#and there's way more evidence than I originally thought

[antispopausandstuff]

stans criticize antis for including the scene of Catra scarring Adora as a child in the cycle of abuse, going on about how she was just a kid, that a kid can't be abusive, etc., but here's the thing:

there's this kid i know and love. they're autistic, non-verbal // limited in speech, and are prone to emotional bursts. they always know more than people think, try to help you if you cry, and absolutely loves sharing food // treats with others and meeting new people.

but there are times i'm scared of them. hell, there's times i, admittedly, hate them.

i understand that they have little impulse control, that they're a child, a disabled one at that, and they don't understand the consequences of hurting someone or maybe even that they're hurting someone at all, but your "fight or flight", your anxiety, your fears, PTSD, etc. does not care who or what it is.

that and, honestly, i still resent my bullies. i know they were kids, too, but that doesn't take away from the pain and embarrassment i felt. for so long, i thought i was completely unlikable, and it was because of them. my ma tried to teach me the "ignore them", "kill them with kindness", "sympathy // empathy" lessons, but none of them worked.

bullying and abuse aren't that different, if they are at all. the victims always suffer, in one way or another, and bullying // abuse can lead to suicide, mental decline, physical decline, and overall ruin your entire fucking life for so long.

i understand that kids are little balls of energy and don't understand the consequences of their actions. my bullies likely thought what happened to me wasn't a big deal or was just a joke. maybe they didn't even have bad intentions in the first place. but that doesn't take away what i've gone through since then, because of them.

Catra was a child, yes, but so was Adora. why do you forget that? any child would be scared of someone, even their best friend in the whole world, if they just suddenly clawed them in the face just for asking "why did you do it?", any child. anyone, in fact.

there's exceptions, but generally speaking, we're afraid of what severely hurts us. Catra severely hurt Adora, just for asking a question that anyone else would've asked.

the cycle of abuse continued when Catra didn't care about Adora's health and safety, meanwhile Adora always cared.

now, after this, it's just speculation, but i had an interesting thought.

Catra punched Lonnie ( presumably, as there's no scar or implication that she clawed her, just that she hit her, and that typically means punching ), but clawed Adora. and hard enough to send her flying halfway across the room.

yeah, Catra was angry with Lonnie ( jealous ), but, ultimately, it's Adora who suffers the worst consequence. the writers obviously let Catra do what she likes, but i think this is just more evidence that she knew, even subconsciously, that Adora wouldn't fight back.

i originally thought that Catra only used her claws against Adora because of her hatred and knowing that Adora wouldn't do anything, but there's something else to consider.

she's clawed Octavia, disabling her, and almost did the same to Lonnie.

now, why would she do that to either of them, when neither have that much important to her, in comparison to Adora?

in the first scene, Catra did it just because she could. just because she thought Octavia was, more or less, ugly.

in the second scene, Catra did it because Lonnie pissed her off. but she's been pissed off before, many times, even to Lonnie, so why only try to claw her now?

to me, it reads as her using her claws on a person ( directly or indirectly ) when she knows the other is defenseless, in some way or form, or as a form of punishment. not necessarily because they have importance to her.

Adora just happened to be the one she wanted to punish the most.

[jinxedshapeshifter]

the promised Ryulock/Homumiko essay

So a few days ago, I made this post as a joke about the fact that there's just as much evidence for Ryulock as there is for Homumiko and left it on "In this essay, I will" because I thought it would be funny. I have decided to follow up on that joking comment because I feel like it (but also I'm with everyone who questions how/why Ryulock isn't more popular, you have two games' worth of content. I also mentioned at some point that I wanted to analyze the similarities between Sholmes's dynamic with Ryunosuke and his dynamic with Mikotoba). So, here's a Ryulock and Homumiko essay. Spoilers for both The Great Ace Attorney: Adventures and The Great Ace Attorney 2: Resolve will be present here, you have been warned.

Part 1: Ryunosuke's Role in Sholmes's Life

From their first meeting in The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band, Ryunosuke has fulfilled a specific role in Sholmes's life. The role of John H. Watson. This isn't as obvious as Mikotoba's dynamic with Sholmes (in fact, I never really acknowledged that Ryunosuke was fulfilling the role of Waston until after I finished the duology, and posted about Sholmes and Mikotoba's dynamic reminding me of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson), but it's still notable enough that The Watson is a trope under Ryunosuke's tropes on the TVTropes page for The Great Ace Attorney's main cast.

We can go even further and compare the third Dance of Deduction in The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band to the last Dance of Deduction in the duology (the former involving Ryu and Sholmes and the latter involving Sholmes and Mikotoba). In both, Sholmes is taking the situation seriously; he just found out that Kazuma was Ryunosuke's best friend in Speckled Band and so wanted to find the truth about what happened so Ryunosuke couldn't be incriminated anymore, and he was on a time crunch to find Jigoku in The Resolve of Ryunosuke Naruhodo because Jigoku was on his way out of Europe. Both have Sholmes taking the deduction incredibly seriously compared to his other deductions, and they involve Ryunosuke and Mikotoba essentially filling in the blanks for Sholmes, instead of correcting him like the other deductions in the duology.

Ryunouke keeps this role throughout the rest of the duology. Sholmes shows up at the scene of a crime Ryu's client is accused of, they investigate the crime together and do a dance of deduction, and they figure out what happened; this usually (always) seems unrelated to the case, before it gets revealed that it is related to the case. The primary difference between Sholmes's dynamic with Miktoba and his dynamic with Ryunosuke here is that Sholmes's dances of deduction always benefit Ryunosuke in more ways than one, and they're usually important to his case. Basically, Ryunosuke being a lawyer slightly changes his dynamic with Sholmes, because one of the purposes of Ryu and Sholmes's dances of deduction is for Ryu to develop his abductive reasoning skills, which helps him in court.

Ryunosuke and Mikotoba effectively serve the same role in Sholmes's life (that being, they're both his investigative partners at different points in time) but they have different benefits from doing so.

Part 2: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Dynamics Are Always Gay

This is one of the most iconic parts of Sherlock Holmes. To be clear, I haven't read the original Sherlock Holmes stories. However, I am 100% comfortable saying that, based on the excerpts I have read, Watson and Sholmes have one of the most homoerotic dynamics in fiction. This always carries over into adaptations, and The Great Ace Attorney is no exception with Mikotoba or Ryunosuke (although I would argue that the dynamics are still a little different).

On Mikotoba's end, it's both confirmed in official art and implied in dialogue that between Mikotoba helping deliver Iris and him going back to Japan, Mikotoba and Sholmes were raising Iris together, and he says that he left Iris with Sholmes because he couldn't take her back to Japan. This can be read a few ways, but I thought it was worth mentioning here.

Outside of what's mentioned/referenced, we also have what is seen in real time in the last two cases of Resolve. Sholmes and Mikotoba have kept in contact via telegram for a decade, Sholmes tells Mikotoba that the sight of him is "making his mouth water" (which I'm convinced is a reference to Ryunosuke saying "So you'd eat your friends. I'll remember that." but it also definitely comes off as very gay). Mikotoba also refers to 221B as "our home", referring to himself and Sholmes. I also think it's notable that Mikotoba regains consciousness and is immediately dragged off by Sholmes to do an investigation.

On Ryunosuke's end, dear god there's a lot (to be clear, there's more on Ryunosuke's end because he spends more time with Sholmes on-screen than Mikotoba does, not because one is inherently more canon than the other or anything). Let's go through a non-comprehensive list (because I'm thinking of most of these off the top of my head), in no particular order:

Sholmes claims Ryunosuke not being in handcuffs throws the balance off, because he'll always imagine Ryunosuke with handcuffs (The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band)

Susato teases Ryunosuke about being excited to dance around with Sholmes during the first dance of deduction, and Ryunosuke looks happy with himself from the beginning of the first dance of deduction (The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band)

Ryunosuke seems only slightly less excited to be seeing Sholmes again than Susato (The Adventure of the Clouded Kokoro)

This entire conversation that is implied to have happened right after Ryunosuke got out of bed and downstairs (The Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro)

Sholmes putting all his weight on Ryunosuke in that commemorative photograph that was taken before Susato left England (first shows up in The Adventure of the Unspeakable Story, shows up on Ryunosuke's shelf later)

Sholmes putting his hands on Ryunosuke's neck because "Blood loss has made my hands cold, Mr. Naruhodo! Have a feel!" (The Adventure of the Unspeakable Story)

Ryunosuke calling Sholmes in drag "stunning" (The Adventure of the Unspeakable Story)

Sholmes referring to Ryunosuke as "something of a manservant around here" because he hasn't been doing much other than helping around the flat since being disbarred (The Return of the Great Departed Soul)

Ryunosuke referring to Sholmes being knocked out during a dance of deduction as Sholmes "leaving him alone on the ballroom floor" (Twisted Karma and his Last Bow)

And that's not even all of it, I can guarantee it. Those are just the ones I remember best because they stand out to me. Sholmes's dynamic with both Mikotoba and Ryunosuke are incredibly gay.

Part 3: Sholmes's Relationship to Dances of Deduction

This is an interesting topic to cover, and this topic is going to be more an analysis of Sholmes than statement of canon fact. We know Sholmes is perfectly adept at accurate deductions, and it's indicated as early as The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band that he's purposely making bad deductions. We see how his deductions usually work when he's not goofing off in The Unbreakable Speckled Band, in fact. So that then begs the question, why is he so adamant about pretending to be bad at deduction, even when Ryu proves his own ability to make accurate deductions? Sure, helping Sholmes allows him to practice those abilities, but the more serious dances of deduction where Sholmes's "dance" partner is filling in the blanks would serve the same purpose, and it's something literally anyone could do.

I'd also like to clarify something here: Susato doesn't get directly involved in a dance of deduction until Sholmes is unavailable, and even then Ryunosuke treats it like a solo act (specifically stating "He's left me alone on the ballroom floor, so I'm going to have to do this next part solo"). Susato assists Ryunosuke during dances of deduction, sure, but her involvement doesn't go beyond that with the exception of when Sholmes gets knocked unconscious.

So back to the question at hand, why does Sholmes do dances of deduction seemingly exclusively with Ryu and Mikotoba? I don't think it's a coincidence. I do think it's because dances of deduction aren't platonic for him. Sholmes and Ryunosuke's especially come off as a couple's dance to me, although part of it does come from Ryunosuke indirectly comparing it to a ballroom dance, the most popular of which for pairs in the Victorian era was the waltz (which is traditionally a couple's dance). So I do think that, for Sholmes and very probably Ryu at the very least, dances of deduction are either romantic, erotic, or both.

This leads back around to the original question. I've already established that Sholmes's dynamics with Ryunosuke and Mikotoba are both incredibly gay. I also just established that Ryunosuke indirectly compares dances of deduction to a ballroom dance, in this case a waltz. Dances of deduction are always a partnered thing, and Sholmes is only ever seen doing them with Mikotoba and Ryunosuke. I don't think it'd be a stretch to claim that Sholmes makes them gay on purpose. For what purpose you ask? Male companionship, obviously.

I'm kidding about that but I do think Sholmes does it to have another companion that isn't Iris, at least in Ryunosuke's case. In Mikotoba's case, it likely came from wanting companionship at all. We know Sholmes is an attention whore, and I feel like being as important a part of someone's life as he was to Mikotoba while Mikotoba was studying in England strooked that a bit. I also wouldn't be surprised if Ryu reminded Sholmes of Mikotoba on some level (both are Japanese students studying in Britain for the time Sholmes lives with them).

Part 4: Conclusion (AKA I'm tired so I'm stopping myself before I pass out on my keyboard)

In conclusion, there are so many similarities between the Ryulock and Homumiko dynamics that I feel go unacknowledged. It is not a coincidence that Sholmes's dynamics with these two specifically is so fucking gay. Like I don't know if it's just me but playing as Mikotoba in the last dance of deduction didn't feel much different than playing as Ryunosuke, besides slight differences in dynamics because Mikotoba's known Sholmes longer than Ryunosuke has. Aside from that detail, if Mikotoba hadn't been clearly who Sholmes was with, I would've absolutely thought he was with Ryunosuke. Sholmes has a type and that type is quirky guys who are fun to tease.

[obsessionatthemoment]

One of the few arguments I have ever had with a Mileven shipper was me saying Mileven was toxic and them saying Byler was toxic. I have been thinking about this a lot recently, and have come to a conclusion (it's my personal opinion, and you can disagree if you want).

Before I start, I want to say that I am using the term toxic loosely (I am mostly using the term because it's the term we used in the argument). I am mostly referring to both ships' arguments when I refer to their toxic moments.

I think that the Mileven toxicity will get better with them agreeing to just be friends, and that the Byler toxicity will get better with them becoming boyfriends. Let me explain…

When Mileven fight, it's typically due to Mike not being able to reciprocate Elevens feelings, one of them lying, their relationship being too controlling or codependent, them invalidating each other, or Eleven hurting someone (whether it being her accidentally hurting Lucas in season 1 or her hurting Angela in season 4). I think, looking at this list, it is clear that they are not compatible. However, they are still compatible as friends. Mike can love El platonically, El would have space to figure herself out and have complete independence, and generally they would be happier and most likely fight less.

When Byler fight, it is almost always due to miscommunication, internalized homophobia, or jealousy (and sometimes invalidation or lying). If they started dating, I think a lot of this would be resolved. If they were dating, that would mean to some extent they were working through their internalized homophobia (which would eliminate a lot of conflict because out of all their conflicts, this comes up the most). Most of their miscommunication was due to them being many states apart (phone calls, letter, etc.), which will be resolved even if they didn't start dating. The jealousy would be resolved as well because most of their jealousy is due to both of them thinking the other doesn't like them. I think the invalidation would be solved alongside the miscommunication because Will would know that Mike called (that miscommunication was invalidating on both ends), Mike would probably understand if Will explained feeling like he missed out on his childhood due to his trauma (not sure if there is more invalidation I missed). The lying would be solved as well if Mike and Eleven weren't dating anymore because Will would stop trying to keep them together. Once they started dating, Will wouldn't need to use El as a cover for his feelings.

There is probably stuff I missed, but I feel like I got the most compelling evidence into words. I definitely think most of the toxicity would vanish if this happened, but obviously they would still fight occasionally because that's just how humans work. Conflict happens no matter how healthy a relationship is. Hope this made sense.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 7

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader sleep together for the first time

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: loss of virginity, oral f/m receiving, so much praise, pain during sex, unprotected sex, cr**mp**, bit of overstim, soft dom spence, if u don't like that freak shit (love and intimacy) this is not for u, spencer is a nerd, they're both nerds actually and that factors in heavily, you may get more from this part by FIRST reading how they met in this bonus chapter a/n: thank you all for being patient, ilysm, this was the most laborious thing i've ever done for no reason and also this part changed so many times and is not what i expected it to be so pls go in with tempered expectations and keep in mind that this story is more about the characters and their specific relationship dynamic than just being porn. i truly have no idea how you guys will react to this but i sincerely hope you love it and them like i do<3 also it's twice as long as the other parts so feedback would be very very appreciated! again i love u all and enjoy the penultimate part!

Spencer’s lips are on yours, and you weren’t expecting it—hell, you weren’t expecting him to be in your apartment. After all, he’d wished you goodnight and walked out only a moment ago.

“Spencer—wh—” 

But he’s insistent with his lips, kissing you bruisingly over and over like there’s nectar on your tongue and he’s parched for you. Still, he has enough decency to not completely ignore you, exhaling a quick excuse over your flushed lips. 

“I missed you.”

This time, though, you dodge his hungry kiss. Part of you thinks, as he watches you, eyes alight and breathing heavily, that he sort of likes your playing hard to get. It’s not something you do very often, admittedly. 

“We’ve been apart for like, maybe a minute.”

“I didn’t even make it to the parking lot.”

Your face heats.  

“Well you can’t just—you can’t just walk in like that! And I thought you said we weren’t supposed to mix fighting with pleasure.”

“Then start locking your door. And I thought you said we weren’t fighting.”

You roll your eyes in response, though your heart is still pittering in your chest. 

At least his hands move to your arms, stroking up and down relatively chastely—although he has this way of making everything seem intimate. Especially when paired with those amber eyes of his—glowing like a candlelight beacon in the window guiding you home. He speaks in low, appeasing tones and darts his tongue over his lips. 

