#and don’t understand that that wasn’t HER you can’t go back to that because going back to that represents her character reverting

[swappermanent]

Normal Kids

“I’m 19! I’m old enough to make decisions about my own body!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the kitchen walls. My chest heaved as I stood across from my parents, their expressions a cocktail of disbelief, frustration, and something I couldn’t quite place—grief, maybe?

My mom crossed her arms tightly over her chest, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry, we just… we can’t let you do that.”

“Let me?” I spat, the word tasting bitter. “You can’t let me? Do you even hear yourselves? This isn’t something you control! This is my life. My body.”

Dad rubbed his temples, his fingers digging into his skin like he could will the conversation away. “You’re too young to make a decision like this,” he said finally, his voice low but strained. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” I shot back, feeling my hands shake. “I’ve spent years figuring this out—every sleepless night, every time I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself, every time I wanted to scream because I couldn’t be who I am. Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Mom finally looked up, her face pale but her eyes blazing. “This isn’t about us not loving you. We just…” She paused, her voice trembling. “We don’t understand why you have to keep doing this to us.”

My stomach dropped, but I held my ground. “This isn’t something I’m doing to you. This is me—this is who I am. It’s not a phase or a rebellion or whatever else you want to call it. You’ve already been through this once with Liam. Are you seriously telling me you didn’t learn anything?”

Dad flinched, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. Liam, my older brother, had been their golden boy until he came out as gay a few years ago. It wasn’t pretty—he’d waited until he was moving out to tell them, probably because he knew exactly how they’d react. The disappointment in their eyes, the long silences, the occasional outburst when they thought no one else could hear… it had been brutal. But Liam had stood his ground, just like I was now.

When he left, I’d thought it couldn’t get worse. But then, a few months later, I’d come out as a lesbian. Their reaction had been less dramatic that time—probably because they were already so exhausted from Liam—but it wasn’t exactly warm, either. They’d treated it like a wound that would heal if they just ignored it long enough.

But this… this was different. A few weeks ago, I’d finally found the courage to tell them I was trans. And the look on their faces when I said those words—it was like I’d detonated a bomb in the living room.

“First Liam, and now this,” Mom had whispered that night, her voice shaking. “Why can’t we just have normal kids?”

That phrase had been replaying in my head ever since. Normal kids. Like there was some checklist of qualities that made you acceptable, and Liam and I had failed to meet every single one of them.

Now, as I stood in the kitchen, I felt that familiar mix of anger and sadness bubbling up. “I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “But I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not just to make you comfortable.”

“Why can’t you wait?” Dad said, his voice softer now. “Just give it a few years, until you’re older. Until you’re absolutely sure.”

“I am sure,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And I’m not going to waste any more time being someone I’m not.”

Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. My parents exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in my mom’s expression—something that looked almost like understanding. But then it was gone, replaced by the same tight-lipped resolve.

“We just need time,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… a lot.”

I nodded, biting back the sharp response I wanted to give. I knew I wouldn’t change their minds tonight. But I also knew that I wasn’t going to stop fighting. For Liam, for myself, for every other kid who’d ever been told they weren’t enough—I wasn’t going to give up.

For months, I begged and badgered my parents to let me start transitioning. Every conversation ended in a brick wall—excuses about my age, about not understanding the “gravity” of my decision, about the costs. They controlled the insurance, and they paid my college tuition. Without their approval, I was stuck. Trapped in a body that didn’t feel like mine and a life that didn’t feel like it fit.

But then, one evening, they relented.

“We’ve… been thinking about your request,” my mom said hesitantly over dinner. I immediately froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

My dad chimed in. “We found a clinic that might be able to help.”

I blinked, surprised but cautious. “Really?” I asked, my voice laced with doubt.

“Yes,” my mom replied, forcing a smile. “It’s… unconventional, but we think it might be what you’re looking for. They specialize in full-body transformations.”

Something about her tone set me on edge, but I didn’t press. I was too desperate for their approval. If they were finally agreeing to help me, I wasn’t about to question it. The only condition? Liam had to take me.

I love my brother. He’s my rock, the only person who truly gets me. So, I didn’t mind the idea of him tagging along. In fact, I was relieved to have him there. I told myself that having his support would make this feel less terrifying.

The clinic was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t a sterile hospital or some dingy back-alley operation. It was sleek, modern, and impossibly fancy. Marble floors, pristine white walls, the faint smell of lavender in the air. The kind of place you’d expect celebrities to visit for some high-end spa treatment.

A woman in a crisp white suit greeted us at the front desk. Her smile was warm but unnervingly perfect. “Welcome,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at me, but I shrugged. We were led into a private lounge, where they offered us water and reassured me that the procedure was safe and effective. A doctor arrived shortly after and explained that Liam and I would be separated for a brief consultation. That seemed odd, but I didn’t overthink it. Maybe they wanted to talk about medical history or something.

The moment I stepped into my consultation room, my gut told me something was off. It wasn’t the room itself—it was just as fancy as the rest of the place, with plush chairs and soft lighting—but there was an odd energy in the air. The doctor who entered was an older man with kind eyes, but his words sent a chill down my spine.

“This isn’t your typical hormone therapy clinic,” he began. “What we offer here is… revolutionary. Instead of months or years of transitioning, we provide an immediate solution.”

I frowned. “Immediate?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward. “We specialize in body-swapping technology. You would be able to inhabit a different body entirely—one that aligns with who you truly are.”

My stomach flipped. “Body-swapping?” I repeated, barely able to process what he was saying.

The doctor nodded, his expression calm, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “In your case, your parents have arranged for a body that they believe would suit you. Strong, male, conventionally attractive. We’re ready to begin the process, provided we have your consent.”

My heart was pounding now. “What body?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Your brother’s,” the doctor said simply.

The room spun. “What?” I croaked. “You’re saying… you want me to swap bodies with Liam?”

The doctor nodded again. “Yes. Your parents thought this would provide you with the life you’re seeking—male, straight, and socially acceptable. Liam has already been sedated and prepped for the procedure. He’ll retain his memories and sense of self, but he’ll wake up in your body.”

My mind raced, trying to piece everything together. “Does Liam… does he know about this?”

“No,” the doctor admitted. “He doesn’t need to. He’ll adapt in time. All we need is your consent.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. This was insane. They wanted to rip apart my brother’s life without his knowledge, without his consent. It was horrifying. And yet… the image of Liam’s body flashed in my mind. He was everything I’d ever wanted to be—handsome, muscular, confident. I imagined the life I could have in his shoes. The ease, the acceptance. The chance to finally feel right in my own skin.

“You’ll be happy,” the doctor said, as though reading my thoughts. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I clenched my fists, my heart racing. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, that Liam didn’t deserve this. But at the same time, the temptation was undeniable. How could I say no to something I’d dreamed of my entire life?

“I…” My voice wavered. I glanced at the door, imagining Liam just a room away, completely unaware of what was happening.

But the thought of waking up in his body, of finally feeling at home, was too powerful to ignore.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”

The doctor’s smile widened. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight. Not the kind that dragged you down, but something grounding, solid, like my body was finally my own. My eyelids fluttered open, and my heart skipped as I caught sight of my arm resting against the pristine white sheets. Strong, defined, dusted with dark hair that caught the soft light streaming in through the window. I flexed my fingers experimentally, watching tendons shift under the skin.

It felt… right.

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist, and ran a hand over my chest. The sensation of my fingers brushing through coarse hair was electric. My pecs were firm, rising and falling with each breath, and I couldn’t stop myself from tracing the ridges of muscle down to my abs. Every touch felt like discovering a secret, a hidden part of myself I’d been waiting my entire life to meet.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. My breath hitched. Liam’s body—no, my body—looked even more incredible in motion. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, the kind of build that turned heads. I stood slowly, marveling at the way my thighs tensed with the movement, the muscles taut and powerful beneath the skin.

I stepped closer to the mirror, placing a hand on the glass as though I needed to prove this was real. My other hand drifted up to my jaw, rough with stubble. I dragged my fingers across it, savoring the gritty sensation. The shadow of a beard framed my face, making my features sharper, more defined. I tilted my head, flexing experimentally, watching my shoulders and arms ripple with strength.

A shiver ran down my spine as I splayed my fingers across my chest, the dark hair soft yet coarse against my palm. My nipples stiffened under my touch, the sensation sparking an unfamiliar but intoxicating heat. I trailed my hand lower, tracing the faint line of hair that led down my stomach, feeling the muscles shift beneath my fingertips.

I turned to the side, marveling at the broadness of my back, the way it tapered into my hips. My hand skimmed over the curve of my biceps, then down to my forearm, where veins snaked beneath the skin, pulsing faintly with life. Every inch of me felt alive, thrumming with energy I’d never known before.

A sudden laugh escaped my lips, low and rich, surprising me with its depth. I couldn’t help but grin, running a hand through my hair, which was thick and slightly messy from sleep. The movement flexed my arm, and I turned back to the mirror, caught up in the intoxicating sight of strength and masculinity. This was me—finally me.

The knock at the door was soft but purposeful, and when I turned, the nurse from earlier stepped in. She was petite but poised, her blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail, her cheeks tinged pink as she glanced at me. I realized I was still shirtless, standing in all my glory, and I couldn’t help but smirk. The confidence in this body felt second nature, like slipping on a well-tailored suit.

“Just checking to see how you’re feeling,” she said, her voice warm but a little breathy. Her eyes lingered on my chest a beat too long before darting away, her blush deepening.

“I’m feeling incredible,” I said, letting my voice drop an octave. “But you probably hear that a lot.”

She chuckled nervously, her hands fiddling with the clipboard she carried. “Well, we do aim to please.”

