she’s got half a mind to push him to his knees and hike her thighs over his shoulders. But she doesn’t have the will power or the guts and she’d much rather him dominate the absolute shit out of her.

His demeaning tone has her shaking – nimble fingers trying to tug and claw at the expensive blazer of his suit. She doesn’t know if it excites or frustrates him, but it does spur him on to tear her pretty blouse open and rip her bra in two. 

He ignores her shriek of shock and latches his wet mouth to her tit, sucking her hardened nipple between his lips and rolling his tongue across it.

Y/N’s head rolls back and knocks against the front door, wanton whimpers and yelps shrieking from her throat. Rhysand spares no expense – he’s grunting and moaning, coursing vibrations and shrills through her body that has her pulsing core blazing. She feels like she’s on fire and Rhysand feels like a starving man that’s finally about to eat a three course meal.

First, he’ll make her cum with his fingers. Then with his cock. And for dessert, he’ll have her on his face while he laps up everything else she has to offer. But Rhys doesn’t take into consideration that maybe she wants to taste him, too.

“Need your cock in my mouth.”

The filthy admission takes him back and for a split second, he’s stunned. Rhys halts his attack on her chest and leans back to get a proper look at her. Y/N’s eyes are blazing a fiery red, one that screams need and touch. She’s fucked, utterly. Messy hair and smeared lip gloss across the lower half of her face.

His own eyes are hooded as he watches her very slowly slide down the door. Her knees are bending and he knows what’s coming, what she’s trying to do. Rhysand has half a mind to stop her, to remind her who’s in charge and that he just wants to taste her, to make her feel good. 

The other half tells him to tear out her hair band and hold her hair and head in place with his fist, tells him to let her stuff her mouth with his length by the front door and pray and hope her friend just so happens to be home.

Her shaky hands are unbuckling his belt, tugging down his zipper. Her knees hit the entrance carpet and she reaches back behind her to tug her hair completely loose from her elastic. Rhysand watches, chin meeting his chest, as she massages out the kinks before throwing it over her shoulder.

He can’t stop staring at her as she tugs his pants down just enough to palm over the thick and hard bulge in his boxers. He makes no effort to bite back a grunt and the soft whine that follows. Rhys’ eyes are on her but she’s got her gaze focussed on his clothed cock.

Y/N leans forward, nosing at his thick length. Her mouth is parted; bottom lip dragging a wet strip across the expensive, cotton material as she makes her way up for the little strip of thin hairs that dust down to his sweet spot. When she gets to the top of the elastic, her tongue slips from her mouth and a bold, wet stripe is licked fatly up to his bellybutton.

She feels him shudder, hands on the fronts of his thighs and they creep up to the waistband of his boxers. Rhysand’s got one hand tangled in her hair, blunt nails scratching at her scalp and the other is leaning against her front door, supporting his crushing weight up.

“Are you gonna take all of me, baby?” he coaxes. 

Spit begins to well in her mouth as she tugs his boxers down and she’s finally face to face with her boss’ thick, long cock. He’s massive, that much she’s certain of and the way his tip glistens an angry pink proves he’s just as eager as she is. She wonders if he’s been as hard since the copy room earlier today.

Rhysand’s tugging at her hair, trying to get her to focus on the situation at hand rather than ogling at his cock. He usually wouldn’t mind, but right now he’s far too desperate to be lodged down her warm throat to think about anything else. His cock twitches as it slaps at his lower abdomen, leaving damp trails of precum in his tip’s wake.

It’s standing tall when Y/N leans forward on her knees. She’s got her palms bracing her weight on his thick thighs and her tongue sits on her bottom lip, licking a bold and wide strip up the entire eight inches of his thick length. Rhysand’s grunting when her tongue swirls around his head before she’s suckling the soft flesh into her mouth.

Her cheeks are softly hollowed and gentle hums of approval sound around him at the salty taste that sits heady on her tongue. Her lips are stretched around his puffy head, the actual width of him nearly choking her but fuck, if she doesn’t love it with every ounce of her dirty little soul.

She’s got those innocent doe eyes staring up at him while she suckles on his length. Relaxing her throat to take him a little deeper, Y/N pumps in a firm fist what she can’t fit; twisting her wrist. 

Rhys can’t keep his fucking eyes off her – puffy lips swollen and stretched and if he sees another dribble of saliva drip from her lips and down the valley of her tits, he’s gonna cum straight down her throat.

“Fuck, such a good mouth. So fucking good, Princess,” he goads. 

He’s gnawing hard on his bottom lip, mouth salivating at the sight of his pretty little secretary on her knees with her mouth stuffed with his cock. Rhysand can’t help his ego from inflating when she lets him guide his hips until he hits the back of her throat, choking her lightly and she splutters around his length.

It’s filthy – the noises her mouth and his cock are making – but Rhysand’s living for it. Pools and dribbles of saliva and precum are spilling and bubbling from the corners of her mouth and the swells of her tits are soaked from it alone. She’s comfy on her knees now and takes her free hand from his thigh to tug his pants and boxers down further.

She’s picked up her pace, sucking harder and fisting the few inches she can’t take. Y/N’s hand snakes further down and reaches around a little until she’s cupping and massaging his aching balls, coaxing the release she knows he’s about to give her. His taste is getting saltier on her tongue and his hips are staggering with each gentle thrust he offers into her throat.

Rhys’ grip on her hair is hard and tight, knuckles bumping at her skull as he tries to drill her head closer to him, to force more of him down her throat. As much as she tries to relax herself, she can’t take him all and she wants nothing more than to bury her nose in the short hairs that lead from his bellybutton to his shaft.

“Such a good girl for me. Sucking me so fucking well, gonna cum,” he warns and praises the young woman and she comes off him with a frantic gasp. 

Her eyes are watering and his cock is soaked, but that doesn’t stop her from spitting the rest of his arousal on his length and pumping him as quickly as she can.

She’s got that confidence about her again as she focuses on his tip, fisting both hands around his throbbing cock as she smears her swollen lips across his sensitive head. She smacks it against her tongue, offering hollow sucks to guide him over the edge.

Rhys’ got his forehead resting against the door and he’s grunting and groaning, biting back animalistic moans. He can’t wrap his head around it, the most sloppy and incredible blowjob he’s ever had. 

“Wanna taste it. Cum, Rhysand,” she whines greedily, one hand leaving his cock to tear her blouse open just enough for her tits to spill out of it. “Cum all over my tits, baby.”

His orgasm washes over him with a heady grunt and hot spurts of white ribbons that smother her tits perfectly. She’s standing on her knees, using the tip of his aching cock as a paintbrush to smear his cum across her lustful chest. He’s smashing his head against the door, trying to blink away the orgasmic-bliss he’s been thrown in and take a grip of reality again.

When he finally looks down at her, stepping back a little from the door, he’s panting and twitching and she’s licking her lips clean. Y/N’s got that innocent sparkle sitting in her eyes again. Rhysand has to shake his head and let out an exasperated laugh. He’s smoothing down her tangled and matted hair and guiding her back to her feet.

“So fucking sexy,” he groans when he takes note of her cum-smothered tits. 

His lips are smearing against hers greedily, and there’s something so exciting and erotic about tasting himself on her sweet tongue. Her hands are soaked and sticky but she still tangles them in his hair to kiss him harder.

She’s too fucking horny to feel shy or embarrassed about what she’s just done against her front door. “Gonna fuck me now? Thought you promised me you’d fuck me with your cock?” she whispers tauntingly against his lips and he grins, still completely fucked out.

Even though he’s painfully hard again, he doesn’t have it in him to sheath himself in her tight little cunt just yet. He’s got stamina, but his poor cock can’t recover from a blinding orgasm like that too quickly. He nods, hands on her ass and he’s groping like a starved man. 

“And I will, Princess. But you got a taste of me, it’s only fair I get a taste of you, don’t you think?” he teases.

She’s putty in his hands, though – nodding breathlessly as her nose bumps his. She can feel his hard cock against her middle and he gives her pert ass a spank, enticing a high whine from her raw lips. 

“Suppose you better show me to your room then, my love… unless you want your friend to come and watch?” he offers, like he wouldn’t be opposed in the slightest.

If Rhysand’s honest, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d gladly let her friend watch him absolutely ruin her tight cunt.

“Put your cock in your pants,” she breathes, the firm order doing nothing but coaxing dribbles of precum from his dick. He shoves himself back in his boxers but makes no attempt to button up his trousers while she covers her chest again.

Y/N’s got her hand in his as she leads him up the steps of her townhouse, hips swaying more than usual and Rhysand knows, but he’s too horny to tease her for it. All he can think about is having that ass sat on his face and he’s salivating at the thought of her taste.

He doesn’t take in the decor on the walls or the frilly rug on the floor of the hall. He doesn’t even take in the style of her bedroom when she shoves him inside and kicks the door closed. Rhysand, instead, is too busy tearing her blouse open and ignoring the buttons skidding across her oak floors.

She’s no better, eager to get him naked and claw at his tattooed chest. They’re both naked in seconds, hands all over the other in a desperate attempt to get off. She’s guiding him to her bed, tits in his face and he paws at her breasts as she straddles his lap. She expects him to pin her down, to devour her little cunt but he doesn’t.

He kisses her lips and grips her thighs – laying on his back with his head on her pillow and tugging her up his body and she starts to get the hint when she stops on his chest. Rhysand’s frowning, kneading at her thighs and jutting his chin in the air a little.

“Told you I wanted a taste, now come and sit on your throne, Princess.” She’s giddy with excitement and arousal, head cloudy and she lets him guide her up the rest of his body. 

Her entire pussy is slick and swollen when her knees rest either side of his head. He loops his arms around her legs and rests his hands on her ass, squeezing and massaging her cheeks.

“Fucking look at you, baby. So wet and so soft,” he coos, craning his head up to suck bruises on her thighs. Y/N’s got her fingers tangled in his messy dark locks and when he spreads her ass apart, she falls a little and her soaked cunt sits on his face.

Rhysand’s mouth wastes no time, sucking and licking and nibbling at her hole and clit. He’s swirling wet strokes through her folds, deep and long. Her sweet scent is heavy on his tongue and he’s got his eyes squeezed shut in pure bliss. Y/N is a mess above him – head thrown back and fingers tugging at his unruly locks.

“Oh my God,” she whines, breathing erratically but Rhysand’s having the time of his life. 

She shudders as he brings a hand down on her ass, her meaty flesh jiggling before he’s grabbing it again and pulling her apart and further up his face. He’s got a knot in his brow, tongue circling at her weeping hole and he can’t get enough of her taste.

“So good, so fucking good. Don’t stop,” she begs, desperate and eager. 

Rhys lets his tongue trail up the length of her pussy until the flatness of his tongue is rubbing at her swollen clit, enticing moan after filthy moan to slip from her silky tongue. He wraps his mouth around her little nub, sucking and nibbling and she’s seeing stars.

Y/N can’t seem to catch her breath and she’s rolling her hips on his face like she fucking owns him. Rhysand comes off her clit with a little pop, open-mouthed kisses smeared over her dripping cunt and he sucks a swollen lip into his mouth, biting teasingly and she gasps into the dim room.

Her nipples have puckered in the cool air and one hand leaves his head to tweak and pinch at one of the neglected nubs. She’s trembling on his face, thighs clenching around his head as he kneads and spanks at her ass. Rhysand’s grunting deliciously into her cunt, sending vibrations through the woman’s core and egging her on.

He knows she’s close, knew he wouldn’t have to be between her thighs for too long after she came so quickly from his fingers earlier in the copy room, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t gladly spend hours devouring her. She’s sweet – sweeter than he hoped and expected – and it’s better than any feeling he’s ever had before. Sweet like watermelon with a tangy hint.

