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aeyumicore · 11 months ago

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misty invasion - no restraint

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: xavier x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5k words (jesus i even cut 1k out)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, spoilers AND alterations to ‘no restraint’ (xavier’s misty invasion card), switch!xavier, slightly dark!xavier, super possessive!xav, so much pussy eating, nose stroking clit, cumming on pussy then using as lube, mating press, sensory play but not actually, thigh biting, ankle kissing, foot massage, slight finger sucking, slight dub-con somno at the end, use of y/n

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | sylus's version | raf's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: sorry this is late! I’ve been dealing with some harassment but won’t get into that here. You guys have been waiting so patiently for this one and i’m so excited to finally share it with you guys. I love writing and it’s incredible to have people to share my passion with, so please enjoy xavier fuckers!

part three is our dear xavier! idk how this one got so long i cut 1k words and its still 5k LOL somehow longer than sylus’s? i haven’t written for xavier in sooo long so this was both challenging but fun! I miss him <3 I wrote xavier as more dark!xav than the soft xavier, but there’s definitely a good mix of both

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

As a Hunter, you’ve had to thoroughly train your senses to be as adept and and accurate as possible, to keep yourself, your fellow Hunters, and the citizens of Linkon safe.

Sight. The ability to track every micromovement a Wanderer made and react in milliseconds. Being able to quickly spot things that don’t belong, indicating something more sinister.

Hearing. Being able to detect even the mutest of sounds. The muffled shuffling of leaves, a slight creak in the wind that could warn you of incoming danger.

Smell. The almost imperceptible scent of different species of Wanderers, each one specific to each genus, able to provide valuable information on what to expect.

Touch. The distinct textures of your different UNICORN issued tools and weapons, the simplest grooves and ridges helping you quickly discern what is what in moments of life or death.

What you hadn’t necessarily needed was the sense of taste, but that wouldn’t be a sense you’d need as a Hunter. Right?

In the soft glow coming from the protocore you and him had confiscated from an illegal protocore trade, Xavier sat at the foot of the bed you’d be sharing tonight. The soft orange light emanating from the protocore casts a vaguely romantic atmosphere around the two of you. It was suffocating and addicting all at once.

Perhaps it was your fault, you’d teased him, claiming the protocore in question had dulled your senses, a side effect from its unique Protocurves. A clear and obvious lie.

But you hadn’t expected him to respond so boldly.

To test your sense of sight, moving from his spot across the hotel room to approach the foot of the bed, sitting so closely that you could see the droplets of water dripping down his bare chest, gliding along the grooves of his muscled abdomen.

To test your sense of smell, leaning in so teasingly close to you that the soft clean smell of his pheromones, akin to fresh laundry blowing in the spring breeze, invaded your very essence.

To test your sense of hearing, whispering dangerously sultry but innocent words under his breath to taunt you, seeing if you could hear how much he wanted you.

To test your sense of touch, reaching out to grasp your face into his fingers, warm from the hot shower he’d taken. So daringly caressing your warm cheek in his palm, with a heated desire that you knew could consume you whole.

It was truly all enough to drive you utterly insane, at the point of no return, nearly jumping him right then and there.

Perhaps Xavier could see that, deciding to give you a temporary reprieve from all the “sensory tests” to complete a test of his own

His voice is a faint murmur, “Before the rain stops, is there anything you want to do?” His words sound less like a question and more like a plea. Bordering on a demand.

At his words, your eyes trail to the body lotion you’d set on the nightstand next to the Protocore. You’d just been about to apply it before Xavier had come out of the shower. You bite your lip at the thought of his strong hands rubbing the expensive cream into your aching muscles. Xavier’s eyes follow yours, and he smiles gently, standing up to grab it from the side table.

He unscrews it, the soft scent of strawberries wafting in the space between you. Under the soft glow of the Protocore, Xavier’s face is flushed, his breath unusually heavy. His eyes are focussed on the body lotion, but you can just barely see the stormy heat behind them.

“What, are we testing your senses now?” you tease him, sitting up with your hands hugging your knees.

Xavier sits back down on the bed, the mattress dipping at your feet. Your toes brush against the soft silk of his bathrobe, the knot even looser now, leaving far too little to imagination. His voice is gentle, but urgent, “The Protocore’s Protocurves can…dull a person's senses.”

He places his palm gently on the underside of your thighs, pulling your bare calves toward him. His touch is impossibly soft, yet strangely enough it leaves your skin burning. You let your body be guided towards him until his chest is practically pressed against your knee. With your bare calf in his hands, it makes it difficult to think. But you do your best to speak, “So…are you affected by it too?”

As Xavier smears the lotion across your flushed skin, he murmurs, “Maybe.” He takes another scoop of the cream into his fingers.

“It’s possible…I won’t be able to feel you anymore from now on.” His eyes are trained on your leg as he speaks, fingers wandering from your knee to your exposed thigh. Though you both know his senses were, and would be, perfectly fine, the longing in both his low voice and dark eyes felt completely real.

As his hands rub into your skin, his fingers briefly find their way under your nightdress. He leans down, resting his chin on your knee. He practically hugs your legs to his chest, the opened jar of lotion still in hand. WIth his curious fingers on your thigh, under the lace hem of your nightdress, you try and distract him from your flushed face. You take a small dollop of the lotion in his hands, teasingly brushing it to his nose.

“What’s the fragrance? Can you smell it?” Xavier’s face on your bare knee doesn’t move, but his eyes flit up to yours, dark and amused.

He has a barely perceptible smirk, fingers stroking small shapes into the area where your lace nightie meets the skin of your exposed thighs, “Strawberry.” He sounds uncharacteristically self-assured, his chin moving down so that he can smell your skin.

You shiver as you feel the cool inhale of his nose against your knee. His lips ghost along your leg as he breathes in the scent, lingering for so long you’re nearly quivering against his hold. His hand grips your thigh possessively as he murmurs, “Or maybe...that scent…is cherry.” The way he buries his face into your legs, inhaling so deeply, is nearly enough to have you passing out.

He comes back to nuzzle his chin into your knee, glancing up at you in an expression that is eerily dark and soft all at once, “Was I right?” His words are gentle but there’s an exhilarating taunt underneath them. It only makes you want to taunt him back.

You reach for his ear, noticing it’s unusually peachy pink, stroking along the soft lobe, “Here’s another test. What do you think my hand is doing right now?” Xavier’s eyes close at your touch, his breath heavy and hot against your thigh. His brows furrow, and if it weren’t for the way he leaned into your touch for more, you’d almost think he was in pain.

As his eyes flicker open to meet yours, you take his cheek into your hands. There’s a vague haziness in them, almost like he’s having a hard time keeping them open, drunk off even your slightest touches. He sits up, leaning into your hand.

“You need to do it harder,” he urges, desperation making itself known in his sultry voice. Your hand trails down his ear, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw and making its way to Xavier’s bobbing neck.

Your fingers move intentionally, trailing down to his collar until they rest on his chest, “What about now?”

Though his chest heaves, his blue eyes smolder with an unbridled confidence, “...Too gentle.” He looks at you with an unspoken plea in his eyes, begging you to touch him more. Harder.

You let your shaking fingers toy torturously with the reddened skin on his sharp collarbone, swirling your fingertips on his pounding chest. You bite your lip, enjoying the way his breath comes out in needy pants, the look of desperation on his parted lips growing stronger by the second, “If you still haven’t felt it…”

Xavier continues your thought, cerulean eyes filled with a desperate longing, “If I haven’t felt it…” You gasp as he grabs your wrist forcefully, bringing it back up to his face.

His grip is commanding, caressing your palm with his soft cheek, his breath fanning the inside of your hand. His movements are almost imperceptible, until you feel his lips closing over your middle finger. You’re unable to stop the shiver as his tongue grazes against your trembling finger, his lips caressing your skin in his mouth.

Xavier desperately hopes you keep your eyes trained on his, and not the embarrassingly prominent tent under his thin robe, throbbing for your attention. His breath is hot as he pants against your finger, “...does this mean I’m a lost cause?”

You pull your hand away, unable to withstand the effect his lips enclosing in your fingers is having on your body, your thighs clenching together under your own robe and nightgown.

“What should we do?” you murmur before softly clutching his shoulder, pulling him closer until you can whisper into his ear for a little hearing test. You let your lips graze his reddened earlobe, before whispering.

“Xavier.”

It comes out far more sultry and seductive than you’d originally intended, betraying your body’s true desires. Xavier apparently shares those same desires, because as he hears you gasp out his name his body has a visceral reaction.

His heart pounds so rapidly he’s almost sure you’d be able to hear it, his muscled chest rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. His face looks almost anguished, fighting an internal war against himself. He glances towards you, his eyes dark with unbridled desire.

“Oops. Looks like something broke,” you grin cheekily, thoroughly amused by his reaction, fueled with confidence.

Xavier’s eyes are so dark they’re nearly black as they drink in the sight of your beautiful smile, as you sit with your knees up on the mattress. The next thing you know, Xavier’s is pushing you down, your back hitting the plush mattress and your robe fluttering open to reveal your flimsy nightdress.

Xavier stands above you, before his hand comes down to grip the mattress beside your head, pinning you down. His eyes trail up your body, savoring every exposed centimeter of soft skin, before boring into your beautiful eyes. His body is pressed gently into yours, and you can very much make out just how excited he’s become. The area between your thighs moistens at the feeling of his arousal pressed into your stomach.

“Your sensory test isn’t over yet,” he grunts, his face tortuously close to yours. His eyes are hooded dangerously, an imminent threat reflected in his ocean blue eyes. He leans forward, so close his torrid breath fans against your parted lips.

“Let’s do a taste test,” he murmurs, eyes shutting as he finally closes the distance between your lips in a toe-curling passionate embrace. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, which you happily part to give him access. He moans into you as he indulges in how delicious you taste, quickly addicted to your soft and warm tongue against his.

When he finally pulls away, he’s a complete and utter mess. His breath is uneasy and rapid, his body contorting with the rhythm of his pounding chest. His fingers have found their way into yours, effectively pinning you securely against the bed under his hard body.

“Xavier…” you gasp, squeezing his fingers, “Even someone like you can lose your composure, huh?”

As your bodies heave together, Xavier takes thick and deep lungfuls of your scent, his face buried into your neck.

“One doesn’t need that much composure,” he groans before diving back into the crook of your neck, lips latching onto your pulse.

As he holds you, gently suckling at your neck, you prod him, “What are you thinking of?”

Xavier hesitates, his lips hovering centimeters above your skin, before murmuring, “Something…indecent.”

You bite back your grin, thoroughly enjoying how needy he’s becoming. With his body still atop of yours, you bring your lips to his ear letting your wet lips stroke against his earlobe.

“Xavier…” you purr, “Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

You can see Xavier’s neck throb with a thick gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. It’s then he decides he’s done playing games.

He sits up eerily calmly, until he’s on his knees at your feet. His fingers trail down your bare thighs, to your calves, and to your feet. You squirm at his fleeting trail of touches, squeaky moans of anticipation slipping from your lips.

As his hands slide down your legs, he lifts your foot into his hands, fingers kneading your aching sole. You moan, your eyes squeezing shut at just how wonderfully Xavier knows your body, knows how to touch you.