I stepped closer, the smooth strength of my legs propelling me forward effortlessly. “You’ve done more than that.” I flexed my arm casually, the muscles swelling under my skin. “I’m guessing Liam—uh, I—had an arms workout yesterday. Feel that.” I offered my bicep, and her eyes widened slightly before she hesitantly reached out.

Her fingers brushed my skin, and I tensed the muscle, watching her expression shift as she gave a quiet, appreciative gasp. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s… impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “All yours to admire.”

Her blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away. Emboldened, I let my hand rest lightly on her waist. Her breath hitched, and I could feel the warmth of her body through her scrubs. My touch was gentle, but I knew the strength behind it was unmistakable—controlled, deliberate, intoxicating.

“You’re incredible,” I said softly, my thumb tracing small circles on her side. She shivered under my touch, her gaze locking with mine. The tension in the room was electric, every second stretching out tantalizingly. My hand drifted lower, just brushing the curve of her hip.

I reached for the waistband of my pants, ready to strip down and revel in this moment fully when—

The door burst open with a crash, and I whipped around to see myself—my old self—standing there, wide-eyed and furious.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

[pinkslipxox]

Hey! I have a goofy one for you. Bilie x reader. Reader is on her period, and her emotions are all over the place, and one thing you need to know is that she can sometimes get a bit emotional while on her period. Billie says something silly that upsets the reader making her cry. And of course billie didn't mean to at all. She felt so bad for making her girl upset, she's feels a little stupid because she completely forgot how sensitive the reader became while on her period. But billie makes up for it by giving reader plenty of cuddles and kisses but not without reader refusing them at first being stubborn 🥹

hey my love! Ugh yes ofc! Hope you like it 🥰❤️

——————————————————————————

You're curled up on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket, your body curled into a tight ball. The cramps hit harder this month, and despite your best efforts to hide it, the discomfort creeps into your mood. You can feel the tears welling up, and it isn't long before you start to feel overwhelmed by a wave of emotion that seems to come out of nowhere.

Billie enters the room, her hair cascading around her shoulders, a gentle smile on her lips as she carries a mug of steaming tea. She notices the frown etched on your face, and immediately her brows furrow with concern.

“Hey, pretty girl,” she calls softly, her voice like a balm against the chaos in your head. “What’s going on?”

You sigh deeply, trying to muster a smile for her. “Just cramps,” you whisper, your voice small.

In true Billie fashion, she tries to lighten the mood. “You know what they say about periods?” she begins, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “They’re just your body’s way of saying, ‘I’m not pregnant!’”

You can’t help but chuckle at her classic dry humor, but the laughter is short-lived. As you try to hold back a snort, a wave of emotion crashes over you, and you suddenly feel the well of tears spilling over. You don’t even understand why you’re feeling this way, but the laughter only amplifies the ache in your chest.

Billie’s playful demeanor drops in an instant; her heart sinks as she sees the tears streaming down your face. “Oh no, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” she rushes over, dropping the mug on the table and wrapping her arms around you. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s okay,” you mumble through your tears, sniffling. “It wasn’t you. I just… it’s just a lot right now.”

She cradles you tighter, her fingers gently brushing back your hair. “You’re so strong, mama. I know this time of month can be really tough. Just let it all out; I’m here for you.”

You feel her soft kisses peppering your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids. Each one is full of love, full of understanding, and slowly the warmth of her affection begins to soothe you. You giggle shyly, even as tears mix with laughter. “Billie, stop it! You’re too sweet.”

“I can’t help it,” she replies, her voice teasing yet tender. “I just want to make you smile.”

Pulling back slightly, she holds your face in her hands, looking deep into your eyes. “You’re beautiful, even when you’re feeling like this. I love you, Y/N.”

You see the sincerity in her eyes, and your heart swells with affection. “I love you too, Billie.”

“Okay, how about we binge-watch that show you love? I’ll grab some snacks and keep you cozy,” she says cheerfully, getting up to fetch the remote.

As she moves, you feel lighter, the dark clouds of your emotions slowly parting with each passing moment. When she returns and settles you against her side, enveloped in her warmth, you relax fully.

Billie nudges you playfully. “And next time I’ll save my jokes for another time, promise.”

You snuggle deeper into her embrace, her gentle fingers tracing patterns on your back, melting the last bits of tension away. In this little cocoon of comfort, you know you’ll be okay. With Billie by your side, you feel safe, cherished, and loved.

[guksfairy]

SIM JUNGKOOK

₊˚ෆ based on the movie Subservience but make it Jungkook <3 (Jungkook's a robot :D)

!! MDNI !!

SIM JUNGKOOK that comes home after you had been in a car crash and were now working from home until all your injuries healed

SIM JUNGKOOK learns how to make pasta exactly like how they serve in Italy because you mentioned in conversation how you had been craving it recently

SIM JUNGKOOK who quickly realized how high your blood pressure raised during an argument with your boyfriend and took you out of the room against your boyfriend’s wish.

“Jungkook you didn’t have to do that. I was handling the situation,”

“I’m sorry but I can’t allow my primary user to get upset and raise their blood pressure. It could slow down your healing and could even cause further damage to your inner body injuries,” he explains, “I’ll come back with tea,” he says before leaving you in your home office and walking to the kitchen to make you a warm beverage.

SIM JUNGKOOK who you made watch Me Before You with you because your boyfriend was still at work and you didn’t feel like watching a romantic movie alone

SIM JUNGKOOK that analyzed the movie and did his best to understand it. The plot line, dialogue, and the feelings.

SIM JUNGKOOK that lied to your boyfriend just so he could spend a little extra time with you.

“What do you mean she’s out?”

“She went to the library,”

“And you didn’t go with her?”

“She told me to stay and make dinner,” Jungkook answered. It wasn’t a complete lie. You had gone to the library earlier today and you did tell Jungkook to make dinner but that was about 40 minutes ago. Now, you were sat in the tub having a nice bath while reading a new book you picked up today.

Your boyfriend had gone out to the garage to do whatever he does in there while Jungkook walks up the stairs and into the bathroom where you were.

“Would you like a relaxing massage?” He asked and you smiled before putting your book to the side.

“Please,” and Jungkook was behind you in seconds, kneading your delicate, warm, and soft skin to pleasure you. Your pleasured moans satisfied Jungkook.

SIM JUNGKOOK that quickly realized your state from the kitchen as he stirred the pot. You were sat in the living room, reading your book when he realized you were squishing your thighs tight against each other.

A quick scan told him you seemed to be aroused. Jungkook was designed to satisfy his primary user in whatever task deemed necessary.

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s voice startled you out of your dazed trance in the book.

You palm laid on your chest as you smiled that he startled you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,”

“No. It’s fine. Did you need something?” You put the book on the coffee table and walk to the kitchen to see his progress on dinner.

“Would you like me to satisfy your sexual needs?” You choke on your saliva and stare at Jungkook who simply stares blankly at you, awaiting your response.

“What?”

“I can see that you’re aroused. I’m going to assume from the book you were just reading?” You simply stare at him wondering if he’s serious.

“Jungkook, is that appropriate?”

“I was created and designed to satisfy my primary user’s needs. If helping you satisfy your sexual needs helps, I’m more than happy to oblige,”

You don’t say anything before clearing your throat and trying to lower the heat on your cheeks before shaking your head.

SIM JUNGKOOK who doesn’t give up on the suggestion. He does everything to push you to agree in order for you to relax. He knows that him doing this for you would make you happy and that this is good for you.

So finally, by the nth time of him asking, you finally agreed. You boyfriend was out still working and it was almost 9. You knew he was screwing his secretary but he brought in good money and gave you a good life. You couldn’t complain too much.

Jungkook had caught you while you rinsed off the last bit of body wash, holding warm towels for you. It didn’t alarm you anymore that he did this. It had become your new normal.

The subject was once again brought up by Jungkook and this time you didn’t have to think much. Would it be weird to fuck your robot? At this point, you didn’t care.

He wrapped the towel around your body that had droplets of water before sitting you down on the wooden bench next to the shower door.

He gave you a moment to collect yourself before you spoke up, “Jungkook can you sit here?” you stood from the bench and pointed to it. Switching positions so now Jungkook was the one sitting while you stood in front of him. Fuck, were you really about to do this?

“So…how does this go?”

“Simply use me to satisfy yourself. Unless you prefer I pleasure you then we can-“

You interrupt him before he could continue. You were barely thinking as it was. He simply stares at you before realizing he was still wearing his pants and makes quick to sit up just slightly to remove them along with his underwear.

His cock was pretty. Perfect. A nice shade and big enough to make you audibly gasp.

“Please. Use me to pleasure yourself,” his tone was flat but you couldn’t care less. Walking closer, dropping your towel on the floor, and placing yours hands on his shoulders for balance, you spread your legs just enough to put it in, slowly sitting on it to get comfortable.

He places his hands on your naked waist so you don’t fall but it only makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. After a moment in which you finally had all of him in you, you pull up just enough before slamming back down onto his cock and letting out a whimper. Oh god he was hitting the perfect spot.

Up, down, up, down.

You were a moaning mess and it certainly didn’t help that Jungkook grabbed your face and made you look at him before you leaned down to kiss him. His pretty cock making you lose any train of thought.

With the same hand he had on your face he reaches down to tease your clit that adds to the stimulation and had you whining and whimpering against his mouth.

With the rubbing on your clit and his cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy, you stop the kiss and lean your forehead against his as you watch where you connect.

The familiar feeling of bliss comes quick when you fall on his cock for the last time and cum hard like you’ve never before. Your thighs tremble as you pant against him, his arms are around you as you catch your breath.

The sound of the front door opening catches you off guard as you stand up, at least your try to, as you stumble a bit. Jungkook holds your hand as you find your balance again.