It’s fucking intoxicating and when she cums, it only tastes better. “I’m cuming, oh shit, oh God…” Y/N can’t think straight. 

Her vision is blinding by streaking light that blocks her sight and the wanton and borderline pornographic moans are music to Rhysand’s ears. She’s shaking, body jolting and when Rhys opens his eyes to watch her unravel on his tongue, all he sees is her head rolling back and the underswell of her tits bouncing before her back coils and she hunches into herself.

He’s lapping her of every single last drop she has, desperate to have her taste lingering on his tongue for as long as he possibly can. His cock is overly bloated and sticky as precum sticks to his lower abdomen but maybe his ego is even more bloated, knowing he didn’t even have to use his fingers to get her quivering and begging above him.

“Fuck,” she gasps in a slow drawl. 

Her voice is deep and raspy, like she’s seething as she tries to catch her breath and stop the shakes from taking over in her post-orgasmic state. Rhysand’s kitten licking her softly, moving his head to bite playfully at the thickness of her inner thighs and he traces over a soft, faded stretch mark with his tongue.

“Sweetest fucking pussy I‘ve ever tasted,” he groans in approval. 

Rhys maneuvers them both so she’s pressed against the mattress, and even in her fucked-out, overly-blissed state, she’s still whining and eager for his cock again. She’s insatiable and Rhysand can’t help the amused chuckle that slips from his lips.

“So fucking desperate, Princess,” he taunts.

He takes a moment to admire her, take her all in. Her pussy is swollen, soaked still and he can almost see her clit pulsing as her hole clenches. Her chest is rattling in deep breaths and her eyes are lidded heavily as she creeps her foot up his thigh, reaching for his hard cock.

He hums appreciatively, spreading her bent knees open and crawling between her legs again. He’s got a hand resting by her head to support his weight – the other gripping her chin in his hold and he forces her mouth open as he lets saliva well in his mouth.

She gets the hint, knows what he’s about to do and she’s desperate to get a taste of herself from him. Y/N’s tongue falls out flat on her bottom lip, eyes a little wider and she holds his firm gaze when he spits on her tongue and forces her mouth closed again. 

The sweetness of her arousal is heavy in her mouth and she swallows what he offered before her lips part again and her tongue is licking up at his stubbly chin, reaching for his lips.

Rhysand’s eyes are blazing, dick twitching against her thigh and he kisses her hard, teeth clashing and tongues dancing an uncoordinated rhythm, but it works. Y/N suckles on his tongue as he groans, pinching at her nipple before he reaches down to palm his cock some.

“Need to get a condom,” he breathes into her mouth but she’s shaking her head. He leaves his cock and reaches for her cunt, attending to her fiery clit that’s far too sensitive but she welcomes the touch, nonetheless. 

“Wanna feel you,” she admits, no shame in the embarrassingly desperate statement and Rhysand thinks he’s about to fucking explode on her cunt before he even gets a proper feel of it.

He wants to, needs to feel her slick and velvety walls hug and suck him in, wants to be consumed by her heat and arousal but even in his lust-filled state, his brain is still turned on. He shakes his head painfully. 

“Next time,” he offers, doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s eyes light up at the insinuation but she nods with a desperate, laboured breath.

She reaches to her side for her nightstand, retrieving a foil packet from the top drawer and she rips it open with her teeth before Rhysand can take it from her. His eyes are wide when she tugs it from the packaging and reaches down for his cock. She pinches the tip of the condom and rolls it over his thick head, sliding it slick down his shaft and he’s grunting in pleasure over the act.

“Fuck. You’re so sexy,” he mutters gruffly against her lips and she whimpers, eyes rolling back at the sheer tone of his voice. Her legs are spread wide as he reaches for his cock and rubs himself up and down her folds a few times.

Y/N’s giddy with excitement, pussy clenching in anticipation and he slowly rolls his hips forward, his fat tip nudging through the tight entrance ring of her pussy and she shudders a gentle shriek at the obvious intrusion.

“Oh, fuck!” she gasps out. 

Her chest is already heaving when he begins to sheath himself in, spreading her wide and drilling in deep. Y/N’s eyes have rolled to the back of her head and her toes have curled inwardly and just how much he’s filling her up.

Rhysand’s no better – teeth gritted and eyes clenched shut. His grip on her hips have his knuckles turning white but neither of them seem to mind the bruises that’ll be apparent in the morning. She’s tight around him, warm and slick and even with the condom, he can feel every pulse her pussy offers.

Rhys rolls his hips slowly, getting her used to his thick girth and generous length. Y/N’s clawing at his shoulders with each soft whine until his pace begins to pick up and the bed starts to rock. Her tits are bouncing on her chest, nipples hard and desperate for a good sucking.

He manoeuvres his body to lean his head down, biting on her hard nub and sucking. “Shit, you’re so fucking big, oh my God,” she praises through a strangled moan. He’s snapping his hips, grunting and smirking against her slobbery tits. 

His tongue is flicking over her nipple in quick strokes as his teeth bite softly but she’s keening at the blissful shoots of pain.

“Tight pussy, baby. Tightest fucking pussy I‘ve ever had.” He pops off her breast and smears his lips against hers. 

She can still taste him on her tongue and the feel of his lips on hers is overwhelming. His thick cock is brushing against all the good spots and she can’t wrap her head around how sex could ever feel this good.

“Faster, please, faster. Just like that,” she begs out through another broken moan. He’s seething through gritted teeth as he wills back his animalistic grunts, drills his hips in quicker thrusts and the wet squelches of his cock and her pussy is music to both of their ears.

“Hear that? Hear how fucking wet you are?” he teases, leaning back and shuffling until he’s on his knees between her quaking thighs. “Fuck, you fit me so fucking good, Princess.” He’s gnawing down on his bottom lip, likely drawing blood but he can’t bring himself to care.

Y/N’s got her head thrown back in her pillows, eyes rolled to the back of her head as her lashes flutter like angel wings. “This cunt was fucking made for me,” he growls through gritted teeth as he releases his lower lip. She’s nodding helplessly at his words, crying out in pure ecstasy at the filth he’s talking and she fucking loves it.

“All yours, Rhys. Pussy’s all yours,” she agrees quickly. 

Her voice is broken, high pitched and whiney. Rhysand thinks it’s borderline pornographic and it only makes his cock throb in her cunt. “Fuck,” he seethes, watching the way her full breasts bounce on her chest.

He lets his gaze avert to where they meet – where his thick cock is drilling into her cunt and fucking her into the mattress. He’s completely slick with every thrust that has his dick pulling out of her. His balls are slapping against her ass, slick with her wetness that leaks from her tight hole and even both their thighs are growing sticky from her arousal and their sweat.

Between them, they’re eager messes, desperate for a hot release and it’s haunting the both of them. Rhysand can feel her cunt clench tenderly around him and Y/N can feel his cock twitching between her soft walls. 

“Fuck, can feel you squeezing me baby, making you feel good, Princess?” He knows he’s making her feel fucking heavenly but the narcassist in him needs to hear that bit of praise.

She’s nodding frantically, eager to give him what he wants to hear. “Yes, fuck, yes! So good, Rhys. I love your cock, makes me feel so fucking full.” She’s moaning through every word, sentence broken by wanton cries and pornographic whines. She’s fucking filthy, dribble running down the corners of her lips as she speaks.

Rhysand’s fucked, can feel his release toppling close to the edge but he needs to feel her cum around him first. “Yeah? You like me buried in your tight little cunt, my love? Like feeling me in your fucking tummy?” He sets a firm palm across her stomach, adding just enough pressure to feel himself nudge at her lower abdomen and his head is spinning.

“More, please. I’m gonna fucking cum, Rhys. Make me cum on your cock, make me cum, please.” She’s begging through desperate tears and Rhysand’s ego is through the fucking roof. His eyes are rolling back at the sound of her broken pleads and he leans closer.

He’s got one hand holding his weight by her head, the other locking around her throat. He watches for a moment, still pounding into her, to see if she tells him to stop, tells him she doesn’t like that. But she reaches up and tightens his hold on her throat and her other hand snakes between them to rub feverishly at her swollen clit.

“Harder,” she demands, voice steady and dark and there’s a primal instinct that washes over Rhysand that tells him to fucking obliterate her. He’s choking her as his cock tears into her, weeping in the condom and Y/N’s sobbing beneath him.

Her thighs begin to tremble, eyes rolled right back and she feels like she’s floating. “I’m cuming! Rhys, I’m gonna cum!” Her body convulses under his touch and waves of bliss roll over her. She’s cumming around his cock, shaking and sobbing and whining like a dirty little girl and Rhysand’s living for it.

He fucks her through her state of bliss, grip still tight on her throat until he feels her calm down and he’s ready to explode. Even in her blissed out state, Y/N knows what she wants. She suckles on his thumb as he grips her jaw and takes her spare hand to push him back just enough to pull his cock out of her cunt.

With hooded eyes and swollen lips, she peels off the condom and tosses it to the side. Rhysand’s eyes are blown wide, brows knitted and even in her hazy state she can see how desperate his cock is for a relief.

He’s hissing when she wraps a hand around his wet length and lazily starts pumping his shaft. “If you can’t come in my pussy, I want your cum all over it.” His head falls back at the admission, cock twitching in her hand and it only takes a few futile pumps before she’s smearing his tip across her swollen clit and he’s cumming.

Hot ribbons of clear-ish cum paint her cunt, spilling across her folds and clit in desperate spurts. “Fuck, oh shit. So good, such a good fucking girl,” he’s praising in broken moans and wanton whines.

Y/N’s pussy clenches around nothing as she watches his thick cock slowly soften to one of a slightly smaller size. They’re both fucked out as Rhysand catches his breath and falls to her side, panting and heaving with a sweaty and heavy chest.

She can barely keep her eyes open, thighs still trembling from her post-orgasmic state and Rhysand’s trying to come to terms with what just happened. He’s too infatuated to scold himself for fucking a damn employee. For fucking his secretary.

He can hear her heavy breathing from beside her and he peeks a look, watching her eyes flutter as she stares up at her ceiling. He holds his breath in hopes of hearing any movement on the other side of the bedroom door but all he can hear is his heart hammering through his body.

He takes a heaving breath and looks back up at the ceiling. “You think your friend might’ve heard us?” He speaks up, breaking the silence. He hears her breath stagger and silence before she lets out an uneven sigh and he can feel her chest shaking.

Rhysand turns to her with pinched brows and she’s grinning with eyes squinted shut. “What? What are you laughing at?” She’s giggling again and Rhys sits up to get a better look at her. She’s thoroughly fucked out.

“I don’t have a friend staying with me,” she admits shyly through a broken laugh and it takes Rhysand a hot second to grasp onto what she’s just said. When he does, his eyes widen and jaw falls slack, smirk tugging on the corners of his parted lips.

Y/N turns to him, running a hand through his matted hair and she gnaws on her bottom lip, staring into his fucked out eyes. “Just wanted to try and get you in my bed,” she confesses.

They’re both grinning; Y/N letting out a squealed shriek as Rhysand pounces on top of her and pins her hands above her head, nosing and biting at her jaw and neck. His eyes are gleaming nothing but mischief as his nose knocks hers and he notices the fire in her eyes.

He nips at her lips. “You lied to me? To get me in your bed like I‘m some sort of cheap hooker?” He’s teasing her now and the banter has her stomach flipping. Y/N shrugs, feigning nonchalance, eyes blazing and she licks into his mouth. 

“Worked though, didn’t it?”

Rhysand pulls away from her lips just enough to see the look on her face. She’s shy under his gaze, innocent eyes staring up at him but there’s still that flash of filth and cheekiness that’s loitering behind them and when she gnaws on her bottom lip, Rhysand can’t help but feel completely fucked.

“You little minx.”

let me know what you thought!!