“I originally said it’s a bad idea for couples to sleep together after an argument. But you know—makeup sex is ubiquitous across culture and time because it works. Anger and arousal trigger a lot of the same hormones, specifically norepinephrine which is involved in feelings of longing and—”

“Spencer.”

“You know what else?” He mutters in a way that feels dangerous. “It tends to feel better than regular sex.”

That earns a shaky exhale from you. Whether from irritation or arousal is anyone’s guess—probably a combination of both. 

“So you came back to fuck me?”

It’s probably evident to Spencer from your choice of language that this already isn’t going exactly as he’d planned. He doesn’t answer right away—just regards you, gaze bouncing between your two eyes like he’s trying to calculate your level of anger. 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You push him away and move to walk down the hall. 

“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”

A warm hand wraps around your wrist in the dark of the hallway and he pulls you back until you’re falling against something tall and warm and lean. The smell of polished amber and sandalwood overwhelms your senses. 

“What’s wrong, angel? What happened in the minute I was gone to change your mind?” His voice is scratchy like a favorite record. It’s the voice he could hold you captive with. The one you have a very difficult time saying no to. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter, unintentionally leaning back against him. “What happened to change yours?”

His response comes pressed against your ear, half-lost in your hair. 

“You’re upset that I changed my mind. I thought you wanted this, honey.”

“I do,” you admit, letting your head fall back against his shoulder and bringing his arm to wrap around you. “And if you hadn’t walked out earlier I would’ve done it. But… I’m tired of us doing everything on your timeline. You just… you expect me to be amenable to what you want, constantly.” His nose and lips press into your shoulder. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I’ve been begging you to sleep with me for I don’t even know how long. And you keep changing your mind, and I feel like you’re being really confusing about it. Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, you never did, but I just feel kind of… jerked around. And you did it again tonight.”

A beat of silence. 

“I understand your frustration,” he appeases, securing both his arms around you. You cling weakly to his wrist, to his warmth, like he’s a tether in a storm. “Would you prefer to wait until you initiate it?”

“No. Yes! I don’t know,” you huff, disentangling yourself from his arms and continuing toward your bedroom. “Now I’m annoyed at you again.”

He follows you right through the door. 

“Just tell me what to do! I don’t want to be annoying.”

“I can’t. I’m being unreasonable.” You flick on your adjoining bathroom light and examine yourself in the mirror. Yeesh. The eye makeup situation is abysmal after all the crying that has taken place over the course of the evening. 

“So choose to be reasonable and tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”

You frown at your reflection, pushing your hair back and rubbing at some excess mascara. 

“No, you’re not understanding me. I’m not choosing to be unreasonable. My thought process regarding the situation is inherently unreasonable and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s just the way I feel.”

“The feeling being that I’ve been too domineering over how our sexual relationship has unfolded?”

Spencer watches you in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as you tip some makeup remover onto a reusable cotton pad. You try not to check him out as you nod, but it’s impossible—with his sleeves rolled up to show defined forearms cradled in capable hands, and his hair all messy. 

When he pushes off the wall you freeze, unsure of his next move—until he’s gently spinning you around and taking the bottle and cloth from your hands. 

“Maybe it would help,” he begins, soft as he focuses on the new task, carefully bringing the round to your right eye so he can remove the bleeding mascara. You allow your eyes to flutter shut. “If I remind you why I’ve been so hesitant.”

“Because you hate giving me joy.”

He laughs, nothing more than one huff from his nose. 

“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”

Point taken, as he gently wipes your makeup away for you. Your silence is his cue to continue. 

“Everything I said about worrying that you would regret choosing me is true. It was especially true when I thought you felt lukewarm toward me. And all of that confusing stuff I said in the phone is true too—having sex for the first time is incredibly intimate and weird and sometimes scary. If you’re not 100% sure about your partner, or if you think your feelings are unrequited, it’s hard to be completely comfortable in such a vulnerable situation and your likelihood of getting hurt or having regrets skyrockets. I know that from experience. I wanted better for you than what I got. Still, I know it was wrong to project my feelings about the significance of sex onto you. In that regard, you’re right. I was being domineering, and I guess… I guess to an extent I’m still deflecting. I shouldn’t be trying to pretend like it’s about you when in reality I mostly just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go through that again, and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was something you could have changed.”

You try to process that. 

“Go through what?” You whisper hoarsely. Something about having him at such close range while he takes such care with you feels whisper-y. 

“Sleeping with someone who didn’t love me back.”

Your reply is small. 

“Oh. Right.”

How could anyone not love him back?

Spencer’s reply is simple and kind, without a hint of, obviously you dumb bitch—which is pretty much what you’re thinking to yourself. 

“Does that make sense, lovely? Do you understand why I wanted to wait?”

He lets you ponder for a while in comfortable-enough silence as he finishes removing your eye makeup with a characteristically gentle hand. When you open your eyes, he looks genuinely content, screwing the lid back on the bottle as if he’s got an eternity to wait for your answer. 

“Yeah. That part makes sense. But why did you seem so… I don’t know, like, wishy-washy about it?”

Spencer’s eyes dart up to meet yours, brows slightly raised. Then a small laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him. 

“Because I’m obsessed with you. I thought about you like that constantly. I still do.”

Your breath catches at the casual admission. 

“Oh.”

Spencer hums, setting the bottle down before tenderly thumbing away some excess mascara that he must have missed from under your eye. 

“You didn’t think it was easy for me, did you?”

“Well… kind of,” you admit, tracking his eyes until they meet yours. 

“Not sleeping with you has been among the hardest things I’ve ever done. Especially when you started begging me. That first time, when I picked you up from Penelope’s and you asked me why we hadn’t had sex yet…”

He trails off, still rubbing at your cheek as he loses himself in thought. 

Eventually, you grow impatient, prompting, “what?”

“It’s not a nice thought.”

“Well, you have to tell me now,” you insist. 

He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips. 

“It was just… you had no idea what you were talking about, and you were ready to throw a tantrum in my living room until I gave you what you thought you wanted. Part of me was imagining bending you over the couch right then, since you thought you were so ready.”

It feels like someone has snipped the pulley that keeps your stomach in place. 

“Spencer,” you splutter, convinced your cheek is tangibly heating under his touch as your head reels at the revelation that he could have such a deeply dirty and mildly sinister mind. 

“I told you it wasn’t nice.”

You swallow. 

“Is that… is that still what you want?”

His brows flicker again and he tucks hair behind your ear. 

“To bend you over my couch? No.”

Your face warms even more and you turn to leave the bathroom, sick of his teasing. 

“Okay, goodni—”

“Hold on.” Spencer catches you by your waist and pulls you back into him for the second time tonight. A dangerous smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t want to bend you over my couch.” He laughs, slipping a hand under your shirt to rub your back. “You know what I want. I’m more interested in learning what you want.”

“I want…” Your eyes dance between his, and your heart flutters against the confines of your chest as you realize what you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours for the taking. “I want to stop talking about it.”

His expression neutralizes and you know it’s probably intentional to stop whatever feelings you assume him to be having color your decision. 

“Oh?”

“I just think we’ve talked about it enough.”

Before he can say another word, or ask you another question, you kiss him with such passion there’s no way he can doubt how much you want this. 

Only a moment passes before he allows himself to lean into it, cupping your face between reverent hands and taking control of the pace of the kiss, slowing it down until you can hardly breathe. Your little noise of want has him quickening the process, pressing against you until you’re walking backward out of the bathroom. It’s like the first crack in a dam. After that, everything becomes inevitable. 

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sit down hard on the mattress, smiling up at him. You skim the front of his thighs with your palms as he smooths your hair.

Spencer groans, leaning down and kissing you til you’re on your back. 

“Don’t make that face.”

An affronted huff from you breaks the kiss up and he pulls back to study your expression. 

“What do you mean don’t make that face? I was just smiling at you.”

“I know you were. And you have such a pretty smile it makes me feel guilty about… defiling you.”

Your brows flicker up and your mouth drops open with an affronted scoff.

“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”

“You already have,” he admits with a half-laugh as he kisses you again. “My mind was never this dirty before we met.”

“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”

He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth. 

“I love your smile. You’re gorgeous. Any more demands?”

Pleased, you shake your head and pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Not currently.”

“Really?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over your cheek and down your jaw, “I’d do just about anything you asked me right now. You don’t want to take advantage of that?”

The sensation of his lips just below your ear threatens all rational thought in your brain, but you manage a reply with only a slight delay and a hint of a waver coloring your tone. 

“I shouldn’t have to demand things. You should just know to do them.”

His kisses drag lower, warm and unhurried and you’re trying not to let your hyper-sensitivity from going a week completely untouched show—but you doubt he misses the way your breath catches, or the barely audible squeaks, or the arch of your back or the tightening grip on his shirt. 

“Well, for future reference—” he nips at a sensitive spot and you gasp quietly, even as you tilt your head to offer him more access. More room to bite, if he so chooses. “—I happen to enjoy it when you make demands of me. Especially when those demands entail letting me call you pretty.”

“I’ve never not let you call me pretty before,” you huff. It’s a touchy subject, and Spencer can probably sense your hackles rising, but he has you right where he wants you and so he pushes anyway. 

“No. But you never believe me. We’ve had this conversation. You always act like I’m walking you to the gallows when I compliment you.” 

It’s hard to make a defense when he’s leaning his weight onto one arm so he can unbutton your jeans, when he’s looking down at you with sparkling onyx and scorched-earth eyes like you’re something to be consumed. But not violently, no—ardently. Like fruit heavy on the vine. Like you’re a religious rite to the devout and deluded. A sacrament.

But it’s not a blind passion. Spencer knows you; every inch of you and every loose thread on your soul begging to be pulled. He knows you and he still wants you like this. To be perfectly honest, you’d never thought you’d feel comfortable handing yourself over to someone like this—vulnerable and all your layers of armor shed. Never in your life would you have thought you could trust a person so implicitly that you’d hand them a knife and show them exactly where to press, that you’d say, I know once you open me and you see me you’ll not want to change a thing.

You adore him. Cosmically. Enormously. In every dimension. He’s lodged so deep in your heart you have no choice but to love him eternally. 

It’s deep in the midst of all these very profound revelations that you realize Spencer has stalled with your zipper undone. His hand has strayed to your hip, to sweetly push your shirt up and trace love letters into warmed and downy skin with his thumb. 

“I just wish you could see yourself how I see you,” he says softly, the weight of the truth a strain on his vocal cords. 

Sometimes, he is so kind it’s like a punch to your stomach. You’ve never been quite as kind as him. And nobody’s ever been as kind to you as he is. You’ve done nothing to deserve his kindness, but you know he needs a place for it, and you’re here with open arms. 

He studies you a moment longer, swallowing as his eyes trail over your face and lower. You want to reach out and brush strands of caramel hair out of his face, but he seems to be thinking so hard you’re hesitant to distract him. 

“I’ve never told you this, because I know you’d just shoot it down, but… you are genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.”

Something twinges in the depths of your stomach—the darker shades who live there and exist solely to whisper not enough not enough not enough to you every minute of every day. 

But they’re simply not a match for the softness you find when you do reach out for his hair, or the way he looks at you. Spencer loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist—not a cuff, but an affectionate hold. 

“Do you believe me?”

There’s so much earnest hope in his voice it almost jars you. He so badly wants you to understand how feels about you—he’s been trying to tell you for months and all you know how to do is refute his praise and insist on your worthlessness. 

Ever since Spencer, you don’t see the faces on magazine covers or in superhero movies, no matter how mathematically flawless they are. Nobody gets close to being as beautiful as he is in your eyes. He’s in an entirely different echelon, and despite how you feel about yourself, you have to accept that he might feel the same about you. 

“I do,” you say, equally soft, and 100% honest. You believe that he believes it, and that’s enough. It’s all that matters. 

The shallow knit of his brow loosens. His lips ease into a suggestion of a smile. But it’s most visible in his eyes—the way smoldering coals reignite, melting the amber glass of his irises until they’re molten. 

The way he kisses you then, you’d think you’d lassoed the moon and pulled it down from the sky for him. But apparently all it takes to make him incandescently, contagiously happy, is to accept a compliment.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency on his breath as he kisses you deeply and quick enough your heart is racing. It only goes faster when he remembers his previous task and begins tugging your jeans down, but he doesn’t even bother to pull them past your knees before his hand is creeping up your thigh. Goosebumps race each other across your body as you try to remember what it feels like—what he feels like. But you can’t, even as his thumb fans over your inner thigh and pushes it open, gently encouraging you to give him more access to you. 

“You’re not wasting any time,” you breathe against him while he traces the edge of your underwear.

“Do you want me to slow down?”

Judging by the way the tips of his fingers only barely shy away from the fabric, he really wants the answer to be no. But you know in his searching gaze that he’d never push you. 

“No, it’s fine. As long as we… don’t go this fast the whole time.”

“We won’t.” The hasty words are of lower priority than the next kiss he plants to your swollen lips. “We won’t. I just missed you so much.”

“Yeah?” You giggle airily as he drags his fingers over your clit through the material, trying to ignore the way it makes your head spin. 

“Yes. Yeah.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, so… desperate for you, as he drops his lips to your neck and presses barely-there kisses everywhere he knows you’re sensitive. Just the feeling of his breath against your skin has you shivering. His hand between your legs only brushes your most nerve-dense spot, but a few touches in and you’re already wound up, like if Spencer doesn’t give you more soon you’ll burst. And not in the good way. 

When he finally commits to actually kissing your neck, you squeak, warmth emanating from that spot just below your jaw all the way to your toes. The frantic energy of earlier is slowly melting away, and he loses focus with his hand, as it begins straying wider, stroking your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach. It’s like your nerve endings are on overdrive, delivering twice as much feedback to your brain as they normally would. Each touch feels like he’s conducting electricity over your body, like you’re a plasma ball. He’d probably like that analogy—you, a core of alternating voltage, and him, the conductor, tracing a path and giving all those electrons an easy release. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d tell Spencer you found a way to work Nikola Tesla into your mutual sex life, and he’d probably propose on the spot. 

But that electricity is building fast—even more so when he drags his lips down just above your collarbone. Your breath hitches, simultaneously trying to crane your neck to give him more room, and curl into him so as to escape the stimulation. Finally he pulls away, and losing the softness of his mouth while the air feels so cold against the places he’d kissed almost hurts. 

“You’re a mess,” he chuckles affectionately, raising his hand to brush hair away from your face before stroking the heated high point of your cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s teasing, but so low and gentle and honeyed it swirls your stomach. 

“Whatever you want,” you admit quietly. It’s a shy confession more than it is a salacious flirtation because he already has you. And you want nothing more than for him to act on that in any way he so pleases. Whatever he does, it will be careful, and kind, and because he loves you. You know that no matter how he takes you apart—he’ll put you back together again. 

“I don’t know if I can. You’re all jumpy.”

God, he has the prettiest smile—even when it’s twisted with sarcasm and a thin veneer of guilt, like he knows he shouldn’t be teasing and just can’t help himself. 

“I’m not,” you defend, face heating further. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know what it is.”

That sticky sweet tone is back, pooling in his eyes and dripping all over you like nectar as he languidly looks you over. 

“I didn’t say you were nervous. Just a little bit jumpy.”

It’s not accusatory—he’s simply stating a fact. Easy, gentle, designed to soothe. 

You shrug helplessly and chew on your lip, unsure of how he wants you to respond. It’s definitely true that excited as you are, you’re slightly on edge. You feel taut as a string on a guitar, tense and waiting to be yanked at any second. 

His expression is serene, and his thoughts inscrutable as he continues lavishing you with his eyes, down to where he’s lying over you and back up. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak for a moment as he formulates his words. 

“Can we try something? There’s this tantric exercise that might help you relax.”

Your brows draw earnestly and you nod up at him, not requiring any convincing even though you have no idea what he’s talking about. 

Spencer directs you to sit up, and you do—kicking your jeans all the way off so you can sit criss-cross with your hands braced on your ankles. 

He’s next to you on the bed, at a slight angle, one of your knees in his lap. You blink at him. 

“Now what?”

“Now you give me one of your hands,” he says, tone tinted with a hint of an amused smile, as if your impatience is funny to him. Of course it probably is. 