You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands on your ankles that you don’t notice the way he cups your calf, raising your leg into the air as he caresses it. It’s not until the distinct feeling of his warm lips meet the bottom of your calf do your eyes screw open.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight before you, Xavier placing a feathery trail of kisses down your calf all the way to your foot. As he tenderly kisses your ankle, his eyes open to watch you with a hungry gaze.

“The Protocore’s effects…I think we need a stronger test,” he mutters, his mouth rubbing against your ankle still. He sets your leg on his shoulder, gently spreading your thighs apart.

You blush as your legs part, leaving little to imagination as Xavier situates himself between your legs, one propped on his muscled shoulder and one hooked above his forearm, “Xavier?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes trained on the glistening patch of dampness that adorns your panties. It takes all of him not to drool right over your half naked form right then and there. As his head lowers to kiss your thighs, you tremble at his proximity to your throbbing cunt that leaks with desire and arousal.

“I-Is this…strong enough?” you squeak, his tongue lapping slow circles around the areas his teeth graze. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he indulges in the taste of your legs, eyeing the beautiful way your panties are creasing against the lips of your pussy. He can practically feel the heat coming off you and it makes him bite hard.

You squeal, your back arching up and fingers reaching down to pull at his soft hair. It’s impossible not to enjoy the sharp graze of his canines and the contrastingly adoring caress of his tongue. Too distracted by the pleasure, you don’t feel the embarrassing slick dripping down your thighs.

But Xavier does.

He detaches his lips from your thighs, briefly admiring the handful of flowering red bruises littered against both your plush legs.

“It’s…stronger. But this…” he trails off, and that’s when you feel his fingers hooking your soaked panties to the side. You yelp as his fingers languidly swipe at your folds, coating himself in your arousal and bringing it up to his mouth.

You watch in a mixture of embarrassment and desire as he slips his fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around his digits and eyes shut in utter bliss.

When his blonde lashes finally flutter open, his hazy pupils are dilated amongst the sea of azure, piercing into your own.

“This, I can taste,” he grins gently at you. It’s so effortlessly Xavier, yet something sinister lurks beneath his soft smile. Something that makes you shake to your very core.

You don’t have time to ponder the darkness behind his smile, because Xavier is gripping you by your hips, bringing the apex of your thighs to his waiting mouth, salivating at the beautiful sight of your exposed cunt. His eyes flit from your core to your eyes, your upper body propped up on your elbows as you watch his heated gaze devour you.

“Please…” Xavier rasps, his voice guttural and desperate. The proximity of his face to your weeping cunt lets you feel his hot breath fan against your quivering pussy, “Please let me.”

You’re speechless, so you nod fervently, gripping his soft hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Xavier wastes no time, burying himself into you. You gasp, spine curling at the force of his demanding lips against your cunt.

You’d think Xavier had been starved for days, the way he latches onto your lips, his tongue eagerly lapping at your slit, savoring every drop of your sweet essence. You thrash at the unrelenting pleasure, as Xavier’s bruising grip holds you in place.

“Let me enjoy you, please,” he groans, nose rubbing into your clit deliciously, “Who knows if I’ll ever be able to taste you again?”

You whimper at his filthy words, trying to stay still as he ravishes you with his skilled tongue. The lewd slurps and moans that come from him are enough to drive you to the edge of insanity, unable to contain your furious writhing. Xavier only digs his fingers harder into the plush of your thighs, doing his best to keep you in place.

Xavier moans into you, the vibrations of his pleasured sounds thrumming straight into your body. He doesn’t let a single droplet of your nectar go to waste, his tongue lapping diligently. There’s absolutely no shortage of it, as his pointed nose brushes against your clit, his tongue stroking sweetly into your lips.

“You taste like heaven, Y/N,” Xavier moans into your folds. The vibrations of his filthy words send you reeling and you can barely hear him, only able to respond in the whiniest moans, too wrapped up in the pleasure his mouth so skillfully brings you.

“Xavier!” you cry, toes digging into the ropes of muscles on his back.

You can vaguely feel one of Xavier’s hands abandon your thigh, moving to free his cock from under his loose robe. You can’t see much, but you can see the way his forearm jerks up and down, the veins in his arms bulging as he pleasures himself, fueled by the taste of you.

“O-oh f-fuck!” you cry, your back arched, the soles of your feet pressing into Xavier’s back, “Xavier…p-please don’t – nngh – stop!”

Through your widely spread legs, you can see just how aroused Xavier is by your pleas. His fingers can barely wrap around his thick girth. They move up and down effortlessly, coated in his copious pre-cum. It honestly looked like he already came with just how much of his slick was smeared on himself. He’s so impossibly angry and red as he thrusts into his own fist, your tongue unconsciously licking your lips at the sight.

You’re only snapped out of your mesmerized staring when his lips latch onto your clit, tongue lapping eagerly against the throbbing nub of nerves. His lips suckling at your clit, tongue stroking so sweetly, is just enough to have you coming completely undone all over Xavier’s face.

You try to pull always as you feel the warm gush coming, but Xavier only holds you down harder with his arm wrapped around your thigh, his hands jerking up and down his leaking erection even more desperation. With nowhere to run, your body thrashes erratically in his forceful arm. Your back arches into the air, your head digging into the plush mattress, as you squirt over Xavier’s insistent tongue.

You’re well into the depths of overstimulation, feebly pushing his head away, whispering brokenly, “X-Xavier. S’too much, please.”

But he can’t seem to hear you, too wrapped up in your taste, in you. Your body curls in a stinging pleasure as he continues to devour you, positively starved.

The lewd slurps of his face in your wet thighs, your unabashed moans and cries of ecstasy, the taste of your release against his greedy tongue, and his forceful grip on his cock drive him to his own orgasm.

He forces himself to pull away, his lips wet with your slick, your body collapsing but still slightly elevated with your calf thrown over his shoulder. With his position kneeling at your feet, your right leg still by his neck, his cock spurts right onto your quivering and overstimulated pussy.

“H-holy,” Xavier groans breathlessly, hands still jerking himself up and down as rope after rope lands on your glistening cunt. His spend is so deliciously hot against your sensitive skin that you can’t stop the full body tremors that wrack your body. His copious streams of cum start to drip off your quivering cunt, pooling on the mattress beneath you.

Xavier leans forward, clutching your thigh as his body heaves with an overwhelming satisfaction. His fingers dig into your already bruised thighs, his breath heavy and desperate.

You want to giggle at his ruined state, stroking his back teasingly with your toes, your calf still resting on his shoulder. Your fingers reach for his ear to caress his cheek and tease him with your words from earlier, “So little composure. Adorable”

Xavier’s gaze, longing and soft, twitches. Before you know it, your back is flat against the bed once more, both your legs pressed against your chest. Your feet hang in the air above your head, Xavier’s heaving body pressed on top of you, something hard and wet pressing into your still trembling core.

Out of sheer surprise, you cry out, “X-Xavier?” Your hands instinctively come up to cup his face.

Xavier doesn’t speak, his eyes trained on your cunt as he runs his tip up and down your folds. When he finally looks up at you, there’s a dark almost feral look in the storm of his cerulean eyes. A look of unbridled animalistic heat.

He bends down, his beautiful face dangerously close to yours as he smirks, “Isn’t this what you wanted, angel?”

You shiver at his unusually edged words, eyes widening as you nod gently. Unable to deny the truth of his words. You knew it, and he knew it. You absolutely always wanted him, especially when he was this unhinged.

Xavier smiles, it’s deceptively gentle as you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes, “I know, Y/N. So, please. Let me give it to you.” Though he begs, you can tell he’s not really asking. Not that you minded. You’d give him absolutely everything.

So you nod, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Xavier smiles, finger stroking your cheek. With his other hand, he takes his cock, rubbing his cockhead into your sopping folds, smearing his cum messily around. He’d spurt so much milky seed onto your pussy that it quite literally felt like a bottle of lube had been squirted onto you.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. For a brief second, the bright light returns to Xavier’s eyes as he adoringly watches you, with so much affection in his azure eyes. It’s gone just as quickly as it comes, his cock splitting you apart as he thrusts into you.

You cry out, unable to do anything but take him, your legs caged against both your bodies. The mating press he has you in is so mean, his hard strong body so imposing as he thrusts into you. It’s so easy for him to slide inside you, his cum on your skin even slicker than lube.

Xavier’s breathy moans wash over you at every single mean thrust, his smoldering eyes never leaving yours as he ruts into you like a madman. A man positively starved. And only one thing could satisfy him.

His hands press into the mattress beside your head, his entire body boxing you in, with only your thighs separating you. You wish he could hold you closer, press deeper into you, as deep as his cock was currently in your throbbing pussy.

“X-Xav…” your squeal. The position he has you in gives him easy access to your most sensitive spots. Xavier only moans in response, not typically a man of many words when it comes to being buried in your guts.

Which is why you’re surprised when he grits out, “Mine.”

You’re so surprised, mind so clouded with his massive girthy cock, that you gasp out, “W-What?”

Xavier’s smirk is faint, almost imperceptible, “You’re mine. I would never leave you.”

His pointed thrusts make you cry out in pleasure, losing your train of thought again. His smile grows more confident at your inability to speak, “Isn’t that what you told James? That your partner left you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, before realizing he's talking about the man you’d been flirting with for information at the protocore trade, “J-James? You – hnngh – y-you mean Henrik’s idiot – nngh – bodyguard?”

Xavier drives into you with an even more mind-numbing intensity at the mention of another man. You can see his jaw twitches, his eyes swimming with shadowy emotions.

“What do you think he took you up to the sixth floor for?” he growls, uncharacteristically and darkly gruff, “For this?”

To punctuate his point he slams his pelvis into your ass, the lewd pap sound of wet skin against wet skin deafeningly loud.

“It’s too bad for him. You’re mine.” His words are a sweet threat, with no violence and all the passion in the world behind them.

The raw possession in his voice makes you approach your orgasm far too quickly. Your thighs shake uncontrollably at the strain, but even more so at the pleasure Xavier drives into your gummy walls. His cock is so thick that your body burns with pleasure as he stretches you to your limit, your walls sucking him tightly, unwilling to let go.

Xavier moans at the unbelievably incredible feeling of your walls tightening against him, trying to wring him into you. Xavier’s thrusts become more erratic as he comes closer to his own release, and you’re desperate to cum with him, your orgasm impossibly iminent.

You know just how to send him over the edge, as you take his jaw into your fingers, his chest pressed into the fat of your thighs as he folds you quite literally in half. Xavier looks surprised but lets his face be guided to yours, his eyes still holding glimmers of shadows held back by a thin shred of restraint.

“Xavier,” you whisper, trying to keep your orgasm at bay so you can experience simultaneously with the blonde haired man deliciously rearranging your guts, “I’m yours, always.”

Xavier’s eyes darken, his eyebrows furrowing, as his body responds to your sweet words. His thrusts are harder, rougher, and all the more forceful and demanding. He’s utterly desperate to feel you cum atop his cock, his beautiful girl. Entirely and completely his.

“Yeah? Then cum for me, please.” His voice is a guttural growl, matching the animalistic intensity of his body pounding into yours. But he stutters just a bit, as you can practically feel the veins in his thick cock throbbing against your pulsing walls.

With Xavier’s intense eyes on yours, your body folded mind numbingly against his hard chiseled body, his filthy possessive words fanning across your lips, it’s impossible to keep your orgasm back any longer.