[ot3]

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

What is it, and why you should read it.

(Art by purple)

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is a currently updating webserial by author Lurina. It's one of my favorite things I've read in a long while and I'd like to convince you all to give it a chance.

My elevator pitch is this: A time-loop murder mystery directly inspired by Umineko, with a lot of similar vibes to the Locked Tomb Trilogy - partially due to it's meditations on grief and mortality and partially due to it's far-future magical sci-fi world where we follow a fucked up lesbian necromancer on a task she is determined to see through to the end. A deeply complex, unique, and believable world that plays hosts to one of the best interpersonal dynamics I've read.

In a future so far-flung that it is past the heat death of the universe, humanity has constructed a new society that is post-scarcity but not post-stratification. Utsushikome of Fusai is one amongst a class of prodigious young medical arcanists (essentially grad students) who are invited to visit a recently legitimized conclave of top-of-the-line researchers studying immortality. Accompanying Su is her best friend Ran, a fellow arcanist. Over the course of the novel we begin to slowly unravel exactly what ulterior motives have brought them to this conclave and how events in their childhoods and years of working toward their shared goal has warped their relationship into what we now see. This relationship is the crown jewel of Flower's narrative, and getting to peel back the layers of it as you read is a delight.

Like Umineko, Flower is a murder mystery that prevents itself with in-universe Rules that dictate the murders' parameters, meaning there's a lot to chew on for anyone who likes solving mysteries. For those that don't, like myself, Flower offers instead a richly developed world and plenty of open questions about the sociopolitical and metaphysical implications of its own worldbuilding.

Below the cut, I'll go into more detail about the series (without spoilers!) for those of you whose interest has been piqued.

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is currently ongoing, updating every few weeks. It's several hundred thousand words, so if you're looking for something substantial to keep you entertained, you've got it. As you might expect from the length, the pacing is decently slow. I don't see this as a bad thing at all, because within this pacing Lurina dripfeeds the readers enough new and interesting information at a regular rate that it never feels like your time is being wasted. But if you can't handle slow burns, I wouldn't recommend this one for you.

If you enjoyed the Zero Escape series and liked that they stopped solving murder puzzles to infodump about fringe science, I think you'll get a lot out of Flower. Characters are frequently interrupting their life-or-death scenarios to have lofty, philosophical and political discussions. It's a ton of fun if you like reading characters argue.

'People have to sleep.' 'People have to work.' 'People have to die.' But those were just vague rules, phrasing I'd used because it had been easier in the context of that conversation. What really mattered, on the day-to-day level, was the idea that it was all for something. If someone invented a elixir that made people not to need to sleep, it would, in retrospect, recontextualize all nights everyone ever wasted sleeping as wastes of time. Not something that occurred for some inherent purpose, but whims of circumstance, a tragedy of when you happened to be born. If you accepted that all unfair things in the world could be removed, if only someone knew how - fatigue, labor, death - then to exist in the world we had now, with all its grotesque imperfections, was to know that you had been violated by fate.

Along those lines it's just got a sense of humor I really enjoy. Pretty dry and cavalier. It manages to keep the mood light without feeling like it's undermining it's own stakes. I'm particularly fond of Su's penchant for telling incredibly depressing suicide jokes that just Do Not Land.

The peer pressure cut into me like a hot knife. I hesitated a little, biting my lip. "Well, uh, okay. I'll just tell a quick one." I swallowed, my mind quickly scrambling. "Okay, so, there's a woman who runs a dispensary for second hand goods. She sees a man come in who's a regular customer. He's kind of a mess-- Has a big beard, a bad complexion. He buys a razor, and tells her he needs it to clean himself up, because he has a date." I could see that I now had Ophelia's attention and that Kam was looking pleased with herself, but Ran was watching me, too. I could see the look in her eyes. It screamed at me, with such vividity that it could be sold at an art gallery: You better not be telling a suicide joke right now, or we're going to have a talk. But it was too late. The wheels were already in motion.

As I mentioned up top, the relationship between Ran and Su is just one of my favorite interpersonal dynamics ever. Period. The author is playing some insanely complicated 5th dimensional yuri chess and I am absolutely here for it as someone who likes characters who are deeply devoted to each other in a way that is deeply deeply fraught. I cant emphasize enough how obsessed I am with what they have going on.

Additionally, as stated, the worldbuilding in Flower is top tier. The author clearly understands how every part of her world functions, which makes the moral quandaries and politics presented all the more impactful because they're very believable. It's hard to talk about Flower's world without spoiling too much of the specifics that get slowly revealed, but it doesn't fall back on any typical sci-fi standard fare and feels like a breath of fresh air amongst recycled and repetitive worldbuilding tropes.

A lot of really fun side characters. Strong voices for all of the supporting cast (♥♥Kamrusepa♥♥) and even though not every character gets their own arc, they all clearly have plenty of interiority. Once again, another thing that makes Flower feel very believable despite it's absurdities.

Autism

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with anyone?" She eyed him. "Anyone who seemed tense?" "Saoite, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but half of our class is so autistic that they constantly seem tense. You might as well ask me to find a specific turd in a sewer." "Just answer the question, please," she replied flatly.

Guys it's really good just trust me I don't want to spoil you for the more intricate plot beats but they're doing some crazy shit here. It's never a bad time to support an independent author's project. If you're sick of corporate mass-media and stuff needing to be marketable, getting into independent works owned and supported by individual creators is a great way to push back against that. I highly recommend it.

[bugsmunched]

In the realm of romantic literature, it would be much appreciated if you could write Wolverine x Reader.

A tragic, angsty with a dash of spirited debate leading to an unforeseen outpouring of sentiments, tinged with a hint of mature themes. (18+)

[Dread not if such narratives are not within your repertoire.]

To put matters into more simplistic terms :

Wolverine/Logan Howlett x Reader. Angsty arguments turns rather bittersweet with an unexpected confession of feelings.

I hope this is sufficient!

"Lose You" - Logan Howlett x GN! Reader

WC: 2,485

Tw: Swearing, angst, yelling, Logan is a grumpy guy, mentions of sex, alluding to sex, broken glass

Requests are open!!

Three days. It has been three days since Logan had spoken to you, three long days since he even looked in your direction beyond a simple glance. You believed he was determined to ignore your existence for the rest of your life, and so did he. The manor was big enough for him to avoid you completely, except for the occasional glance exchange in the halls. His gaze was…cold…and distant. Nothing like it had been before. He seemed to hate you, and you began to hate yourself.

That inner loathing turned into an outwardly unpleasant mood, turning you into one of the more unpleasant mutants to interact with in the manor. After a couple extra days had passed, it has been a week since you talked to anyone beyond a short and angry conversation. Everyone in the manor knew what was happening, students and professors alike, but no one could do anything but watch the train wreck from a distance.

Soon enough it has been two weeks since Logan had talked to you, and you were fed up with him. Every time you even thought of him, you were overcome with an anger so strong it made you burst into tears and collapse to the ground. So, you did your best not to think about him, pushing him from your brain until he was just a distant memory.

One month. Your anger has turned into wallowing in pity and more self loathing. You couldn't believe that someone who you were once so close to would just abandon you completely like that. You locked yourself in your room most of your days, barely eating, barely sleeping. When you did sleep, the sleep was plagued with terrible nightmares. In the past, Logan would've been to your room in an instant to care for you after a nightmare, but recently there'd been nothing. He moved rooms to the other side of the manor, another means of avoiding you.

You woke up quickly, drenched in sweat, chest rising and falling rapidly from hyperventilating. Another nightmare has plagued your sleep, and there was no one there to soothe you. You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around Logan's neck and bury your face in his chest as he held you. But, he wasn't there, and the lack of his presence caused you to break down. Your entire body shook as you let out quiet, broken sobs.

You held your pillow close to your chest, the soft fabric of the case soaking up your warm, salty tears. You were like that for a few hours, until the sun rose, filtering through your blinds. Your face was red and puffy from crying for so long, eyes dry and in pain. You sighed softly and slipped out of bed, peeking your head out of your door. It was still pretty early, so not many people would be awake yet, so it was relatively safe to sneak to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

You quietly made your way to the kitchen, slipping in to grab a glass of water before you stopped in your tracks. Logan was sat at the table, glass of whiskey in hand. It was obvious that he had been up for a while himself. Since this was your first time truly seeing him in a month, you felt your heart getting caught in your throat.

“L-Logan?” You muttered out loud before you could stop yourself.

He froze, his muscles tensing as he placed the glass of whiskey back down on the table. He didn't turn to meet your gaze, but he wasn't trying to up and leave, not yet anyway.

“Look at me Logan, please. “ You whispered with a broken whimper, your voice was pathetic. You couldn't believe how desperate you sounded - or how desperate you truly were.

“Get out of here, bub. “ Logan grumbled, not casting a glance in your direction.

Something about his tone set something off inside of you as you crossed your arms, voice shifting from whimpering and begging to annoyed. “ What, am I not allowed to grab a glass of water anymore? Oh I'm so sorry your highness,” you bowed, your voice laced with a mocking tone, “ I didn't realize what you said fucking goes. “

Logan tensed more at your tone and harsh words, hand gripping the glass with so much force you were surprised it wasn't breaking under the pressure. “Shut up. “ He grumbled, not quite a growl.

You walked over to the sink and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. When you were looking away, you could feel his piercing hot gaze on your skin. You spun around, glass of water shaking a little in your hand. “What the hell is your problem Logan?”

Silence filled your ears, which only made you more irritated.

“I asked you a fucking question, or are you suddenly too high and mighty to talk to someone commoner like me?” You sneered, watching as he gripped the glass tighter, it began to crack.

“Shut up. “ He growled, his breathing uneven and nostrils flaring.

“I don't think I will, because you've been a real dick recently, Wolvy. “

And with that mocking nickname, the glass shattered in his hand, pieces of glass sticking into his skin. You jumped a little bit, watching as he didn't even flinch, his hand just closing around the shards of glass.

A part of you grew very concerned for the gruff man, but you were still overcome with some anger and resentment towards him for having had the guts to ignore you for a whole month.

“Ooo the big scary wolverine can shatter a glass, you're not special. “ You sneered, taking a sip of your water.

Suddenly, without any warning, Logan was standing up, pushing you flush against the counter, hands on either side of you, caging you in. You dropped the glass you were holding out of shock, it fell to the floor and shattered, glass shards surrounding the two of you.

His breathing was ragged and unsteady, his eyes narrowed with anger. “Don't you know when to shut your mouth?” He growled, looking down at you.

“Don't you know when you're being a dick? Get your hands off of me, Logan. “

He huffed and took a step back, avoiding the shards of glass carefully, the shards in his hand slowly falling out as he healed. He stared at you, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. He looked at you like he hated you, like he loathed you entirely. His gaze made you want to shrink and run away, but you stood strong, meeting his gaze.

“Why are you being such a brat?” He huffed, picking the glass out of his hand before sliding both of his hands into his pockets.

“Why am I being such a- Oh my God. Seriously? Seriously Logan?! You dare to have the gall to call me a brat when you have been nothing but a total douche recently?! Oh my God. “ You said, giving a soft laugh, surprised at his words. You shook your head in disbelief.

“I have not been a total-”

“Don't even try to finish that sentence, dickwad. Because news flash, you've been a complete asshole! You've been avoiding me ever since that last mission! Fuck, you even switched rooms just so you could be as far away from me as possible. Every time you look at me, you look at me like I'm the worst person in the world. And I…and I didn't even get an explanation. “ You started yelling, before your voice began to crack as you choked back tears. You were deeply wounded by his actions, especially by the fact that you never even got an explanation as to why he completely abandoned you.

His gaze softened slightly, his brows letting up as concern began to lace his features. It hadn't even dawned on him that his actions had been harming you like this, driving you to brink of insanity.