Frowning only a little, you unlock your left arm and hold it out for him, watching curiously as he takes your one hand between his and flips it palm-up. 

“Did you know,” Spencer begins, voice low and confidential, “that the fingertips are the second most sensitive part of the human body?”

“What’s the first?”

“Lips,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hand where he’s brushing the tips of your fingers light enough it almost tickles. “They’re both incredibly important for keeping you alive, which is why they’re one and two. But you’ll be particularly sensitive anywhere you’re vulnerable.” His words are trailing off as he brushes his thumb over your palm and to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Like here.”

His knuckles skim up your forearm, to the crook of your elbow. 

“And especially here.”

You’re fascinated as he traces back down the length of your arm and over your inner-wrist, feather light. Then up once more, with the blunted edges of his nails, and your breath catches. You’ve never noticed how sensitive such an innocuous part of your body could be, but it has your stomach flipping—more so when he looses a breathy laugh. “You know, some people are actually able to reach orgasm just by light stimulation to this area.”

Your response is just as airy—you don’t recognize your voice when it comes out like that, hanging in the pitch black between you. 

“Really?” 

An affirmative hum from him, as he lifts your hand and places an intentional kiss over your pulse at the bend of your wrist. Your chest aches and heat is pooling in your stomach as his gently trails them up the delicate skin of your arm. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the reaction you’re having—after all, it’s just your arm. But he treats every part of you like it warrants love and attention and intimacy. Even the parts you typically ignore. Certainly parts you never considered to be sexually or romantically relevant. It’s dizzying. It’s like magic. 

“Arms up,” Spencer finally directs, just as sweetly as he’s doing everything else, and helps you tug your shirt over your head. Every brush of fabric, every seam against your skin registers more than it normally would. Everything is heightened, and despite your state of undress you’re still warm. “Your neck is really sensitive, too. It’s the most commonly acknowledged erogenous zone.”

Erogenous zone. Of course this all comes back to biology. 

“Tilt your head for me, honey.”

Utterly entranced and useless to not abide by him, you do so. Spencer brushes your hair over your shoulder, and if the slip of it down your back weren’t enough, the graze of his fingertips against the nape of your neck has you shivering. 

The warmth of him at your throat feels completely brand new, despite having already had his lips there only minutes before. But now they ghost over your skin with a kind of novelty, and your own lips part in silent pleasure, head lolling to allow him greater access.

“Lie back.”

Without hesitation (but perhaps a bit sluggishly in your stupor) you obey, sliding down until you’re propped up only by pillows once more. Spencer takes his place propped above you once more, thighs slotted with yours as he quickly picks up where he left off. 

The sweet kisses are perfect and feel so much better than you’d ever thought to notice before—but at the same time your core aches and there’s that pressure building again that’s starting to get to you. 

“Spencer,” you try, and it comes out hoarse but you don’t care at all. “More.”

“You want me to leave marks?” 

And the offer is so tempting you’ll wait a few more minutes to ask for what you really need, nodding semi-frantically and ‘mhm’-ing desperately. 

As he gently latches onto a spot that will require concealer later but feels fantastic for now, one of his hands slips down your side, just barely letting his nails skim, and your back actually arches. It’s a shocking amount of stimulation for being nowhere near any sexual hotspots. That tiny caught breath dissolves as his fingers continue down just as lightly over your hip and thigh. Your muscles tense as you chase and run away from the feeling. It’s ridiculous.

There’s no point in trying to keep your eyes open now—they grow heavy and you let them fall shut as he sucks another love bite to your throat. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s kind of weird.” He says, voicing your thoughts as he eventually decides the mark will be sufficiently dark. 

“Yeah,” you agree, lacking all eloquence as he caresses every sensitive place you didn’t know you had and your hips writhe minutely in a little desperate dance of your own creation. 

“Most people aren’t aware of the potential of the erogenous zones that aren’t actual sex organs. They don’t pay attention to them. You know what else is an interesting function of erotic stimulation to areas that aren’t directly involved in reproduction?”

“Hm,” you hum as his hand skims to your back. You lean into it and he promptly undoes your bra with a single hand—a skill you’re not even sure you have. 

“It releases not quite as much oxytocin as an orgasm but more than sexual pleasure alone. So you’re less tense before sex than you usually would be, and you’re primed to build more trust and feel more connected with your partner during.”

God, he’s a nerd. And it’s so, so hot. 

You roll over on your back again and look up at him through half-lidded eyes. The corner of his mouth flickers as he takes in your expression, before trailing downward, following the path his fingertips make over your skin as they tug the straps over your shoulders. Trying to stop him, to be shy, would be a pointless venture. He’s seen you like this and you want him to see you again. 

A shaky exhale of his own brings a little smile to your face as he pulls your bra away and observes the newly bared skin with a hunger that you can feel. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes cast pointedly down and thumb brushing over the side of your right breast. 

“You mentioned.”

“I’m not allowed to say it again?” He teases, leaning down to kiss you soft. Your lips curve against his. 

“You can say it as many times as you want.”

Spencer hums, finally thumbing over your breast’s sensitive peak. It sends a chill down your back and seeing as you’re already worked up to the point of near insanity, the pleasure from such a simple touch is much stronger than it would be otherwise. 

“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”

After that, he doesn’t waste much time—only toying with your flesh for another minute as he kisses you before his hand is skimming down your abdomen and dipping below the waistband of your underwear. 

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips toward him when he doesn’t move to touch you anymore. 

“Please what?”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He smiles at this, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as his hand travels lower. Fingers slip between wet folds and he begins making the lightest of circles over your clit. 

“You’ve probably been waiting long enough, huh? I should be nicer.”

Your answer is a breathy almost-whine as you seek more friction against his hand. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing down harder. The sensation sends sparks down to your toes and you attempt to clamp your legs shut around his wrist. “These need to stay open,” Spencer chuckles, “or else I can’t help you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words are a sweet sing-song against your cheek as he kisses you there, before hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling down. You try to help wiggle out of them as best you can, gasping when he tosses them away and immediately returns his hand between your legs. He dips his head down, tongue lathing over your breast, and teases you with the tip of one finger circling around your entrance. 

“I need—”

“Shh. Let me worry about it.”

With that, he’s dipping his ring and middle fingers just barely inside of you to the first knuckle, then back out, before pushing a bit deeper, and repeating the cycle until they’re as far as they’ll go. When he slowly starts fucking you with them, still mouthing sweetly at your breast, you’re ready to melt. 

The room is quiet except for your breathy mewls, the lewd, wet sound of his fingers inside of you, and the blood rushing in your ears. Soon your breast pops from between his lips and he finds somewhere else to leave his mark. Spencer is turning you into a work of art, with his fingers, with his mouth. You don’t mind at all. You’d let him sign his name, if he could—but you doubt he’d let you get his name tattooed. 

Soon you stop fighting the perpetual tug of your lids down and let them flutter shut, loosing a freer moan as he brushes over that sweet spot inside you. Even when he’d told you how to find it over the phone, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like this—maddening enough to have your hips twisting again and that hot bed of coals in your tummy sparking. 

“Spencer,” you warn, leg twitching as he stokes the fire beyond the point where you can passively enjoy it. Either he’s got to slow down or he’s got to let you burn all the way up. You practically jump when you feel his tongue flick over your clit—you hadn’t even been aware of his shifting positions. Maybe you’re more out of it than you’d previously thought. Your eyes shoot open and he does it again. “Oh, fuck.”

The words are simple, quiet, and apparently that’s not enough. Before you can even process the sensation of the tip of his tongue on you he’s latching onto your clit, suckling in a way that has your vision momentarily going out. You cry out and kick involuntarily, hips jumping up, but he captures your leg and presses you down into the mattress so no matter how much you squirm and squeak you can’t get away. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, Spencer I wa—ah—sn’t ready—oh my god.”

He remembers his fingers deep inside you and begins rutting them and you hiss, inhaling sharply through your teeth before letting it all out in a tremulous moan. The orgasm is building up so quickly it almost feels like an attack on your poor body as you try to process it all to no avail. Every sound you make is a vulnerable mess of pleasure and pain, a clear fear of surrendering to something inevitable. Of course, it doesn’t really hurt at all. As usual, he’s blindsided you. Found you unprepared. You rake your fingers through Spencer’s hair, continuing on with your shaky moans that sound half-worried. 

“Oh, please.” Really, you’re just pleading to be put out of your misery. It’s in moments like this, as the black is creeping in around the edges of your vision and your thoughts become threads in the tangle of an existence knotting in on itself with no discernible end or beginning in your mind until everything is completely abstract, that you’re reminded why the French refer to orgasm as the little death.  

Your fingers lace tight enough in the wilds of his hair to pull, and he groans against you, and those vibrations are your undoing. You succumb to the dark momentarily but he continues a loving assault of gentle kisses to your clit—careful enough so as to be inoffensive even after the euphoria abates and you’re hypersensitive, still relishing soft strands of hair between your knuckles. 

You’re breathing hard as you blink your vision back, looking down at him as he looks up at you from his place between your legs and rubs the top of your thigh.

“I wasn’t ready,” you pant, lips flashing into a tired smile that doesn’t hold a candle to his own livelier one. 

“Took it like a champ.”

If you weren’t already so warm his sarcastic comment would inspire more heat in the apples of your cheeks. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid using sports idioms?” You smile as he climbs back up your body. 

“It’s unreasonably sexy that you said idiom and not simile.” He kisses you, grin mirroring yours, and you don’t complain about the slick still on his lips. “And look at that. Not afraid to kiss me when I taste like you anymore.”

“I remember what you said,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, glowing amber pools in the low light. The words echo in your head from the first time he’d gone down on you and you’d been hesitant to taste yourself. 

One day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.

“So do I,” he points out needlessly. “Eerily prophetic, hm?”

“I think you just like going down on me,” you laugh. 

Without the light on, his smile is just as brilliant as usual.  

“You might be right about that.”

Another interlude of quiet begins, but you don’t mind it. Taking this slow, as desperate as you’ve been for it, feels nice. Easy. Waves of burning need ebb and flow, but for now, it feels nice to be bathed in his candlelight gaze, know you’re loved, and nothing else. 

“What next?” You whisper after a long moment, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw. He leans into it slightly, lips brushing your palm. 

“That’s up to you, angel. What’s going to make you feel most comfortable?” 

Your bottom lip rolls between your teeth as you think and he tracks the movement, corner of his mouth twitching fondly. 

“It might help if you weren’t fully clothed.”

“I think we could probably do something about that.”

He pecks the tip of your nose playfully and then he’s pushing off the bed. Your brow wrinkles as you follow suit only partially, sitting up with your legs folded under you and pulling the sheets over your body to combat the chill and the vulnerability of being completely naked. 

“Oh, my god. You had your shoes on that whole time?”

“I got distracted,” Spencer defends, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to slip the loafers off. 

You clutch the sheet to your chest, watching the adorable way he pushes his hair out of his face as he rushes. He’s so clearly excited—it shows in the flush of his cheek and his even worse than usual coordination. 

“But on my bed?”

“I’m sorry,” he says without seeming very apologetic, leaning down to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll pay to have your comforter dry cleaned. I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t care.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I am,” he insists against your lips, shaped by what is surely a boyish smirk. 

Unsurprisingly, you get lost in the kiss, dropping the sheet to hang onto his shoulders. Spencer takes advantage of the once-more revealed skin, rubbing your thigh with slow passes in a way that has you all lit up again already. It doesn’t help that his tie is skimming right over the recess between your folded thighs as he leans over your seated form, kissing you deeper as the moments pass. 

“You’re distracting me now,” you scold, but your voice is quiet and smiley as your noses brush. 

“Do you want to help me with my clothes?”

You nod, heart hatching like a cocoon and already slipping a finger into the knot of his tie so you can tug perhaps not gently enough. He chuckles, bracing himself with his fists on either side of your lap as you pull and yank until the fabric comes loose and you slip it from around his neck, flinging it blindly for dramatic effect. Then he slowly draws back to his full height, until you’re about eye-level with his chest. His gaze fixes on you, feverish and intent as he finds the buckle of his belt without looking. The slide of leather on leather, the jingle of the metal has the hairs on the back of your neck rising and you fight a chill as he pins you with his stare—feeling rather powerless as he towers over you, still essentially fully clothed while you’re completely naked. 

You probably shouldn’t be as thrilled by it as you are. 

Spencer tosses the belt on the floor and watches on, utterly charmed as you rise to your knees. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you begin unbuttoning his shirt with slow, careful fingers. 

“See?” You murmur bashfully. “Helping.”

His voice is equally as soft. 

“Very helpful. Thank you.”

The tension in the quiet room gets to be too much and you have to focus hard on the task at hand, failing to bite back a twisty smile. For once, he keeps his stupid perfect mouth shut and lets you push the fabric of his open shirt from his shoulders in humid silence. 

Your fingers skate down his torso and you watch the muscles tense. You wonder if he notices the way he pulls you slightly closer or if it’s subconscious as you both track the path of your hands. 

“Your button is on the wrong side,” you note, voice wavering slightly, once your fingers stall at the waistband of his pants.

Spencer chuckles. You feel silly. 

“Men and women’s clothing tend to have the buttons on different sides, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence, before the words come pouring out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m still a little bit nervous, I think.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer assures you, hands gliding up and down the soft lines of your waist. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. But I’m going to take really good care of you, okay?”

You nod, not looking away from the exposed skin of his torso. 

“And if at any point you need to take a break or stop, you’ll tell me.”

“I will, but… I don’t need to stop right now.”

“Then you can go as slow as you want.”

You swallow and take a moment to gather yourself before continuing on undoing his pants. With his assistance, you pull them down, and with them his boxers tug an inch or two lower, exposing a subtle v-shape before it disappears beneath the waistband. The fabric is obviously tented. A ball of nervous anticipation spins faster in your stomach, drawing all the heat in your body down between your legs. He’s pretty everywhere. You’d nearly forgotten. 

Spencer’s stomach tenses under your light touch as you drag your fingers down, down, just to the waistband. It’s then that you look up at him for permission to continue, and find his eyes already on you, heated and intense. 

“Go ahead, honey.”

Again you find yourself quite excited to touch him, but you start cautiously, simply letting your hand fall over the shape of him through the fabric. Even that has his chest rising and falling at a slightly quickened rate, and one of his hands finds your unoccupied one, twining them together. That small gesture inspires you to bolden your explorations, becoming more insistent in the way you palm at him. He feels big, which is a concern of yours. But you try not to let that intimidate you.  

Already he’s quite hard, you suspect from going down on you earlier (which is flattering as much as it embarrasses you) and your fingers graze a small wet patch of fabric. You fixate on the shaky little breath he releases as you push down his boxers with new fervor, and his cock springs up. 

He’s still perfect. 

You smear beads of precum down his tip, and he sighs, letting his head fall against yours as you both watch. A few coquettish pumps and he’s humming, kissing your face and dragging his lips down your neck where he makes a home for himself. Apparently the sight of your hand wrapped around him had been too much to bear. 

“So good. Missed this.”

“It’s just my hand,” you whisper, a little insecure that he’s maybe playing it up for your benefit. 

“It’s you.”

His voice is so breathy, you sort of have to believe him. 

“Can I…?”

Too nervous to voice what you really mean, you trail off, but it apparently doesn’t matter to Spencer. He lifts his head like he’s in a stupor but you’ve said something urgent. 

“Anything you want. You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Um…”

You let go of his hand (and his dick). Spencer automatically rotates to accommodate you as you end up on your knees on the wooden floor in front of him. 

“This is what you want?” He breathes, already pushing his fingers through your hair and gathering it back as you look up at him and nod. 

Very quickly you have him back in your hand, trying to remember what you learned from the few times you’ve done this. You start perhaps a bit softer, less eager to prove yourself than you have in the past—simply dragging him over your tongue before enveloping his tip in your mouth, and releasing with a pop. Despite being overtly, explicitly, and undeniably sexual, there’s something almost chaste about the way you handle him. It’s a (dirty) expression of love, and you think he understands that as he rubs at your cheek affectionately. 

Eventually, however, you get too excited, and you take him into your mouth in earnest, bobbing your head slowly and seeing how much of him you can take without gagging. 