You cum with a strangled cry of his name, your elbows bending so your fingers can furiously claw at the sheets by your head. Xavier moans out at how tightly your cunt grips him amidst your climax, absolutely forcing the orgasm out of him.

You’re a moaning whining mess as Xavier fucks his seed into you. Even after his first orgasm, there’s so much cum, both inside and outside. The area where your bodies are joined is a sticky mess of cum and saliva.

Xavier is no better, the grunts and babbles streaming from his own mouth an absolute symphony to your ears.

“That’s it, love,” he rasps, “So good for me. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

You stroke Xavier’s soft blonde hair as his thrusts slow to an eventual stop. His softening cock is still in you, and you wince as you can vaguely feel it slipping out. Your hips scream in discomfort, your thighs still pressed firmly into your chest as Xavier gasps for air above you.

You whimper as he shifts, and instantly Xavier is back to his usual soft self, fawning over you, “Are you okay?” It’s honestly insane how quickly he switches, because as his blue eyes search yours, you notice the darkness is gone. All that’s left is that starry glimmering sea of ultramarine, soft, concerned, and loving.

“H-heavy,” you whine, tapping at his thick shoulders. Xavier’s off of you in a flash, his soft cock slipping out as sits on his knees before you. He hovers over you, careful not to put any weight on you, as he brushes your tangled hair off of your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your flushed cheek, “Was I…Did I take it too far?”

“No, never,” you mumble happily, draping your arms over his neck. Through his gentle smile that could move the stars, you can see how exhausted Xavier is, but he continues to stroke circles into your skin. His hands reach down to massage your bruised thighs, hickeys littering every inch of you. The serene intimacy of the moment is enough to lull you towards sleep, despite the mess between your legs.

–

You must’ve nodded off for a few minutes, because when you open your bleary eyes you see Xavier between your legs, carefully wiping the sticky mess away.

“Xav, s’okay,” you whisper sleepily, stirring in his careful hands and barely able to string together complete sentences, “Clean tomorrow, sleep now.”

“It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs, his voice so warm and dreamy. He holds you gently in place as he continues to wipe you off, “Go back to sleep.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his hands soothing your aching muscles, losing the fight against sleep, “You don’t feel tired?”

Xavier chuckles, the sound meeting your ears even in your half-conscious state, “I can still feel. But I think I may need another…taste test.”

You can hear the mischief in his voice even if you’re too exhausted to open your eyes.

“Just sleep honey, let me take care of you.”

Something about the playful heat in his voice makes you doubt he’s just going to be cleaning you up with the warm towel he had in his hands. And the thought of that excites you beyond belief, even as you succumb to sleep.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites

.ᐟ✦ please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

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tenshie · 2 years ago

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NOTES…

considering that angel was manifested from humans’ fear of angels, i want to play with the portrayal of a human non-human on this blog (re: the vehicle of the human body as means of existence and the accidental development of sentiments cheating the supposed machinery of flesh). in this light, gender of course is greatly obscured, and that, too, is something i’d like to play with on this blog. so! angel’s perceived gender identity is entirely up to your muse— (s)he&they pronouns are all equally welcome, and can be interchanged at any desire…

to draw back on this human non-human aspect of angel, i will be using it/its in place of pronouns (and, to be completely transparent, to reduce any influence on the pronouns your muse decides…) though if your muse also views angel as entity over person, feel free to also utilize the same ♡

#i. details : notes.#i just think that’d be a neat concept to explore!#not only because it reveals how your muse perceives a human non-human (specifically angel)#but because.. how to say this…#if angel’s manifestation contradicts its own species (a devil) it automatically creates divide in how others see angel #(does angel devil align more with its angel or devil temperament? which category does that place angel in?)#[& this divide is more potent with angel devil than any other devil due to angel’s natural aversion to violence]*#i’m am nowhere close to articulating this completely but #all individual interpretations of angel devil are correct..#one civilian says “she’s an angel!” the next says “he’s a devil!” and they both have equal merit #angel is whatever the specific You makes angel #you know??#(i’m running on 3 hrs of sleep pls indulge me)

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gf2bellamy · 3 months ago

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i have a very specific request that has been ITCHING at my brain!! idk if you remember spencer mentioned for like a second once that he has fish and we never hear anything else about it, i was thinking about the reader going to his apartment for the first time and seeing his fish and thinking its so cute that hes a fish dad😭 and him telling reader their names (probably after some literary figures or authors or something) and about their species or their little fish personalities or something god fish dad spencer😭❤️

fish — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: just fluff a/: hi hi hi !! i hope you like this <3

You had been nervous all day.

It wasn’t every day that Dr. Spencer Reid invited you into his apartment. You fidgeted with the hem of your sweater as he unlocked the door, stepping aside to let you in first.

The apartment was exactly what you expected. Neat, cozy, lined with bookshelves that looked like they could topple over at any second. But before you could even take it all in, something else caught your eye.

“Is that an aquarium?”

The words burst out of you before you could stop them, your voice pitching upward in surprise. All your nervousness evaporated in an instant, replaced by delight. You barely let Spencer take your jacket before you were crossing the room.

Spencer chuckled behind you as he carefully hung up both your coats.

“Yeah,” he admitted, stepping up beside you. “I, uh… I don’t talk about them much.”

“Oh my god, they’re adorable.” You pressed your palms against the glass, watching as a small school of colorful fish darted through the water.

One, a vibrant betta with deep blue and red streaks, flared its gills at you before swimming away with what you could only describe as attitude. You laughed. “You never mentioned them! How could you keep this from me? What are their names?”

You turned to look at him, already knowing the answer before he even opened his mouth. The way his eyes lit up, the shy curve of his smile, of course he’d named them after something intellectual.

Spencer adjusted his sleeves, before pointing at the betta. “That one’s Hemingway. He’s… kind of dramatic. Likes to flare at his own reflection.”

“Hemingway,” you repeated, grinning. “Perfect.”

He gestured to a smaller, silvery fish darting near the bottom. “That’s Poe. He’s shy. Hides in the plants a lot.” Then, to a pair of tetras swimming in synchronized circles: “Those are Fitzgerald and Zelda. They’re… inseparable.”

You melted. “Spencer Reid, you are a fish dad.”

He ducked his head, but you didn’t miss the pleased flush creeping up his neck. “I just—I like taking care of them. It’s… calming.”

“It’s adorable,” you corrected, bumping your shoulder against his. “I can’t believe you have this whole secret life as a fish parent.”

Spencer laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, if you think that’s impressive…” He checked his watch, then nodded toward the tank. “It’s actually feeding time. Want to help?”

“Yes.” You clapped your hands together.

He grabbed a small container of food from a nearby shelf, his fingers brushing yours as he handed it to you. “Just a pinch,” he instructed, leaning close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his shampoo. “Too much and they’ll overeat. They’re kind of… greedy.”

You sprinkled the food into the water, watching as Hemingway immediately darted to the surface, his fins flaring like he was demanding more. You giggled, resting your fingertips against the glass as Hemingway circled the spot where the food had been.

“I think he’s judging me,” you said, tilting your head.

Spencer let out a soft laugh. “He does that to everyone. Even I don’t meet his standards half the time.”

You grinned, leaning closer to the tank as Poe, the shy silver fish, darted out from behind a frond of aquatic fern, just long enough to snatch a flake before disappearing again.

“And Poe’s like the mysterious loner who only comes out for the necessities,” you mused.

“Exactly.” Spencer’s voice was fond, his gaze flickering between the fish and you, as if he couldn’t decide which was more fascinating.

You could feel his eyes on you and it sent a warm flutter through your chest.

Fitzgerald and Zelda, the inseparable tetras, wove through the water in perfect unison, their tiny bodies glinting under the soft glow of the tank’s light. “They’re like a little married couple,” you said, smiling.

Spencer hummed in agreement, shifting just slightly beside you. His shoulder brushed against yours, a barely-there touch that sent a spark skittering down your arm.

“They’ve been together since I got them,” he admitted. “I tried separating them once—just to clean the tank—and they both freaked out until I put them back.”

“That’s adorable,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the aquarium filter.

A beat of silence settled between you.

Then, slowly, as if testing the waters, Spencer’s fingers grazed the back of your hand where it rested on the edge of the tank. His touch was feather-light, tentative, but it sent your pulse skipping all the same.

You didn’t pull away.

Instead, you turned your hand just slightly, your pinky brushing against his. A question. An invitation.

Spencer’s breath hitched, before his fingers laced through yours, his palm warm against your skin.

Hemingway chose that moment to flare his fins again, splashing a tiny droplet onto the glass, as if giving his approval.

You laughed, squeezing Spencer’s hand. “I think he’s on board.”

Spencer’s thumb traced a slow circle over your knuckles, his smile small but so bright. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.”

#criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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rawme-price · 1 month ago

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Look, I love every version of big scary animal hybrid simon as the next person, but have we considered sheep hyrbid!simon?

Sheep!simon who is used to people assuming things about him. He's big, a cathedral of a person, so people assume hes got hybrid genes to match. He's heard plenty of guesses, wolf, panther, tiger, bear. He never confirms anything, never denies it either. Its helpful for people to be unaware of his true status, a harsh stigma around prey hybrids and especially domestic ones.

Sheep!simon who hasn't made a hybrid sound in years. Who keeps his hair shorn to the root because if it grows out its into tight coils of blonde that remind him too much of his mother. His mother who he watched suffer each day for being a sheep, and thats the only trait she gave him. He got his eyes, his bulk, his face from his father. But the one thing from his mother? It feels too shameful, too weak to ever accept. It eats at him, but there's nothing he can do.

Sheep!simon who eats alone. He wears a mask anyways, so no one bothers him to eat with them. He finds some secluded nook, and makes quick work of a plate stacked with greens. On the grueling missions, packed too close with others to grab food without someone seeing his plate, simon forces himself to grab meats and a sliver of greens. The vague diet of a predator species. He eats everything, feels too guilty about wasting food not to, and simply ignores the painful twists of his stomach at eating stuff hes really not suited for.

Sheep!simon who feels anxious when hes not in a group, but feels even worse being near people he doesn't trust (everyone). He never truly rests, never relaxes completely as his mind fights with itself. Its exhausting, but hes felt this way since he was small, and has grown apathetic to it.

Just....consider it. (Yapping abt the specific sheep he'd be under the cut.)

Personally I envisioned him to be a kerry hill sheep!

Mostly bc the face markings remind me of his mask lol, but also bc they dont have horns! There's a unique dynamic that comes from ghost being a sheep hybrid that doesn't even have horns to defend himself that I find really compelling....they're also raised primarily for meat, which is another great metaphor or whatever abt ghost being made for the military, designed for slaughter when hes no longer useful....

#09 ghost #22 ghost #cod 2009 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost hc #ghost headcanons #was thinking abt 09's lore but i feel like both fit well #hybrid 141

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cherrygarcia-07 · 26 days ago

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hi gorgeous! idk if this is like a good a idea for you to write of anything, but maybe some Spencer fluff when he sees his ex again after like a long time, and they are still into each other and maybe at some point Penelope founds out or he tells her or something and she's just like "OMG! you have to get back with her!!!!" or something like that, idk. just leave your creativity flow

Thank you so much for the req I loved writing this one so much!! I hope you like it!! And thank you for letting me include Penelope she’s lowkey my favourite to write for lol❤️

The Road Back To You // Spencer Reid☕️

Synopsis: After a painful breakup, Spencer realises he’s still hopelessly in love with you. With some encouragement (and meddling) from Penelope he finds himself on your doorstep, desperate to win you back.