“What, now you got nothing to say?” You muttered, crossing your arms as your eyes began to water. You could feel tears threatening to spill over the threshold. Your chest was rising and falling harshly due to your uneven breathing.

“ I'm sorry. “ He muttered, so quietly that you could barely even hear him at first.

“A sorry ain't going to fix this, asshole.” You huffed, turning your head away from him, your bottom lip beginning to quiver.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I just…I'm mad at you. “

“You're mad at me?! Why on earth would you be mad at me?!” You cried out in disbelief.

“Because you almost got yourself killed!” He yelled back, the loud sound causing you to close your eyes right as you flinched, tears finally spilling past the threshold, falling down your face.

He saw the tears roll down your face and gave a heavy sigh. Now he had done it. “That…that last mission…you completely drained yourself and left yourself open to be attacked…I don't understand why you would do that.. “

“Why would you even care if I got killed? With the way you've been acting, I thought you hated me. “ You spat, your voice shaky as you held back sobs.

“I can't hate you. Nothing in the world could make me hate you. “ He spoke weakly. His voice began cracking, he could feel tears swelling in his own eyes. But he swallowed them back, not wanting to upset you further.

“Wha-” you began, before he cut you off.

“I didn't mean for it to go this far. But…when I almost lost you, I realized that … you deserve someone who can protect you better than I. I almost failed you. So I drove a wedge between us. “ He sighed, placing his head in his hands for a moment.

“Lose me? Logan, what do you mean?”

“ You can't technically lose something that you never had, but I wanted- no I needed- you to be mine.”

“Logan…” You whispered as you looked at him once again, eyes wet with tears. “You always had me. I was never going to belong to anyone else.”

You took a step forward, reaching out a hand tentatively. “I was protecting you…because I couldn't bear the thought of losing you…”

“You can't lose me…” He took a step closer as well, hand intertwining with yours.

“You don't know that for sure…” You stepped closer, your bodies now inches apart.

“I would rather die than live in a world where you're not by my side. “ He placed a hand on your hip, pulling you flush against his chest.

“That's stupid…” You buried your face in his chest, sniffling softly.

“People do stupid things for the ones they love. “

You pulled your face away from his chest and looked up at him in disbelief. “ You shouldn't love me. “

“Why the hell not?”

“Because…”

“Sweetheart, nothing you say could change how I feel about you. Simply put, you are my world. I revolve around you, day and night, and without you I feel like I'm suffocating. You are my oxygen, you are my source of life. “ He muttered softly, looking down at you.

“If I'm so vital to your survival…why did you avoid me for so long?”

“I don't deserve you. “

“And I deserve you?”

“Sweetheart, you deserve the absolute world. If the grumpy, old, gruff man is who you want, then it's the grumpy, old, gruff man you'll get. But is that who you want?” Logan asked as he tilted his head gently to the side, his eyes watering.

“You're the one I want, Lo, but are you sure that I'm the one you want? Because -”

Logan dipped down and captured your lips in a soft kiss, hand resting on your cheek. You were surprised, but quickly melted into it, leaning against him as you kissed him back gently. He was holding you so delicately, like he thought you were going to break if he touched you wrong.

After a moment, he pulled away from the kiss, “You're the one I need. “

You gave a weak smile, burying your face in his chest once again. “‘M sorry for being so terrible to you..” you sniffled gently.

He lifted your chin so you were staring into his eyes. “ I don't want to hear your apology, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong. “ He smiled gently down at you.

“But I was awful…how can I make it up to you?”

“Promise me that no matter what…you'll put yourself before me? That you'll never sacrifice yourself for anyone. I won't be able to survive without you. “

You thought for a moment about all the implications of making that promise, but his eyes were staring into you with so much sincerity, that you knew you had to promise. “ I promise, Logan. “

He sighed with relief and pulled you closer, pulling you into another soft kiss. You noticed more this kiss, how coarse his lips felt against your own, but they felt wonderful. They felt like they were molded specifically to fit perfectly against your own.

Slowly, the kiss became more passionate as the dam of emotions came undone. Both of you became more desperate to never stop kissing the other, your hand sliding under his shirt slightly, resting against his abs.

He paused and pulled away, swallowing hard. “ Sweetheart, I think we have to calm down here…otherwise I think I'll take it too far. “

“ What if I want you to take it too far?”

“Sweetheart, you can't say shit like that…”

“ I mean it, Logan. “

“Don't get me wrong…I need you, darling, but it's probably just a heat of the moment thing and I don't want you to regr-”

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling his head down by placing a hand on the back of his neck. You could taste the whiskey on his lips. You pulled away after a moment. “ Sorry, I just really needed you to shut up. “ You said softly, placing a hand on his chest and rubbing gently. “ I promise you I won't regret it, Lo. “

He pulled your hand off his chest gently. “ Trust me sweetheart, I desire you more than anything else, but I'm also…slightly drunk. And I want there to be no chance of forgetting what I'm going to do to you. But I promise you…tonight, come to my room, and I will ravage this…delicious body. “ He said softly as he pulled you close, pressing his hard on against you for a moment, causing you to gasp.

He let go of your hips and pulled away, a smirk evident on his face. “ See you tonight sweetheart, alright? “

“O- okay Logan…” you managed to get out, face a bright red from a moment earlier as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving you to clean up the shards of glass on the floor, your stomach doing flips.

Tonight was going to be one hell of a night.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Yuus Food Truck

In which Azul loses his mind over a grilled cheese.

Content stuff: short, one sided enemies to lovers, Azul being a loser, general cringe.

Posting Reqs like this for a bit until Tumblr lets us edit asks. I had a request for Enemies to Lovers with Azul, so I came up with this.

That goddamned Prefect was the bane of Azul's existence. For the past few weeks, he has been gripping his leg in absolute rage within his office as he stares at his weekly reports. Practically frothing at the mouth at the mere mention of you.

Recently, the little Ramshackle prefect has begun a new business venture. A simple food truck on campus selling only grilled cheeses for a singular madol. That's it. He found the idea a bit funny, he'll admit, but he was far from worried.

Surely after a month it would shut down, or at the very least get so few customers it wouldn't impact his business. I mean come on, how much money are you really making from selling grilled cheeses for one dollar? You must be taking a loss!

He was wrong. So so wrong.

Not only have you somehow been profiting from your little side project, but you have taken all of his customers. He is looking over his lounge, nowhere near as full as it usually is. He grits his teeth and heads back into the VIP room. The twins should be here any minute now. 

On cue, the door creaks open, and in come those rowdy twins both with their usual smirks. Azul jerks up, staring up at Jade from his desk. His hand shook ever slightly as he gripped the feather in his hand.

“Well? Did you get it?” The mer asks, gaze steely. Floyd speaks for the both of them through mouthfuls of grilled cheese.

“Mmmhmm yeah, we got you a cheese, here you go. Mmmm.” Floyd took another bite of his as he tossed the wrapped-up grilled cheese onto the desk. 

“Hey watch the merchandise– Are you eating their food?" Azul stared at both of them. Floyd stuffing his face with the one in his hand and Jade elegantly nibbling on his own. He was shocked, betrayed by his own staff. “You guys gave them more money— ugh. I would have expected this of Floyd but you too Jade?”

“The prefect saw me ordering and put some mushrooms into mine that pair well with the cheese. Free of charge as well. How thoughtful of them. I must commend their customer service.” Jade wore a shit-eating smirk on his face as he took another bite, making a show out of it. He seemed to relish in Azul's misery.

“Free of charge?” Azul was flabbergasted. Not only were their prices ridiculously low but they were adding things for free? They might as well be handing their money away at that point.

“Right? I say they should have charged Jade for all he's worth for putting those damn things on. Yuck…” Floyd wrinkled his nose as he side eyed Jade, who just continued to eat blissfully. 

He needed to figure out just what was so good about the damn things. Gloved hands carefully lifted up the wrapped delicacy with such fragility as if it would break from a gust of wind. The wrapping was done well, nice and neat as he peeled it off to reveal what was inside.

Crisped and perfectly brown buttered white bread. It glistened in the light with its heavenly beauty. The cheese was ooey and gooey and so thick that it ran down the sides. So far the presentation was beautiful, but it was pretty damn difficult to fucked up a grilled cheese. He tried to hold back this drool from the smell alone.

Carefully, he took a bite and closed his eyes. His mouth was blasted with flavor. As he savored that magical bite, a gust of wind swept through the room, causing the curtains to dance dramatically. The cheesy aroma lingered, creating an ambiance fit for a culinary masterpiece. This grilled cheese has unlocked secrets of the universe with how much it expanded his mind. This mere sandwich has him on the brink of tears

Azul has to hold his expression. He's not gonna be impressed by some measly sandwich. He's better than that. Though he thought that maybe by tasting it he could be able to figure out what your secret ingredient was, it's clear that isn't the case… This is a simple grilled cheese. He would have to go undercover to discover your cooking secrets.

***

“Heyyy Prefect!” A wry voice hums near the truck, belonging to no other than Ruggie. He knocked on the side of the window and Yuu poked out their head.

Azul watched from the distance, narrowing his eyes as he hyper-focused on the conversation. He admits the front of the Ramshackle dorms was a great location. Close to the botanical garden, close to the main building, not as far as Octavinelle either, and had most of the foot traffic. It's why he had his eye on it for a second location.

“Well if it isn't my number one customer, what can I get ya, let me guess a grilled cheese?” Of course, Ruggie would be their number one customer, which makes sense given his financial state. Figures. Maybe if he introduced a dollar menu…

“You know what Ruggie, you're cool. For you, it's 50 cents. Two for one if you will.” Ruggie pauses for a moment before smiling again. “Awe really? Sweet, can't up a deal like that shyehehehe!” The hyena cackles and you get to work. The window for the truck is fully open, allowing Azul to see in.

You aren't even hiding your cooking technique?! You're just giving all your secrets away like that?! Ohh you foolish fool… This would be easier than he thought.

He must get closer, to see what sort of fuckery is at play here. However, walking up and just watching you cook work is suspicious. As much as he hates to fund this little project… sacrifices must be made… He will have to order a grilled cheese…

Ruggie slinks off, tail wagging happily as he munches on his food. This was the perfect opportunity to approach. He stood up even straighter and approached with determination hidden poorly behind his attempt at a straight face. His scowl dared to seep through but he managed to smooth it out into his sickenly sweet facade.

“Hello, dear prefect!” He watched Yuu perk up through the window as they wiped down their workspace. They glanced over at Azul, completely unaware of his evil plot. “Heya Zuzu what can I get ya?”

Zuzu? That's awfully bold… whatever eyes on the prize… 

“I'd like one grilled cheese please if I may…” Hell yes. Smooth operator. He's so good at this.

“Mkay, coming right up.” Azul leans in closer as you get to work, memorizing everything you do… You just make a grilled cheese… Nothing special. It's just simple bread and cheese you cook in butter. How the hell? Was it the oven perhaps? Did you somehow know of his intentions and we're trying to conceal it?? Ugh, whatever maybe he can sucker you into another deal.

“... You know Prefect, if you just raised the price a bit you'd be bringing in more profits.” 

You shrugged as you pressed down your creation with your spatula to make it sizzle more. “Yeah, I know how money works.” Azul paused and blinked.

“So why don't you do it?” You shrug again. “It's funny.” Azul was perplexed, bamboozled, perhaps even smeckledorfed perchance. You were doing this for fun?! Starting a business for fun. Not for profit which would be beneficial given your situation, but for fun.