Spencer makes the prettiest noises—they’re breathy, and not ostentatious, but he’s got such a nice speaking voice it’s like his gasps are bars in a song. You whine around him, wriggling your hips in a rather pathetic display, and then all too quickly he’s tugging your hair so you can’t keep him in your mouth. 

“What?” You ask, closer to pouting than you’d care to admit and voice slightly hoarse. “You said I could do anything I want.”

“Not if you’re that good at it. Come here.”

He helps you up and catches you in a deep, messy kiss before you’ve fully regained your footing, swaying against him, but he holds you fast, pulling away slow like strings of honey trail between your mouths. 

Spencer’s eyes are fixed on yours, lips parted in a sort of wonder before he glances down to your own mouth, wiping the shine from your bottom lip. Any moment you’re expecting him to say something, to tell you you’re beautiful or perfect or that he’s in love with you—but instead he just meets your eyes again, that same wonder-struck look on his pretty face. A tiny, breathy laugh forces itself from his chest like you’re a genuine miracle. 

You feel so observed—seen in a way you’ve never been seen, looked at closer than anyone has ever looked at you before. And he still looks at you like you’re the human embodiment of love, the closest mortal manifestation of the divine, Galatea come down from her marble pedestal. The way he looks at you has your heart pounding and your breathing hastened. Adoration has never been something so physical, so tangible, ever before in your life. Your blood hums at the frequency of his electromagnetic field—an energetic aura that surrounds each person and can be detected from several feet away, as he’d explained it to you. It originates from the heart and if you spend enough time close to  someone, syncs up the beating of your most vital organ with theirs until it’s a perfect match. Maybe that’s why, almost as quickly as your heart had begun to pound, it slows again, and you feel any reservation flush from your body like a fever. 

“Okay,” you breathe, cataloguing every angle and curve of his face to store with all the rest, all the moments that feel important. Of course, you’ll never remember them like he does yours. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest. 

“Okay?” Spencer asks. He understands the confirmation for what it is, and searches for signs of hesitation on your face while rubbing reassuring circles into your hip. You nod resolutely. 

As he lays you down on your bed, it feels like you’re entering some kind of altered state. Everything is muted and glowing with a watercolor aura in the dark and you really only care about the man on top of you and the way moonlight dances on his skin and the way he smells like smoky amber and rain. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed under you, before sweeping your hair from beneath your shoulders into a corona around your head. All the while his eyes are so soft on you, just like his hands, and his lips when he leans down to touch them to yours. 

One of said hands finds its way to your jaw, trailing down over your neck and collarbone, before settling over your breast where he swipes a thumb over your nipple, lightly, slowly, several times. 

Once again you’re struck with the odd feeling, even with his hand on you like this, that the situation isn’t sexual in the way you’d anticipated. It’s not pornographic, or even very dirty. Everything Spencer does, even as his hand sneaks down between your legs, he does because he loves you. 

“One more like this,” he mutters against your jaw after a moment. 

“Why?”

Your impatience yields a smile you can only feel against your skin. 

“Just want you relaxed and feeling good. That’s all.”

When you assent, his fingers are already slowly pushing inside you. 

It seems you’ve entered some sort of time warp as well, because you reach a gentle peak in what feels like record time, aided by his easy murmurings and saccharine praise.

“Perfect. That was perfect,” Spencer says with a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his fingers from you and you feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets. “Can I ask you something before we get carried away?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sweet and compliant as pleasure dulls your inhibitions for the second time tonight and your head lolls into the pillows. 

“Baby,” he croons, voice soft as worn paper as your lids flutter and lashes brush febrile cheeks, thumbing over the heated skin. “Need you a little more alert, sweet girl.”

“’M trying,” you whine, though it’s half self-effacing laugh. Spencer chuckles too as you shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to reinvigorate yourself. “Okay. Go.”

“Well… we don’t have any protection.” Before you can groan, loudly, he hurries on. “And that’s… I’m okay with that, if it’s what you still want. I trust you. But there will come… a moment of reckoning. And I need to know where I should… reckon. So you don’t end up surprised.”

Now you’re really laughing—a giggly mess beneath him as your arms loop over his shoulders. 

“Stop it,” he whines, pressing his nose to your cheek as you turn your head in an effort to not snort at your boyfriend to his face. “That was for your benefit, you know. You get squeamish.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously when you refer to it as reckoning.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. When I come, you essentially have two options. Inside, or on your stomach. Tell me where you want it.”

Your breath catches and your stomach does that tripping-over-itself thing again. 

“Um…”

Another fond half laugh, at your expense, is pressed against your skin. It’s enough to prompt you into answering—he doesn’t have to say anything to make his point about your being squeamish. 

“Inside,” you mutter, shy as you attempt to bring him closer so he won’t be able to look at you quite so closely. You wonder if he’s remembering the conversation you’d had over the phone last week—before he’d accidentally kind of broken up with you—about this very subject. You certainly are. 

“Okay. I want you to have everything that you want.” A few kisses to your neck later, between nips, he speaks again. “Just need to hear that you want this one more time.”

“I want this,” you repeat, obedient and honest, plain and simple. “Now, please.”

Spencer responds by first kissing you, firm and loving. It soothes you, and he punctuates it with a kiss to your cheek, before he’s reaching down and guiding himself between your legs. You feel surprisingly calm, more overcome with love and the light pleasure rolling down your back as he drags himself over your clit than you are by nerves. Still, you pointedly hold his gaze, not looking down in case you psych yourself out. He slots himself in place, tip resting against your entrance. 

“Remember, if you need to stop at any point—”

“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly. 

Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous. 

He watches you, sympathetic though you’re not sure what for. 

“I need you as relaxed as possible, okay? I want this to be easy on you.”

You take a moment, scanning your whole body for tense muscles. When you feel sufficiently relaxed, you offer Spencer a small nod, and at that, he begins pushing into you ever so slightly. 

At first, it just feels foreign. He’s going so slowly, so carefully, you’re not sure he’s moving at all—until he finds resistance and the odd full feeling changes to a hint of burning stretch. Your hips jump and your breath catches, and Spencer stops immediately, relieving the pressure with a tiny shift in position. 

“It’s gonna hurt,” you realize, eyes darting between his like he might be able to tell you otherwise. You’d always been aware of the possibility, but you were holding out hope that you’d be one of those people who didn’t experience any pain their first time. 

“Just for a minute. Then it’ll feel good, angel.”

You swallow and nod. At the end of the day, you trust him completely. You trust him enough to let him hurt you. 

“Super deep breaths for me.”

He watches intently as you follow his directions, taking several deep breaths in succession, before he begins pushing into you once more. The pressure builds and builds until he pushes past that point of resistance, and it’s like he’s breaking you in two. 

“Ah,” you gasp, abs twisting as your body tries to escape the sensation without any input from you. 

“I know. I know, baby, that was the hardest part. Breathe.”

He drops his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles with light pressure to distract from the pain.

You nod, lips pressed together tight as the deep ache muddles your brain. It’s an insistent pressure against something does not seem to want to budge. It burns and stretches and is laced with sour, flirtatious pleasure so that you can hardly tell what it is you’re feeling. Mostly, you’re dizzy and hot.

“Relax, just like that,” he strains, looking down. “My good girl. We’re almost there, baby.”

Cries spill unbidden from your mouth and your eyes shut as he continues to open you up deeper, until finally, finally, his hips settle into the cradle of yours. 

Spencer sighs a curse under his breath, so quiet you don’t think it was meant for you. 

He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre. 

You whimper, and he snaps out of whatever revery he’d been in. 

“You okay? How does that feel?”

You take a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head to no avail—your thoughts are like TV static. 

“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”

“You can have as much time as you need. It’s a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice small and weak. 

“I bet,” he agrees, peppering soft kisses all over your face. “But you’re doing so well. Proud of you, brave girl. You’re doing so well and we’re gonna make sure it feels good soon, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

“Will you please kiss me again?” you whisper, and Spencer’s brow knits with concern. 

“Of course, angel. Of course I’ll kiss you,” he says, and makes good on his promise with his lips on yours. It sweetens the ache. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can have anything. You’re so perfect.”

He kisses you again, just as lovingly, and soft, like you’re delicate. All the praise is only contributing to your lightheadedness, but you don’t mind at all. It feels good. 

“You can… you can move.”

“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”

He waits for your nod before his hips are pulling back and you arch at the odd sensation. When he pushes back in, eyes carefully locked on yours the whole time, you keen slightly, frowning and brain shorting out as it tries and fails to process this new feeling. 

“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”

At first it doesn’t feel good. It mostly hurts. But slowly, the pain begins to abate as you acclimate to having him inside of you, and he’s careful the whole time. 

“Spence?” 

“Hm?”

He sounds concentrated on the task at hand—you’re entranced by the sight of him above you, the parted lips, the unkempt hair over the brow furrowed in pleasure and focus. But he’s never too busy for you. 

“Does it… um—” you pause to hold back a whine—“what does it feel like for you?”

At this, he slows even further and chuckles—it’s a strained, slightly breathy sound. 

“For me?”

“Mhm.”

“You feel perfect, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

The slight fry in Spencer’s voice as he curses, which is a rare event in and of itself, flips your stomach, turns you on immensely. The idea that you’re giving him pleasure too—it’s almost overwhelming. That’s when it starts feeling good. 

“Oh—” you squeak, jaw dropping and bucking your hips inadvertently as the first bolt of true pleasure shocks deep in your core. He hums. 

“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”

But you can’t answer for a long moment. Your brain is melting as your legs lock around him. 

“Mm—it’s—it feels…”

“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.

You whine and press your face into the curve of his shoulder as each thrust gently rocks your body. As the pace picks up bit by bit, you feel yourself clenching hard around him. His hips stutter and he hisses. 

“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

He laughs breathily. 

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me out. You have to relax.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re trying, baby, you’re being so good for me.”

Your nails skim his back—a small expression of a much larger desperation. Once he’s sure you’re relaxed around him, begins going faster. 

Your gasps and soft moans come more often now as he finds a steady rhythm and it feels so different when he’s actually fucking you. It feels like he’s everywhere. Every time your hips meet you feel the sweet shock of it in your teeth, your toes, the back of your neck. In the best way, you feel consumed by him. It’s not at all like you’d imagined, and it’s perfect. 

“Wait, Spencer,” you breathe, struggling to form the words. Immediately he stops again, lifting his head from your shoulder to examine your face. 

“What is it?”

He sounds just as wrecked as you feel, panting and strained and it feels good to hear. 

“I wanna watch.”

For a moment his eyes dart between yours like he’s trying to determine what you really mean—but you said exactly what you meant. Then he laughs, a huff of air from his nose as he presses his head to yours and gives you a quick kiss.

Your toes curl as he readjusts his position, holding himself a little higher and resting your heads together so you can both look between your bodies. 

“There,” he murmurs as he slowly begins to withdraw again. “Like that?”

But you can’t answer, because you’re too busy whimpering at the sight of him pushing into you. The feeling seems to increase tenfold as you watch it happen. Distantly you wonder how the fuck it fits. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”

Spencer takes this as a blessing to find a pace again, slower now as he seems to be just as enthralled by the sight as you are. 

“Give me your leg,” he rasps after a few moments like that, and you don’t know what he means exactly but you lift your right leg slightly only for him to press his hand to the back of your knee and push toward your chest, effectively opening you up and giving him more range of motion. It also enables him to fuck you even deeper. Again he slows, apparently savoring the feel of you yielding around him all the way down to the hilt. 

Black spots dance in your eyes as he settles at your deepest point—not pain, necessarily, just overwhelming sensation. Your jaw drops and you choke out a moan as he presses into recesses you didn’t know you had, as he shows you a part that you might have gone the rest of your life without knowing existed. He stops there, like that. Everything stops there, like that. If the cars on the road below ceased to drive, if the airplanes froze in the sky, you’d not be the least bit surprised. Somehow, you’ve unlocked a small eternity. There’s no sound but your joint heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. The words just come bubbling up out of you in a little whine. 

“I love you.”

Spencer’s breath pauses for a moment before he’s letting it all out at once, brushing his lips up the ridge of your nose before they settle on your forehead in what seems like a permanent kiss. A few breaths in, you allow your eyes to flutter shut. Your heart rate slows down a touch, and you settle into the moment, never having been quite so content as you are like this—never having felt quite so adored and safe. 

“I love you,” he finally echoes, voice rasping, lips still pressed to your skin, still breathing against your hair. When he starts to move again, drawing back ever so slowly, you hiss softly. He raises his head from yours, and you look away from where he’s pulling out, meeting his eyes just in time for him to push back in, just as deep. They shine in the mostly-dark room and you moan unabashedly. It’s a high-pitched, sweet thing, nothing that will have the neighbors complaining—but so clearly true, from the depths of your soul, an expression of everything you’re feeling—not just the pleasure. 

Although that’s good, too, as Spencer shapes you to him again and again, the head of his cock kissing places nobody’s ever been and places you hope nobody else will ever venture to. This is all you need. Him. 

“Jesus,” Spencer groans, eyes fixed on your face as he fucks you slowly. But you can’t bring yourself to talk, too new to this kind of pleasure to find it anything other than mind-boggling and world altering. Your lips are still parted, allowing each sound to pass without filter. “Listen to you, beautiful.”

When he stops again, just to look down and marvel at you, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you can taste the pleasure on the back of your tongue and he keeps taking it away when it’s so close. But on the other—you’re just as overwhelmed as he said you’d be. Your body has never had to process this kind of sensory information before, and you’re exhausted, but it’s so good. 

“Spencer,” you manage. He looks up, pupils blown and eyes lidded where they’d normally be wide. “Please don’t stop.”

He swallows, spurred into action again as soon as you say it. 

“Good?”

You nod and whine again as he picks up the pace bit by bit, remembering to push your leg back once more so he can get as deep as you need him. 

“So good,” you exhale at the top pitch of your voice. Your brows pinch and you release a fuller moan as Spencer finds a speed that’s fast enough to constantly feel good no matter where he is. You’re gasping for breath, back arching—and he finds a new angle, catching against the spot inside you that renders all those years of human evolution that gave you sentience and intelligence a waste. He chuckles airily at your series of series of affronted moans and halted gasps. 

“Right there? That's a good spot, isn’t it?”

“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”

It feels so good it almost hurts, and your eyes are stinging to prove it. Your legs clamp tighter around him and you realize there’s a very lewd wet sound and you can’t believe that’s you. 

“Spencer, you’re—oh my god, I love you,” you whine, and it sounds like you’re pleading for your life. At this makes his own sound of pleasure, and hastens his messy circles on your clit as if in reward. 

But it’s too much all combined. 

Your hand claps to your mouth to obscure the loud, licentious moan that comes out—but Spencer immediately moves his hand from between your legs to grab your wrist and pin it gently to the bed, intertwining your fingers. 

“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”

You nod, and he lets go of your hand to return his fingers to your clit. If possible you get wetter around his cock—you can feel yourself gushing. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as if pained. 

“Yeah? Gonna finally let me feel you cumming, angel?”

He has a filthy mouth when he wants to. The words hit like high voltage to your core and the very pit of your stomach. You can’t even respond beyond a desperate sob. 

“Show me, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”

You cum around his cock with a broken cry and it’s like a purge of every drop of angst you’d felt over the past week or so—hell, it’s a purge of all the insecurities that had bubbled to the surface since you started dating him. None of it matters anymore. How could it matter when you have him? When you have this?

The orgasm washes you out like a tidal wave, taking everything with it. It’s strong, and it’s so good, so intense, your body is overwrought with sensation and it’s too much even though it’s perfect. Your brain is drawing a blank as it tries to react to the feeling, and it’s like every button on the damn panel has been hit. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” Spencer grits, and you feel it in the way he adjusts his position, shifting as he grips at the edge of the mattress for leverage and the thrusts become messier, needier. You gasp as his other hand tangles in your hair, turning your head to ghost your lips over his forearm. It’s not entirely surprising when his own lips find your shoulder—but the feeling of him finding his release just as his teeth sink into your skin does come as quite a shock. It doesn’t hurt, and you’re sure there’s no skin broken, but it’s an undeniable fact that he has grounded himself in the throes of passion by biting down on you.