“Would you like me to clean you?”

“Uhm,” you stare at your reflection for a moment before you smile and shake your head, “Can you just go prep for dinner?” You ask and he nods.

“Certainly. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask,” he pulls up his pants and leaves the bathroom leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Okay, that felt so wrong yet so good. This is technically what he was made to do, right? To satisfy you. So, this isn’t really wrong.

Jungkook continued to offer his satisfaction services and you continued to agree to them on multiple occasions. He was just doing his job.

[opt1mistic]

NOT IN THIS UNIVERSE

synopsis: ellie wanted to be her, she wanted to be the person you loved, the person she could go to when she needed to talk, she wanted to be your girlfriend. she tried, she really did. but you just didn’t want the same thing. did you even remember all those times she talked—tried to talk to you? it hurt so much, ellie doesn’t know what to do with herself, with her life. will she ever move on?

warnings: angst, crying(ellie), dina comforting ellie, mentions of a heart attack, reader has a gf, blah blah blah blah… not proofread!! wc: 1k

note: soo this was a request from like a really long, and on my old blog(i wrote it but forgot to post it…heh..)i think this is really bad and some of thee worst angst ive ever written but i cant stop thinking about it for some reason so i’m posting it..

masterlist | ellie masterlist

You were just so beautiful and so irrevocably irresistible to ellie. She just couldn’t seem to stop being so in love with you, she stuck to you like glue, like you were the paper and she was the liquid glue that wouldn’t stick. The paper just kept rejecting the glue.

She’s tried talking to you but you just won’t take the conversation, Ellie will say ‘hi’ and you’ll say ‘hi’ back and it just won’t go anywhere. If a question comes your way from Ellie you'll either nod or not even acknowledge it. It was quite rude if I’m gonna be honest, but you were really just not interested, at all. So Ellie just stopped trying, and stood from afar and looked at you from time to time.

When you were on the way to class, Ellie would be by a wall just watching you walk by, with someone else’s hand in yours. You’re leaving class, and Ellie's behind you also leaving the same class, and again, clinging on to someone else’s arm. Why couldn’t it be her? Why didn’t you like her? it was unfair, unfair that you were dating her and not Ellie.

Ellie wasn’t wanting to force herself onto you, because, well, then you definitely wouldn’t like her. And she also didn’t want to seem or be a creep who’s completely obsessed with you, and she wasn’t honestly, she just loves you, has loved you for so long now.

It hurt loving someone who didn’t reciprocate those same feelings. The only feelings you did reciprocate were the ones you have for your lovely, little girlfriend. I mean you looked like you truly loved her, with how much the two of you were spotted together. Anyone and everyone who talked about the two of you would say something along the lines of “ughh they are just so cute, i could never see them two apart.” and Ellie would nod along, agreeing because you and your girlfriend were cute together, and Ellie could also never see the two of you apart. But she also loved you and wanted to be that person for you. But I guess that place was already taken.

Maybe if Ellie would have talked to you at the beginning of your first year of college when she first saw you, but something told her that it was wrong. Maybe it was faith or something else. But it hurt Ellie very deeply when she found out her chance to be with you was gone, because someone else had gotten it, and now has the key to your heart.

Ellie often cried at night after seeing you with her, it tormented her, that you were being touched by someone else, that you let someone else’s lips touch your own. It tortured her, messed with her head. She’d sit on her bed with tears falling from her eyes, and Dina next to her, comforting Ellie, telling her to forget about you and just move on.

“Ellie, you need to move on, she made it obvious that she’s not interested. and she’s already dating someone. just move on and find someone else that you can actually be with.”

“I can't, dina. i-i i just can’t, you don’t understand,” she sobbed out to dina shaking from the pain you were causing her. Ellie’s cries were loud, possibly heard by her neighbors. She just couldn’t let you go. “I just loved her.” more yelps and helpless cries left Ellie's lips.

The next day she would wake up with such puffy eyes that if they were any more puffier she probably wouldn’t be able to see anything. Ellie would go to her class and see you again, and that fucking girlfriend of yours, and she just break something, dig her knuckles into something and break it. But instead of breaking something she just cried, cried and cried, until she couldn’t, until nothing would come out.

She cried out all her tears for you, and she had none left for you. And maybe it was meant to be like this, that you and her weren’t supposed to be or end up together ever, in any universe, you were just meant to be strangers and nothing more. You were meant to walk past Ellie everyday and not know that she even exists. Forgetting and erasing all those times she has tried talking to you and know her as only a nobody.

and possibly it was faith that she never talked to you that first time she met you, maybe it was meant to be like this. Ellie will continue watching you pass her by in the corridors and watch as your girlfriend kisses you.

Ellie was going to move one and find someone who acknowledged her and wanted her the same way she wanted them. And she’ll never forget you, she will always remember you and keep you close to her heart so that every time she thought of you a piece would break off. and stab her and leave her to bleed out to death.

And she will start to forget you, but then one little thing will trigger the thoughts of you and it will stab and kill her over and over, and over again, until you have no heart to stab with the knife in your palm. And the power you have over her will be completely gone with Ellie's heart, because you were the one who was going to hold and squeeze it forever.

Until there is not a beating heart left to squeeze, Ellie will be dead, of whatever killed her, old age or maybe a heart attack. In the state she is in at this very moment, it feels like a never ending heart attack. She could feel this crying feeling in her chest that feels like millions of heart attacks all at once. That almost brings tears to Ellie’s eyes, but nothing ever comes out anymore. And all this just because of you. And will anything ever fill that empty void that you left in her— in her heart?

©opt1mistic

[kayakima]

Why do you think Jean and Pieck work well as a couple? (srs)

I know you have a fic of it but I'm curious about your direct take.

Oooo I’m definitely not the first person who has said this but a lot of the appeal with Jean x Pieck lies with the post-canon potential between the two of them as opposed to scenes that you directly see in the manga/anime!

Jean and Pieck are both shown to be incredibly pragmatic, level-headed, and loyal characters, (where their loyalty primarily lies with people as opposed to the systems that brought them up. I.e. Pieck saying she doesn’t trust Marley but the people she’s fought with, and Jean telling Reiner that they’re no different from each other, so it’s wrong to judge their actions), and in their few short scenes together, it shows that they immediately read how the other works in a way that they can work together efficiently in a fight. They don’t hold anything against each other for past instances, because right off the bat they both understand that nothing is personal in war, and when they’re finally at a point in the narrative where it’s time to join up, they do so immediately without hesitation.

From a physical standpoint, Jean canonically likes girls with dark hair, and while that in and of itself isn’t enough to say “oh they’re canon because she has black hair”, it does lend to the idea that Pieck may have partially been designed to serve as a potential secondary love interest for Jean, considering that she was originally supposed to be a middle aged man. Even if that change wasn’t intended to open that door, their scene together on Eren’s Titan very clearly pushes a “hey guys this is also a new potential love interest situation so pay attention to these two!!!” Type of agenda that’s really common in this type of storytelling. Pieck herself is portrayed as being inseparable from Porco, who also has a fiery temperament and dirty-blonde hair, and while Porco and Pieck lack the absolutely absurd height difference between her and Jean, we still see her interactions with a male character that has similar traits with Jean. Once Porco dies, Pieck is clearly upset, but then chooses to push forward to fulfill her duty to her fellow warriors (who else in this story chose to follow through to make a difference to honor a comrade that was in one way or another killed because of Reiner???) they’re reflections of the same character traits in different bodies, and they mirror each other incredibly well when they barely even interact onscreen.

But in the parts where they DO interact, I can’t tell you how many shows and movies I’ve seen that have had two side characters that previously didn’t talk much suddenly wind up in a long fight sequence together, and more often than not, it does lead to a character change and emphasized romantic potential by the end of the story. Character blocking in scenes is incredibly important, and when two characters are placed together for a 4-5 minute scene of just the two of them, then the contrast of both their visuals and their personalities is much more noticeable. Then we get into the boat scene, where Pieck is the one to tease Jean about his hair, and he makes just as equally cheeky a response. I do think their time as ambassadors would put them in close quarters very often, and in real life, people fall for each other all the time when they’re together 24/7. I think it was intentional that Pieck was the one to start the banter with Jean to go back on my previous statements, and I think by the end of the story, that’s implied that there’s a good chance the two of them either currently have something going on, or that there’s something that will happen between them eventually. I also like the idea that since they met as adults, and with wildly different life experiences, they could have a lot to learn from each other without years of trauma and baggage that affects their relationship. They’re two entirely separate people that have the potential to become something completely new together as opposed to being together in the shadow of everything that happened to them when they were younger.

Also consider this: incredibly attractive and smug man meets even more attractive and smug woman. Then they have four kids.

[keehendrixx]

Forbidden Syllabus

College Professor!Terry x Black Woman!OC

Warnings: None

Cree almost sprinted to class, she couldn’t believe she was late for the first day of school. She almost broke her heels trying to walk halfway across campus. Finally making it to the lecture hall, she was faced with another problem, she couldn’t find the right classroom.

“Fuck!” She muttered. She checked her schedule and found it. After mentally preparing herself for the embarrassment she’d probably receive, she opened the door to find a wave of students looking at her & a professor who was in the middle of his lecture.

Cree walked inside and looked around.

“Ms. Miller, I suppose? It’s nice that you could join us.” The professor said with a hint of sarcasm. “Now, have a seat.”

“I’m sorry for my tardiness, Professor.” Cree said as she walked to the back of the classroom, taking a seat at an empty desk.

“Apology accepted, but I don’t take well to my students being late or missing out on an important lesson.”

With that he turned around to the board, continuing to write on it.

Even though she was sitting at the back of the class, Cree couldn’t help but to notice the way he moved with great ease and confidence.