“Fun? Really? But prefect– wouldn't you– shouldn't you consider raising the prices even slightly? I mean after all Crowley hasn't been paying you well and if anything—”

“I should shoot you for the mere suggestion of raising the grilled cheese prices. The price is firm. It's never going up even by a cent. Hell, I'm so offended I may lower it.” You pulled the cheese off the grill and started to pack it up, swaddling it with such delicacy and love reserved for newborns.

Azul's mouth hung open for a bit before closing it. “Are you serious? Prefect— Yuu at this point I'm not even mad about the competition I'm– hrk!”  

“You need to relax a little Azul, for your own sake.” You shoved the grilled cheese out the window a bit more forcefully than you intended, making the unwrapped part hit Azul's glasses. The melty butter left grease marks on them, and through the blurriness, he could see your expression. His heart skipped a beat and sucked in a breath. Oh no.

He was in love.

[minswriting]

Fell upon your blog recently and loveee it! Can I request something smutty with Hotch x reader where she fakes her orgasm because she is having a hard time finishing and he notices so he fixes the problem 😏

this is gonna be slightly different than that but hopefully you enjoy it! there is no faking orgasm because i feel like that’s so mean to do to someone 😭

nsfw | mdni | aaron hotchner x reader | unprotected sex, desperate sex, praise kink, degradation, daddy kink (because i said so), orgasm denial (like once) because aaron wanted to tease you

you’ve been having a hard time with cumming recently. you and aaron hadn’t really been able to have sex the past week due to being so busy and caught up with work that you’ve had to try and get yourself off by yourself and nothing seemed to do the trick. so you were pretty sexually frustrated. and aaron certainly could tell.

the tension between the two of you while on the case was a bit intense. there were moments where your opinions clashed, tempers flared, everyone on the team could feel it. and the cause for this tension was literally only because you hadn’t been properly fucked and can’t even get yourself off.

which is what led to aaron coming to your hotel room later that night. the moment he walked into the room and closed the door behind him, his mouth was on yours, kissing you like he needed to in order to breathe. and within minutes, clothes were shed and you were sat on the bed with aaron towering over you.

he was just about to go on his knees, ready to take his time and devour you when you shook your head with a small whine. “please just fuck me,” you exclaimed. “need to feel your cock.” your desperate tone sent a shiver down aaron’s spine.

he swallowed before speaking. “fuck,” he breathed out. “lay back,” aaron said, demanding you softly. and of course you obliged, laying down on the mattress and spreading your legs for him. aaron grabbed your legs, gently pulling you closer to him as he stood at the edge of the bed. he then grabbed his cock, guiding himself to your cunt.

aaron spread your wetness around with his tip, letting out a shaky breath. “god, i haven’t done anything and you’re already so wet,” he exclaimed. “how pathetic.”

you let out a small whimper. “i’ve been so needy, daddy.” you said. “haven’t even been able to make myself cum.”

aaron simply said “mmm” with a fake pout and in a mocking tone. “poor baby.” and without any warning, he eased his cock into your hole slowly, making you whine at the intrusion. without any sort of preparation, you were extremely tight around his cock, more so than usual. and aaron couldn’t help but close his eyes as he took in finally being inside of you once more. “fuck you feel so good,” he groaned. he stayed still for a few minutes, allowing you time to adjust.

“am ready,” you said hoarsely.

“good girl,” was all aaron said before he snapped his hips, not even building up to a fast pace as he began to just fuck you hard. though you didn’t mind at all. it was exactly what you needed.

“oh fuck!” you moaned, throwing your head back in pleasure. “so good, daddy.”

“yeah, princess?” aaron said between thrusts, his breath shaky. his thrusts were frantic as he fucked you with his cock. a sign that he was just as desperate as you had been. “daddy’s gonna take such good care of you.”

you moaned pathetically, gripping the sheets underneath you. aaron took your legs, moving them closer to your chest so he could fuck you deeper. the small change in position made his cock his that spongy spot inside of you, causing you to gasp. with the rhythmic and frantic movements, you could feel your orgasm coming quickly. “i’m so close, daddy,” you whimpered.

and suddenly aaron stopped moving his hips. you let out a groan of frustration, having already gone about a week without cumming. you opened your eyes, looking at aaron with a pout. he looked at you with a smirk on his face. “frustrated, princess?” he asked softly but mockingly. you nodded your head pathetically. “good girls don’t get frustrated. they take what they’re given,” he said, bringing his hand to your cheek and caressing it gently. “maybe i won’t let you cum tonight.”

you whined in response. “please, daddy,” you said. “need you to make me feel so good. i’ll be your good girl, please let me cum.” you begged, wanting desperately to get the release you needed.

“why should i let you, baby?” aaron asked, looking at you. you looked so pretty underneath him. with your hair sprawled out, your cheeks flushed from the heat of the moment, the pout on your lips as he denies you from cumming. he knew he wouldn’t ever deny of you such a luxury. especially when he wants you to cum from him and only him. but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t tease you about it.

“because you love me,” you said softly, your pout still prominent.

and that most certainly melted aaron’s heart. he leaned down, pressing a kiss onto your lips before leaning back up. “you’re right,” he said in the same tone. “i love you very much, princess.” and without any further wait, he began moving his hips once more, working towards the pace he had before.

you let out a whorish moan, something so pornographic that aaron was sure that the whole hotel could hear. but at that moment, he could hardly care. the two of you relished in the pleasures of one another. and it didn’t take long for you to get close once more. “oh my god. daddy, so close.” you moaned.

“go ahead, baby,” aaron exclaimed. “go ahead and cum for me.”

after a few more thrusts, you let out a choked sob as you began cumming on aaron’s cock. your toes curled, thighs clamped shut, and back arched as you came with a loud “daddy!” aaron followed suit, cumming inside of you with a loud groan of your name leaving his name repeatedly.

it was safe to say that it was the best orgasm you had had in awhile.

[a-very-tired-jew]

Conversations with a younger colleague about I/P conflict

In my department there is a grad student who is friendly with myself and a few others of the openly nerdy ecologists. We actively talk about anime, video games, TTRPGs, etc... We've also all collaborated on research together because we generally study the same thing, and being a grad student we are also letting them helm their own research to carve their own path. The research topic that links all of us is decomposition ecology.

Meaning, we study death, how it effects the environment, and all the things having to do with it. Often we have our own terms that we define and use, but we also work within the framework of various medical and legal definitions nationally and internationally. Recently this student has been talking to me about the I/P conflict because it has dominated their social media feed. Like many young adults, this is their first I/P conflict and their first exposure to anything regarding that region. As such, they have come to me to talk about things knowing that I am Jewish. Not out of maliciousness, but because I am the only person they talk to that has any sort of connection to it. Over these past months they have repeated the "genocide/Holocaust" rhetoric that we have seen Western Activists use to make the conflict the Worst Thing Ever. Our conversation went as follows: GS: I can't believe they're committing a Holocaust on them after what they went through. Me: How is it a Holocaust? GS: They're committing a genocide against the Palestinians. Me: They're not doing either one, but let's touch upon the first thing you said. How? GS: They're killing them in large numbers! Me: Oh...oh...that's not what made the Holocaust the Holocaust, you know that right? It was years of systematic dehumanization that culminated in what we know. There were death camps, torture, experimentation, and so much more than simple "killing in large numbers". GS: Damn public school education... Me: You didn't really go over it too much did you? GS: WWII was, like, a week I want to say. Me: *sigh* yeah, not surprised at all. GS: Okay, so a genocide then? Me: GS, what do we study? GS: Decomp Me: and that involves? GS: Death Me: One avenue of which is mass casualty events which a number of our friends have published on. GS: Yeah! I read those papers, they were really good. Me: They were, but do you remember conversations we had about them and what differentiates mass casualty events from one another? GS: Cause? Me: And...? GS: Shit. Intent. Me: Exactly. Has their been an official stated intent to commit any genocide? I mean, you've got the bigots in the government like Ben Givir and the shit they say, I'll give you that. But has the official stance been genocidal? GS: No. I don't think so. Me: What has it been? GS: To get the hostages back and get rid of Hamas. Me: Uh huh, and what has been Hamas's stated intent? GS: To kill Zionists. Me: And before 2017 when they changed the wording in their charter? GS: ah fuck...it's Jews isn't it? Me: Ding ding ding. GS: So that's why no one in the group has said it's a genocide... Me: Correct. Humanitarian crisis brought about by war? Yes. Mass casualty event? Certainly. But genocide? Well, there's a reason no one in our circle has endorsed the term. And remember, we're considered experts on death. GS: I got puppeted didn't I? Me: Yep. GS: Shit. The only reason this went so well is due to our friendship and mentor/mentee dynamic. They already trust me to not lead them astray, be informed, and address the holes in their knowledge. Hell, they help me be a better scientist as well with how they bring in new and novel techniques that I didn't know. But they're still getting a lot of their info from TikTok and IG, and they've talked about a lot of BS from those two particular apps these past few years. This is just the latest (they had a TikTok induced anti-GMO trend for a while, it was bad).

[goodlucktai]

too well tangled

rise of the tmnt post-movie / canon divergent word count: 1k characters: disaster twins

this was my bonus piece for the digital @turtlestogetherzine !

title borrowed from atticus—“you will never be unloved by me / you are too well tangled in my soul”

read on ao3

x

So it turns out that sixteen minutes in the prison dimension is about six months outside it. Give or take. 

Donnie calls it a temporal differential. Leo’s third day back was spent being gently interrogated within an inch of his life. For every answer he gave, Donnie’s face got a little darker. 

He seems a lot older than the last time Leo saw him. Everyone does. They all look at Leo like he’ll disappear into thin air if they blink too many times. 

He expects it to wear off eventually. He’s only confined to the infirmary for a week and a half, and on bedrest for a week after that, but even a month later Raph and Mikey continue to stick to him like glue. 

“I’m okay,” Leo tells them, when his bad leg seizes up and he staggers on his way to the breakfast table and Mikey’s face crumples horribly. Raph just huffs and lifts Leo clean off his feet to carry him the rest of the way. Swallowing past the uncertain lump in his throat, Leo adds playfully, “I mean, I’m not one to complain about the all-star treatment, but—”

“Good,” Raph rumbles, “then don’t.”

“Sorry if we’re being annoying,” Mikey says with a brightness in his tone that doesn’t sit quite right. He’s said that like fifty times since Leo came back. “We just—we missed you, Lee.” 

And what is Leo supposed to say to that? 

“Annoying? Please,” he scoffs. “I’m the king of everything obnoxious. You couldn’t annoy me if you tried.”

When Raph lowers him into a seat, Leo lifts his arm in invitation for Mikey to scoot his chair up right next to his, and then wraps him up in a tight hug. Mikey slots into his side like he belongs there, and he does, he always will, but it’s just a bit different than Leo remembers. 

Mikey is still his little brother. But only by a few months now. Leo’s seventeenth birthday came and went without him. 

And a part of him—this nameless little part that lives in the back of his mind, that’s lived there ever since dad made him team leader and ripped the rug out from under his feet—thinks that’s why Donnie doesn’t know how to be around him anymore.

He’s a constant presence. He’s a solid pillar for Leo to lean against when his legs don’t want to hold him up. But they don’t know what to say to each other. That unspoken understanding, that twin thing—it’s gone. 

Or so Leo thinks. 

Big Mama is more of a weird estranged relative than a mortal enemy these days, but she’s an entrepreneur first, eccentric wine aunt second. When she gets a big business idea, all bets are off. Leo can kind of respect that. It’s really thrilling and a little fun trying to match wits with a criminal mastermind, like high-stakes 5D chess. 

But her invitations could use some work. Sending a bunch of burly yokai in Grand Nexus uniforms to intercept the turtles on their way to Run of the Mill for dinner is a scheme that could have used a bit more time on the workshop table. 