Inside you, he feels hot. Searing, almost, as his spend tries to fill space that doesn’t exist. There is absolutely no room for anything else inside of you. Stars dance in your eyes at the overstimulation, but long after he’s finished he’s still fucking into you—albeit much slower and with far less technique. Spencer moans like a two bit whore, like he’s reached pain to a point of ecstasy, and to you it’s as good, as special as the singing of the planets. If he’s as sensitive as you are now, it’s no small feat for him to keep going on like this. It’s a testament to how much he doesn’t want it to be over. The pleasure is carrying him away, but you’re beginning to feel how soft you must be and how if he continues on like this you may bruise like an overripe peach. 

“Spencer,” you manage, skating your hand up and down his back in what you hope are soothing lines. “Baby.”

He whines as his lips detach from your shoulder, but his hips finally slow to a stop, nestled inside you. 

“Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes, opting now to bury his face in your neck (with significantly less biting this time).

You’re still reeling, toes still curled, still struggling to breathe as your head spins and spins and spins. His chest pushes against yours with every heaving breath, hot and heavy on your skin, and that’s the only sign he’s still alive until his hand eventually reanimates in your hair, scratching your head tenderly. 

For a span of minutes, you stay like that—silent, twined together like caducean serpents. His weight on top of you is perfect. This, the lack of differentiation between your body and his, is perfect. You don’t know where he ends and you begin and you don’t need to. It’s a blissful moment. 

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, lifting his head to look at you with flushed cheeks and messy hair and sparkly eyes. 

“Hi.”

He smiles. 

“You’re so pretty.”

“You too,” you murmur, moving your hand from his back and pressing your thumb into the hollow of his cheek. His eyes map the curves of your face as he pushes your surely askew hair back. 

“How do you feel?”

It takes you a moment to seriously consider his question, scanning your body for any undue pains, but for the moment, you find none, beyond a dull aching throb that you can manage. 

“Good. Tired.”

You wince at the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. Spencer hums sympathetically and presses a sticky kiss to your lips which makes it a little better, though you can’t ignore how uncomfortable all the previously pleasant wetness has become between your legs. 

“Here—stay here, I’ll get a wash cloth and—”

“It’s fine,” you insist, holding on even as he tries to roll off of you. “I just need… will you stay here for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he promises, now pressed close to your side and propped up on an elbow, “whatever you want.”

You lavish in his gaze, warm like a spotlight, as he strokes your cheek and plays with your hair. Very quickly you’re lulled into a doze, eyes fluttering shut. Minutes stretch. You feel drunk on waking dreams, and perfectly at peace. Safe. 

“Angel girl,” he christens you fondly. More than anything, it’s an observation, so lovely it sinks into your skin like a balm, soothing every tired muscle and little mark he’d made. Even half-asleep, it makes you smile. 

“You’re an angel,” you slur, reaching blindly for him, and he chuckles, catching your wrist and helpfully settling your hand on his cheek. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

You hum, “mm-mm,” looking up at him with just as much adoration as he has for you. Those cuddle hormones must be kicking in because soon you’re attempting to pull him back on top of you. He doesn’t quite comply, probably for fear of crushing you—rather he settles next to you, gathering you in his arms. 

Silence blankets the two of you, but it’s not unpleasant as you just watch each other with barely-there smiles curling your mouths. This kind of intimacy still manages to give you butterflies, even after everything else you’ve done. This kind of satisfaction, reverie in the sound of each other’s blood flowing and lungs filling. Setting aside words because you don’t need conversation as a pretense for wanting to be around each other anymore. You don’t need an excuse to look at him like this. You don’t need words any more than you need clothes. It’s enough to just be. 

“I love you,” he says, a soft reminder, and entirely redundant with the way he’d already been looking at you, touching you. 

“I know. I love you too.”

The smile flickers brighter on his face. 

“And thank you.”

Your eyes narrow minutely as you consider what he could possibly be thanking you for. 

“For what?”

“For loving me. And trusting me. It’s…” your heart squeezes as you realizes tears are pooling in his eyes. He takes a moment and clears his throat. It’s incredibly endearing. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

You look down, thumbing at the sheets where you’ve hoisted them over your bodies. 

“You do realize how lame we are if we have sex and both immediately start crying, right?”

At this he laughs loudly but not loud enough to pop the little bubble you’re in, and you look up just in time to catch the brilliance of his smile, the way it changes his whole face and he becomes superhuman in his beauty, the lines that form by his eyes and the way they narrow and crystalline tears bead his lashes like precious gems. 

“Don’t cry,” he requests gently, hypocritically as your own eyes sting. The way his smile fades is like the sun setting. Gorgeous, like everything else he does. “You’ve cried so much, honey. Please don’t cry.”

You sniffle, gathering yourself. 

“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”

Spender leans forward to kiss you tenderly a few more times. Ordinarily you’d worry about coming across as clingy when you hold onto him so closely and so insistently like this, but for now you don’t care. Neither does he, it seems, as he seems unable to get you close enough. Eventually, you end up curled against him, head tucked under his chin and dozing on and off as he traces shapes into your skin. 

“What are you writing?” You mumble some time later, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He only responds with a soft hm, like he was lost deep in thought. You clarify, “it feels like you were writing something.”

“She Walks in Beauty.”

Your lips pull into a sleepy smile. 

“The Lord Byron poem?”

The first time you’d met Spencer, he’d inadvertently caused your painstakingly annotated copy of Lord Byron’s works to go flying all over a cafe, and then kindly helped clean up the pages and reorder them for you in record time. Among the poems had been She Walks in Beauty. 

“Yeah. I was trying to figure out when exactly I fell in love with you, and as someone who is deeply skeptical about love at first sight, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I keep coming back to our first conversation. I mean, I believe in genetic compatibility, and how that contributes to attraction and what we think of as chemistry, but—”

“Wait, what about our first conversation did it?” Your cheeks ache from smiling as you speak. “As I recall I was being a bitch and I was covered in coffee.”

He laughs dreamily, still tracing letters over the small of your back. You wonder what part of the poem he’s at now. 

“Yeah, mean to me and covered in coffee is pretty much exactly my type. But I think it was actually the annotations on that copy of Lord Byron’s works. They were so insightful, and personal, I—it kind of took my breath away, and I know I shouldn’t have read them all but I couldn’t stop. You were compelling, and charming, and funny and wildly intelligent and beautiful and… and I didn’t stand a chance.”

Everything aches. It’s a good ache. Despite being seconds from tearing up all over again, you snort. He never told you about that first day.

“You thought me writing ‘sister fucker’ in all caps every time he mentioned Augusta was charming?”

“Oh, obscenely so. But now that I’m looking back, I feel like… I feel like I can’t remember not being in love with you. I mean, I remember when I realized I was, and that was later. But it was like I met you, and then I was just… waiting for you to catch up.”

You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, watching the way the ambient nighttime light from the window and the bathroom dips them half in color. 

“We were pretty much on the same page. I was debating courthouse versus small intimate ceremony as soon as you left.”

You watch him watching your joined hands, features soft and relaxed, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as he speaks. 

“Definitely small intimate ceremony. I have too many friends who would kill me if they weren’t invited to the wedding.”

You giggle and pretend the thought doesn’t give you butterflies. You imagine a ring on your finger, the one he’s got between his own. Marriage had never been something you’d considered. Not when you had no reason to. It seemed like something for other people. But maybe one day, it will be for you, too. 

“Did you know Lord Byron had a daughter who is regarded by many as the first computer programmer? She wrote the first algorithm for a theoretical machine that was so complex it couldn’t be built with the technology available at the time. It was called an Analytical Engine.”

He sounds almost wistful as he gives you the utterly unprompted, but still welcome, abridged version of her life. The description is ringing a bell—but you can’t quite place her, sleepy as you are.  

“What was her name?”

“Ada Lovelace. She was exceptionally gifted. The odds of parent and child being so extraordinary in their respective fields are incalculable, but from a purely theoretical perspective, negligible. I mean, they’re both massive historical figureheads. That’s extremely uncommon.”

You adore it when he goes off on these tangents—the passion that stains his voice, the ardor that grips him until he has no choice but to tell you exactly what’s got him so excited. You could listen to him talk for hours. It means he’s here with you, and he wants you to love what he loves. 

Since he met you, that’s all Spencer has wanted—for you to love what he loves. 

You want the same. 

“Pretty name,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.” 

-

part eight

[witchywithwhiskey]

another man’s marks

pairing: toxic!bucky barnes x toxic!female reader

summary: you're texting with your situationship when he asks for a nude photo—but you're covered in marks left by another man. wanting to see what he'll do, you send a photo of yourself, and you're rewarded with a very torturous and enjoyable reaction.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established situationship, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (f receiving), masturbation (m), come play, bdsm elements, a lot of biting and marking, orgasm delay, choking, some breath play, some pain play, some dacryphilia, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, pet names (baby), begging, teasing, some aftercare, taking and sending nude photos, possessive behavior, toxic behavior, jealousy, referenced but not shown situationship between reader and john walker, very anti-john walker behavior

word count: 7.3k

a/n: so this post came across my dash and i had the thought 'ok but what if you sent a situationship a picture covered in another man's marks?' and i started thinking about how toxic situationship bucky might react and then i wrote the first draft of this fic very quickly 🤭 i actually really love toxic bucky but i'm a little nervous to share this because i just want you all to love him as much as i do 🥺 (and, actually, he's not as toxic as i originally intended but y'know what, that's ok i think). i hope y'all enjoy ♡

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

Let me see your tits, baby.

The text message drew a huff of noise from you, one that was half laugh, half scoff. You were laying in bed, already wearing your pajamas—an oversized tee and panties—and catching up with your situationship, Bucky Barnes, before you went to sleep.

His request wasn’t entirely out of the blue. After asking how your day was, Bucky had started complaining about his day, and you’d known the man long enough to know those kinds of conversations often led to him asking you to send a photo of yourself—though he usually wanted a picture of what panties you were wearing.

Most of the time, you didn’t hesitate to take a picture to send to him. But that time, you paused.

You liked Bucky. You liked talking to him and hearing about his day, and when you were together, you had fun. Plus, you liked sending photos of yourself to him, and you enjoyed the fact that he wanted to see your body when he wasn’t with you. It stroked your ego when he asked for a photo, and he always responded with filthy praise that turned you on. 

But that particular night, you had a problem preventing you from simply taking a photo. And, really, the problem was partly to blame on Bucky. 

From the beginning, he’d said he didn’t do relationships, he’d told you he wasn’t ready to commit to just one person. He’d been clear and up front about what he wanted, and it was nothing more than a situationship, which was fine with you. You liked him, but you weren’t going to beg for more.

But you’d also decided that if he wasn’t going to commit to you, then you certainly weren’t going to clear out your roster just for him. You weren’t going to be one of those girls sitting at home pining away for some guy. Not even Bucky Barnes.

Which, in a long, winding way, led to your current predicament. 

After all, there was a difference between Bucky being vaguely aware you were still hooking up with other guys—since you occasionally referenced your roster—and him seeing the evidence of it. And you had to wonder how he’d react if you took a picture of your tits in the state they were that evening…

It had only been about a day since your last hookup, and your mind wandered to the night before. You’d met up with one of the other guys on your roster, John Walker, and had a decently enjoyable dick appointment. You hadn’t expected Bucky or any of the other men on your roster to ask for pics, so you’d let John do what he wanted to your body.

If there were two things you knew about John Walker, it was that he and Bucky hated each other, and he loved your tits. John loved playing with them, he loved sucking on them, and he loved leaving hickeys all over them. Which he’d done the night before—and then proceeded to give you a not very satisfying orgasm. 

Sure, it’d done the trick in the moment, but not even 24 hours later, you were already restless again, your body needing a proper release, which you knew Bucky could give you. But you weren’t planning to see Bucky for at least a couple days, not until the evidence of your hookup with John had faded.

Lifting your shirt, you looked at John’s handiwork. Your tits were dotted all over with at least a dozen tiny little love bites, and your body warmed as you remembered the knife-edged pleasure that came along with each little mark. They were so recent, the bruises were still reddish, not having yet fully faded to a dark purple. 

As you looked at them, you had a devious thought—what would Bucky do if he saw John’s marks on your body? Would he blow you off, stop talking to you, maybe even ghost you? Or would he need to see you so badly that he’d come over to your apartment? Would he fuck you and give you the release you needed?

Thinking through your options, you knew it would be the kind, respectful thing to send Bucky an older photo, one of your tits when they were entirely unblemished. You had plenty of photos like that on your phone—and Bucky probably wouldn’t even notice if you sent him the same photo twice.

Or… You could send Bucky a photo of your tits covered in another man’s hickeys. You could, if he asked, tell him exactly who had given you all those hickeys. And then, you could see what Bucky would do about it. 

A wicked smile crept across your face as you came to a decision. 

Lifting your shirt again, you arched your body toward the light in your room, making sure the marks were clearly visible on your skin, then you snapped a photo of your tits. Before you could talk yourself out of the idea that was probably toxic and definitely a little mean, you sent the photo to Bucky.

His reply was almost instantaneous.

Who the fuck did that to you.

You bit back your mischievous giggle, even if you were alone in your room and there was no one to hear the evil way you wanted to cackle at Bucky’s response. Excited thrills raced through your veins, warmth blooming between your thighs at the anger laced in his text message.

You knew you’d be pushing him further toward anger by answering his question—you knew how much Bucky and John hated each other—but he’d asked. And besides, you were hoping he’d take out all that anger on your body in the most delicious of ways. So you sent a simple response.

John Walker.

You waited for Bucky’s response. 

And waited. 

But as the minutes ticked by and Bucky didn’t text back, your heart sank more and more, and the delighted smile on your face flattened into a frown. You began to think Bucky might actually be ghosting you.

For only a moment, you let yourself feel disappointed at the way your phone didn’t light up with another text from your situationship, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to be sad over a man like Bucky Barnes. Even if he fucked you way better than John Walker or any of the other guys on your roster. Even if you liked him more than any of the other guys you’d been with.

Hauling yourself up from your bed, you went through your nighttime routine, brushing your teeth and washing your face while listening to music. It wasn’t until you were about to slip into bed and go to sleep that your phone buzzed with a new text message. 

Your heart lept into your throat when you saw it was Bucky and you scrambled to read his response, eager to know what had taken him so long. Your breath caught in your throat and excitement buzzed wildly through your veins when you saw what he’d written.

I’m outside. Open your door.

A shiver of anticipation zipped down your spine as you bounded out of bed, an ecstatic grin spreading across your face at the realization that you’d got what you wanted—Bucky was at your apartment. And he was going to do something about the photo you’d sent him. 

It took all your self control not to run to your apartment door and fling it open excitedly to greet Bucky. Instead, you forced yourself to take your sweet time padding to the door, your movements deliberately lazy as you unlocked it and swung it open.

Bucky Barnes loomed on the other side, his head hanging between stiff arms, his hands braced on either edge of the frame like he was holding himself back from kicking down your door. His broad shoulders were bunched up, his short, brown hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it. His chest was heaving as he breathed harshly. 

When he lifted his head, the stubborn possessiveness in his darkened blue eyes slashed right through to your heart. He’d never looked at you that way before, and you had the terrible, fleeting thought that you could get used to being the only girl Bucky looked at so possessively. 

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other. Then, Bucky stalked forward, crowding you into your apartment and gathering you up in his strong arms while he kicked the door shut behind him. It closed with a rough slam that had your pulse skittering in your veins, your heart already pounding in your chest as Bucky crushed you in his arms.

His gaze held yours and there was something about the emotions swirling his eyes, a mixture of uncompromising possessiveness and lustful determination, that felt dangerous. Not to your body, but to your heart. 

“You got a lotta nerve sending me a picture with another man’s marks on you,” Bucky growled as he walked you backward toward your bedroom, his hands groping your hips and ass like every inch of your body belonged to him. “You weren’t trying to make me jealous, were you, baby?” 

His words were a furious hiss that he punctuated by ducking down and snapping his teeth at your plump lower lip, biting you roughly enough to wring a gasp from your lungs. Between your thighs, you could feel your pulse pumping needily, your body aching for so much more of Bucky’s rough treatment even as you forced yourself not to cower and submit like you wanted.

Pushing against Bucky’s shoulders until he leaned back and you could catch his eye, you quirked an eyebrow at him in a dry expression of amusement. 