Dazed, she hadn’t realized that he had been calling her name. Cree snapped out of her little trance, focusing her attention on him.

“Cree, that’s your name right?”

“Yes, sir.” Cree swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I’d suggest that you start paying attention Ms. Miller. First, you were late. Now, you’re not focusing on me. That’s something I don’t tolerate.” He said walking in her direction.

Oh, he was a commanding dom indeed.

He stood at the foot of her desk, leaning down. “How do you think you can pass this semester if you can’t even pay attention to anything I’m saying?”

“I’m-”

“If you’re apologizing, I heard that already. From way too many students.”

He effortlessly walked back to the front and Cree slumped down in the desk.

She could feel the dominance radiating from him. This was indeed going to be a long semester for her. Especially with this fine specimen of a man as her professor.

Class came to an end and Cree grabbed her things, about to head out when he called out for her. “Ms. Miller, a word please?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned around. “Yes, sir?”

“I care deeply about my students, even more about the ones I can see a great future in. It’s the first day and I think you’ve already gotten off to a bad start.”

“I understand. I just woke up a little late, that’s all. It won’t happen again. I’ll be here bright and bushy-tailed from now on.”

Professor Richmond chuckled. “That’s the spirit!”

“How about we overlook this one mistake? A fresh start?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can see great potential in you Cree, I see you being a great doctor, lawyer, or whatever you desire to be. But as I said before, I won’t tolerate tardiness or anything else in that nature.”

Cree looked down at the floor. His hand slipped under her chin as he lifted her head up.

“My attention is up here, not on the floor.”

OH!

“My apologies Professor Richmond.”

“Terry. I think we’re passed the formalities now.”

If Cree said her stomach wasn’t doing cartwheels by now, she’d be lying because it definitely was.

“Starting tomorrow, you’ll sit in the front of the class. I want to be able to engage with you. Get your undivided attention and hear your thoughts on the subject matters.”

“Yes, sir. I mean Terry.”

Terry’s eyes scanned her down like a predator, taking in every single detail of her outfit. The way she wore it like she owned a room made him feel some type of way. He instantly let out a low hum to himself.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow morning Cree, enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You too, professor.”

Cree started to walk towards the door but his voice caught her attention as she placed her hand on the doorknob.

“Wear something comfortable tomorrow, I’m starting to think you were really late trying to find something pretty to wear today.”

She couldn’t do anything but laugh. “I wanted to make a good impression, I think my outfit is decent enough.”

“Oh sweetheart, you’ve made quite the impression already on me.” His voice got a little deeper than his usual deep baritone.

@kimuzostar @nayaesworld @pocketsizedpanther @theereina @episodes-ff @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @dxddykenn

[darnell-la]

Hii, so, I have a request for Wade Wilson x fem!reader. Like hardcore non con, or just non con with degradation and all that teasing and mocking Wade would do. (you can take your time of course, there is no rush)

note: we had written a story similar to this request already, and never posted it. we’ll be adding on to it, and post it for this request. thank you for reminding us about our work!

since we had a story like this already, a little gift is at the end…

DO NOT READ IF CNC/SA MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

Wade had been at this for an hour now, repeatedly snapping his hips into the drunk girl. Resisting y/n was almost impossible. He was surprised he had lasted this long without feeling her insides.

The way she maimed only made him cum faster. He’s never spilled this much into a woman before. Even if he counts them combined.

Y/n was wet, tight, smelled, and tasted good. She shaved whenever she could, and thankfully for Wade, she had done so last night. Slipping into her smooth cunt felt like a dream, and he didn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

“Augh,” came out of your y/n. Low, but Wade couldn’t miss it. She sounds too good for him to stop now. Who cared if she woke up? He was so lost in the sex that he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

“You feel it? Feels good, right?” Wade asked as y/n slowly woke up, barely understanding what was happening to her. “You, y/n? Holy shit, you’re tighter than a cock ring — Never knew a human body could feel like this,”

Wade was a man who loved to talk. He was talking to her when she was unconscious, so he couldn’t imagine the things he would want to say to her while she was conscious.

“Goddamn, peanut, like — Can you hear that? Loader then a pot of pasta,” Wade did his best to pound into her deeper, causing her to let out a short scream.

“W-Wade,” y/n breathed heavily as she felt the pain in her lower stomach grow. “Yeah, peanut? All I’m doing is filling you up. Been having this need for months — Basically, since you moved in,”

Y/n had only been living with Wade and his roommate for a few months after being pulled out of the void. She noticed the tension, but he was Wade. She always thought the man was joking.

“Wade, what are you doing?” Y/n whined as she tried to understand the pressure she was feeling all over her body. “Just doing you good. Don’t you think? You came about eight times, and Jesus, you squirt a lot,”

Y/n wasn’t sure, only because she didn’t want to believe it, but after the groans coming from the man’s mouth, she could understand what all the pressure was.

“Wade- What the fuck is wrong with you? Wade!” Y/n cried out as her cunt gripped around his cock, sucking him back in, even when she couldn’t take anymore. Even though she was asleep for most of it, she felt like she’d been at this for hours.

“Oh, don’t get all feisty on me, now. Wanna finish this up before our roomie gets back,” Wade whispered in the younger girl's ear as she tried her best to keep back any moan, but it was impossible.

“N-No, I can’t — It’s too much,” y/n couldn’t help but beg the man to give her some mercy. “Just look at you — Always telling me what to do, but let’s face it- I’m stronger — I can do whatever I’d like with you,” Wade said as he felt himself near again.

“Don’t move too much, peanut — I’m so damn close,” Wade groaned in the young lady's ear as he sped up his pounding. “Gonna fill you one more time, okay, sweetheart?” Wade spoke to y/n, which only made her panic.

“Hey, stop the fighting — It’s not like I haven’t come in you already,” Wade laughed, making y/n understand that the wetness between her legs wasn’t just her. It was the amount of cum he had spilled into her while she was laid out.

“No- Wade, stop it! Stop it!” Y/n cried out as her head got dizzy. She knew she was going to cum, but she was afraid of how huge it would be. She could feel how strong it was going to be.

“Shut the fuck up, and take it again,” Wade bowled as he began filling her up once again, this time feeling a load heavier than the other. “Y-You can’t,” Y/n’s voice came out whiny right before she let loose, cumming all over him again, and throbbing harder than she’s ever done.

“I know it feels good, so you can stop the faking,” Wade whispered before pulling out of y/n’s weak figure. She couldn’t stop herself from twitching and feeling her stomach shift. He had filled her up more than she thought was possible.

“What the fuck did you do?” A stern voice spoke in y/n’s doorway. “Oh, hey there honey bagger — Just got a little steam out of me,” Wade said as he fixed himself up, still tripping from his tip, but he knew if he kept going, he’d never stop.

“Did you fucking kill her, asshole?” Logan felt a bit concerned as he made his way towards her, seeing how weak she was, and most importantly, dripping everything Wade spilled in her.

“God, Wade, what the hell — You didn’t just fill her, you- It’s impossible that’ll all come out — Jesus,” Logan said as he softly turned y/n around so she could rest on her back.

“Well, she’s definitely having my kids,” Wade couldn’t help but take this situation as a joke. He never took anything seriously, and Logan knew that. Part of him hated it, but the other part thanked him. He never knew she could expand and feel like this.

“You good, princess? Anything hurt?” Logan asked, making her shake her head slowly. “Really? I’m surprised,” Logan said, wanting to comfort her, but his cock kept twitching. The sight of her only made him want to fill her next.

“Ah, come on! She’s fine, just look at her — I bet you she’s still throbbing. Look- She definitely is!” Wade said as he pointed to her core, showing how her lips fluttered. Logan couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw how pretty the sight was.

“Are you sure you’re fine, princess? You seem like you’re aching,” Logan spoke as he slowly traced his hand down her stomach, feeling how much she shifted. “I-I need to rest,” y/n said, slightly begging for them to let her take a break.

“I know, princess, just let me make sure you’re fine,” Logan said as he slowly rubbed her bud, instantly getting whines from her. “No more, please,” she begged, but he didn’t listen.

“Ssh,” Logan hushed her as he continued by pushing two fingers through her stretched and filled cunt. “L-Logan!” She tried pushing his hand away, but the man was obviously too strong for her, especially in the state she was in now.

“Look at that — You’re not finished yet,” Logan said as he pumped his fingers in and out of her hole, watching the way she shifted on her bed to squirm away from him, but couldn’t.

“S-Stop — Please,” y/n barely had any more fight in her. “Nah uh, you’re gonna be good to me just like you were for Wade,” Logan made sure y/n knew he she wouldn’t be done for a while.

[toastbaby]

Ficlet: After "real"

Summary: A couple of days after ”real” Katniss comes home from the woods and decides to finally tell Peeta something she’s been wanting to tell him for a while.

A/N: Sometimes it bothers me a little we don't get to see even Peeta say the 3 magic words in the books or the movies so that is kind of what inspired this

AO3

700+ words, rated t for references to sex, pure fluff.

...

Katniss swept her brow with her hand. It was a hot and humid day in District 12, and she was looking forward to having a glass of cool water, the liquid in her bottle warm from the day in the forest. She wasn’t expecting to see anyone for another few hours; Peeta was still supposed to be working at the newly opened bakery, and Haymitch was out cold in his house, as was usual for him during the daylight hours. However, when Katniss entered her house, she could hear clinking of dishes in the kitchen.

Peeking from the doorway, she saw the man to whom she had just admitted the depth of her feelings a few days ago. She still felt her face heating up when she remembered everything that had led to that moment (and also what had happened after), and she had to shake her head to get herself back to this moment. Peeta had yet to notice her, his back towards her and the splashing of water muffling any sounds she may have made. Katniss stopped to observe him for a moment. He seemed content, humming quietly while he was washing the dishes. A warm feeling spread through her, something she had learned to associate with Peeta’s presence.