Immediately Leo’s brothers close ranks around him. He’s allowed to run around in his leg brace at this point, but he has, in no uncertain terms, NOT been cleared to fight. He can tell from the set of Raph and Mikey’s shoulders that they’re beyond ticked off, but he can’t read Donnie’s posture at all. 

It’s bad timing, but suddenly Leo is preoccupied with those dark little thoughts he’s been having recently. Maybe Donnie isn’t happy to have him around. It’s been a lot of extra work, right? Dealing with the prodigal brother’s physical therapy and night terrors aside, now Donnie can’t even pick up some pizza without having to play bodyguard. 

So Leo is distracted—sue him. He’s got a lot going on. When an owl guard grabs him by the arm, he’s not ready for it. The yank backwards causes him to stumble, bad knee bending underneath him. 

The guard seems to loom over him for a moment. The evening gloom of the alleyway and the lurid glow of a nearby neon sign makes Leo’s brain sprint right back to the prison dimension. A distressed chirp works its way out of him before he can fully reorient himself. Add that to his ever-growing list of Good Reasons To Fake His Own Death. 

Big Mama’s goon looks surprised by the sound, grip relenting on Leo’s arm immediately. He wouldn’t do that if he were here for villainous reasons. So Big Mama probably actually considers kidnapping via sudden ambush to be a halfway decent method of picking her nemeses-slash-nephews up for an evening visit. 

Leo only has a second to think, Okay, I can work with this, turning up the charm and pretending like he can’t still feel the aftershocks of panic, before he’s being yanked again. 

This time he’s pulled right in against Donnie’s side, a strong arm around his carapace. There’s a burst of light and warmth—bright purple and overheated electronics, he’d know his brother’s ninpo anywhere—and they’re surrounded by a gleaming, glowing arsenal. 

The owl guard didn’t have a chance in hell. Donnie still doesn’t really look at Leo, not once as Mikey and Raph rush over, not even on the empty-handed trek back home. 

But he sits next to Leo on the couch while Mikey enlists Raph and papa’s help with dinner since their pizza run failed. The bickering and Mikey’s cooking playlist create a familiar, comfortable backdrop where it swells out of the kitchen. Donnie’s shoulder knocks against Leo’s. It feels like how it used to. 

Before he can lose courage, Leo blurts, “The thing I miss most from before is being twins with you.”

As soon as he says it, he wants to take it back. This is more mortifying than all of those initial grueling physical therapy sessions combined. 

He’s scrambling for an escape route that isn’t just hobbling away as fast as he can, or portaling to the bottom of the ocean, when Donnie suddenly says, “Draxum said we hatched together. We’ve been together all our lives. You’re pulling our twin card just because I'm finally taller than you?”

Leo sputters. “By an inch!”

Donnie raises an eyebrow at him, waiting with uncharacteristic patience for Leo to catch up. Maybe that’s what he’s been doing this whole time. 

Eyes stinging, Leo slouches into Donnie’s side. The softshell matches him, his cheek coming to rest on the top of Leo’s head. It reminds Leo of hugging Mikey earlier that morning at the breakfast table. 

Leo still fits here. There’s a good chance he always will. 

“Guess this finally makes me the older twin, huh, Nardo?”

It surprises Leo into laughter, maybe the first big loud laugh to come tripping out of him since well before the invasion. Conversation in the kitchen grinds to a halt and Mikey and Raph come barreling out a second later all covered in flour, eager to catch him in the act, to get in on it. 

“Sorry, Tello,” Leo says, grinning, not very sorry at all. “Not in this lifetime.”

[icaruspendragon]

＼⁠(⁠°⁠o⁠°⁠)⁠／you're aspec too!!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) I love finding other fellow asexuals!!!

it’s actually been a rather recent discovery for me. because while i’ve known about asexuality since i was like 14, my understanding of it was pretty superficial until about a year or so ago.

during college i’d hear my friends talking about sex and how great it was or i’d read in fanfic about how it was this incredibly pleasurable thing and be like “hm. that is not how i feel during it but maybe i just haven’t been with the right partner.” but i’d had a couple enjoyable experiences, so the possibility of being aspec simply did not cross my mind. especially as i grew more comfortable and confident in my bisexuality. while i know it’s flawed now, my line of thinking at the time was, “i can’t be ace because im bi.”

i think it was hard for me to figure it all out because sex was always fine, it was just seldom to never something i thought to do unless it’s what my partner wanted. like i didn’t mind it. but apparently lots of people enjoy it a great deal and want to initiate it on their own. i’ve never really been one of those people.

and it was easy to write off/ignore for a long time as i thought my lack of want to have sexual encounters had to do with trauma/mental illness, but as i worked through and processed it all, my desire (or lack there of) stayed the same.

so it’s really only been within the past few months of somewhat frantic googling and discussions with people who are ace that i realized all signs were pointing to aspec. i mean all signs have been pointing there for a while. just look at this text i sent my friend scott back in 2021.

but i didn’t have the words/label to adequately describe what i’ve always felt. like i can’t tell you how many trips i made to the gynecologist to try and “figure out” what was “wrong” with me. but now i know there’s nothing wrong with me. i just don’t really feel sexual attraction. and that’s okay!! i’m not broken or damaged or whatever thoughts i had from like ages 19-25 about sex and my relationship with it were telling me.

the aspec label itself is one that i’ve only felt comfortable using for the past few weeks, but it definitely feels like the right one. even though having a name for it is a recent thing for me, i’ve always felt this way.

[larkingame]

hello all! been a moment since we last discussed some things, so I'm coming online to discuss the progress of Larkin's development and make a few announcements :)

over the last ten months, larkin has gone through a lot of changes, some of which I've documented here--but most of it I've kept pretty private. I realized that over the few short years I've been developing the game, I sort of grew an unhealthy dependence on my presence within the 'interactive fiction' community that I really, really needed to take a step back from and break, all in order to ensure that I could enjoy working on what originally started out as a passion project for me.

since july of last year, I've completely reshaped and rewritten how larkin exists as a project, shifted it's genre and started collaborating with a few others to ensure it can be of the highest quality it can possibly be. uptop, i'd like to mention @tapeworrmart who's taken on the immense task of putting together most of the game art for me, @khiita and @ann1a-1 who have both taken on the roles of my editors (and also sounding boards for when I am being absolutely insane) and my production manager phillip, who without his assistance, larkin would barely exist. with that, let's do a progress report. the intended demo of larkin, or what i've taken to calling 'episode one' (yes, i said, 'episode,' more on that in a minute) has stretched to just over 200k words worth of content. it stretches all the way from the earliest versions of larkin's original prologue, to the end of the original chapter two. so far, we've completed 3 out of the intended 20 character portraits, as well as some more art that's slowly been in development.

now, on to the announcements. probably the biggest, and the one I am most ashamed of is--due to the fact that I've been slammed with graduate school work and some other external factors, Larkin as it currently exists is not the best that I think it can be. I'm deeply sorry for this, but I want to ensure that you all are getting the highest quality game you could get from me--and right now, I know it's just not that. Which is why I am unfortunately, pushing the release of the demo back until Friday, June 14th, 2024. Patrons will be granted access to the most recent edit of the demo two weeks earlier on Friday, May 31st 2024. In the meantime, I will be working day and night (quite literally) to get what I'm dropping on you up to par and something that I'm happy with.

To make up for this disappointment, I'm planning on repopulating the blog with a lot of content over the coming months, rewriting new versions of old asks, posting art and short stories.

Next on the agenda and also an equally important announcement. I'm changing the rating of Larkin to Mature or 18+ As I've been writing these past few months, working through a lot of themes and figuring out the story I want to tell, I've found that I think the change in rating is entirely necessary. While I don't think I've ever had that big of a minor fanbase--I think that this is just what I am most comfortable doing. There has consistently grown a little bit more of gore, and trauma exploration, which is the main reason for this change in rating, but, this does allow for the inclusion of something that I've been toying with since the intial release of the game. There is going to be explicit sex scenes in this new version of Larkin--all of which, you the player are able to opt out of, or completely avoid if that's something you want--but I just thought a little announcement would be warranted. This does not mean however, I am comfortable with answering thoroughly explicit asks or getting unsolicited sexual messages. The goal is to keep this game blog mainly tame.

Please respect this boundary of mine.

Third thing to be announced. I've also changed the format in which Larkin will be released. Rather than around the twenty-five chapters in one of a series of 'Books'/'Games', Larkin will be released episodically over four 'seasons' with eight-ten episodes of around 200k-250k words each (though, this is just an early estimate--they could grow longer, as I'm basing this purely off the demo/Episode One)

Finally and a little bit of a fun note: there are now twelve romance options throughout larkin, five male, three female, one non-binary and three gender-selectable. With those upcoming asks, you'll hear more about each in the coming days :)

With all that being said, I wanted to lastly thank all of you for supporting me over the years and putting faith and your interest in this project. truly, the support of all of you means the world to me and I can't wait to share more of larkin with you all.

thank you 💖

[natti-ice]

Okay, I saw your recent post and have a writing request 🤣 a kinda sorta forbidden romance kind of story with Benedict Bridgerton. Like what I think of is Love Story by Taylor Swift. They see each other at the ball, talk, dance, fall in love, but x reader’s father is against it because Benedict has a rep around town. But they “sneak out to the gardens” to see each other at the balls and things get smutty 🤣 but then it works out in the end. sorry, was listening to this song and it popped into my head 😅

18+ mdni

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of smut, nothing graphic

oh star-crossed lovers au love it!

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

The past few weeks since you met Benedict have been a complete whirlwind, you had fallen head over heels for this man- a man with a notorious reputation for being a ladies man- but you couldn’t help it. His charm and dashing good looks won your heart within the first few moments of meeting, when he asked you to dance his smooth voice made you swoon. The two of you danced all night long until it was time for the last dance, as you went to step out to the floor your father caught your arm and pulled you away. He went on muttering things about that “no good Bridgerton boy” as you were being drug from the ballroom your eyes caught his, a confused and saddened expression played across his face before he disappeared from your view.

Days had gone by before you saw him again, this time he was at your bedroom window in the middle of the night, you scald him for being so reckless, you both knew the scandal that would ensue if he was seen. “Their gossip means nothing, you are the only thing that matters to me, my love.” Your heart melted at his words and pulled him into your room. Your mouth moved passionately against his, your hips grind against each other in perfect rhythm, hushed moans and sighs of pleasure filled your room and for the first time you felt complete.

The two of you had to find ways to see each other more often, stolen glances in the park weren’t enough to satisfy that burning need inside of you. You craved each other’s bodies like fire craved oxygen, at the last ball of the season the two of you snuck out to the gardens desperate to get away from the crowds of debutantes who only care about social status and town drama. The labyrinth of flowers became your shelter from your uptight parents, your back pressed against the cool stone of the bench as Benedict cupped your breast through your dress, his lips attached to your neck as he whispered promises against your skin. “I’m going to marry you. You shall be my bride, the mother of my children, the love of my life, i swear it.”

Thoughts of running away flooded your brain, you knew it would break your parents heart but you were too in love to care. The moans that flew from your mouth were absorbed by the shrubbery that surrounded you as he took you right there under the stars.

Tag list:

@Booknerdlife @themadhattersqueen @let-love-bleeds-red @lovelyy-moonlight @hiireadstuff @peachyiiiii

[whereireid]

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ — 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

part one | part two — pairing: miles quaritch x fem!reader

summary: — “miles coming back from a mission angry & taking his stress out on reader” and “miles returning from a mission and finding bunny playing w herself”.

— warnings: established relationships, submissive!reader, nicknames (bunny and daddy) - nsfw content - cnc, spankings, rough oral sex [m + f recieving] semi-rough p in v, breeding kink, reader dumbification, orgasm denial, overstimulation

It’s not like you’ve been trying to be naughty.