“You’re a big boy, Bucky,” you said, before pausing to run your tongue along your lower lip, feeling the tender spot he’d bitten. Dark satisfaction swirled in your chest, but you made yourself shrug indifferently. “And I’m not your girlfriend—so if you’re jealous, that’s your problem, not mine.”

“You let him mark you,” Bucky snarled, an accusation in his tone as he stared deep into your eyes.

For a moment—just a brief moment—you saw a hurt look in Bucky’s gaze, and it pricked at something deep in your heart. Something you refused to look at or examine, especially not with Bucky standing right in front of you. You didn’t want to think about the fact that Bucky might’ve been hurt by your actions, or that you cared about his feelings enough to want to apologize.

But you supposed you could take pity on him. You’d tormented him enough for one night. 

“Yeah,” you said, cocking your head to the side, a sly smirk curving your lips. “And what are you gonna do about it, daddy?” You practically purred the final word, knowing how Bucky would react to it. 

Just like that, the hurt vanished from Bucky’s expression and heat sparked in his icy blue eyes, a menacing smile pulling across his face. 

“You wanna see what I’m gonna do about it?” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Oh, baby, you’re not fucking ready for what I’m gonna do to your pretty little slutty body.”

Bucky crowded into you, pushing you backward until your legs hit your bed, and then he was shoving you down to the soft blankets. You crawled backward into the center of the bed while Bucky toed out of his shoes and took off his jacket, leaving him in only a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. 

Once he’d tossed his jacket somewhere in your room, he didn’t waste anymore time, prowling onto the bed and using his hands to push up the hem of your oversized tee. His head fell to your body, his teeth nipping harshly at your soft belly to make you squeal and squirm as he worked his way up. He delivered the same treatment to the curves of your brests and the delicate skin of your collarbone.

When his face finally hovered above yours, his breathing was harsh and his expression was filled with a determination so stubborn, you knew you were going to have a long night while Bucky showed you why you shouldn’t let another man mark your body.

“You’re not leaving this bed until you’ve got so many of my fucking marks on your body that you won’t even think about sending nudes to anyone else,” Bucky growled, tugging off your tee, pushing your legs open so he could settle between them, and descending on your tits. 

He found the first of John’s marks and sank his teeth into the skin around it, sucking hard on the already aching bruise. The spot gave a little twinge of pain from Bucky’s rough treatment, but it only mixed deliciously with the pleasure he was dragging from your body, and your fingers threaded into his hair, clinging to him while he sucked on your skin.

Bucky worked the reddish-purple blemish relentlessly with his mouth and teeth until it was bright again, and so much larger than the mark John had left. Then, when he was done, Bucky moved on to the next hickey, scraping his teeth over the bruise and wringing a helpless cry from your lips before he sucked the curve of your tit into his mouth. 

It went on like that for you didn’t know how long, Bucky working methodically down and across your chest, sucking and biting every bruise John had left behind on your body until each one was replaced with a new, bigger mark.

If you begged Bucky for more—or tried to push his furious mouth down toward your pussy, which was throbbing almost painfully with need—he’d simply narrow his eyes at you, giving you a look like you’d known exactly what you were getting yourself into when you’d sent that photo to him. Then he’d work his mouth even harder, even more roughly against your body, until you were tossing your head back into your pillows and moaning your pleasure.

By the time he was done, you were nothing more than a whimpering, pleading mess beneath him. Your eyes were filled with tears of desperation, and your inner thighs were sticky with the sheer amount of desire soaking your panties and coating your trembling flesh. 

“Daddy, please,” you begged on a sob, shoving at Bucky’s shoulders to get his attention as he roughly kissed a spot in the valley between your tits, licking and sucking a new hickey into your skin. 

At the sound of your ragged voice, Bucky lifted his head, but you could already tell by the determined glint in his eye and the stubborn set of his jaw that he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted just yet. 

“Hush, baby,” he rasped in a dark, patronizing tone, lowering his mouth back to your chest and sucking on the hickey he’d just left. “Daddy’s just getting started marking your beautiful body with all the pretty little bruises I want.” His voice was a rough growl that reverberated beneath your skin.

Between your thighs, you could feel more of your desire trickling into your panties, which were already soaked all the way through and sticking to your clammy skin. A whine worked its way up your throat and spilled from your lips before you could stop it, your legs squirming around Bucky’s sides, trying to grind your cunt against his body but unable to get the angle right. 

While you wriggled frustratedly, Bucky paid you no mind, shifting down your body as he picked a spot for his next mark. When his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your belly, you cried out, arching up off the bed and spreading your thighs wider to make room for Bucky’s broad shoulders. 

Your fingers twisted in his soft brown hair, trying to push his head down further, until it was between your thighs, whimpering a soft sob of, “Bucky, please.” 

But Bucky was having none of it. Despite your pleading and protests, he took his time, only peeling your panties away from your soppy wet cunt after taking his time leaving a trail of hickeys on your belly. 

When he saw how wet you were, Bucky chuckled and murmured, “Such a messy little slut, baby.” 

He’d said the words fondly and, if you weren’t mistaken, there was affection in the curve of his smile that had you feeling something you didn’t want to look at too closely. But your treacherous heart beat a little harder all the same.

Then his words sank into your lust-soaked mind and heat bloomed in your face at the gentle degradation. But what little shame you could conjure up only mixed with the burning of your desire as you stared down into Bucky’s darkened eyes, holding his gaze while he took off your panties and tossed them somewhere in your room.

He turned his focus back to the juncture of your thighs, shoving your legs wide open and smirking when you let out a helpless little moan at the feeling of the cool air brushing against your heated, dripping cunt. You were so worked up, you could feel your inner muscles clenching around nothing, needing to be filled with something.

“Your pussy’s winking at me, baby,” Bucky rumbled, laughter in his voice as he spread your pussy open with his fingers. You could feel it, your body winking at the man between your thighs like you were begging him to slide inside you—his fingers or his cock, you didn’t care. “She wants me bad, doesn’t she, baby?”

Bucky’s taunting words had you covering your face and letting out a low, tortured groan even as your hips twitched, your body yearning desperately to be filled, to be fucked. “Bucky,” you whined, drawing out his name pitifully as your hips bucked into his hands, seeking more of his touch.

But Bucky didn’t oblige your body’s request. His hands skimmed away from your pussy and along your thighs to hold you behind your knees, pushing your legs up to your chest so you were bared fully to his heated gaze. When you peeked out from between your fingers, you saw him staring hungrily down at your cunt, but at your movement, his gaze flicked up and caught yours.

“Do ya want me that bad, baby?” Bucky purred, ducking down to nuzzle his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh—so close to where you needed him, but still too far away. On instinct, your hips bucked upward, trying to press your pussy against Bucky’s face, but he held you down, grinning as he went on. “Ya want daddy’s fat cock to pound into your cute little cunt, huh, baby—want it hard and rough so you’ll be feeling me in your pretty pussy for days?”

“Oh god yes—yes, please, Bucky—daddy, please, I need your cock,” you babbled desperately, your hips squirming as you humped the empty air, seeking any part of Bucky that you could grind your aching cunt against. You didn’t care if it was his mouth or his cheek or his shoulder, you needed something.

Instead of giving you that, though, Bucky turned his face and sank his teeth deep into your thigh, hard enough that your pussy pulsed violently and you thought you were going to cum. But you didn’t. 

Once the blinding sensation of pain and pleasure passed, you knew you wouldn’t manage to tip over the edge just from Bucky’s teasing. You weren’t going to cum until he finally paid attention to your pussy, and somehow you suspected Bucky knew that. 

“Tell me how bad you want me,” he growled, sucking on your skin and beginning to leave a new mark on your inner thigh. His gaze was locked on yours as he stared up your body, past your heaving chest that was already littered with his marks, commanding you with the stubborn, possessive look in his eyes to do as he said.

“Want you so bad, daddy,” you cried, your whole body trembling like a leaf in a bitter autumn wind. Tears of frustration and need were pooling in your eyes again and you knew that if Bucky kept edging you for much longer, they were going to spill down your cheeks. “Want you more than anything—anything—please just fuck me!”

Bucky’s eyes glittered, the possessiveness is his gaze deepening and turning into something feral as he stared up your body. Finally, his mouth pulled away from your quivering thigh—after he placed one last affectionate kiss on the mark he’d left. 

“Tell me you want me more than John fucking Walker,” he spit out, shifting his head to your other thigh and sinking his teeth into your soft flesh as he held you pinned to your bed with his thick biceps wrapped around your legs. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest and your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected to get such a reaction out of Bucky when you’d sent him that picture of your tits with John’s marks all over them. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Not when he was looking at you like you were his while he sucked yet another mark into your skin.

“I want you so much more than him,” you murmured. “I want your marks on me, I want your cock and your cum in me—I want you, Bucky.”

The words tumbled from your lips—the ones Bucky had demanded—and you were more than a little surprised by the vehemence in your voice, and how easy it was to admit you wanted Bucky more than John. 

Sure, you’d known he was a better fuck than John, but things with Bucky felt right in a way they didn’t with any of the other men on your roster. Like the two of you fit together somehow.

And that scared you. It scared you enough that you rushed on, forcing yourself to raise an eyebrow at Bucky and muster a dry tone as you asked, “Is that what you wanted to hear?” You could detect the hitch of emotion beneath the taunting tone of your voice, but with any luck, Bucky wouldn’t.

Thankfully, he seemed not to notice, responding to your words by growling into the soft flesh of your thigh, his eyes narrowing into a glare. He gave the hickey he’d sucked into your skin one last pull, then pushed himself up. 

Before you could beg again for him to fuck you, Bucky roughly grabbed your hips and flipped you over. His teeth sank so hard into the plush curve of your ass, you screeched into your pillows. There was more pain than pleasure that time, but Bucky knew the edge you liked to walk and he didn’t give you more than you could handle.

As it was, even more wetness flooded between your thighs and you writhed beneath Bucky’s big body, all the small stinging aches of the marks he’d left blending with the pulsing throb of need coursing through your veins. It was enough to break the damn of your tears and you sobbed into your pillows.

“Bucky, please, please, I need your dick,” you cried, straining your neck to look at him over your shoulder. 

Bucky’s dark blue eyes were narrowed into slits and when he finally pulled his teeth from your ass, he continued glowering at you, looking grumpy and almost entirely unbothered by your pleas. You knew he wasn’t entirely unaffected, though, because his cock twitched against your thigh when he saw your tear-stained face.

“Tell me you won’t do it again and I might consider giving you some dick,” he growled, holding your gaze as he ducked down to lick and soothe the bite mark he’d left on your asscheek. 

“I won’t send you another picture covered in John’s marks, I promise,” you rushed to say, arching your back and whining. Your body was moving on its own, trying to present your pussy to Bucky, but he only scraped his teeth over the mark he’d left in your skin.

“Not good enough,” Bucky grumbled, shifting to your other cheek and sinking his teeth into your ass, giving you another bite mark. When you hissed at the pain, Bucky relented, stroking his tongue over the spot as he sucked on your skin. “No one else gets to mark you but me.”

You had to look away to hide the way your eyes rolled at that demand. Bucky wouldn’t commit to you, but he wanted you to promise you wouldn’t let another man mark you. Fucking men. You glared into your pillows, not saying anything and hoping he’d drop it if you didn’t respond.

He didn’t. 

“Say it, baby,” Bucky growled, leaning to the side and slapping your ass. He managed to hit the exact spot he’d bitten, which was tender from his teeth and mouth, making you cry out. “Say I’m the only one allowed to mark you.”

“Men who aren’t my boyfriend don’t get to make demands like that, James,” you snarled, turning to glare at him over your shoulder. 

The two of you glared at each other for a long minute. You knew Bucky could be stubborn, but you could be much more stubborn when you wanted to be—and you fucking wanted to right then. If Bucky thought you were going to let him dictate what you could or couldn’t do with other men while he refused to commit, he had another thing coming.

Slowly, Bucky shifted up onto his hands, climbing up your body with the languid movements of a predator until his bigger form covered your smaller one. 

Still, you glared at each other. 

His hand pushed his sweatpants down until his cock bounced free, the stiff length slapping your ass lightly. His precum immediately started leaking into the valley between your cheeks, and your pussy pulsed in desire.

Still, you glared at each other.

“Say it, or you’re not getting my dick,” Bucky rumbled obstinately, pushing his stiff length between your thighs to drag against your dripping wet slit. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and arched your back, giving him more of your pussy to rub against—but that didn’t mean you were going to submit to his ridiculous demand. And he wasn’t going to turn you into a liar.

“Say you’re my boyfriend, or you’re not getting my pussy, daddy,” you retorted, putting as much mocking sarcasm into the nickname as you could manage. 

Bucky’s eyes flashed with so much annoyance, you couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that curled your lips, which only made his face contort in even more frustration. 

His hand reached between your thighs, pressing his cock deep into your slippery folds until the head caught at your tight hole. But he didn’t push inside. Instead, he let the tip slide through your folds to grind against your clit.

Need and desire pounded an unceasing drumbeat beneath your skin, your hands curling into fists in your blankets as you bit back a desperate moan. But you didn’t let your face go slack with pleasure, you kept right on glaring at Bucky over your shoulder, even as he repeated the motion, teasing your tight little pussy with the head of his big cock. 

Finally, something in Bucky snapped and he ducked down, capturing your mouth in a savage kiss, his lips and teeth attacking yours until both of you were breathless with need. You were practically vibrating with it beneath Bucky’s big body, and even his arms were trembling when you blinked your eyes open as he pulled away. 

“You’re gonna be the fucking death of me, baby,” Bucky rumbled, his voice so low and gravelly, you felt its deep tenor roll down your spine and settle deliciously in your core. As he spoke, he tilted his hips just the right amount and pushed the head of his cock into your dripping hole, making both of you groan in pleasure. 

“Right back at ya, daddy,” you quipped at him, your voice embarrassingly breathless as you clung to the blankets of your bed and arched your spine, pushing back into Bucky as he pressed forward. 

It took one long, glorious moment for Bucky to sink the full length of his cock inside your drenched, sopping wet pussy, and you nearly blacked out at how good it felt after so long of his teasing torture. 

He was bigger and thicker than any man you’d ever been with—though you’d never in a million years admit that to him—and it was always a little overwhelming when he first slid inside. But you loved it. You loved the way your body stretched to fit him, the way you could feel your pussy wrapped so snugly around his thick length. You loved the way you could feel him throb and twitch inside you, especially when he was close to cumming. 

And you could tell by the way his cock was twitching inside your tight hole that he was already close. That was good, because after all his teasing had worked you up, you didn’t think you were going to last long anyway.

Bucky gave you a moment to adjust to his size while he yanked his t-shirt over his head. Then he was pressing his bare chest to your back and pushing you deeper into the soft blankets of your bed until you lay prone beneath his strong body.

Only then did he pull his hips back, making you feel every delicious inch of his thick cock, before slamming inside again. Wrapping his arm underneath your neck, he tucked his bicep beneath your chin and held you pinned to his chest, forcing you to arch your spine more and feel the way his hips clapped against your ass as he pounded into you.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, baby,” Bucky growled in your ear, grinding his cock into the depths of your cunt until you were whimpering beneath him. “You’re daddy’s good little slut, and only daddy can fuck your pussy the way you need it, isn’t that right?”

“Yes—yes, daddy, you fuck me so good,” you cried out, hands scrabbling at the bed sheets for leverage to push back into him. 

“Tell me what I want to hear,” he demanded harshly in your ear, the words sinking into the deepest parts of your brain. 

A twisted smile curled the corners of your mouth because you knew exactly what Bucky wanted to hear, and you were only too happy to give it to him. It was safer to admit what you were about to admit because it was the heat of the moment, and you hoped Bucky would think you were just saying it to make him happy. Only you could know that you meant every word.

“You fuck me so much better than John, daddy,” you purred, pushing your hips back into Bucky’s thrusts, forcing him deeper into your cunt until you were so full of him, you thought he was imprinting himself on your very being. “Your dick feels so good, so big, daddy—you’re the only man who fucks me so good, Bucky, you’re the best dick I’ve ever had. ”

“Fuck—fuck, baby,” Bucky bit out, his mouth brushing against your cheek, his stubble rasping against your skin and making you shiver. He fucked you harder, faster, rutting into your slick cunt like he was trying to leave another mark inside you. “Rub your clit for me, wanna feel you cum on my fat cock.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You slid your hand between the blankets and your body, slipping it between your thighs and circling the tight nub of your clit with a viciousness that matched how Bucky was fucking you. Your inner walls clenched down hard on Bucky’s cock, dragging filthy groans from both your mouths as he pushed deeper and began grinding inside you.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “Never felt anything so tight.” He let out a harsh breath, his forehead falling to your shoulder as he kept up his relentless fucking, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of your release. “Feels like you’re choking my cock, baby—I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Choke me, daddy,” the words tumbled from your lips before you could stop yourself, the deepest recesses of your brain responding to Bucky’s words in a plea for one of your darkest desires.