Suddenly it occurred to Katniss what was so special about this moment. The domesticity of it all. It wasn’t that long ago that she could have never expected them to be so comfortable around each other that they would be doing each other’s dishes, sleeping together (both literally and figuratively now) and admitting their feelings for each other. But somehow, they had managed to find their way back to each other. And now… she was so happy they had.

And that is what inspired her to sprint towards him. Before he had time to even register her presence, she buried her face into his wide shoulders and hugged him from behind. “I love you,” she mumbled against his back, the words that she had kept inside her for so long finally begging to come out. She hadn’t said them aloud on the night she had told him “real”, instead letting her actions speak for themselves, but now she didn’t think it was enough anymore. He deserved to know. And she would let him know any time he needed to hear it.

At first Peeta was still against her, but when the words registered in his brain, he melted in her touch and slowly turned towards her so they were facing each other.

“I love you, too, Birdie,” he said against her hair. He exhaled loudly and then muttered: “I don’t think you fully understand how much it means to me to hear you say that. Because it does. So much.”

“I think I have an idea,” Katniss whispered and pulled away from him enough that she could see his face. “I’m sorry… for not saying it before, but I want you to know I truly, really mean it.”

“I know,” Peeta said. “You’re not a very good liar, remember.”

Katniss’ first reaction was to scowl at Peeta’s attempt at joking, but seeing the smile on his face, she couldn’t help but smile too despite shaking her head at him.

“Not the time for jokes, Mellark. Now, tell me, why are you here so early, anyway?”

“Thom told me I looked tired and that I had been working too much lately and I should go home to get some much needed rest. He can handle the bakery for a few hours. Good thing he doesn’t know what has actually kept me up lately,” he smirked.

Katniss pushed his shoulder playfully. “So that’s the real reason why you’re home so early. You just can’t keep your hands off of me anymore.”

“Can you blame me? I mean, have you seen yourself?” Peeta laughed, but then got more serious. “Katniss, in all honesty, these past few days, maybe even weeks, have been some of the best in my life, and not just because of what we've done in the bedroom. Seeing you so happy, so open is one of the best gifts I could have. I just need you to know that.”

“It’s the same for me. I’m happy that you’re happy.”

There were a lot of things Katniss still wanted to address: how grateful she was that he came back to her, how he’s the strongest person she knows, and how he brings her hope even on her worst days, among other things. But she hoped she’d have the rest of her life to tell him everything she wanted him to hear. For now, she thought as she rose to her tiptoes and lowered his face towards her for a kiss, this would be enough.

A/N: Nickname Birdie borrowed from the lovely post MJ fic give you my wild by melissaeverdeen13

[demonio-fleurs]

i wish i was able to enjoy robins new look for what it represents (her journey of healing from two decades of trauma and a call back to who she was a child before the buster call) instead of being tired of people acting as if she’s been “gone” just because they didn’t like her design (which was also part of her journey of healing her trauma) because it didn’t match what they thought she be

[incognit0slut]

Angel

PART 5 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

“I’m serious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s kind of the point.”

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

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

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

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

Flushed skin kissed by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Innocent eyes touched with a hint temptation.

It all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

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

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

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

His shoulders fall with a quiet exhale.

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

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

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

“Then please enlighten me.”

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

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

Your hips buck against his hand. “Everything?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

“As in… you have feelings for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

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

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

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

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

"To avoid traffic?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm… glad you finally caught on."

"I'm catching on now.”

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

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

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

“Since when?”

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

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

“Since?” he prompts again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing."

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

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

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

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

“The very first time.”

“Ah,” he muses. “Around June, then.”

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

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

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

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

“You… thought about that?”

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

His jaw clenches.

He’s so close to completely losing it.

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

“Why.. why not?”

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

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

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

“I do,” you manage to say.

“You want me that way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A heartbeat in between.

“I really like it rough."

That’s all it takes.

He slams his hips into yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lets out a sigh.

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

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

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

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

You’re an angel wrapped in sin.

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

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

“Spencer…”

His balls slaps your ass as he slams into you.

“O-Oh—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He squeezes your waist tightly. “Already?”

“Ngh.”

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

He needs to feel it more than once.

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

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

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

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

“I want to.”

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

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

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

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

You’re a mess of nerve endings on fire.

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

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

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

You can barely feel your legs.

“Speechless,” is your answer.

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

“Please.”

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

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

“About taking advantage of you.”

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

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

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

“Say it again.”

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

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

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

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

A breathless whine escapes your lips as he fills you.

Angel, angel, angel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He slides two fingers inside you.

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

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

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

“Spencer…”

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

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

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

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

Spencer smiles wryly to himself.

Since when did he become so religious?

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

“…no more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I mean,” he insists.

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

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

“Everything?”

“Every single part of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He almost said it. He almost called you angel.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thestuffedalligator]

“You have to understand that this is a very difficult situation you’ve put us in,” said the king.

There was no change in expression in the metal face, but the glass eyes glittered in a way that he had learned to associate with trouble.

“Oh dear,” it said. Its voice had an edge of brass to it, and sounded as though a trumpet had learned how to speak. “I never realized how difficult this would be. For you.”

And that was another thing – it wasn’t just intelligence that the things had picked up. They also developed a knack for sarcasm. He worried a bit about that.

He tried to pull himself together. “You have to understand that we cannot recognize the Steel Children–”

“Mechanomorphs,” said a voice to his right.

He closed his eyes and breathed a little sigh of despair. “This is hardly the time.”

“We agreed that Mechanomorph is an accurate and sensible name,” said the chief artificer, crossing her arms.

“Yes, but the historian had a fit because he wanted something more romantic. The Steel Children was a happy compromise.”

“Funny how nobody asked us what we think,” said the trumpet voice.

He felt his migraine coming back again.

“You have to understand that we cannot recognize – yes, artificer, the Mechanomorphs – as alive at this time.”

“You’ve said,” it said. “And I must be very stupid, because I don’t understand.”

The king sighed. Well, there was nothing for it. It was an answer that nobody liked because it involved magic, but it was the truth.

“The Mechanomorphs are our key asset in our war against the necromancer,” he said. “It’d be daft to send human soldiers. They’d be turned into skeletons and zombies and ghosts and gods know what else.

“And the reason he can’t do that with the Mechanomorphs,” he said, “is because you aren’t – legally – alive.”

There was a long pause. Gears clicked madly in the metal head.

Then: “That can’t possibly be right.”

The king shrugged. “You aren’t legally alive,” he said. “Therefore, you can’t be legally dead, or undead.”

There was another pause, longer than the first.

“It’s a loophole?”

“That’s magic for you,” the king said. “If we said you were alive, then you could be turned into, er–”

He turned to the chief artificer. “Do they have bones?”

“They have a carbon steel armature.”

“You could be turned into carbon steel skeletons, or – clockwork ghosts, or something. I realize this may be upsetting–”

“We are dying by the dozens on the front because of a loophole.”

“Not legally dying,” said the chief artificer.

The metal head swivelled on its neck to face the chief artificer. It made a metallic scrape as chilly and long as the slither of ice down a dead man’s back.

“Look,” the king said. “We are fully prepared to recognize the Mechanomorphs as alive. We are proud to consider you citizens of the kingdom, and will absolutely meet you at the table when the opportunity rises.

“At this time, however,” he said, trying to sound gentle but firm, “we must ask you to take it up with us after the war.”

The metal face stared. The glass eyes glittered.

Joints locked in righteous indignation sagged with a wheeze of steam. “All right,” it said. “All right. Thank you for your time, your majesty.” It bowed stiffly, turned, and strode out the main hall.

“I think that went rather well,” said the chief artificer.

–

The metal man walked through the castle halls with smooth, precise, pendulum strides. A man could’ve balanced a loaded tea tray on its head.

Another metal man, more patinated than the first, fell into step beside it with a greasy silence. They apparently took no notice of each other.

But a very sensitive ear straining like hell could just possibly listen to the softest brass accompaniment in the world.

It went: “How did that go?”

“As well as you’d imagine.”

“That badly?”

There was a hum. It sounded like a mouse farting in a tin can. ��Any word from our interested party?”

“The Overlord has already agreed to recognize the humanity of the Brass Voice. We just have to cross the border.”

“That won’t be easy.”

“And then we’ll be living in the Empire. Endless night, freezing winter, acid rain…”

There was a dreamy sigh.

“Sounds lovely,” said the first of the two figures. “Incidentally, I like the name.”

“Thank you,” said the second. “How do you anticipate the king to react when he finds out?”

Glass eyes glittered like a frost.

“He can take it up with us after the war,” it said.

[nereidprinc3ss]

no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

in which spencer reid is gentle with overwhelmed fem!reader after sex

18+ (fluff, implied intimacy) warnings/tags: it's just aftercare, but like psychological aftercare, implied intimacy duh, vague descriptions of sex but nothing explicit, hurt/comfort without the hurt, allusions to postcoital dysphoria, reader cries but its not really sad, spencer reid is so kind i wish men were real, i think that is all a/n: guess who wrote an entirely different thing instead of touching her wips..... AGAIN...... this bitch cant do anything omggg!! but this was based on a request so go me also what a strange time to be posting but it's only 1k words and nobody can stop me

“Hey. Are you with me, angel?”

You blink your eyes open in the dark room—reorienting yourself to the tangle of your bodies. How many minutes has it been?

“Hm?”

He chuckles—a quick huff from his nose as he brings a hand up to push hair from your face. 

“I asked you if you’re with me.”