Pairing: s6! spencer reid x ex girlfriend! reader (ft everyones favourite matchmaker, Penelope Garcia)

Genre: fluff… well he’s a sad little yearner for a while but it has a happy ending i promise!!

Word Count: 5.8k

Notes/Tags: Swearing once. Spencer yearns like crazy. He’s a little sad sorry but he’s okay at the end. Spencer is awkward as hell and has zero game but we love him. Talks about Haley’s death. Otters mentioned! Gay people mentioned! I honestly don’t have much to say but I like this one a lot!!!

masterlist // if you enjoy pls reblog!! it helps so much!!

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Otters are often seen as a symbol of love. They’re affectionate and many species mate for life making them synonymous with soulmates in a lot of people’s hearts. In February you can find them plastered all over Valentine’s Day cards, hand in hand as they drift on their backs together and refuse to let the water pull them apart. Of course many animals mate for life, it’s not anything otter specific- in fact it’s not even true for all otter species- but you always had a thing for them.

Your mug still sat on the counter in Spencer’s kitchen, two little cartoon otters fading away on the front with the words ‘otterly in love’ printed beneath them in a curly font. Just a few months ago you’d been perched on the counter yourself, tea-filled mug in your hand as you prattled on about the TV show you were currently watching. Spencer was stood opposite you, coffee in his own mug as he listened intently, truthfully not knowing what you were talking about but grinning stupidly all the same. Two opposites so similar. Now it just sat there empty and useless reflecting how Spencer felt every time he looked at it but he didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. There were traces of you everywhere all over his apartment, the ghost of someone who wasn’t dead floating around mockingly with every note still pinned up on his fridge with a silly magnet and every book of yours still tucked between his on his shelves. He was haunted by his own regrets.

It had been an ugly breakup, but not in the traditional sense. There was no screaming or shouting, no throwing or shattering. It was ugly in a quiet way, in the tears that dripped down your cheeks, the soundless begs for him to stay. A silent exit that felt louder than any argument you could’ve had instead- that you wish you’d had instead. A door that closed softly, sympathetically, behind him as he left that somehow felt like a slam that rocked its hinges. It was ugly in the feeling it gave the two of you deep in your hearts; that dull, agonising ache where you just wished the circumstances could be different. It was shortly after Haley’s funeral- after seeing what the job had cost Hotch, Spencer began to put up walls. He thought he was protecting you, you had thought he was protecting himself.

He saw your face everywhere he went. When he walked past your favourite bookstore and gazed into the window like he just couldn’t help himself he saw you scanning the shelves, brows pinched in concentration and your lips moving in silence as you read the titles along the spines with your finger hovering in the air in front of each book. He saw your face light up when you found what you wanted, excitedly but carefully prying the book from the shelf before running over to where he stood, usually by the foreign classics, to show him. He saw how his own face softened as you pressed your shoulder to his, smiling softly as you rambled and flicked through the pages of the book you were now holding between the two of you. The bell above the door rang out, harmonising with your airy laughter as he watched the two of you stroll out onto the street arm in arm, the book he’d bought you tucked tightly under your other arm before the memory faded into nothing, leaving the street empty before him.

It was like that no matter where he went; the café where you had met, the park you two would take evening strolls in after work, hell even in the grocery store he could swear he could see your hair whip through the air as you turned the corner of the aisle, the sleeve of your favourite jacket riding up your arm as you reached for something on a too-high shelf, your perpetually untied shoe laces trailing the floor as you stood on tip toes and-

Oh fuck, it actually is you.

Spencer froze where he stood, or at least he’s pretty sure he did. All he could hear in that moment was the static buzzing in his brain, like a thousand tiny Spencers were running around frantically screaming and shouting up there. His jaw hung open, eyes wide and dumb as he watched you turn towards him almost in slow motion, hair falling around your face like a picture frame. Your mouth was moving but no sound was coming out, at least not that he could hear. All he could focus on was the shape of your lips- so familiar yet now so foreign. Those lips he’d kissed more times than he could count, those lips that had always beamed in his direction except for the last time he’d seen them when they trembled and shook at his words.

“Spencer?” They called out. Your voice was muffled and hazy in his ears like he was only semi-conscious, but God did the sound of his name from your lips feel like heaven. You were staring at him, blinking expectedly like you were waiting for him to do something. “Spencer, you called my name.”

“I did?” He squeaked, voice hoarse as he forced it out. Did he? He cringed at himself for a moment before clearing his throat awkwardly, feigning confidence. “I did. Yes, I did, um-”

What are you doing? Say hello. Ask her how she is. Tell her you miss her. Sweep her off of her feet and tell her you’ll never let her go again.

“Your shoelace is untied.” Idiot.

You hesitated for a moment, visibly confused before glancing down at your shoe, kicking your leg out slightly so that your laces hung in the air between you. You were wearing your converse- the pair you’d bought to match Spencer’s. He noticed.

“Yeah, I know.” You replied, offering him an awkward smile. “You’d think I’d have learned by now, with the way you always panicked every time I tripped on the street.”

Panicked. Past tense.

“I just didn’t want you to get hurt.” He spoke quietly. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. A thick, mournful silence stretched out between you, saying everything neither of you could voice aloud. Like Haley. Both of your gazes dropped to the floor, to your matching converse, before flickering back to each other at the same time. Perfectly in sync.

“It’s good to see you, Spencer.” You piped up eventually, your voice cutting through the tension slightly. He tried to ignore the stinging feeling in his chest hearing his full name instead of your usual ‘Spence’.

“It’s good to see you too.” He responded, a fond smile pulling at his lips despite everything. He just couldn’t help it when it came to you. “Really good.”

“How have you been? How’s work?” You asked, voice cracking slightly at the last word.

“I’ve been ok.” Not great, not good or fine. Just ok. “Work is… work.” His voice trailed off, not wanting to discuss the very thing that had split you apart. The very thing that had you standing away from each other making small talk instead of walking hand in hand through the aisles as you picked out what you were going to cook together that night.

“Ohmygod!” You chirped suddenly, a hint of excitement in your voice that lifted the tension just a tad. “You cut your hair!” Without thinking, like it was instinct, your hands flew up to his head, twirling a short curl around your finger. Spencer had to fight his eyelids as they threatened to flutter shut but he couldn’t stop the content sigh that left his lips- your hands in his hair felt like home.

“Yeah I did.” He breathed, leaning into your touch ever so slightly. “You always said it was getting too long.”

He remembers the way you used to sit with your legs swung over his lap as you toyed with his hair while some movie or TV show was forgotten in the background. One hand would be resting on your knee, the other wrapped around your back holding you close to him as you teased him, adoration lacing through your sarcasm.

“I’m serious, Spence, you could braid it!” You had laughed, holding his hair up in a ponytail, your hands a makeshift hair tie.

“You’re being dramatic.” He’d argued back, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed the butterflies in his stomach as your fingertips grazed his neck.

“Oh yeah?” You’d challenged, hopping off of his lap and sprinting to the bathroom as he laughed after you from his spot on the couch. You came back brandishing a handful of colourful hair ties and hair clips, a mischievous smile plastered on your face.

Not long after you were leaning back against the arm of the couch, a camera in your hands as you laughed wildly at him, dolled up and blushing as he tried and failed to hide his face with his hands, giggling just as much as you until your cheeks ached.

Now, with your fingers still in his hair, the memory wrapped itself around Spencer’s heart like a rope, squeezing it as it pulled and pulled, threatening to rip it out of his chest entirely.

“Well I think it suits you.” You said softly. You didn’t pull your hand away. Instead you let it fall reluctantly, fingers brushing against the curve of his cheek, so gently that if he wasn’t so in tune with your movements he would’ve missed it completely, before dropping to his shoulder and eventually back at your side as if it never happened.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“It um-” Spencer began, trying to swallow the inexplicable feeling causing a lump in his throat, “my head gets cold sometimes now.” He mumbled, cringing at himself for the odd response. But you laughed.

You laughed that lovely, radiant laugh. The one so heavenly he was sure it would put the angels to shame. God, he wanted to hear that blissful sound for the rest of his life. His gaze shyly dropped from your face, no longer able to handle looking into those eyes that he used to get lost in for hours- he still would if given the opportunity, if it didn’t hurt so much to do so now. That was when he saw it, glistening between your collarbones, framed by your body and shining bright and beautiful. The necklace he gave you on your first anniversary. You were still wearing it.

Spencer breathed in sharply, brows pinched and nose scrunched as he dropped his gaze fully to the floor, the sound of your laughter still ringing in his ears as he blinked back tears. He let himself wonder for just a second about if you felt the same way. If you saw his face in strangers on the street, or if you heard his voice in your head when you were re reading the books he bought you. He thought about whether you still slept on the left side of the bed, or if you stayed in the middle now there was no him to make space for. Did you go back to hugging that stuffed animal you swore you’d outgrown now you didn’t have his side to curl into? Did you leave for work on time now that he wasn’t there begging you to stay in bed with him for just five more minutes as he peppered you with sleepy kisses?

A voice sharply pulled him out of his trance. Not your voice, no- not that serene melody that lead him anywhere with a gentle touch. This was a harsh, grating voice that yanked him out of his thoughts with so much force he almost face planted the floor. This was a man’s voice. Calling your name. His heart sank at the small smile that bloomed on your face as you turned to face the mystery man, and somehow the glow of your necklace- of Spencer’s necklace- seemed to dim against your skin.

“I’ll be right there, Nathan, I’m sorry.” You called back apologetically, waving at him in reassurance before he disappeared back around the corner of the aisle.

I’m sorry.

Spencer whispered the words to himself while your back was still turned to him, the words burning in the back of his throat. He suddenly felt foolish, like a burden mixing you up in his silly fantasies when you had clearly moved on in your life, yet he couldn’t help the way his body relaxed at the scent of your perfume floating through the air as you spun back to face him.

“I better get going.”

“You better get going.”

The two of you spoke in unison. Under any other circumstances Spencer would’ve found it funny how in sync you always were, how perfectly you slotted together like you were practically just one being. But now, his heart sank further, drowning in memories of you. Suffocating. Now it felt like a mockery. Like the current was too strong no matter how hard he grasped your hand, it was pulling you away from him.

“Yeah.” You breathed, almost remorsefully. You bit your lip, your hand flinching hesitantly before reaching out and resting on Spencer’s arm, your thumb rubbing small circles against his cardigan instinctively. “It was really nice to see you, I mean it.”

“It was nice to see you too.” He croaked, trying not to focus on the weight of your hand against him. Clearing his throat he spoke again, unsure whether he wanted to let you go or not. “It’s been a while.” He added wistfully.

“Yeah, it has. It definitely takes me a lot longer to proofread my work before I send it in now.” You chuckled airily, emptily, as you reminisced about the two of you cramped into one chair at his desk in the low lamp light of his apartment.

Spencer didn’t smile back. “I hope you’re doing okay.” He whispered, just loud enough, as he waved goodbye and turned on his heel, not waiting to hear your response. He just needed to get out of there. He didn’t see the way your hand lingered in the air for a moment after he left, how you stared blankly at the spot where he’d stood before forcing yourself to walk away.