Bucky’s bicep and forearm squeezed the sides of your neck instantaneously, giving you what you begged for and cutting off some of your air so you were forced to gasp for every little breath. You pussy squeezed tighter around his cock, wringing a rasping chuckle from the depths of his chest.

“You’re such a filthy, depraved little slut, baby,” Bucky murmured teasingly in your ear before nipping the shell with his teeth, dragging a ragged cry from your lips. “Ya like it when daddy chokes you, huh? Bet John fucking Walker doesn’t choke you like this, does he?”

“No,” you gasped, your voice hoarse but genuine as you admitted, “He’d never choke me—he’d never treat me like a slut.”

“That’s fucking right,” Bucky growled, somehow managing to fuck you even harder, his hips snapping into your ass so hard, you could hear the sharp clapping of his skin against yours even over his heavy breaths panting in your ear. 

“I’m the only man who can fuck you like you need it—dirty and rough. That’s how you like it, isn’t it, baby—you like being fucked like a slut?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, as much in response to Bucky’s debauched question as to the feeling of his cock pounding into your cunt. You were so close—so close you could barely think, but you knew everything Bucky was saying was right. He was the only man who fucked you the way you needed it, and you needed to cum on his cock.

Thankfully, Bucky seemed to want the same thing. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled in your ear, his hips slamming his cock into your body hard enough to nearly hurt, but the pain-edged pleasure only pushed you closer to your release. “Cum on daddy’s cock while he’s choking your pretty little neck and fucking you like the filthy slut you are.”

Bucky’s words and his cock, and your fingers on your clit, sent you over the edge, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and a ragged scream tearing free from your lips. Pleasure consumed you, body and mind alike, until all you knew was the sensation of ecstasy drowning out everything else. 

It went on for one long, endless moment, pleasure pulsing through your being until it finally abated. Then, the world began to reform around you. Slowly, you returned to yourself, Bucky’s cock still driving into you, his thrusts turning wild and desperate as he growled in your ear.

“Fuck, you feel good, baby,” he was rumbling, rutting into you while your pussy squeezed him in a perfect clenching rhythm. “Feels like your cunt’s begging for my cum. Is that it? Ya want my cum that fucking bad, baby?”

“Yesss,” you moaned, your limbs melting beneath him as you savored the feeling of Bucky chasing his release in your body. “Want your cum, daddy, please gimme it,” you whimpered, weakly pushing your hips into his big body in a wordless plea.

Bucky grunted a soft, “Fuck,” and then pressed deep, burying his cock to the hilt in your still pulsing cunt as he came. He let out a long groan, his cock twitching against your inner walls while he emptied his balls into your pussy, the warmth of his cum filling you up.

It felt so good, your lips curled at the edges in a happy smile. Every part of you felt warm and satisfied, and you basked in the unmatched afterglow that came in the wake of getting fucked by Bucky Barnes.

When he was finally spent, Bucky eased his hips back, pulling out of you gently so he didn’t hurt your thoroughly used pussy. You appreciated the effort, even if you did feel a pang in your gut at the loss of him, like your body was mourning his absence.

Bucky rolled off you and flopped onto his back, leaving you limp and sated. 

And cold. 

The man who’d just fucked you better than anyone else ever had made no move to pull your naked body into his, but that wasn’t surprising. Bucky wasn’t the type to initiate post-sex snuggling, though he didn’t stop you from cuddling into him if you initiated it.

Gathering your strength, you heaved your body toward Bucky, draping yourself on top of him, wrapping an arm over his stomach and hitching your thigh over his hip. Your cooling skin pressed to his heated body as you tucked your face into his neck, cooing happily when his arm curled around your shoulders, holding you against his side.

But a post-sex snuggle wasn’t the only thing you’d been looking for. 

Your mouth found the side of Bucky’s neck, your lips working against his skin, kissing and sucking and biting him while he rumbled soft sounds of satisfied pleasure. You didn’t stop until you’d left a hickey, but when you pulled away to get a look at it, you decided it wasn’t enough. 

After all, you were literally covered in his marks. 

So you went back to work, sucking on the hickey until the bruise was so big, there’d be no hiding it—not unless Bucky suddenly started wearing turtlenecks. Somehow, you knew he wouldn’t. You knew he’d wear your hickey proudly, even if it meant he might not get laid until it faded.

When you were finally satisfied with your work, you brushed one last kiss to the hickey, and settled down at Bucky’s side. Your cheek pressed to his chest and you listened to his heart thumping a steady drumbeat beneath his pecs. 

For a moment, you were both quiet, enjoying the feel of each other. Then Bucky fished his phone out of the pocket of his discarded sweatpants, which he’d kicked off at some point. He held the device aloft over the two of you, tilting his head to the side and using the front-facing camera to look at the mark you’d left.

“I guess I deserve this,” he commented, trailing his fingers over the gigantic hickey. There was no anger or annoyance in his tone, though, only amusement. He skimmed his fingers down to your shoulder and gently rearranged your arm until the marks he’d left on the sides of your tits were visible. “Now we’re even.” 

A snickering smile curved your mouth and you were about to retort that you weren’t anywhere close to even, but the soft click of Bucky’s phone snapping a photo cut you off. 

Reaching up, you tapped the screen to show the picture and you had to admit, it was pretty cute. The hickey on Bucky’s neck was prominent and he wore a cocky grin on his attractive face while you smirked into his chest, his marks dotting your skin even though you weren’t revealing too much of your breasts. 

It was the kind of photo you’d consider setting as your phone’s background if Bucky was your boyfriend. 

He wasn’t, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still want it.

“Send that to me,” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

But Bucky must’ve heard how much you wanted the picture, because he chuckled evilly, pulling the phone out of your reach. When you lifted your head to glare at him, there was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. 

“If I send this to you, you gotta promise not to let John mark you up again.”

That time, you let him see you roll your eyes while you reminded him, “Only boyfriends get to make demands like that, Bucky.”

Huffing a frustrated sigh and giving you a half-hearted glare, Bucky tapped the screen of his phone a couple times. A second later, your phone buzzed with a text and when you glanced at it, you saw he’d sent you the photo of the two of you. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I just don’t ever wanna see his fucking marks on your body again.” 

You nodded your agreement, saying, “That’s fair.” It was the least you could do, all things considered.

Bucky laughed to himself at your easy agreement, then pushed you onto your back and spread your thighs while he sat up on his knees between your legs. “Now, smile pretty for daddy, baby. I wanna take some photos of all the hard work I did marking you up.”

A pleased grin pulled across your face. As much as you enjoyed taking pictures and sending them to Bucky, you loved it even more when he wanted to take pictures of you himself. So you laid on the bed and let Bucky position you how he wanted so he could take photos of his handiwork. 

“You gonna jerk off to these when you get home, daddy?” you taunted, staring up at Bucky and smiling for his camera. “Gonna rub your cock to pictures of your marks all over me?”

Bucky’s eyes flashed and his cock twitched between his thick thighs, making your smirk widen. You knew you were provoking him again, but you couldn’t seem to stop.

“You gonna make yourself cum looking at photos of me covered in your marks, daddy?” 

Your teasing comments led to you laying helplessly beneath Bucky, his knees keeping your thighs spread wide so you couldn’t grind against anything while he jerked himself off with his fist. The only thing he allowed you to do was knead and grope your tits, your pleasure mixing with aching pain from the bruises covering your skin. 

Bucky came like that, his cum covering your fingers and chest in ropes of his seed, marking you all over again.

He took even more photos of the sight of your hands playing with your cum-covered tits, then fucked your pussy with his fingers, sounding very pleased with himself when he teased you for getting off on him making a mess of your slutty body and pushing his cum deeper inside you. 

It was late when Bucky finally left your apartment, and you realized you’d been right. It had been a very long night. But even though you knew you’d only get a couple hours of sleep before work, it had been so worth it to text Bucky that photo of your tits covered in another man’s marks.

Over the next few days, Bucky demanded an endless stream of photos of the bruises he’d left on your tits and ass. He was busy at the office and the two of you couldn’t find time to see each other, but he didn’t want to miss any of the progression of the marks he’d left as the hickeys deepened into a dark plum color on your skin. 

It turned you on to send so many photos, to see the constant reminder of the marks he’d left on your body, so you indulged Bucky every time he asked for more photos. It helped that he responded with a mixture of sweet degradation and filthy praise that had your heart beating harder in your chest and wetness gathering between your thighs. 

Every night for a week, you got yourself off to the dirty things Bucky texted you, the promises of what he was going to do to your body the next time he saw you. But more than anything else, you kept going back to the possessive text message he’d sent the day after he’d been to your apartment, rubbing your clit to Bucky’s words. 

Don’t you dare show John fucking Walker your tits with my marks on them, baby. Those marks on your body are all fucking mine, and they’re only for you and me.

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

[sonicboomseason3]

a brief recap of what has been going on with the sonic movieverse in the past several months:

paramount has come out in public support of israel

keanu reeves, a man who has publicly rubbed elbows with none other than benjamin netanyahu, reportedly gets cast as shadow for the upcoming third movie

james marsden, the guy who plays tom, got exposed as having written a letter of support for a convicted pedophile

there's fucking??? zionist propaganda in the knuckles series???

kind of connected to the last point but adam pally, the guy who plays wade, is evidently pro-israel too

this is a complete and utter joke.

EDIT AS OF 4/30/24: if people see this version of the post, i'd really appreciate it if you reblog it instead of the other versions, as it's the most updated one with all the information that i want included. thank you :]

you know, it's been a few days since i've made this post, and some of you (not most) are staying determined in defending/justifying/giving the benefit of the doubt to keanu for that photo with netanyahu, whether it's because "it was a decade ago," "him being civil to someone he ran into at a party one time doesn't mean anything," "he's probably just silent because his pr managers won't allow him to speak up," etc. i've made my thoughts on the matter quite clear by directly responding to these people, but at this point, i'm tired of both seeing them in my notes and repeating myself, so take this as my final word on the issue.

i can't help it if you don't think the photo with netanyahu is damning, and i'm done engaging with everyone going out of their way to tell me that. i obviously disagree, especially after finding out that 1. the host of the party, arnon milchan, is a former israeli spy who has a history of developing israel's nuclear program and promoting apartheid in south africa (information that had broken out a few months prior to the party and thus would've been fresh news around the time keanu chose to attend) and 2. keanu has been caught hanging around at least two other weirdos, but if you don't find any of that to be cause for reasonable concern, then there really is nothing else i can say afaik.

with all that said, i'm beginning to realize how strange it is that these people's first instinct when seeing this post is to start debating about keanu's political stances without ever acknowledging any of the other bullet points. you guys realize that this isn't just about him, right? i know tumblr reading comprehension is known for being piss-poor, but like… you realize that i was trying to make a point of how there are MULTIPLE terrible things that have broken out about the people and company involved in the sonic movies, right? and yet, a lot of the people leaping to speak on keanu's behalf in my notes are completely ignoring the parts where i bring up paramount, pally, etc. all in favor of zeroing in on the singular point about keanu and making bad faith assumptions about me for holding him accountable. really makes one wonder where your priorities lie if, in a post that talks about so many other things, me accusing an a-list celebrity with, according to google, a net worth of almost $400 million is where you draw the line and apparently the only thing worth your acknowledgment.

ultimately, what i'm trying to say is that the intention of this post was just to gather up everything that i had been hearing for the past several months and put it all together in one place. there were a bunch of people who didn't know about at least one of the bullet points before seeing this post, and i'm glad that i could help inform them, that was what i was hoping to do! but as for the keanu thing, i've said pretty much all i can say for now, and i don't want to derail the original post even more than i may have already. unless something new comes up, i'm done talking about him.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Throwback

Male Triceratops Hybrid Alpha Yandere x Gender Neutral Capybara Hybrid Omega Reader

CW: Noncon, painful to pleasureable sex, mild violence (not towards reader), time travel, sexism, breeding, impregnation, pheromones, a/b/o, musk, scent marking, scent kink, sucking on dem big man titters, biting, bite marking, claiming, exceptionally huge dick, reader inflated with copious cum, knotting

Word Count: 1.9k

(Sometimes I get stuck on WIPs and have to do something new to write again. I wrote this in two days. Hope y'all like it! Please feed me with comments ❤️)

You were an omega demi-human. Part capybara, though the only evidence of this was your soft ears. More importantly, you were a quantum physicist. Currently, you were studying and recreating what you thought to be a time travel device. Your thoughts and theories had been dismissed entirely by your peers. It didn't help at all that you were an omega. Omegas working in academia were almost universally harassed, derided, and treated with condescension. As if their omega brains couldn't work at the same level as betas and alphas.

But even if it wasn't some type of device for traveling through time it was certainly alien to the time period from which it originated. It was made of advanced alloys and components that had been flattened, buried, and heavily corroded over time. The rock in which it was embedded in was older than any ancient society.

You had been working on manufacturing a functional copy of the artifact for years. Shmoozing up eccentric rich fucks, getting help from the exceedingly few colleagues who would help you in any way, slowly analyzing every detail and carefully bringing it all together. And at long last it was complete. The zenith of your career was at hand. And after some cautious testing that you conducted privately, it was ready to show to others.

You managed to get a spot at a small conference, though you had lied about the subject on which you would be speaking, and by the time it was your turn most of the audience had left. Not many academics cared what an omega had to say. Let alone one with a reputation for being a crackpot. But there were still enough of your fellow scientists and this would all be on video.

Instead of introducing the topic of your presentation, which would be a surefire way to lose what people were still watching, you opted for wheeling out your machine onto the stage and stepping in. With a deep breath, you booted it up and the entire contraption disappeared with a flash.

When you exited the machine there was an immediate problem. You stepped out of the machine into a forest with giant trees and flowers. You had only intended to go back a minute to when your presentation started but had made an error. You turned around to step back in but something pulled you backwards by your rear. You fell back and saw before you a humongous man charging at your time machine. He wore only a ragged fur loincloth and swung a massive club. He looked human except for his size, thick tail, scaled arms, and three horns on his head. One large horn from each temple and a small one extending from my nose.

You looked on in horror as he swung a mighty club down upon your only way back to your own time, repeatedly smashing it down until it resembled the exact shape of the artifact that had been excavated in your time. The relic that you had fashioned your own machine after. That wasn't what your attention was on, however. You were much more focused on getting away from the raging beast of a man who could flatten metal so easily.

Though with his task of destroying the frightening affront to nature that had appeared from nowhere now complete, he turned his attention to you. He shouted at you in a language you didn't understand, though his intent was clear. He had a massive erection sticking out from his loincloth and aggressively sniffing at your neck after picking you up with unexpected care.

With exertion of great willpower, the trike-man managed to not breed you silly right there in the forest. Your pheromones were driving him nearly feral. Modern-day omega pheromones were many times more potent than any prehistoric omega. They had evolved through millennia to pique the interest of choosy alphas despite the steep competition, an evolutionary arms race to try to snag an alpha.

That wasn't the only appealing trait. You were exotic, had cute little furry ears on your head, and you were so small, couldn't fight back and act all defiant like the omegas from his time.

You did struggle though. You had seen his arousal and could still smell it. Almost anything would be better than being violated in such a manner by such a hulking brute. He chuckled at your struggles, they were successful only in tiring you out. On the long way to his lair, between your squirming, kicking, and punching, you had gathered that his name was Orryg. At least you thought it was. He did not speak English, but he gestured at himself and seemed to be trying to give you his name.

He found your struggles kinda cute, mistaking them for an eagerness to escape his grasp and get on with taking his cock already. Omegas were so silly.

"Don't worry. Going to breed you plenty. Better in a secluded place."