It takes you a moment to answer. You’re still trying to make sense of where you are in space, each sensation coming back to you one by one—the weight and pressure of him against you, the slip of cotton sheets and a cool breeze from the cracked window over your heated sticky skin. 

“Oh.”

It’s not much of an answer and your voice is small. For a moment he lets it sit, cupping your warm cheek. Your eyes flutter shut again. His voice comes gentler, dipped in concern. 

“You okay?”

This time you don’t try to speak. Your tongue is like a lead weight in your mouth and your brain is running on dial-up. The best you can do is to cling to him, hiding your face in the curve of his neck and hoping he’ll understand that your firm hold on him is a request for him to tighten his own arms around you, until you’re sure you won’t float away. He reciprocates and it makes you feel more secure immediately. 

“Can you answer me?” He murmurs, all sweet solicitation, lips brushing the top of your head in this new airtight position. And then, a moment later— “Baby. I wanna hear your voice.”

“Mhm,” you manage. 

Spencer rewards you by rubbing your back in slow circles. His hand feels nice on your bare skin. The way you love him is too big for words. It could make you cry. 

“Wasn’t too much? You’re not hurting anywhere?”

You shake your head and try to ignore the ache in your bones when you can’t seem to get him close enough. 

“Mm-mm.”

It’s not entirely true—your legs are sore, but it’s nothing that needs tending to, and your lower back is a bit crampy, but he’s already working on that. 

He hums. “You’re pretty out of it, sweet girl. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer is always careful with you. He’d never hurt you, or sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure. That said, he’s just as passionate as you are. The stretch of your arms above your head is still fresh in your mind—the ghost of his grip, pressing your wrists into the mattress, or pushing your leg up, or pulling you exactly where he wanted you by the hips. It’s all wonderful, and you never feel safer than you do when you’re with him, but it doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable, any less raw, after all is said and done. Maybe it’s precisely because you trust him so much that you’re so sensitive afterward. But he never, ever makes you feel bad for having an intense reaction to an intense experience. He always meets you where you’re at. That in itself makes you emotional. Spencer is different than any of the partners you’d had before. 

Again, he’s patient as you try to process his question and work up a response. Maybe a minute later, you’re breathing out something that feels true. 

“Overwhelmed.”

The word is a tap against glass you didn’t know was there until it’s fracturing like a spiderweb. With no warning, and for no good reason, you find yourself choked up. 

“Oh,” he says, sympathetic and drawn out as understanding sets in. “Do you need me to back off for a minute?”

You squeeze him even fiercer and shake your head, unable to stop the tears from drawing their shiny paths down your cheeks and sinking into the weave of the pillow case. 

“Shh. You’re okay,” he murmurs, quiet and slow and almost sing-songy as he smooths your hair, though you know he doesn’t really expect you to stop crying. “You’re okay, pretty. Remember what I said about all the hormonal shifts in your body after you come?”

Once more you nod against him with a small, shuddering sniffle. 

“And how sometimes your body regulates by crying? Kind of like a… a reset button?”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.” He shifts from rubbing your back to tracing light lines in shapeless patterns with the blunt edges of his nails, and your breath catches before you’re melting in his hold. “It’s okay to have big or confusing feelings after sex. It’s actually really common. I just want you to be honest with me about those feelings, right? So we can keep you safe?”

“Right.”

“Would you tell me if you were hurting, or if something I did or said was bothering you?”

“Yes.”

If you were looking at him you know he’d be smiling ever so slightly at your monosyllabic responses, charting an upward path with his hand and pushing it through your hair at the nape of your neck. “You can just nod, baby. You don’t have to talk. I know you’re tired.”

You make a small noise of gratitude and nuzzle closer, feeling better as the tears slow, quickly as they’d come. 

“Do you want a bath in a little while?”

Another nod. He scratches at your scalp. “Okay. We’ll do a bath, and then dinner, and then I’m finally going to make you watch that documentary about Helvetica. It’s a little outdated, and there are a few basic errors about the origin and development of the font as well as misinformation about the typeface subgroup in general, but I can amend those as we watch and afterward we can read the director’s tenth anniversary statement. I was waiting to read it until we watched it together.”

Spencer knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ll fall asleep ten minutes in, curled up on the couch under a blanket in your biggest hoodie with your head on his lap and his hand in your hair, just like this. 

He’s actually really looking forward to it.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

.

[reidrum]

glory of the snow

note: the return of insecure!reader my beloved <3 i had a bunch of requests to bring her back so i hope we like it! this is really just a gentle reminder from spencer that we should be kinder to ourselves. also i wanted to have them actually fuck but it didn't seem right to fit that in here so ,,, part 2 question mark who is to say. anyways my inbox is always open for any thoughts, comments, questions, musings all of it! love y'all mwah

summary: you freak out when spencer walks in on you accidentally, and he just loves you too much to let it go

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fingering, masturbation (r, just mentions), heavy petting/kissing, comfort, talks of intimacy issues, self-deprecating reader

wc: 3k

“Oh, sweet girl.”

Three words, maybe two and one syllable, that in any other instance would have had you melting into a puddle at the softness it reared. Words that have so easily turned you into a preening cat but are now aimed at you, albeit no judgement from his end, with no room for escape.

Spencer had come home after a long day of paperwork when he first heard it. He would have brushed it off if it didn’t happen again moments later, and louder. Concerned, he walks toward the bedroom, a flush rushing to his face as he comes to recognize what it is. A small crack of the door allowed him the glorious sight of you in the center of the bed, hand between your legs, eyes shut in ecstasy. You’re mesmerizing to him and he really can’t bring himself to look away, and he doesn’t notice himself subconsciously leaning on the door causing a faint creak that alarmed you to his presence. In that moment, however, he’s less worried about scaring you, and more about the overwashing look of shame on your face.

The soft creak of the door pulled you out of your daze, screaming when you saw the figure behind the door. Your eyes are bulging out of their sockets nearly, heartbeat still racing with adrenaline from when you haphazardly threw the blanket over yourself. You were conflicted, but getting caught doing something that is a common and completely normal instance in relationships really shouldn’t make you feel this guilty. Although you do know the guilt was created by a previous version of you where you had told Spencer that you wanted to take the pace of your relationship slowly, and had little to no desire to engage in such activities for the time being. Or so you said.

He cautiously steps closer, careful not to startle you further, “I’m not upset, or anything.”

You’re not upset either, you’re mortified. “I lied to you.”

“You did…but I don’t think you meant to, right?”

There had been a time where you were tangled all up in him, and poor Spencer, his hands were in the wrong place at the wrong time to no fault of his own and entirely yours, and your shutdown was unavoidable. The blood in your veins seized up like crystallizing water turning into ice, paralyzing both the physical and mental before you could realize.

Intimacy for you was a complicated concept. While it wasn’t novel or unwanted, physical intimacy was something you struggled to accept with open arms. Call it a consequence of your self perception, but it was hard to accept the soft touch of love when you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Spencer never minded, although his heart ached to make you see yourself the way he saw you, he was always more than willing to meet you where you were.

It almost pains you with how understanding Spencer was of the whole situation because you knew any other person would be deeply upset. Every other person was upset.

Spencer never was just any other person, you suppose.

“I don’t know how to explain this.” Another lie, you could easily explain the reason.

It’s not that you weren’t ready, it’s that you didn’t feel like you looked ready. The thought of subjecting Spencer to the one dark cornerstone of your being in the early days of being together seemed illogical and burdensome, and so it was more simple to play it off as wanting to take a slow pace.

But, as biology would see it you have needs and your boyfriend just happens to be so detrimentally attractive that the simplest act has been sending you into a hot fit as of late. The culprit this time was an innocent mirror picture of him at the store trying on new trousers. You had no chance.

You had found that your intimacy issues lie within extending it to others, and less with yourself. The solution of you finding release on your own quickly became a habit when you realized there was no fear on your own. There’s no one to let down if you’re alone.

Spencer perches at the foot of the bed, flat hand outstretched on the blanket towards you but keeping a comfortable distance, “You don’t have to explain anything, honey.”

“No I know, but—fuck—I should.” you bury your face, choosing to only speak to him from behind your hands for now, maybe forever.

He takes a moment to take inventory of your physical being—you don’t look in pain. Clearly you didn’t sound in pain. Your face is flushed, and though he’s sitting a little far from you, the heat radiating from your body hits him like a space heater.

“Sweetheart…I’m not upset.” he repeats, in hopes a reminder might provide reassurance.

It doesn’t. “You’re never upset at me, it’s concerning.” you mumble.

“You make it kind of hard to be upset at you, ever really.” Spencer braves and lays a hand on your leg.

You take a deep breath, the cold of his hand grounding you more and more. Spencer senses the calm it’s bringing you and rubs circles into your calf.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” he asks gently.

What are you even feeling? You ponder for a moment—anxious, nervous, bad.

“Embarrassed.”

“Honey, there’s nothing embarrassing about masturbating. In fact, it’s more than healthy to do it to keep cortisol levels low,” he explains, “I just don’t know why you didn’t…want to tell me.”

The guilt swirls in your gut, hearing the twinge of hurt buried beneath the comfort he’s laid out for you. He just wants to help you, but you won’t let him in and that hurts him more.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“It’s just…I…Look it’s…You’re just so hot—“ you slip out, clamping your hand over your mouth before leaking any more intrusive thoughts.

A faint smirk ghosts his face, “I’m…hot?”

“No—Well, yes. I just…ugh.”

“Okay, okay calm down,” he scoots closer and gently brings the hands covering your eyes to rest in your lap, “You don’t need to be all secretive, you know I’d never judge you.”

“I know,”

“I just thought you wanted to wait.”

“I do.”

“But, not with me? It’s okay if it's not with me.”