The next day at work, he was somber. He was slumped at his desk, letting his coffee run cold as his hands ran through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, sighing to himself as he tried to force himself to think about anything but you. Everything around him felt as if it were in greyscale, even the Rubiks cube he kept on his desk seemed unsolvable as the blocks all faded into indistinguishable shades of lifelessness, so to say he was surprised when a bumble of colours came strutting into his peripheral would be an understatement.

“Okay,” Penelope’s voice sighed as her neon pink heels clicked to a halt at Spencer’s desk. “Spill. What’s wrong, boy wonder.” She asked softly, tapping his hand with the fuzzy topper of her pencil.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He lied, although he didn’t even believe it himself.

“You’re dragging your feet about the place and you’re giving me those little puppy dog eyes of yours and it’s hurting me, Reid, it’s hurting me.” She spoke sadly, pausing to perch herself on the edge of his desk and forcing him to look at her with a gentle tap of his nose. “I just want to wrap you up in a hug if I knew you wouldn’t freak out that I’m carrying all the icky public transport germs on my clothes.”

He smiled briefly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Really, I’m fine, Garcia.”

“No, you’re not.” She spoke a little firmer, suddenly jumping to her feet. “In fact, up, come on. Come with me.”

Impatiently, she waved her hands in the air as she gestured for him to stand before beckoning him to follow her as her heels began clacking towards her office, Spencer trailing begrudgingly behind her. He really didn’t want to talk about it, but only a fool would dare try and escape Penelope once she was committed to taking care of them. In her office, she practically forced him into her desk chair, the wheels spinning it side to side as he adjusted himself. His eyes trailed the army of colourful trinkets and toys lining her workspace, though they couldn’t quite distract him from the bold FBI logo bitterly blinking back at him at all angles from the monitors all around.

“Okay, I have my therapist hat on,” she began, comically adjusting her headband on her head, “talk to me.”

“I’m just in one of those moods, I guess.” Spencer murmured, avoiding her gaze and picking up a small plushie kitten from the desk and turning it over in his hands as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“Uh-uh. No. You’ve got this sad, heartbroken little look in your eyes that pulls on my little heartstrings. I haven’t seen that look since- oh.” She cut herself off quietly, her eyes softening in understanding. “Is it her?”

Swallowing his emotions Spencer nodded, still focusing on the toy in his hands. “I saw her yesterday.”

“Oh!” She repeated, squealing a little as she clasped her hands together excitedly before she remembered the situation and promptly dropped her hands back to her lap. “Oh. Right, right.”

“Right.” Spencer echoed solemnly.

“How’d it go?” Penelope asked tenderly after a brief silence, scooting slightly closer in her own chair.

He shifted in his seat, squeezing his eyes shut as he contemplated whether or not he wanted to tell the truth. Honestly, he wasn’t really sure how it went. He knows how it felt for him, like every last bit of hope for the two of you had been squeezed out of him, but he frustratingly couldn’t get a read on you. Nor had he stopped thinking about you since.

“It was alright, at first. It was a little awkward on my part,” he scrunched up his nose, cringing at himself in retrospect, “and kind of sad but… nice.”

Penelope nodded along empathetically. “But then?”

“But then,” Spencer trailed off, stilling the toy cat in his hands before setting it down in defeat. “She was with somebody else.”

“Oh, honey.” She cooed, taking the plushie out of his lap and holding his hand instead. He usually wasn’t one to accept such gestures but in the moment it was comforting. “Tell me everything. Every word.”

“I mean I don’t regret what happened,” Spencer began after recounting the events to her, “at least I don’t think I do. I could never regret protecting her and keeping her safe but just seeing her there with him made me-“

“Jealous?” She cut in, raising a brow at him.

“What? No, not jealous, just-“ he tried to defend himself but he couldn’t think of anything else to say that could explain the ugly feeling bubbling in his chest, heinous and spitting like poison. Maybe he was jealous.

“Jealous.” She repeated, punctuating herself with another tap of her fuzzy pencil. “It’s okay, Reid. It’s normal. And for what it’s worth I think she’s totally still into you.”

“What?” Spencer squeaked, finally meeting her gaze with an incredulous look. “That’s- that’s ridiculous, Garcia.”

“Sweetheart,” She began, her voice taking on an ever so slightly teasing tone, “she was wearing your matching shoes.”

“They’re practical shoes.”

“She was still wearing your necklace.”

“Maybe she just liked how it looked with her outfit.”

“With her hoodie and converse? Yeah, sure.” Penelope cocked her eyebrow at him again, smirking slightly as she tilted her head at him. “Reid. My dear boy wonder. She played with your hair.”

“She was just commenting on my haircut,” Spencer insisted through stuttering words and burning cheeks, “that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, come on!” She sighed, exasperated as she through her hands up. “That is classic, textbook I’m-still-in-love-with-my-ex-boyfriend. It’s yearning 101!”

He opened his mouth to protest, but there was no stopping the romance-loving adrenaline rushing through the veins of the meddling woman before him.

“You have to go after her.”

Spencer’s jaw dropped, mouth opening and closing rapidly like a fish as he blinked repeatedly in tandem. He was malfunctioning, evidently. “What? No!” He yelped, voice several octaves higher than before. “Garcia that’s crazy! Thats-“

“Genius!” She finished for him, a maniacal glimmer in her wild eyes as she beamed. “Oh it’s the perfect rom-com scenario.” She mused, clasping her hands together.

“I don’t watch romantic comedies.” Spencer replied deadpan. He bit back the word anymore. He used to, with you.

“This is the scene where the guy chases the girl through the rain,” Penelope began, ignoring him entirely, “or the scene where he jumps in a taxi and throws money at the cabbie and runs through the airport screaming her name right before she gets on the plane.”

“Plane? But she isn’t going anywhere.”

“Oh, will you shush? I’m being romantic. Something you should be doing with little miss love of your life right now.”

“I don’t know.” He sighed, sinking down in his chair and swivelling side to side in thought. “She’s moved on, Garcia.”

The defeated croak in his voice weighed heavy on Penelope’s heart. She often felt other people’s emotions in full force as if they were her own, something she saw both as her detriment and as her greatest triumph. But right now as she watched her heartbroken baby brother shrink into himself she wanted nothing more than to fix everything for him.

“You said his name was Nathan?” She asked, although she already knew, as she spun to face her monitor, pulling her keyboard towards her as her eyes locked onto the screen with laser focus.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, concerned at the sudden steel emotion hardening her features. “You can’t just cyber stalk everyone you deem an inconvenience- that’s a gross misuse of FBI resources.”

Penelope said nothing but held up a finger with authority, effectively shushing him though he still glanced over his shoulder nervously like he was expecting the door to be broken down any second. In just a few seconds her expression melted, a satisfied look taking over instead as she smirked, tilting the screen away from him with her perfect pink nails.

“You swear they were together?” She asked, an amused lilt in her voice that had Spencer furrowing his brows in confusion. She was practically vibrating with excitement.

“I think so.” He replied warily, eyes darting between her face and her death grip on the edge of the monitor.

“Well…” She sighed dramatically, though the grin on her face only grew wider. “Nathan’s boyfriend isn’t going to be too happy about that.”

Slowly, she spun the monitor back to face him, revealing a social media post. Sure enough, Nathan was stood looking positively ecstatic, arm around another man and hugging him close. Warm candles lit up the room around them, illuminating the balloons strung up on the wall and the roses on the table. Beneath the photo in the caption read the words ‘happy anniversary, baby” with a string of heart emojis.

Despite his protests to Penelope’s sleuthing Spencer felt a weight lift off of his chest, chuckling to himself slightly and he’d never been so happy to be wrong about something in his life. He was just a friend.

“You already let her go once,” she began, speaking gently again, “you can’t afford to let her go again.” Her hand let go of the monitor, instead coming to rest on Spencer’s shoulder.

“But I can’t afford to lose her forever, either.” He uttered, voice broken with something between heartbreak and regret. “I can’t afford to mix her up in this world. To lose her like-” He stopped speaking abruptly, like the thought of it was too painful to even force the words out.

“Like Haley.” Penelope finished for him again, rubbing his shoulder as he dropped his eyes to the floor. “I get it, sweetie, I do. But are you really going to let her walk away forever over a possibility?”

“If it saves her life, of course.”

“I don’t mean to be a Debbie Downer, Reid, but you can’t guarantee anybodies life.” He nodded heavily, it was a reality the whole team was unfortunately all too aware of. “It’s not promised to anyone, whether you’re with her or not, so don’t let it get in the way.”

“I love her.” Spencer declared. Crisp and final.

“So go get her.” Penelope bumped his shoulder lightly in encouragement. “If not for you then for me, I miss my girl’s night partner.”

“I never stopped you from seeing her?” He turned to look at her, mentally running through every conversation they’d had about you incase he ever insinuated that without realising.

“I know but it’s basic girl code! Have you never seen a rom-com in your life? I could never do that to you.” She held a hand to her heart dramatically, like she was making an oath.

“Girl code?” Spencer echoed, confused, “but I’m not a-“

“Reid.” Penelope firmly planted both hands on his shoulders as she spun him in his chair until they were perfectly opposite each other, staring into his eyes sternly. “Go. Get. Her.”

“We still have 5 hours of work left.” He mumbled nervously.

“After work, genius. After work.”

“Right.”

Later that evening, after pacing around his apartment for what felt like an agonisingly long time, Spencer found himself outside of your door. Actually, he’d been there for so long he was half worried a neighbour was going to spot him outside of the window and call the police on him for loitering, but he just couldn’t work up the courage to knock on your door. The last time he had been here still haunted him and every time he looked up at the door he saw himself walking out of it, tears rolling down your face as you stood on the other side. Instead, he fumbled with the edges of his sleeves, repeatedly tightening and loosening his tie and occasionally reaching down into his bag and running his fingers along your mug tucked safely within one of his sweaters so that it didn’t shatter on the way over.

Desperately trying to calm his breathing, he finally made his way up the stairs, his legs trembling and threatening to give out beneath him with every step. Taking a deep breath, he reached out a shaking hand and gave three brave knocks on the wood, trying to ignore the nausea clawing at him from the inside.

He almost stopped breathing entirely when the door swung open moments later. There you stood. Perfect, ethereal you. The light of your hallway illuminated you in an angelic glow, a halo-like ring shining in your hair and Spencer swore in that moment that he had died and gone to heaven. You were only in your sweats and an old t shirt, glasses on and hair thrown up in a lazy ponytail, but he thought you were the most bewitching thing he had ever seen or that he ever would see for as long as he lived (which may not be very long given the way he was still holding his breath).

“Spencer?” Your voice was music to his ears. Raspy and sleepy in a way that had him wanting to tuck you into bed with a sweet goodnight kiss.

“Hi.” He barely managed, voice hoarse and jaw hanging open.

“Are you okay?” You asked, shifting your weight where you stood in the doorway.

“Yeah, I um-“ He started, losing momentum very quickly. “I didn’t think this far ahead. I’m sorry.”

You bit your lip, stifling back a chuckle. Even in your situation it was impossible not to fall for his loveable awkwardness, just the sheer Spencer-ness of it all. Before you had a chance to second guess yourself you were stepping to the side, holding your door open just a bit wider and gesturing for him to come in. He followed immediately, a precious look of disbelief on his face as you shut the door behind him. It felt weird yet comfortable to have him back in your space. Before the breakup, these walls had seen all of your movie nights and every meal you began to cook together before getting distracted dancing around the kitchen in the glow of the refrigerator light. It had heard every word, every compliment, every joke, every time you laughed or cried together, every soft snore as you slept tangled up in each other’s arms. Welcoming him in felt like welcoming him home.