You try so hard to be a good girl for Quaritch, to please him in every way possible, even when he’s not around. The rules he’s set for you are simple - no touching yourself, no use of toys, and absolutely no rutting against things like the goddamn horny bunny you are.

In the grand scheme of things, though, rules are meant to be broken. Rules that were presented to you under false premises - under the idea that Quaritch would be gone for only a few days when it's now been two weeks. Those are rules that are meant to be broken.

And it’s just like your daddy says — you’re just a horny little bunny who thinks with her cunt and not her brain.

So, that’ll be your excuse when Quaritch discovers what you’ve been doing behind his back. You huff as you clamber onto his pillow, your lips set into a pretty little pout as you straddle it, your fingers curling into the soft flesh as you gently begin to grind your hips against the smooth fabric.

It feels good - satisfies the little pool of arousal that resides within you. Your slick paints the pillow, allowing for easier movement, and the friction from the cover makes your breath shudder slightly, your clit being faintly stimulated as you move. The tenderness of your movements isn’t enough, though — it doesn’t get you going like your daddy does, and you frown, your little hips beginning to rut eagerly at the pillow, speeding up your pace.

And, oh my gosh, it feels so good. It feels similar to how Quaritch’s rough fingers make you feel, and you toy with different positions until you finally find one which has you withering for relief. You shake like a leaf, your eyelids drooping as your cunt pulses, the desperate need to cum dulling your senses, a cry slipping past your pouty lips.

You’re so focused on chasing your high that you don’t even hear his heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. You don’t even see the flash of blue out of the corner of your eye - no, you’re too busy being a naughty, horny little bunny, more preoccupied chasing your own high than paying attention to your surroundings.

Just as your cunt clenches, your stomach growing tight and pooling with familiar warmth, two big hands wrap around your ankles, forcefully pulling you from your position on the pillow. You squeal, your hands rushing downwards to cover your cunt from the fearsome invader, who seethes down at you with such anger, you almost wonder why he doesn’t have steam shooting out of his ears.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh, bun?” Quaritch says, his voice distorted, rumbling in his chest, resembling that of a snarl. “I gave you three rules when I was gone. Three. Are you seriously that much of a dumb fuckin’ baby that you can’t even remember them?”

You cry out as Quaritch’s fingers wrap around your wrists, his strength no match for your own as he pulls you up, forcing you on your hands and knees in front of him. “I remember them,” you whine out, your cunt leaking with slick, crying from the loss of touch. “I know the rules, daddy, I promise.”

“Yeah? Then why’d you break ‘em, huh?” His ears twitch uncontrollably as he begins to unbuckle his belt, one of his hands still wrapped angrily around your wrist. “You know, I’ve been more than lenient recently. Been real fuckin’ nice to you, bunny, but you gotta remember who the boss is in this relationship, and it sure as hell ain’t you.”

“Didn’t mean to break the rules! You were gone so long, daddy, it started to hurt!" You protest, voice shaking softly as Quaritch’s fingers wrap around his cock, his lavender tip throbbing with need. You lick your lips, watching as his thumb swipes over the pearl of precum, desperate to have him in you. “Please, daddy, want it so bad. It hurts.”

“Oh, bunny, you don’t know nothin’ about hurtin’ yet,” Quartich seethes, his cock slapping lewdly against your lips, his length beginning to force its way into your mouth. You moan around him, your ass wiggling eagerly in the air, and he grins as you gag around his cock. His hand trail down towards your ass, gently palming at the soft flesh, before raising his palm, and bringing it down in a harsh, fluid motion -

SMACK! - Quaritch hits you so hard that you’re certain it’s going to leave a mark. You don’t expect it - jolting forwards as his hand makes contact with you, your throat constricting as he thrusts into your mouth simultaneously. There’s an evil grin on his lips as he fucks into your mouth, relishing in the sound of you gagging around him, his hand coming down again and again and again, spanking your ass so harshly that you’re crying, gagging, and choking around his cock.

“Oh, bunny, does that hurt?” Quaritch mocks, his balls making lewd, sloppy sounds against your chin, and your throat stings with an overwhelming amount of pain. His cock glides in and out of your mouth, his tip brushing against the back of your throat uncomfortably, a low groan slipping past his lips. “You’re spoilt, baby bun. ‘S my fault, been lettin’ you get away with too much.”

You try to protest, try so desperately to argue that you’re a good girl who listens and behaves and is always so obedient. But if you did, it would be a lie, and the sound of your arguing just sounds like humming, because Quaritch is relentlessly fucking into your mouth, your spit drooling down your chin degradingly as he does so. You’re nothing but a hole for him right now, nothing but a horny little bunny for him to use for his own satisfaction.

“Hurts, daddy,” you manage to gargle out, but Quaritch simply chuckles, his fingers grabbing at everything - your hair, your face, your shoulders, your ass. He’s palming at you like a goddamn cat, grunts leaving his mouth as he fucks your face brutally, chasing nothing but his own high.

“It’s meant to hurt, bunny.”

Nonetheless, though, Quaritch pulls away, cooing as a string of your salvia follows him. His length shines from your spit, and he groans, fisting his cock softly, slowly, slapping the length lewdly across your face. With each slap, you flinch, but your body feels all gooey and warm when the soft, squelchy sounds of his beatings echo around your bedroom.

Quaritch is so relentlessly beautiful, and you stare in awe as little specks of aqua light radiate from his skin. His thick cock brushes against your lips and you relish in the feeling of liberty and freedom for just a second more, before his large hand wraps around your head, and he forces his girthy cock inside of your mouth again.

It’s so degrading. You choke around him, feeling so useless and small, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes as he uses you. It’s a terrible, hurtful feeling - but you’re so wet that your slick is practically dripping onto his bedsheets. The absence of Quaritch's hand toying with your cunt like he usually does makes you hump the air stupidly, and your mouth stings with stretch because his cock is just so stupidly wide.

Discomfort spreads throughout your nerves like fire as he thrusts into your mouth, tears falling down your face and cooling the burning of your cheeks. You want it to stop so badly - you want your daddy to pick you up and use your little pussy, but instead, he’s hell-bent on using your mouth. And you’re so needy and desperate, you wiggle your little ass in the air hornily, but it’s a mistake, because his hand comes down roughly again, cracking against your skin like a whip.

You cry out, choking around his length, tearfully pushing on his navel to escape his relentless thrusts, but he doesn't even move an inch. “You’ve been a bad bunny,” he tells you, the tip of cock beginning to twitch softly in your mouth, “so take it.”

You listen, your ass stilling in the air, and though your skin throbs with pain, you bite back the urge to whine about your discomfort. Quaritch palms at the soft flesh of your ass, quiet groans slipping past his lips as he thrusts into your mouth, his motions becoming sloppy and desperate.

You can taste the saltiness of your tears, because they’re running down your face and painting his cock. You protest, which comes out muffled, unable to stop Quaritch’s cock from pushing against the back of your mouth, again and again.

Your throat constricts as his hips begin to shudder, his balls resting against your chin as he cums. It feels like you’re suffocating, and the twinge of arousal isn’t enough to chill the fear that spreads throughout your spine. Quaritch pumps his cum down your throat and you gag, choke around his length, wiggle your hips, and you push on his navel in an attempt to get away - but to no avail, because he holds you in place, and your strength is no match for his own.

By the time Quaritch pulls out of your mouth, your tastebuds are dancing with the salty aftertaste of his cum, and you’re left gasping for air. You shake beneath him, your round doe-eyes pooling with tears, and Quaritch coos, his thumb collecting some of your spit and some of his cum that had dribbled from your lips when he’d pulled out of your mouth.

Quaritch's thumb forces its way into your mouth, and your eyes flutter, trying to bat away your tears as your cheeks hollow around his finger. “I don’t want you to waste a single drop,” he tells you plainly, his tail swaying frustratedly behind him, ears twitching when you nuzzle closer, needy for his touch. “God, you look like such a mess.”

You blink your tears away, and try to force the pout from your lips, but it’s borderline impossible. Your face is so expressive that Quaritch can read all of your emotions, and he knows that his words have just struck a nerve. “Tried to look pretty for you,” you say tearfully, pushing your head into Quaritch’s palm as his other hand smooths down your hair. “Didn’t know when you were gonna get back, daddy. Dressed up every day for you, just in case.”

“You always look pretty, bun,” he purrs, the bed dipping with his weight as he sits next to you, his fingers meekly rubbing the tears from your eyes. "Even when you look a mess. Just imagine how pretty you’re gonna look, when you're all knocked up with my babies.”

The mention of being full, swollen with Quaritch’s babies makes your stomach pool with warmth, and your eyes begin to shimmer with desire. Shamefully, you wrap both your hands around one of his own, your frame now resting atop of his, your throbbing ass planted on his lap. “I want your babies, Quaritch,” you say eagerly, your heart racing in your chest as Quaritch’s hands gently rub your ass, in an attempt to soothe the pain. “Quartich, I want them so bad.”

“Quaritch, huh?” His brow line quirks upwards, and your face floods with warmth. “What happened to daddy, bunny? Got all eager and desperate to be knocked up, that you forgot this was a punishment?”

You shake your head, trying to calm your nerves, your slick painting his thighs as you correct yourself. "Daddy, I want your babies so bad. Please." You wiggle against him, your hands grabbing at his face, placing desperate kisses against his lips.

Quaritch’s ears flicker on his head, and his eyes soften momentarily as he gently kisses you back. The intimate moment is fleeting, though, and his fingers pinch at your ass and you jolt, pulling away and hiding your head in his chest. “Not right now, bunny. Naughty girls don’t get to decide what you want, and you’re so cockdrunk that you don’t even know what you’re saying.”

You want to protest, argue that you know exactly what you’re saying because you want Quaritch’s babies so bad, even when you’re not rutting against him like a horny little bunny. But the argument would just fall on deaf ears, and you’d only be getting another spanking - which you don’t want, so you stay quiet, nodding your head like an obedient bunny does.

You’re pleased that you did stay quiet, though, because Quaritch eagerly places his face between your legs, beginning to use his face to fuck and toy with your cunt.

It's so much better than rutting against your pillow in an attempt to chase a mediocre orgasm. Quaritch’s lips are pressing eagerly against your pussy, and you try to muffle the gasp which slips past your lips but you just can't. He knows your weak spots - of course he does, you’re his little bunny - and his tongue works at your clit softly, slowly, pressing slow kisses against your cunt.

“You must’ve been desperate, bunny. Look at how wet you are, just from sucking daddy's cock,” Quaritch murmurs, pulling away from your cunt, tongue wetting his lips as he admires just how puffy and swollen and red your pussy looks. It looks desperate to be used - leaking with so much slick that it looks like it’s crying, and he coos, his breath fanning over your sensitive cunt, causing goosebumps to dart up your skin.

“Needed you so bad, daddy,” you cry, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue skilfully swirls around your clit, lips peppering delicate kisses against you. “Felt so lonely without you here.”

Your hands paw at his head, your stomach pooling with arousal as Quaritch’s tongue toys with you. It feels so good - so painfully good, but every time your little legs begin to shake, he pulls away. He knows you - knows when your orgasm is coming, and he’s denying you of it. Any pleasure is fleeting, slow, dragged out, his tongue swirling against you agonizingly slow.

You mewl pathetically as Quaritch’s lips draw away from your cunt, his fingers caressing the soft flesh of your thighs. “Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whimper, legs twitching at either side of his head as he slowly drags his tongue over your delicate bundle of nerves, his fingers parting your puffy slits. “Please let me cum, I need it,” your voice comes out in a squeak, your stomach tightening as he relentlessly toys with your clit, peppering you with overwhelming waves of pleasure.