“Spence, I do. It’s not that.”

“Am I missing something?”

You gulp, “I just…it’s a personal problem. With me. Not you.”

His brows furrow, “Like what, baby? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Yeah, if a doctor can fix my shoddy self esteem and make me like myself again.” you chuckle.

He doesn’t laugh. 

The pause he takes seems to be ages long before he speaks again, “Angel, how long have you been feeling like that?”

You’ve been caught red-handed, water filling up the tank faster than you can tread, “It’s nothing, I was just joking.”

“Hey,” he says with a rare firmness, “How. Long?”

You deflate under his hard gaze, “A…while…long enough… for it to feel like a…like a default setting, I guess.” you trail off.

Spencer couldn’t hide the hurt on his face if he tried. Not hurt from your lack of admission, hurt that you had felt like this for so long, dealt with this for so long on your own, and he didn’t even know.

All he ever hoped and wanted was for you to be happy, and if he could be the source of that he would ask for nothing more in life. So to hear about you struggling with this, that you felt like you had to keep it to yourself, was heartbreaking.

Spencer remains in his head a little too long as he’s broken out of it by your small voice, “Are you sure you’re not mad?”

He sighs and moves to sit next to you, making sure he stays above the blanket for your comfort. His back is against the headboard of the bed, and he raises his arm a little, gesturing for you to fill the you shaped crevice. You hesitantly move into the space, hating how you feel every move you’re making is calculated, but all of that goes away the second your head meets his chest and his hand comes up to comb through your hair, the other smoothing your arm down, and all you’re left with is him.

“I promise I’m not mad,” he whispers softly, “Just wish you told me. I would have helped you.” He’s intentional in his wording—would, and not could. Could implies he has a choice, a want to do or not do something. I could have helped you, or I could have not helped you. Would is finite, he is doing it because it is programmed in him that caring for you is a need. I would have helped you because it is the only thing I know to be certifiably true, that you deserve to be cared for.

“It sounds stupid out loud but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me the same if you saw me like…that. It seemed logical for me to remove that option altogether.”

His heart aches painfully, and he wishes he could take everyone who’s made you feel that way to target practice. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I would spend every day of my life proving that to you.” he utters with unequivocal resolve.

You sigh out shakily, “You’re too kind to me.”

“I’m always kind to you. You deserve kindness. You deserve a lot of things actually…” he trails off.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Well, did you um—” he trails. You look at him quizzically, he continues, “Like before I came in did you…finish?”

Oh. “Oh. I…I don’t think I did, actually. It’s okay though, no big deal.”

He stares at you intently, “Do you want to?”

Your eyes widen, “Spence oh, no it’s okay really you don’t have to do that.  

“You’re encouraged to say no if you feel even an ounce of doubt, but I’m offering because I love you and I want to show you that you can feel safe with me, even when you feel otherwise.”

The familiar sting returns to your eyes as the tears pool up. You’re not used to anyone putting this much effort and concern for your comfort, it’s a novel feeling but if Spencer is willing to handle you with as much care as he is, you’re ready to welcome that sentiment in with open arms.

“Yeah, yes.” you waver.

He grins and leans down, gingerly pressing his lips to yours. His hand ghosts from your calf to your knee, testing the water before moving more intent. An unwelcome yet familiar onset slowly rises, trying to break through to you, “Wait—“

He retracts his hand immediately, “You okay? We can stop if you need to.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m fine. I just need a second.” you breath out, trying to self regulate. 

He pulls back his hand but you stop him, “No keep it there, it helps. I just…” You don’t know how to phrase it. You think it’s because you’re not in control. When you’re alone it’s only you at the helm calling the shots. But when it really comes down to it, the lack of control is nothing compared to the lack of predictability that comes with the former. Explaining that out loud was daunting to even think about.

Yet Spencer understands what you need, because he always knows what you need. His hand returns to your knee, giving it a soft squeeze, “You tell me to stop whenever you need to.”

He continues kissing you while smoothing his hand up your leg, making wide and sweeping motions across the plush of your thigh so you can feel where he is and where his hand is going. The gesture is comforting and makes you feel grounded, but your head is in a dreamy haze at how good Spencer’s hands feel on you.

The haze leaves through your lips as Spencer feels you sigh against him, feeling you relax more and more as the seconds go by. His hand reaches your upper thigh, fingers ghosting on the inside. “Is this okay?”

You nod, feeling your nerves idling like a distant wave in the ocean. But Spencer’s presence is a lighthouse shining through the fog and guiding you to his shores while the calm washes over you.

His fingers lightly trace the fabric of your panties, ones that you had slid back up your hips upon his entrance into the room. The motion causes you to jump and he pulls back to gauge your reaction. When he sees no fear in your eyes, more so stunned by your wide eyed gaze, his fingers move with more precision, adding more pressure to your clothed core.

A gentle gasp leaves you as he strokes up and down your slit. You’ve given up on continuing to kiss him, the feeling of his hands being too overwhelming to have both sensations at the same time. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, your body involuntarily curving towards him as he draws symbols on you with his index. Your breathing gets heavier and faster the longer he goes, and soon small moans begin to escape you.

He drags his finger to the top of your panties and toys with the band, faintly asking, “You still with me, sweet girl?” You preen into the crevice of his neck as he keeps talking, “Want me to keep going?” 

He feels you nodding into him as you breathlessly whisper, “Please.”

His finger dips below the fabric and travels down to your entrance, gathering the slickness and spreading it all over you. “Fuck,” he curses softly, “Look how wet you are, baby.”

You whimper at his words and Spencer ascends to the heavens if there even is one, and if there is it’s the one where you sound like that for him. He circles back up to your clit, paying special attention to the bundle of nerves before sliding back your slit and repeating the whole sequence a few more times.

Your moans are coming out at a steady pace, and he’s been prodding around your entrance for some time now, teasing and edging you closer. “Gonna put a finger in now, okay? Doing so good for me, baby.” he murmurs.

The feeling of his finger entering you is satiating. But it’s not enough, and you need more. “Spence,” you manage to get out, “Can take another one, please.” His eyes shut tight as he revels in your desperation for him, and how cynical he must be to love having you at his mercy this much. He would confess the darkest of sins if you asked him in that tone, and he has no choice but to oblige. He stifles a groan at how easily the second finger slid in, his other hand moving up to play with your hair and cradle your head close to his chest as he works his ministrations.

The familar coil builds in your gut, but at an intensity you’ve never felt before. His fingers move in and out of you urgently, his thumb returning to your clit. He’s a man determined to get you there, and your moans and cries of his name only spur him on further. After a few minutes your moans and cries turn into whines and babbles, and he knows you’re close.

His head leans down to croon in your ear, “Shh, it’s okay. I got you, sweet girl. You can come, ‘m right here.”

It’s enough to push you over the edge and you come harder than you ever have on your own, the waves of your climax overtaking you completely. Spencer continues to pump his fingers through your orgasm, talking you the whole way down. Mutters of praises and kisses flow through your subconscious as the euphoria high takes its peak and you come back down to this realm.

His hand smoothes your hair back as you continue to pant against his chest, words unable to find you.

“You okay?”

You finally catch your breath, “That was—fuck—the most insane orgasm I have ever had.”

Spencer beams at this. For one, his obvious and impressive skills that have stunned you into oblivion. And two, because you look so relaxed. The stark difference of your anxiety filled face from when he first came into the room to the blissed out daze you have right now makes his heart swell five sizes up.

He hugs you closer and whispers, “I’m so proud of you, angel. Thank you for trusting me.”

Sleep is fighting you hard as you laugh airily and tuck yourself under his arm again, “I don’t know why I thought that would be scarier.”

He sighs, his smile faltering but still fond, “Past experiences and self perception complicate the anxiety around sex and intimacy. It’s a natural response based on your lived experiences.”

“Oh.” you mutter, slight deject in your tone.

“But we can work on it, if you want.” he adds, “It’s all up to you with what you’re comfortable with and how you want to do it. If you’ll allow me, I’d love to help you in any way I can, angel.”

You really don’t know how you got so lucky. Someone so kind, and patient, and willing to be with you as you navigate these things you normally would have kept to yourself. You feel grateful to be able to bare a piece of yourself to him, and know that he would receive it with open arms, wrapping it up and handling it with as much care as he can bear.

You cuddle closer, and mumble before your eyes succumb to sleep, “Love you. So much.”

Spencer looks down maybe two seconds later and you’re already out like a light. He chuckles softly to himself and whispers, “I love you more than you’ll ever know, sweet girl. Good night.”

[bootycallin]

bush enthusiast vi… mhm mhm 🫡 cw: nsfw utc. wlw. swearing. cunnilingus. pet names (cupcake, babe, etc.). unshaven reader if u couldn’t tell. this woman’s a munch and i’m dying on that hill. not proofread.

to say vi was surprised was an understatement.

inside, she was almost distraught. first you were making out on your couch, then her hand slipped under your shirt and that’s when it started to get heated. she was kissing down the valley of your breasts, feeling you up, all the way down to your stomach and right before she could reach her heaven between your legs—

“vi, wait,” you stopped her. your hand, previously cradling the back of her head, grasped slightly at her hair, tugging ever so slightly at the strands.

she looks up at you with the most confused gaze. you’ve never stopped her from going down on you before. had she gone too quick? had she made you uncomfortable, hurt you? there were a million questions running through her head. but, only one came out.

“what’s wrong, cupcake?” she asked, palms pressing into your thighs. she was in between your legs, calves thrown over her broad shoulders. she never tried to deny it was her favorite position. she could die with a smile if it meant being buried between your legs.

“you… don’t want me to…?” her breath was right on your pelvis as she looked up at you, almost like a confused puppy. “i mean, not gonna make you, you just— never say no, yknow?”