“I’m sorry to stop by when it’s so late.” He found his voice eventually as he followed you into the living room. “You can tell me to leave if you need to.”

“Don’t be silly.” You smiled, sitting down on the couch. Carefully, he lowered himself beside you, keeping a respectable distance but you caught the way his fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out for you. “I’d never turn you away, Spence.”

Spence. You didn’t mean to say it. It just slipped out. But you didn’t take it back.

“I wanted to apologise.” He fought his nerves and looked straight in your eyes, holding your gaze with a serious look that you couldn’t quite place.

“For what?” You tilted your head, unable to pull your eyes away.

“For everything.” The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch in your throat, the emotion in his words unearthing every feeling you thought you’d buried. “For leaving. Especially for how I left.”

“Spencer, I-“

“I thought I was protecting you. I thought that by letting you go I was keeping you safe, that I was doing what was right. But when I saw you yesterday… I realised I still love you. I mean, I knew I still loved you- God did I know- but I think I was denying just how much.” Your heart thudded in your chest, as did his, but he forced himself to keep going. “And maybe it’s selfish but I just can’t keep going around seeing your face everywhere I go, hearing your voice in every book I read, feeling your touch when it’s not there.”

He broke eye contact for just a second, glancing around at the room he’d once called his second home, and when he looked back at you there were tears in his eyes.

“You don’t have to accept my apology,” he continued, voice beginning to hollow, “but I just had to tell you. I had to try.”

To your surprise, there were tears forming in your own eyes. You hadn’t even felt them creeping up on you, no sting in your lash line before the drops were rolling down your cheek. Without thinking, like it was instinct to take care of you, Spencer reached forward to wipe them away and you leaned into his touch like it was second nature. His fingertips brushed against your face, the warmth sending a jolt through you that had you wanting to jump into his arms and kiss him until the break up was completely and utterly forgotten- but a small part of you was still hurting. And that part of you recoiled. You tried to speak, but the words came out hoarse.

“I understand.” You whispered. “It’s okay, Spencer.”

“No, no it’s not.” He insisted, voice low but firm.

“No, it’s not.” You admitted faintly, folding your hands in your lap. “But if you want to fix things… I’m willing to let you try.”

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, his chest deflating so fast he thought it might collapse in on itself. His fingers twitched again, the nerves shooting through him as he processed your words.

“Thank you.” He breathed, barely audible at all. “Thank you so much. Thank you.” He repeated it over and over again like a prayer. He wasn’t even sure who he was thanking, you or whatever cosmic forces of the universe had decided to grace him with your existence in the first place.

“I’ve missed you too.” You moved along the couch until your knees were touching, and with bated breath you took his shaking hand in yours and admired how perfectly they fit together, like they were moulded just for one another. “I miss you every time I wake up alone from a bad dream and you’re not there to read me back to sleep. I miss you every time I smell coffee and it’s not coming from your mug, from your hands. I miss you all the damn time, Spence.”

He raised your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a kiss so soft yet so full of raw emotion to your knuckles and you realised he was crying too.

“I swear, you’ll never have to miss me again. I’m not going anywhere this time, I promise.” And he meant it. He meant it with every fibre of his being.

“Good.” Was all you could muster. You believed him, and that was all that mattered.

A sentimental silence fell over the room as you both sat with your hands still entwined, except now your head was on his shoulder and he was pressing tender kisses into your hair the way he always used to. After a while, he jolted upright suddenly, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small object wrapped in blue tissue paper, which he carefully ripped off.

A smile pulled at you before you could register it as you saw the little cartoon otters on your favourite mug. You’d left it at his apartment the last time you saw him before the break up and hadn’t had the courage to ask for it back, leaving it behind alongside everything you’d left unsaid.

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to say what I planned to,” Spencer started, laughing at himself quietly. “So I thought I’d return your mug. Just incase I needed an excuse as to why I was here.”

You found yourself laughing too, heart blooming with adoration for your silly, awkward genius. “You can keep it.” You mused, resting your head back on his shoulder like it belonged there. “You’ll need it next time I’m at your place.”

Next time. Future tense.

A lovesick grin grew on Spencer’s face as he settled into you, to say he was in love with you would be underselling it. He was completely, inescapably enamoured with you- smitten, besotted, infatuated- there was no word in any language that could describe the depth of the love he felt. With a full heart, he took your hand in his once again and this time he vowed he would never let it go again, no matter how hard the current pulled.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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muletia · 5 months ago

Text

-`♡´- 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐮𝐬

orion pax x human!reader x d-16 and a sprinkle of platonic x elita <3 pocket spouse au

summary: finally, the time has come to meet your spouse! after joining the Pocket Spouse Program — an Earth-Cybertron friendship pact allowing humans to become partners to bots who wish to have their very own human to love, cherish, and treat as their soft, squishy spouses — you’ve been waiting for so long for your turn to come. and as it turns out, this long-awaited day is full of pleasant surprises <3

cw: fluff, canon divergence because tfo takes place bazilion years before humans, a little bit of jealousy and obsessive thoughts, possessiveness, implied polyamory, implied nsfw thoughts (nothing explicit thought)

word count: 3900

shot out to all the anons and non-anons who gave me a lot of great ideas for this au <3

Armed with a travel bag filled with the most useful items and a backpack stuffed with supplies, you stand before the capsule-shaped elevator. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before stepping into the tight, enclosed space, and enter, sealing your fate. The doors close behind you, and without giving you even a second to prepare, the elevator descends rapidly, taking you towards your new life but not granting enough time to fully shake off the old one.

Not that there was much to shake off, considering you had willingly made the decision to join the Pocket Spouse program. Nothing was holding you on Earth, least of all luck, so you decided to seek it elsewhere. And as it happened, you chose to start your search on a planet inhabited by sentient, enormous, transforming robots who, apparently, had quite the fascination with humans. An extreme new beginning, but after hearing only good things about the living conditions and the way humans were treated with care, you figured — why not, if it meant living in luxury?

Of course, you had considered various scenarios in case the rumors turned out to be a sham. You could end up with anyone. A fetishist, a collector of exotic pets, a hoarder of toys. That was the unknown, stressful factor that the speed of the elevator gave you no chance to tame. The decision of which robotic spouse you would be assigned to also did not belong to you, so all you could do was hope for a stroke of luck that you’d end up with someone normal.

You don’t even have time to take another deep, reassuring breath when the capsule comes to a sharp stop, and almost immediately its sliding doors open.

You’re greeted by a metallic face with distinctly feminine features. Beautiful in its strange, alien way, but also serious. One look is enough to tell you that you’re dealing with a bot who is strict and has no tolerance for nonsense, but your first impression naturally shifts when your eyes and her optics meet. Her metal face softens almost instantly, easing your stress just enough for you to regain feeling in your legs. You step out toward the bot, onto a small platform designed specifically for a species of your size, and with each step, the bot seems to grow to an unsettlingly immense scale.

The room is small — or at least it seems that way as you try to translate its dimensions into the standards of the giants who inhabit this planet — and carelessly sterile in dark gray tones. There’s no doubt it was put together in a rush, without much thought, simply to exist and serve its function. Its barrenness is unsettling. So much for a luxurious life of doing nothing?

The bot straightens and pulls a datapad closer as she finally speaks. “[Name] [Last Name], I presume?” You still can’t get over how easily the metal of her face bends and flexes when needed, as if it were made of rubber.

“Exactly.”

She nods her helm. “My name is Elita One. I am the head of this mining sector, and I also hold responsibility for every pocket spouse assigned here. And unless there is a change in management, you answer to me, you listen to me, and you bring all future requests or orders to me.”

Oh. So you got assigned to the working class. Fine, you’ll adjust as soon as you get proper living conditions. “Alright.” The lack of warmth in her demeanor discourages you from wanting to engage in any future interactions, but if she’s your only lifeline to protection from potential mistreatment, you’ll treat her words as gospel. “Nice to meet you.” You smile and extend a hand toward her. She stares at you hesitantly for a moment before finally reaching out a single digit to complete the greeting.

“Likewise.”

Elita doesn’t withdraw her servo, though; instead, she straightens it and clasps her digits together, gesturing for you to climb onto her palm. “For safety.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You accept the invitation, though a red flag starts waving in your mind. You don’t remain on her servo for long, as Elita smoothly and carefully transfers you onto her shoulder.

“I advise you to be careful,” she warns. “Miners rarely interact with pocket spouses, so they might try to touch you or snatch you up in their servos. Do not try to stand, do not lean over, and above all, do not excite them. A simple wave of your hand is enough to send them into a frenzy. Understood?”

Alright, now the stress is back. You hadn’t expected such strong reactions towards humans, especially since this trend od getting pocket spouses was no longer new. “Wait. I thought pocket spouses were already a well-established concept on your planet.”

“Not in these parts,” she sighs. “On the surface, the sight of humans may not cause much of a stir, but things are different down here. For us miners, pocket spouses are a rarity. Only the best can afford them.”

Oh, so even among a highly advanced race of sentient robots, there was still a harmful caste system in place. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you stammer, because what else is there to say in this situation? When she shoots you a sour glance, you decide to change the subject, hoping to save your image from seeming callous and naïve. You clear your throat. “So, I assume you already have your own pocket spouse?”

She gives you a pointed side-eye. She saw right through your plan.

“Of course, I do. Do I need to repeat myself about being careful, or is everything clear?”

“Clear as day.” You don’t need to see her faceplate to know that this human phrase is unfamiliar to her. Feeling her impatient side-eye on you, you awkwardly correct yourself, “Yes.”

“Good. If you have anything else you’d like to know, now is the time to ask. I assure you, you won’t have time later.”

“My spouse. What are they like?”

“Spouses,” she corrects nonchalantly, not even looking up from her datapad, throwing you completely off.

“Spouses? Do I get one for free?”

Elita does not appreciate your attempt at humor. She sends you a sharp look.

“In a manner of speaking. Officially, a pocket spouse is assigned to a single bot, but there are cases of sharing. Or, if by some miracle, a human ends up with a conjunx. But I haven’t heard of such cases.”

Conjunx? That’s a new word, and it means absolutely nothing to you, but you decide to store it in your memory for later, too distracted by the fact that you’ve been assigned to a pair.

“Okay, I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No. I think? I don’t know yet, you caught me off guard.” You take a deep breath. You’ll manage. Somehow. “So, my spouses. What are they like?”

Elita’s expression darkens, and that, in turn, unsettles you. That couldn’t be a good sign.

“What is it? Did I get assigned to some creeps?”

“Worse,” she huffs. “D-16 is a decent mech and an exemplary miner, and officially, he is your spouse. But Orion —” she grips the datapad tighter as if restraining herself from an outburst “—Orion is the most foolish, irresponsible, and reckless bot on all of Cybertron. And if you think I’m exaggerating, you’re gravely mistaken. He attracts trouble like a magnet and throws himself into it because he is incorrigible. I almost pity you, really, because you couldn’t have gotten a worse match. Even Darkwing would have been a better spouse.”

But… as if fighting her own thoughts, she adds, “For all their recklessness… they worked very hard to have you, and I know they will treat you well. Perhaps clumsily at first, but well. That doesn’t change the fact that Orion has an empty canister instead of a processor, so if he does something idiotic, and he will, you are to report it to me immediately.”