Excitement rushes through your body as Quaritch continues to play with your clit, spitting at your cunt lewdly. He doesn’t even swat you away as you start humping against his face needily, and desire pulsates through you when you realise he’s going to let you finish. And you’re so close, your toes curling as he sucks at your sensitive bundle of nerves, your heart pitter-patting in your chest, and your stomach flips as the overwhelming sensation to cum consumes you.

But then it disappears. The fire inside of you burns out, and a broken sob slips past your lips at the absence of your orgasm. You hurt so much - your limbs feel fiery and broken, your muscles sore, and Quaritch blows against your cunt, grinning as your legs flinch shut.

“Oh, bunny,” Quaritch murmurs when your breath begins to hitch, your eyes crinkling shut. Quaritch licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, slow and deliberate, humming as he does so. “You really thought daddy was gonna let you cum? After you’ve been so naughty?”

“Daddy, please,” you cry as Quaritch pulls away for the final time, his hard cock pressing against the soft flesh of your inner thigh, inches away from your weeping cunt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break the rules!”

“That’s not true, bunny.” He shakes his head, pulling you forwards slightly, careful as his fingers part your slits, sighing at how sore and needy your cunt looks. “I saw you humpin’ that pillow like a god-damned cat in heat. Jesus, you were ruttin’ away like nobody’s business. But I’ll be nice, bunny, since you’re so needy an’ all.”

“Nice?”

Quaritch hums, his cock sliding through your slits, slapping lewdly against your clit, lewd, wet sounds echoing throughout his bedroom. “I’ll let you cum, bunny. But only around my cock, and only when I say you can. Deal?”

“Will you cum when I cum?” You ask eagerly, your blood rushing to your head as the tip of his cock presses against your hole. “Will you, daddy?”

“I’ll do what I want when I want to,” Quaritch says pointedly, but his ears flicker as he thinks of stuffing you full of his seed when you’re leaking your own around his. “You ready, bun?”

You try to ignore the flash of hurt at his words, because you desperately want him to cum inside of you and get you all pregnant and full like he mentioned earlier. “Ready, daddy,” you say breathlessly, withering slightly as his tip pushes inside of you, stretching your cunt out painfully.

It’s so painful that you feel like you’re dying. The stretch is impossible, and with each slow push of his hips, Quaritch wonders if you’ll split in two around him. He can’t remember you being this tight before - maybe his rules were a little too harsh. Maybe he should’ve actually instructed you to use the dildo he’d gotten made for you rather than forcing you to abstain.

His lips are set in a frown, and his brow crinkles in worry because he wants to punish you but he can tell that going any rougher than this slow, rolling motion of his hips will hurt you. And your eyes are pricking with tears, but not the cockdrunk, needy kind - genuine tears, because the stinging of your cunt is so, so painful.

But also so sinfully good.

Your small hands raise to cup Quaritch’s cheeks, and your nose brushes against his, a broken mewl forcing its way up your throat as you clench down around him. “Want you, daddy,” you tell him as his hands come up to play with your tits, his fingers rolling your nipples skilfully, sending shockwaves shooting down your spine. “Harder. Please.”

“This is supposed to be a punishment, bunny,” he says throatily, but his voice is clouded with lust and a hint of desperation. You’re just too cute to say no to, and Quaritch presses a rough kiss to your lips before his hips begin to roll into you.

Quartich begins to move, his pace quickening, easing from slow and gentle to rough and fast. The stretch burns, but the pain aligns with the pleasure of his tip brushing against the sensitive spot inside of your cunt, and the stinging is dulled by the senseless pleasure that you're feeling.

“You left for so long,” you mutter, your eyes pricking with tears as his hips smash into you, his head lulling into your neck, his tail curling possessively around your ankle. “Only supposed to be a few days.”

“I know, bunny. Couldn’t help but touch yourself, could you? Those rules were just so hard to follow, and you’re just a bunny who thinks with her cunt and not her brain, aren���t you?” Quaritch responds, his words hitching in his throat slightly as your walls clench down around him.

“Yes daddy, ‘m just a dumb bunny who thinks with her cunt and not her brain,” you agree, eager to please him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in ecstasy as he fucks up into you. Quaritch’s teeth graze your neck, biting into your soft flesh ever so slightly, and you feel him draw blood, but you’re too focused on the rolling of his hips and the painful stretching of your cunt to acknowledge it.

You feel like a broken doll, so raw and sensitive, and you cry as Quartich licks up the blood he’d drawn, his cock rolling into you at an unfathomable pace. The sound of your cries and moans are muffled by the noises of your squelching cunt and his heavy balls slapping against your ass, and you feel so cockdrunk and so needy for him.

“Gonna cum, baby?” Quaritch asks, watching as your eyes crinkle shut and your legs begin to shake, and he moves his hand down to your abdomen, pressing on your belly, watching you squirm. “Go on, then, cum.”

“Want you to cum with me, daddy,” you plead, trying to ignore the tightening of your stomach and the way your body begins to grow weak with every thrust of his hips.

Quartich grunts, watching as you paint the bottom of his cock white with your ring of arousal. “God, bunny, ‘m gonna full you up so good, make you nice and round and pump you full of my babies, huh?”

You cry out when he speaks, nodding your head eagerly, the dull pain of your throbbing ass and your stretched cunt pulsing through you. You’ve tried to hold back, but you can’t, and you clench down around him, gasping as Quaritch tells you, “cum, bunny.”

So, you do. And it feels perfect - so liberating as your cum gushes all over him, your frame shaking against his, and Quaritch’s tail tightens on your ankle as he cums, too, his hips rolling ferociously as he fucks into you desperately.

“Quartich,” you cry, your voice strained, shaky as you embrace him, his strong, Earthly scent clouding your senses. “I need you so bad.”

“You’ve got me, bun,” Quaritch tells you, his head nuzzling into your neck, peppering gentle kisses to your skin. “You’ve got me. I’m not goin' anywhere.”

There’s a dull throbbing inside of you by the time Quaritch pulls out of your cunt. He’s not even fully soft - still somewhat hard, but he eyes your exhausted frame, and his features soften. You look so battered and broken, and he feels somewhat bad, because you’ve been so desperate for him.

He was only supposed to be gone for a couple of days, and it did transcend into two weeks. So, when you make grabby hands at him, Quaritch simply abides, pulling you into him, smoothing down your hair, and holding you close to his chest.

If he had it his way, he’d never leave you again.

[gingerswagfreckles]

"I don't hate Jews, just Zionists!!" Yeah the problem with this statement is that you guys have expanded the definition of "Zionist" to include every Jewish person on the entire fucking planet. The number of times I have seen the sentiment that anything short of celebrating religious extremist terrorist attacks constitutes supporting Israel in the past month and a half is completely insane. Jews are not obligated to support a militia that had the total extermination of our people as a stated goal in their foundational charter until 2017. We aren't obligated to support an organization who's leaders publicly called for the extermination of Jews as recently as 2019, and who's governing bodies still include those same members. We aren't obligated to support and participate in our own oppression in order for our pro-Palestinian activism to be valid.

"I don't hate Jews, just Zionists." This means nothing if your only definition of a "good Jew" is one who will sit up like a dog and bark on your command. One who doesn't call out antisemitism and who will cheer along side you so-called "leftists" as you throw your support behind an organization who is as explicitly antisemetic as the Nazis were in pre-WW2 Germany.

I am not a Zionist. I have donated as much money as I can afford towards relief efforts and have marched within the crowds of protesters in the streets calling for a ceasefire. I was almost arrested by the NYPD at the Jewish Voices for Peace rally at Grand Central station. And yet I have had the word "Zionist" thrown in my face so many times in the past few weeks, over and over, by a bunch of white fucking gentiles who cry about how they're being "silenced" when Jews call out their antisemitism.

"I don't hate Jews, just Zionists." A good 80% of you do hate Jews. You do hate Jews. If you classify any Jew who won't celebrate explicitly antisemitic terrorist attacks as a "Zionist," I'm sorry to tell you but you do hate Jews. Because that's all of us. Fuck you guys, honestly. None of you have ever cared about anything but chasing online leftist clout.

[nonotnolan]

The Ends Justify The Means

As always, this February story is dedicated to my valentine, @mergeman

"Okay, but did we have to add him to the Hivemind?" Jordan said, looking at his unconscious boss with a look of resigned disappointment. "If I end up with an old man's vocabulary because of him, I'm gonna be so upset. This body looks too good to sound like a geezer." He tossed his shirt to the ground and gave me a flex. "See what I mean?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Some humans stress-tested my 40% Free Will rule, and Jordan was definitely one of them. "One, bringing him into the Collective is the only way to bend his authority to our will. Two, the symbiote doesn't change our speech, it just enhances our knowledge. And three, the eventual goal is to overtake most of humanity anyway. We were gonna have to add Shaun sooner or later."

Jordan nodded, though I doubted he was paying any attention me. He was one of the part-time workers I had converted within the past two hours, and so his symbiote half was still checking out his new body. I can't blame it, I suppose.

I wasn't sure this plan was even going to work, so I was glad we managed to succeed. Capturing the part-time college students who worked here had been easy-- a bit of flirting from a tempting body, a kiss to introduce the symbiote, rinse and repeat. Shaun had been much more difficult. We had to resort to ambushing him in the bathroom where there we no cameras. Jordan's strength held him in place while I pried open his jaw to insert the new symbiote. It was far from elegant-- Shaun was stronger than he looked-- but at least it worked.

Shaun finally opened his eyes, and looked at me with a wry grin. "Alright, sir. I know we have a lot to talk about, but let's retreat somewhere else, shall we? It's cramped in here, and I think Jordan is a few moments away from whipping his dick out."

"You're not wrong," I said, shaking my head. "We should probably leave him to it. If nothing else, it will be nice to talk things over someplace a bit... less pungent. I assume you know what is going to be expected of you?"

"I do," Shaun says, crossing his arms. "Although I was hoping to talk to you about that one. I scheduled Darren to work Valentine's Day because I haven't had that day off for the past three years. This body's wife is threatening to make life miserable if I still have to work the holiday despite my recent promotion. I have a proposal for you."

I smiled at the audacity of this symbiote. Clearly its host body had a lot of confidence.

"Darren will still get the day off, of course," Shaun said. "But instead of working the day myself, I'll just tell Jenn that she's going to have to handle the shift solo. We don't need two store managers tomorrow night-- no one goes furniture shopping on Valentine's."

----------------------------------------------

"You'll never guess what happened today!" Darren said, greeting me when I arrived home. He and I had been dating for a few weeks now, ever since I was granted control over this host body. Unlike the symbiotes who were mostly extensions of my mind and my personality, I had full control and full autonomy over my decisions. Coming out of the closet was one of the first changes I made to this host's former life.

"Your store is actually closing for a holiday?" I guessed, walking up to him and hugging him from behind. I held him close, feeling the heat of his body against my borrowed chest. Humans were very big on physical contact, and it was a ritual I was more than happy to join.

Darren chuckled as he turned around for a quick kiss. "Okay, so it wasn't a miracle. But it was still pretty crazy! Shaun texted me, and approved my vacation time for tomorrow. Can you believe that? I've never known him to change his mind like that before."

I just smiled at him. "Maybe your District Manager yelled at him about it? You did submit that request a few months ago." As much as I hated feeding white lies and omitted facts to my boyfriend, I couldn't justify telling him my full truth this early in the relationship. Anyway, the only way I'd be filling him with a symbiote would be if we broke up and he posed a risk to my secret. I wanted a relationship with an equal, not a masturbatory fling with a clone of myself. Anyway, what was the phrase? The ends justify the means.

"Well, maybe." He paused a few minutes to consider this possibility before shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know, and I'm not going to question it. I'm just glad you kept those dinner reservations! I'm looking forward to tomorrow's date!" He smiled, and I could feel my heart melting. I would do anything in my power to make him happy.