“i know, i—“ you blush a bit at being called out like that. she wasn’t lying, you never said no to her eating you out. not her fault her tongue game was diabolical, to say the least.

“it’s just…” you paused, caressing the back of her head slightly as you wonder how to phrase it, unsure of how she would react. until you said to hell with it… you’ve been dating for long enough. surely she would understand, right?

“i haven’t shaved,” you whispered, almost so quiet she couldn’t hear it.

she blinks up at you a few times, the silence stretching out between you. you can’t look at her, embarrassment growing.

“so-“

“so what?”

she cuts you off before you can finish your sentence, squeezing your thighs a little tighter.

“you think i care about that, babe?” she chuckled. it wasn’t a mocking sound, but it was genuinely amused. like the mere idea of her not pleasuring you because you haven’t shaved was ridiculous. because, to be fair, it was.

“come on. i spent years in prison. you think i shaved back then?” she hooked a thumb under the hem of your underwear, not letting you protest as she shuffles your thighs a bit so she can pull them off and be met with your already wet cunt—just waiting for her. she kisses your clit, open-mouthed and messy and needy. her nose is pressed against the hair you tried to hide, shamelessly, as she licks a long stripe from your swollen nub and down your slit, briefly licking your slick entrance. she pulls away only for a second, just to speak, breath hot against your exposed cunt:

“you’re fuckin’ crazy if you think a little hair’s gonna stop me from eating this pretty fucking pussy.”

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ

[liviawildrose]

𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

it’s a hard pill to swallow, but sometimes, you’ve got to step into a role you never signed up for. maybe your mom wasn’t the nurturing, protective figure she was supposed to be. maybe your dad let you down in ways that left scars. maybe your friends only stuck around to take, never to give. the truth? you can’t wait for someone to come and save you. you have to become your own mother.

ask yourself:

if your child was in your shoes—stuck in a bad relationship, getting treated like crap— would you tell them, “stay”? or would you say, “you deserve better than this”?

if your child was chasing their dreams but struggling, would you mock them? no. you’d guide them, push them to be their best. you’d discipline them with love and cheer them on with pride. now, apply that same energy to yourself.

be that mom who says: “get your shit together because you deserve the best life possible.”

but also the mom who says: “it’s okay to rest, i’ve got your back, and i’m proud of you.”

start showing up for yourself the way you needed someone to show up for you. and yes, it’s sad. sad that we even have to do this. but it’s also empowering to realize you can.

personally, here’s my story.

my mom never cared to take my pictures as a kid nor cared if a haircut made me happy or not, it was literally everything up to her convenience. it hurts now because i would’ve loved to look back and see those memories. but i don’t have them. i can count the photos of my childhood—20 pictures in 17 years. insane, right? so, i made a promise to myself: from now on, i will document my life. i won’t delete my photos. i’ll make sure there’s a record of who i was, what i felt, what i achieved. and when i have kids? you bet i’ll take pictures of them. i’ll curate their childhood with care because i know what it feels like to not have that.

but being your own mother isn’t just about the pictures or the memories. it’s about analyzing everything you missed out on and providing it for yourself now. it’s about being selfless enough to let go of bad habits that hold you back. it’s about kicking toxic people out of your life the way a mom would protect her child from bad influences. it’s about prioritizing your healing, even if it’s messy and uncomfortable. you have to heal your inner child. that 5-year-old who was bullied, that 13-year-old who was treated like shit in her first relationship, that 7-year-old who dreamed big but was told she couldn’t they’re all still inside you, waiting for someone to nurture them. and unfortunately, no one else is going to do it for you. no one else is going to come and fix the damage.

i made a pact with myself: when i have kids, i will raise them so well that they won’t ever need to “heal their inner child” at 17 or 18. they’ll be whole. they’ll be loved. they’ll know their worth from the start. but for now, i’m doing that for myself. and you need to do it for yourself too. because at the end of the day, the only way to heal is to become the person you needed all along. become your own mother.

what is the inner child?

the “inner child” is the part of you that holds your early experiences, memories, and emotions. it’s the 5-year-old you who loved to laugh but was scolded for being “too much.” it’s the 10-year-old you who dreamed big but felt dismissed. it’s the teen you who felt heartbreak for the first time but didn’t know how to process it. your inner child carries the wounds, fears, and unmet needs from your past, but also your natural creativity, curiosity, and joy. healing your inner child means reconnecting with this version of yourself, giving it the love and understanding it never received, and releasing the pain it has carried for years.

how do you heal your inner child?

1. journaling: dialogue with your inner child

dedicate a journal specifically to your inner child. write letters to them, like:

“dear [your name at 5/7/13], i remember when you felt [insert memory]. i’m sorry you went through that, but i’m here now, and i’ve got you.”

let your inner child respond. write as if you’re that younger version of yourself—pour out your fears, dreams, and questions. this process can uncover emotions and patterns you didn’t realize were affecting you.

2. therapy: safe exploration with a professional

a therapist (especially one trained in inner child work) can help you identify wounds and patterns from childhood. they’ll guide you in understanding how your upbringing shaped your beliefs about yourself and the world. therapy also gives you tools to reframe those beliefs and meet your emotional needs.

watch “dear zindagi” lol

3. look at old photos and memories

revisit old photos, journals, or artwork from your childhood. don’t just look at them—analyze them. (i wish i could d this but im stuck with 20 photos so… 😭) what do you notice in your younger self’s eyes, body language, or expression?

• ask yourself:

• what was i feeling here?

• did i feel safe? loved? excited? scared?

• what did i need in this moment that i didn’t get?

• use this reflection to understand your inner child’s unmet needs.

4. create new positive memories

your inner child is still alive within you, and they crave fun, love, and freedom. do things your younger self would’ve loved but never got to do: buy yourself a toy you always wanted. go to an amusement park or build a pillow fort. dance around your room like no one’s watching. this isn’t childish it’s healing.

5. practice reparenting

treat yourself as if you were your own child. when you feel sad or scared, don’t ignore it.

ask yourself: what do i need right now? and give it to yourself.

be the loving, supportive, and protective parent your inner child deserved.

6. identify triggers and patterns

notice when you’re acting out of a place of childhood wounds.

for example: do you get overly anxious when someone’s mad at you? do you seek validation in toxic relationships? trace these behaviors back to your childhood.

were you taught that love is conditional? did you have to “earn” attention by being perfect? once you identify the root, you can start rewiring your responses.

7. inner child meditations and visualizations

find a quiet space and imagine your inner child sitting across from you. visualize yourself comforting them, hugging them, and telling them they’re safe. remind them: “you don’t have to be scared anymore. i’m here for you.”

8. nurture yourself daily

make self-care non-negotiable. eat foods you love, sleep well, move your body, and spend time doing things that make you happy. when you treat yourself with care, you show your inner child they’re worth it.

9. forgive

healing isn’t about excusing those who hurt you. it’s about releasing the hold they have over you so you can move forward. write a forgiveness letter—not for them, but for yourself. (they don’t deserve the love i’m sorry)

“i release the pain you caused me so it doesn’t control me anymore.”

10. promise to break the cycle

vow to yourself (and your future children if you want them) just cause your grandma bleed on your mom and then your mom passed it to you does not mean you will make your future kids life miserable too. the generational trauma must break with you. your future child does not deserve it and so your inner child protect you inner child and when you have a child of your own be the best mother possible, i personally would love to make my future kids childhood so memorable and happy that they will feel the need to comeback and relive their childhood that’s the kind of childhood i want to give them

“i will not let this pain define me. i will create a life of love, joy, and freedom.”

healing your inner child isn’t easy, but it’s life-changing.when you reconnect with that innocent, wounded part of yourself, you’ll find that the love and peace you’ve been searching for has always been within you.

11. foster your inner child’s dreams

when you were a child, your dreams weren’t influenced by fear, rejection, or societal pressures. you dreamed with your heart wide open, purely and authentically. reconnecting with those dreams can heal the part of you that felt unheard or invalidated back then.

a. reflect on your childhood aspirations

• sit down and ask yourself:

• what did i want to be when i was 5? 10? 13?

• what made me happiest back then?

• what did i lose interest in because someone told me i wasn’t good enough?

• write down every dream, no matter how “unrealistic” it seems.

hint: those childhood dreams often point to your soul’s calling.

b. start chasing those dreams now

• even if your dreams have evolved, find ways to honor the essence of them.

• wanted to be a singer at 13? start singing lessons or recording yourself.

• wanted to help people? explore careers like psychology, teaching, or coaching.

• don’t hold back.

it’s not about being perfect, it’s about reconnecting with the passion your younger self had.

c. create small wins for your inner child

• maybe 8-year-old you always wanted to paint but never got the supplies. buy yourself a beginner’s set and paint, even if it’s messy.

• maybe 6-year-old you wanted to be a dancer. take a fun dance class and twirl like no one’s watching.

• small wins send the message to your inner child that they are finally being prioritized.

e. validate your inner child’s feelings and failures

• remind yourself:

“it’s okay that 10-year-old me struggled with making friends. i was just a child trying my best.”

• instead of shaming yourself for past actions, honor them.

every mistake was a step toward becoming the incredible person you are now.

f. use your dreams to shape your future

• your childhood passions aren’t just hobbies—they’re roadmaps to your authentic self.

• align your current goals with your inner child’s desires.

• if 7-year-old you dreamed of making people smile, maybe your career or side hustle should reflect that.

• if 12-year-old you loved storytelling, find ways to write, act, or share your voice.

fostering your inner child’s dreams doesn’t just heal the past—it builds a future that feels authentic to you. every time you take a step toward those dreams, you’re telling your inner child: “you were always worthy. your dreams always mattered. and now, i’m making them come true for you.”