Galncing at the datapad, she adds "Do you want to know anything else? We don't have much time for idle chatter."

"Just one thing. You mentioned that there's already a human in this sector. Can you arrange for us to meet sometime soon? It’d be nice to have occasional contact with someone like me."

"We'll see what can be done," she replies warily, clearly displeased with the idea. Her answer makes it obvious that there's a high chance you’ll be left hanging rather than meeting your fellow human, but you’re not giving up that easily.

"Thanks," you say. Out of politeness, feeling an even stronger urge to stay on her good side.

"Shall we begin?"

You take a deep breath. You’re doing this. You’re meeting your extraterrestrial partners, cementing your future on this planet. Your hesitation lasts only a moment — just a brief weighing of pros and cons, an instant of fighting the urge to turn around and run back to the elevator. Less than a second is all it takes for you to give your answer.

"Yes, I want to meet them."

"Be careful," she warns sharply, one last time. "I've worked too hard for this job to lose it now because of human irresponsibility."

Elita takes a step forward, and you have to grab onto her helm to keep your balance, but thankfully, an exaggerated optic-roll is her only reaction to the excess contact. The next steps aren’t as shocking; by the third, you’ve adjusted to the rhythm of the giant leading you to a set of sliding doors, which she opens with a button on the side.

Your pocket spouses certainly know how to make… an intriguing first impression.

Caught off guard by the sudden opening of the doors, they literally tumble into the room and land on the floor, shooting you a lightning-fast glance before scrambling to their pedes at record speed, straightening up as if nothing happened. Their excited grins grow quickly and they’re clearly contagious, because you feel your own lips curling into a smile.

They look masculine and young, as much as you can say that about beings whose tissues don’t age. What grabs your attention most is the bot with yellow optics. You haven’t seen such a unique color among their kind before. Maybe you haven’t met many bots yet, but you could swear most had blue optics. Interesting... You make a mental note to compliment those bright, captivating optics later.

Your gazes meet, and the mech with the unusual, beautiful optics parts his lips slightly. You get the feeling he wants to say something, but excitement completely paralyzes him.

"Well, that was a stunning performance. Was eavesdropping worth it?"

"Ahem, no... we weren't eavesdropping," Orion defends himself, though his gaze remains fixed on you.

"Forgive us, Elita, you just caught us off guard when you opened the door so suddenly," D-16 adds, having suddenly regained control over his body.

They step closer, as if hypnotized, drawn to minimizing the distance, but Elita halts them with an outstretched arm. They stop, but their lovestruck expressions make it clear that their minds are already revolving solely around you.

"Ugh, pull yourselves together," Elita scolds. "You won’t lay so much as a digit on your pocket spouse until you’ve listened to the protocol, so focus."

"Mhm, yeah, yeah."

"Now do you understand what I was talking about earlier?" she directs at you. "I wish you Primus' patience with these two airheads."

"Oh, come on, they’re quite charming," you remark — but it turns out to be unnecessary, as the eruption of joy at hearing your voice is nearly impossible for even Elita to suppress.

Both of them surge forward, their excited cheers and cooing echoing through the empty room, bombarding you with loud adoration.

"Didn’t I just say something about getting them worked up?!" Elita hisses at you, but the sharp tone doesn’t sit well with your partners, their expressions suddenly sober as they feel the instinct to stand in your defense.

"Elita, leave them alone," Orion intervenes. "They’ve done nothing wrong."

"I knew this would happen," Elita sighs. "Enough. Let me recite the protocol so we can all go our separate ways, because I don’t have time to babysit all of you."

She looks at the two mechs before her to make sure they’re listening, but it quickly becomes evident they have no intention of cooperating today.

"Primus, focus! Do you think I have time to waste? Unlike you, empty cans, I have a ton of work to do and I'd like to finish it before my shift starts."

Still seeing their dazed, absentminded expressions, Elita decides to escalate.

"Do I have to take your pocket spouse away for you to finally pay attention?"

Orion snaps out of his trance first, alarmed at the idea of you being taken away.

"What? No, no! We’re listening now, boss."

"Next time, there won’t be a verbal warning. I’ll smack you both on the helms, and that’ll be the end of your pocket spouse respecting you."

Of course, a reprimanding servo-to-helm contact was unavoidable when it became clear they were drifting off again. But after the protocol was recited, a datapad signed, and you were informed that regular supplies of human fuel and clothing would be delivered to you, the long-awaited moment of your "eviction" from Elita’s shoulder finally arrived.

She steps closer to the two bots, who extend their servos with interlaced small digits toward you so you can transfer safely. Grabbing your bag, you carefully step from her shoulder onto their servo, at last entering physical contact with your spouses.

"You have a few clicks of free time before your shift starts," Elita informs them. "And if you’re even a nanoklik late, I swear you’ll be pulling overtime."

She gives you one last soft, almost sympathetic look, so out of place with her previous authoritative tone before leaving, closing the door behind her.

Two pairs of optics focus on you.

You gaze into them, sinking into the moment, finally understanding what Elita meant about their fascination with humans. Because looking into their dazzling optics, brimming with excitement and adoration, you find yourself experiencing that same fascination with their alien race, even though you’ve met other bots before.

You can truly call yourself a pocket spouse now, completely leaving your past life behind. And you sincerely hope this one will be better. That Orion and D-16 will make it so, though you have no guarantee.

"Hello," you say warmly.

"Hi," they reply almost simultaneously.

D-16 can’t hold back any longer. He extends his servo toward you, eager to finally acquaint himself with the texture of your body, but he hesitates the moment he feels you shiver ever so slightly, struck by your fear.

"Ah, I’m sorry, don’t be afraid," he says.

A bad start. A very bad start. He worries he’s already tainted your budding relationship, that his reckless excitement has scared you enough that you won’t give him a chance to open up. But you quickly soothe his fears.

"It’s okay, really. You can touch me if you want."

Their youthful, boyish excitement returns, softening their handsome metal faces — and your heart along with them.

"Just be careful," you remind them. "Humans are quite prone to accidental squishing."

"We’ll remember," D-16 promises. "We’d never hurt you. Right, Orion?"

"Of course. You’ll be completely safe with us."

"Alright, I believe you." Not entirely. You want to believe them. But if what Elita said was true, then they would stay true to their word if they worked so hard to be assigned a human. Only fools would deliberately destroy the fruits of their labor. "So? Do you want to touch your pocket spouse?"

Your pocket spouse. Your. Theirs. Theirs and only theirs.

It’s a dangerous thought for a miner, because the concept of ownership had been limited to just a recharge station and the locker next to it. Everything else was shared. Shared washracks, shared habsuites, shared berths for resting. There was no room for theirs.

But you were theirs. Truly, undeniably, and tangibly theirs. Only theirs. And they wanted it to stay that way. Theirs to touch, theirs to give attention to, theirs to talk to and compliment. Not for Jazz, not for Wheeljack, not for Sideswipe, and no longer for Elita. Theirs. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time because you were burdening them with responsibilities they had never known before. Theirs. They couldn’t rely on anyone else anymore.

They exchange a brief, knowing glance. Theirs. They cannot ruin this. They cannot make mistakes. You have to like them, just as they instantly fell in love with you, and see them as good spouse material. They will show you that they can take care of you. Their pocket spouse. Theirs. Only theirs.

"What’s wrong? You don’t want to?" you ask teasingly, snapping them out of the traps of their own thoughts.

"Oh, Primus, of course we do. Very much. You have no idea how much," Orion confesses.

They were both brave, but it’s Orion who makes the first move. His servo finds your back, pressing against it with a single digit. Soft. Oh, so soft.

Once, he asked Elita what her pocket spouse felt like, and that was the answer he got. He didn’t understand it then. What was softness? What kind of sensation was it? What could he compare it to? But now… now he knew that softness was you, and you were softness. And if he could, he would never let you go.

"Wow, incredible. D, this is incredible, unlike anything else. You’re… extraordinary!"

He gently strokes your back, and you allow yourself to wrap your hand around his massive metal finger, which Orion welcomes with a beaming, delighted smile. How was it possible that your servo was even softer? Or maybe somewhere else, you were even softer still. He’d heard that humans and Cybertronians were compatible, and though he knows it’s not exactly proper to let his mind drift into impure, carnal territories so early in the relationship, cannot stop himself from dreaming of drowning in your softness. Wants to be surrounded by it. Wants to be suffocated by it. Wants to feel it after every shift, wake up in it and recharge.

Impatient with his partner’s sluggishness and selfishness, D-16 clicks his glossa.

"Move your digit, Pax, it’s my turn now."

It takes Orion a few nanokliks to pull himself away from his indecent thoughts. He doesn’t want to let you go, doesn’t want to be more than a few centimeters away from you ever again, but he knows D will smack him on the still-fresh sore spot left by Elita on his helm if he doesn’t pull his servo back. So he does. And immediately, he is consumed by an overwhelming sense of loneliness and emptiness, as if his life has suddenly become incomplete. He already wants to come back to you.

D-16’s reaction is similar. Awe at the new but pleasant texture manifests in his slightly parted intake and quick strokes across your back, searching for and discovering softness. Where your hand meets his digit, an incomparable warmth spreads, giving him a sense of completeness. You, him, and Orion. Three puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly, finally reunited after years of separation.

"I’m glad you like me," you laugh. "That’s a good start, huh?"

"It was good the moment we saw you," Orion says. "Really, we couldn’t have imagined a better pocket spouse."

"You’re too kind," you reply. You know they’re speaking from excitement, their minds weaving intricate visions and fantasies about life with a pocket spouse — visions that might not be so rosy in reality — but you don’t want to ruin it for them. Especially since you want to find a good life here, too. You want to be happy, regardless of the expectations they unknowingly place upon you. If they want to play house, you’ll join them. If they have a human fetish, you’ll indulge them in that too. "I think we’ll be happy together, won’t we? I’d like that."

"We will, for sure!" Orion assures enthusiastically.

"We know we’re just lousy miners, and you won’t have any luxuries," D-16 adds, earning a sharp elbow to the side from Orion. "I wasn’t finished, Pax." He elbows him back. "But we’ll do our best to make sure you have a good life with us. We’ll do everything for you. We’ll get… almost anything, but if you need something from the city, just say the word! Orion or I will get you food, clothes, whatever you need."

"Thanks, you’re sweet," you say, touched by their words. "I know I can’t do much, but maybe I can repay you somehow?"

"Just having you here is enough for now," D-16 says, smiling softly, enchanted by your question.

"Will you touch us again?" Orion asks, only to immediately receive a frustrated elbow. "What? They asked first."

D-16 pinches the bridge of his nose, unable to believe his partner’s tactlessness. Orion’s talent for making things worse had to affect you, it just had to. Just like every fragging time, it would fall on his shoulders to get them out of trouble, and in this case, to make sure you saw them as normal and worthy of being your spouses. They cannot mess this up. At any cost.

Which is why D is surprised when he hears your soft laughter. He lifts his servo from his faceplate and looks at you hopefully. So their relationship wasn’t ruined by Orion’s loose vocalizer?

"Of course. Come closer," you say, encouraging them further by crooking a finger.

Two massive faceplates move toward you simultaneously until they finally touch. They’re so close that you can stroke their cheeks, and so you do, slowly running your fingers over warm, living metal, drowning in their proximity. Orion and D-16 press into your hands, leaning into the comforting, though foreign, softness — now only theirs. Not for perching on Elita’s shoulder anymore. For them. Theirs to be petted, theirs to be embraced.

They could spend a lifetime in this room if it meant constant cheek-stroking and being spoiled by you. Oh, how they couldn’t wait for your shared life. Waking up with you. Coming back to their recharge stations after a hard day’s work, knowing someone was waiting for them. Spending time together. Telling you about Megatronus and Sentinel, showing off their merch, sharing every detail of their lives, and begging you to tell them about yours. About your planet, your interests, your human life — so they could make your life here as good as possible, desperately vying for your affection.

You will like them. You must. Because they already adored you, unconditionally devoted to their beloved pocket spouse. Theirs.

Relaxed and overwhelmed with contentment, they let their engines hum louder.

"Oh? You like this that much?" you ask, totaly not planning to exploit the bots’ ability to purr purely for your own selfish pleasure.

"Very much," Orion rumbles.

"You’re the best," D-16 adds.

For a moment, they open their optics, their gaze focused on you. And the trust flickering within them, the fervor of emotions burning away reason convinces you that you chose well by deciding to become a pocket spouse.

#transformers x reader #transformers one x reader #orion pax x reader #d 16 x reader #pocket spouse au

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extinctionstories · 1 year ago

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It was never a common species, the blue-grey warbler that locals called the jack pine bird. A belated discovery among American birds, it was undescribed by science until the mid 19th century—and then, known only on the basis of a single specimen. The bird's wintering grounds in the Caribbean would eventually fulfill the demands of collectors and museums, but the intricacies of its lifecycle remained a mystery for decades, the first nest only found in 1903. As the already-rare bird became rarer, people could only guess at why. There were just so few birds to look for, their breeding habitat inscrutable amidst the dense, impassable woodland of their Midwestern home. The one clue was the most apparent thing about the bird: its affinity with the jack pine (Pinus banksiana).

Over time, more nests were found—not in the eponymous trees, as might be expected for a songbird, but on the ground at their feet. Data points converged, leading to the realization that not only did the bird nest almost exclusively in proximity to the scrubby pines, but only utilized trees that fell within a specific range: new growth, between five and fifteen feet tall, with branches that swept shelteringly close to the ground. Subsequently, it would be noticed that the greatest volume of specimen collection for the bird had corresponded with years in which historically significant wildfires had impacted the Midwest—fires that, for decades afterwards, had been staunchly suppressed. The pieces fell into place, like jack pine seeds, whose cones open only under the heat of a blaze.

With the bird's total population having dwindled to the low hundreds, a program of prescribed burns, clearcutting, and replanting was instituted, with many acres of land purchased and devoted to the preservation and maintenance of suitable breeding habitat. Concurrently, efforts were made to protect the vulnerable bird against brood parasitism by the brown-headed cowbird.

When the first federal list of protected species was put forward in 1966, the name of the small grey warbler was inscribed beside birds such as the Kauai ʻōʻō and the Dusky Seaside Sparrow.

The ʻōʻō, last of the genus Moho, would be removed from the list in 2023 due to extinction, after thirty-six years without a sighting.

The endling Dusky Seaside Sparrow, a male named Orange Band, would die of old age in captivity in 1987, with his species being delisted three years later.

in 2019, fifty-two years after the creation of the Endangered Species Protection Act, the name of Kirtland's warbler, too, was removed from the list: it had been determined that, with a population now numbering nearly 5000, the jack pine bird could be considered safely stable.

Conservationists continue to work to preserve the breeding habitat of Kirtland's Warbler in the midwestern US, as well as its winter roosts in the Bahamas and neighboring islands (though selective logging has replaced actual burning in recent years, due to the dangers posed by unpredictable fires). It's the kind of effort that it takes to undo the damage we've caused to the planet and its creatures—the kind of hope that we need, to not give up on them, or on ourselves.

The title of this piece is Prescribed Burn (Kirtland's Warbler). It is traditional gouache on 18x24" watercolor paper, and is part of my series Conservation Pieces, which focuses on efforts made to save critically endangered birds from extinction.

#kirtland's warbler #conservation #bird art #extinction stories #bird extinction #endangered species #series: conservation pieces

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pro-patria-mori-if · 1 month ago

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Play the Demo! (Updated 6/15/2025) (Prologue and Chapter 1)

Kortapolis. The jewel of the Kingdom of Edria. The busiest port in Eastern Lysseta. Your home. At least, it was your home. You were born with the sound of the ocean in your ears and the smell of its salt in your nose. Your life revolved around the busy commotion of the port, the fruit stalls that lined the streets downtown, the cafes where people swapped stories and secrets. This was your whole world—until it came crashing down. When Wastoria invaded, everything changed. Soldiers marched in the streets and reduced neighborhoods to rubble. Civilians were forced out of the city, and close friends, allies, and confidants disappeared under the waves of an invasion so powerful that even now, it visits you in your dreams. Years later, Edria is in two. The upland region, the mountains, are still part of Edria. But Kortapolis District is occupied by Wastoria, a humiliation so bracing that sometimes it still leaves your heart pounding with rage. The rest of the world calls Kortapolis District a “disputed zone”. You know what it is: yours. But you won’t let your home vanish behind the pointed guns of the Wastorian military. No: you rise through the ranks in Edria, and soon, you are elected president. A fledgling new democracy, Edria has a litany of problems. But the biggest of all is drawn in careful dashed lines on every world map. Fixing this may take careful statecraft, a strategic balancing of alliances. It may take cyberwarfare, harnessed by cultivating an ally. It may take economic retaliation, or sanctions. It may take subterfuge, weakening Wastoria from the inside out. It may take war. But one thing is certain. You will make Kortapolis yours again. You will make Edria whole. Maybe that will heal you, too.

Pro Patria Mori is a sci-fi/fantasy interactive fiction novel where you play as the president of the Republic of Edria, a fledgling democracy emerging from diplomatic isolation.

Content Warnings: depictions of war, discrimination, and torture. Route-specific warnings include past physical, emotional, or sexual abuse (labelled and avoidable)

*Customize President Rezanii. Choose your appearance, gender, background, species, personality, and political outlook.

*Choose your relationship with your missing parents, the nature of your imprisonment by Wastorian forces, and your attitude towards Edria's future.

*Explore a world where magic and technology blend.

*Discover Edria, a Caribbean-inspired country on the brink of democracy or dictatorship.

*Receive diplomatic and personal messages in your in-game inbox and receive news updates on the consequences of your decisions

*Define your term in office. Will you wage war or build peace? Will you push Edria towards democracy or revive the old monarchy?

Vice President Faustino Marellii: your best friend

Romanceable? Yes

Faustino grew up alongside you; it was only natural he’d be your vice president. Before joining your campaign, Faustino was the popular mayor of Alzome, Edria’s capital. He has a reputation for being surprisingly gentle despite the cutthroat nature of Edrian politics. At least, for all issues except Edria’s relationship with Wastoria. He took care of you after you were freed from Wastorian prison and he still worries over your wellbeing.

Appearance: tall and toned with bronze skin and soft freckles. He has bright violet eyes and wavy, vibrant blue hair, indicative of him being an innate magic user (yadukari) that specializes in controlling ice and water.

Advisor Michi Dandleton: your chief strategist

Romanceable? Yes

Michi is well known in political circles for their workaholic behavior and their remarkable ability to uncover the secrets of their candidate’s opponents. They immigrated to Edria from Adranga shortly after the end of the Edrian civil war, and have never told you why they chose to leave home. They masterminded the campaign that secured you the presidency, and remain a vital part of your staff.

Appearance: average height, lithe build with rosy skin. They have electric blue eyes and short pink hair, indicative of them being a yadukari that specializes in controlling and reading emotions.

Officer Nura Alonar: your bodyguard

Romanceable? Yes, slow-burn romance

Nura was identified as a particularly powerful magic user when she was young, and the Edrian royal guard offered her parents a stipend in exchange for her being sent away and trained. Her parents accepted and Nura left her home for the capital, where she was raised to one day serve the royal family. But when the civil war reached the palace, she and a few other trainees defected to assist the pro-democracy forces. Now she serves as the last line of defense between you and the people who want to kill you.

Appearance: short and very muscular with dark brown skin with significant scarring. She has red eyes and hair, which she keeps in long braids with decorative beads she uses as magic amplifiers. While she’s a yadukari, her training means she can control fire as well as use telekinesis.

Ambassador Junius Felice: ambassador from the Empire of Langostia

Romanceable? Yes, either as a fling or a romance

Rich, arrogant, and almost always jovial, Junius is known in diplomatic circles for his lavish parties and condescending attitude towards democracies and countries poorer than his own. He was born and raised in Langostia, the wealthy and powerful monarchy to Edria’s north. He’s been tasked with rebuilding Langostia’s relationship with their former ally Edria through whatever means necessary—and, ideally, steering Edria away from democracy.

Appearance: tall with an average build and tawny skin. He has dark brown eyes and long brown, almost black hair. He has no innate magic, but that’s no reason to underestimate him.

Consul Priyanshi Areshka: consul from the Republic of Kalendra

Romanceable? Yes

Priyanshi represents Kalendra, a country Edria has yet to recognize. She was born in Langostia as a vatilti–a class of genetically engineered and cybernetically enhanced people used as spies and soldiers by the Langostian royal family and classified as property under Langostian law. Kalendra was founded by escaped vatilti, and its continued existence and growing prosperity is a long-standing annoyance to Langostia. Priyanshi is still adjusting to life with recognized personhood and is utterly fascinated by the ability to sleep in, eat interesting foods, and insult people without getting shocked by an implant.

Appearance: very tall and toned with warm brown skin and significant cybernetic modifications. She has golden, pupil-less eyes and golden, coily hair. Priyanshi is a sankara, a species of being with innate magic and the ability to easily shapeshift.

Admiral Garzi: the former president of Edria

Romanceable? No

The father of the Edrian Republic and, depending on your choices, a father figure or mentor to you as well. Garzi was an admiral dating back to the Kingdom of Edria and he helped start the civil war after refusing an order to fire on unarmed pro-democracy protestors. He was elected the first president of Edria, largely because he was the only figure voters could rally around. He’s always had a soft spot for you, which you can choose to reciprocate or not.

Appearance: late 50s, stocky build with dark tan skin and deep brown hair that is now going gray after years serving a hostile royal family and then trying to guide Edria into being a new democracy. His eyes are kind, but tired. His appearance makes it clear he has no innate magic, though that hasn’t stopped him from being one of the most popular—and divisive—figures in Edria.

Ambassador Arlo Iltik: the Wastorian ambassador to Edria

Romanceable? No

A patriotic Wastorian and yadukari nationalist, Arlo has been sent to Edria to try and convince the Edrian government to recognize Kortapolis as Wastorian territory through negotiation, coercion, violence, or all of the above. He doesn’t particularly respect you or your country.

Appearance: soft lilac hair indicating mental powers and fair skin. Arlo is average height, but the way he carries himself makes him seem to loom over other people. Deep purple eyes that almost seem to glow. Very fashionable and favors Wastorian styles, which tend to be flowing and dramatic, with bold colors.

@interact-if

#updating the intro post in light of some big changes and some small changes after writing chapter 1 #interactive fiction #propatriamori-if #if #twine wip #interactive novel #twine game #interact-if #intro post #if wip

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