You had no idea what he said, but his voice was deep and sounded angry so you could only assume it was something in annoyance at your struggles so you went limp. The giant man could snap you like a twig if he wanted to, best not to make him too upset. And honestly, even if you did escape, where the fuck would you go? What if Orryg wasn't the worst thing prowling about in the time period?

The walk went on for a while, with Orryg giving you an occasional lick or mumbling out some words you didn't have any hope of understanding. After a fair amount of time, Orryg stopped to sniff the air. Suddenly there was a roar from behind.

Orryg turned the two of you around just in time for him to take his club and smack it into a man who was every bit as huge as he was. Swatting him away easily despite being similar in size and build.

This one had sharp teeth and clawed fingers. He spat blood and growled. Orryg regarded him with a scowl.

"Udvik! You know this is trike territory!!"

"Omega smells good, not claimed yet. Thought I'd try..."

"Go before I smash you! This is MINE!"

Udvik spat again and hobbled off. But your suspicions had been confirmed, there were definitely things other than Orryg to be worried about in this time period. You were pretty shaken up seeing a half-dino man jumping at you and watching your captor fight him off. With those teeth it had clearly been no herbivore, it probably would have slaughtered you. Your fear must have been evident in your scent because Orryg held you tighter and nuzzled you.

"That battle got my blood flowing, really need to fuck you. Sorry if it scared you, I'll breed you all better. Almost home."

You continued to have zero idea what the hell he was saying. But you figured with the nuzzling it was something comforting. Though your ability to figure anything out was pretty absent by this point. Your brain was soup. All the anxiety and adrenaline and alpha pheromones had finally gotten to you. You looked at the ground in a stupor as he continued to carry you over his shoulder.

The next thing you were consciously aware of was him entering the cave with you and placing his club at the entrance. He laid down on a slab of stone covered in thick layers of soft furs and placed you on top of his muscled body. Before you had any chance to react he began administering attention to your sensitive neck. You squirmed involuntarily, writhing in pleasure on top of him from the neck stimulation alone.

If that wasn't enough, you were practically drowning in his musk. You had been since you entered his dwelling, the cave was saturated in it, but now he was forcing your head under his arm and making you drink it all in. Smearing your face with it and marking you with his smell. Slick was leaking out of your needy hole and pooling on his abs.

"I knew this would make you feel better."

The trance you were in was only partially broken once you felt the blunt head of his much too-large member press against your hole.

"W-wait! I don-"

But he had no idea what you were saying, and even if he did he knew you'd love his dick so much that you wouldn't protest for long. At this point, you were going to be his... no matter what.

You yelped in pain as he pressed into you, spreading you like none of your toys ever had. He swallowed your shout by pressing his mouth into yours, trying to distract you from the pain with a sloppy kiss before attending to your neck again. Despite every instinct telling him to just ram in and ravage you he restrained himself knowing that doing otherwise could seriously injure you.

"Ah!"

Even with his care it still hurt as he slowly eased his prick all the way into you, he rubbed the outline of his cock through your tummy. Lucky for you omegas were extremely stretchy and pliant.

Orryg slowly thrust back and forth inside you as he hungrily took in your scent. As more precum dribbled into you and mixed with your slick you took him easier and the pain slowly began to ebb away and was eventually replaced almost entirely by pleasure. You moaned softly into his chest as you bit at his pec and sucked his nipple while he kept digging his cock into you.

Your whole body shook and spasmed for a solid minute as you came more intensely than you ever had before. Orryg grunted as the feeling of your body convulsing around him brought him nearly to his climax. The trike man upped the pace just a bit, his heavy balls smacking into you before he started knotting inside you and pumping you full of his virile spunk. One small mercy was that his knot was only a bit thicker than the rest of his cock, not over two times as wide like a modern alpha.

The volume of semen was such that it made you look heavy with child, which you certainly would be after lovemaking like this.

Now that you had been well and truly fucked there was only one thing left for your brand new "husband" to do to really seal the deal. He, with great caution, buried his fangs into your neck to mark you permanently as his to everyone who might see you. Which would be more than you might expect. This was Orryg's outpost, he stayed there while on patrol, but he usually lived with his herd.

It would be a hard adjustment for you to make. You would constantly be under Orryg's watchful gaze or the guard of his tribemates when he went to go hunt or if he went to do things too dangerous for you to be with him. You'd never be alone. Even in the safety of the herd, Orryg would obsessively treat you like something fragile. You would have to adjust your diet to what they ate, mostly fruit and vegetables though they ate meat too, though nothing was familiar to you. You would have to slowly learn their language so you could eventually communicate with the new society that "adopted" you.

But it was okay if it took you a while to get settled, you had all the time in the world.

[flawseer]

#30 - "Your Choice"

Smaugust 2024

I am very fond of the second arc protagonists. They are my favorite collective of plot focus characters, which may be evident by the fact that I've been drawing them more than any other in this challenge. They are a very charming group, even if a few possible character connections are vastly underdeveloped (Moon and Turtle, Winter and Turtle, and Winter and Kinkajou could probably form very strong bonds if they were explored).

The flipside of fondness is usually the formation of strong opinions. I think about these guys a lot. One thing I initially thought was fine, but then struck me as strange on a revisit was the ending of Moonwatcher's book. You have the group (sans Winter), who previously struggled to accept Moon for her unintentionally invasive powers, ostensibly overcome their mistrust of her and solidify their respective bonds with her. Kinkajou in particular tells her that, because she makes no secret of her thoughts anyway, it doesn't matter to her that Moon can read her mind. Up to there it is all very wholesome and heartwarming. Moonwatcher then decides to give them an out, sharing the secret of Skyfire as a way to block her powers. This is a good and very noble gesture, really showing her trustworthiness and respect for their privacy here.

But then they actually take her up on that offer, right after stating they are over their misgivings. I get why they do it--Moonwatcher's uncontrollable power is really inconvenient and annoying to be around--but backtracking 5 seconds later makes their previous declaration of acceptance ring a bit hollow. If I could make a choice here, I would really have liked this to turn into a long-running character arc for the group, where they gradually learn to trust Moon and eventually decide that they don't need the Skyfire anymore, taking it off for good. And Moon in turn could work on refining control over her power so she can be around her friends without accidentally reading every thought. Maybe all of that could have been a scene in the arc 2 finale. But at the very least I would have liked for Kinkajou to stick with her original declaration and reject the Skyfire outright, signaling to Moon that--contrary to her mother's words--the powers are not a curse and that she doesn't need to be ashamed of them.

I guess here is an idea for potential fanfiction: Make them chuck the Skyfire in the bin. Let Moon see that her friends choose to hang out with her even if they can't block her powers.

-----

Long comic today. Sorry it took a while to come out. I think this is the longest one I've drawn for this challenge too.

Just one more day and then Smaugust will be done. I hope you have been enjoying this so far. Thanks for sticking with me.

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Close To You

♥ masterlist

♥ pairing: oscar piastri x lily zneimer x f!singer!webber!reader

♥ synopsis: as the daughter of mark webber you got to know oscar piastri pretty quick and soon enough the two of you were dating. no one had known that you both were also dating lily, leading everyone to believe the leaked pictures of her and Oscar was evidence he was cheating on you. they couldn’t have been more wrong

♥ smau - fc: gracie abrams - none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing and hate comments !!!

♥ a/n: my first poly fic! ty to bestie liz and cleo for hyping me up <3

liked by aussiegrit, oliviarodrigo, taylorswift and 656,305 more

y/n.webber channel that sad energy into a song queen

view comments

user8 hope you're doing well 💛

user3 ilyy

user6 pls shes so unserious 😭

user5 that's so real

user9 wait so did her and her boyfriend break up?

user2 I'm pretty sure. everyone's been speculating it and they haven't been seen together in a long time

user1 is she making a new album ???

user10 liv and tay in the likess 🫶

user7 I still can't believe she's mark's daughter omggg

user12 those family genetics 😍

user2 we love you <3

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, oliviarodrigo, and 583,694 more

y/n.webber cut my hair in the way that i've wanted

view comments

user9 change my number and bury my wallet !!!

user8 augusta <3

user12 LOVE

mclarenf1 we'll see you at the GP

y/n.webber <3

user10 shut up y/n is gonna be there?

user6 I thought she had a concert that day?

user1 @/user6 she has one the night before :)

user5 no bc how is she so pretty

user13 oscar in the likes 👀

user7 GORGEOUS

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by y/n.webber, user7, user12 and 502,669 more

f1gossip mark, y/n, and oscar are ready for the australian grand prix

view comments

y/n.webber @/aussiegrit I'm starting to think you like Oscar more than me :(

oscarpiastri he does ❤️

yourusername 🖕

user8 now kiss

user14 enemies to lovers

user4 my favorite australian trio

user1 why'd he have to shave his beard 😔

user9 THE CAT

user2 oscar and mark pookie off

user10 everyone pray for an oscar home race podium

user3 🕯️oscar home race win 🕯️

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, aussiegrit, and 703,562 more

y/n.webber date night <3

view comments

user7 I love how she doesn't even have to tell us she's dating oscar because we all just know

user9 THEM WATCHING TANGLED 😭🫶

user3 oscar getting her lilies :')

y/n.webber actually I got him lilies

oscarpiastri 🧡

*liked by original poster*

user4 this is the cutest shit I've ever seen

user1 mark in the likesss looks like oscar has the stamp of approval

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by y/n.webber, aussiegrit, and 750,683 more

oscarpiastri lando crashed our date

view comments

landonorris I did not "crash" your date I just happened to be there.

oscarpiastri as if you didn't follow us

y/n.webber @/landonorris you LITERALLY crashed into the back of my kart

mclarenf1 lando we talked about your internet stalking problem.

user8 PLEASE 💀

user6 why'd they have to call him out like that 😭

user2 the admins are my favorite part of the f1 cinematic universe

-A Few Months Later-

liked by aarondessner, taylorswift, and 984,059 more

y/n.webber The Secret Of Us is out now! The songs on this album are a collection of my life these past few months and I’m so excited to share them with you all. Special thank you to @/aarondessner and @/taylorswift I love you both 💛

view comments

user1 I hope she rips oscar to shreds

user7 y/n better than revenge era

user9 !!!

user3 girl you can do so much better than o***r

user12 I'm so ready to scream and cry to this

user2 I cannot believe he cheated on her

user16 out of all the guys on the grid OSCAR?!?!

user11 kitten I'll be honest I'm still not over good riddance 😔

user8 LMAO

user9 so true 😭

user15 hyped af for the taylor collab

user16 the fact that she's the daughter of mark, the man who supported him since day one and he STILL cheated on her is CRAZYY

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by taylorswift, oliviarodrigo, and 985,750 more

y/n.webber throwback to my time at last year's era's tour. I'm so glad to be back 🩷

view comments

taylorswift were so glad to have you <3

*liked by original poster*

oliviarodrigo miss youuu

yourusername I miss you too babes

user9 "and you knew my last love let me down" OSCARRRRAHHH

user7 AND I BET HES AT HER PLACE RIGHT NOW

user10 I'm so excited to see you

user16 he fumbled so hard

user4 we love you <3

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer, and 1,194,203 more

y/n.webber I understand that, without my agreement, @/f1gossip put out a post a week ago that said Oscar Piastri was cheating on me. This is wrong and I am in a happy relationship with both Oscar and Lily. He did not cheat on me. 

view comments

lilyzneimer I love you 🩷

y/n.webber I love you more

user7 😨

user1 I'm not even sure what to say

user12 I'm so sorry oscar we weren't familiar with your game 😭

user3 I-

user6 in true bi panic fashion

user4 FUCK 😭

user19 everyone say sorry Oscar

user2 sorry oscar

user5 we're sorry Oscar :(

user13 WE DIDN'T KNOW WE SWEAR

user10 sorry Oscar 😔

user21 💖💜💙

user23 the @ is such a boss bitch move

user8 saying sorry to Oscar online isn't enough I need to revoke my statements in a court of law

user7 same

liked by lilyzneimer, y/n.webber, alexandrasaintmleux and 884,472 more oscarpiastri flowers for my favs 💐

view comments

y/n.webber my loves 🩷

lilyzneimer 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

user7 my favorite throuple

user23 as if you weren't hating on oscar yesterday

user7 and I am deeply ashamed

user12 we said we're sorry :(

user6 yea oscar x lily x y/n are cute but wheres mark x fernando x taylor

user9 as in swift? 😭

user6 yes.

alexandrasaintmleux you three are so cute

y/n.webber <3

[sunnywalnut]

Today I saw my first Starbucks ad that had careful product placement, no words or obvious promos, and just two people having a good time.

And to that I want to say.

Fuck you Starbucks.

I know what you're doing.

Lost enough money due to supporting Israel that you've finally turned to sneakiness? Your brand suddenly isn't enough to sell? How saddening.

Like I know that brands and businesses do product placement. I know they do ads and promos. I know they do things to show their "customers"(actors) having a good time with their products. That's not just a Starbucks thing.

But what IS a Starbucks thing is the sneaky approach to it now. They were so careful to have the only logos showing being on the cups. It's subtle. And it's definitely on purpose. Trying to get you to crave both the drink and the experience.

BUT HEY.

REMEMBER.

STARBUCKS AIN'T SHIT GUYS.

IT'S BITTER, OVERROASTED COFFEE BEANS IN A CUP COVERED UP WITH ENOUGH SUGAR TO KILL A MAN.

There's no fucking way that you're going to be enjoying yourself while choking down a caramel French toast macchiato that tastes like licking a dirty brick y'all.

Also like. They're supporting genocide, so.

Maybe. Don't fall for the new promos. Okay?

Free Palestine.

EDIT: I have since been informed that the Starbucks brand itself is not complicit in genocide and instead, it is the CEO of Starbucks who is a Zionist. I have since made an apology post for accidentally spreading misinformation in the reblogs and have tagged my sources with evidence. If you can, please do repost that version of this post instead.

I will still be leaving this version of the post (the original) up and unedited, because I do not want to appear as if I am trying to change the narrative in any way or pretending as if what I have said doesn't exist or effect people.

While I am more than a little embarrassed about my initial approach to the subject, I have since learned more proper ways of threading together my thoughts as well as vetting my resources thoroughly. Thank you, and I hope you have a good night/day.

Free Palestine.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

the handyman

pairing: neighbor! joel miller x f! reader

cws/tags: pure smut, DADDY KINK, oral m & f receiving, p in v (unprotected), an abundance of pet names, reader is under 21 but over 18 (for the plot), reader is kinda stupid, big dick joel, not beta read

summary: pwp honestly. basically a porn plot? idk joel comes over to reader's grandma's house to fix the smoke detector (which she broke) and he teaches her how to be a good girl.

a/n: don't ask why reader lives with her grandma, originally this was going to be longer and it was going to be more relevant

join my taglist!

wc: 2k

You open the front door to and see an unfamiliar man standing at your doorstep – 40 something, jeans and a t-shirt, progressively more handsome the longer you look at him. You size him up, trying to decide what his intentions are.

“Whatever it is you’re selling – I don’t wanna buy it," you say.

He opens his mouth, but you continue before he can say anything. “I don’t even live here anyway, and before you ask she’s not home, so you can’t talk to her.”

“I ain’t here to sell you shit.”

“Well, I don’t wanna sign anything either.”

“Good. ‘Cause I don’t want you to.”

“Then why are you here? I don’t have a lot of time before One Tree Hill comes back on, so make it quick.”

“I’m Joel. I live down the street. I’m here to fix your smoke detector.”

“Oh, in that case, come on in,” you say, changing your demeanor entirely as you realize that you really need to get in this man’s good graces.

“So, you’re ‘handyman’ grandma’s been talking about?” you ask, as you lead him to the kitchen.

“She’s been talking about me?”

“Yeah. She talks about you like you’re her boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

“I dunno. I wasn’t really listening. I thought it might just be some dementia-induced delusion.”

“Well, she’s told me quite a bit about you.”

“Good things?”

“Better than the things she says about all of your other family members.”

“You know what they say, ‘if you don’t want people to talk badly about you, then you shouldn’t ruin Christmas.’”

“Uh-huh,” he says, only half-listening as he approaches the scene of the crime - a broken smoke detector, now just wires and plastic, lays on the kitchen counter. He studies it for a minute, furrowing his brows. “Jesus Christ. What happened?”

“It just fell off the wall.” You shrug, acting nonchalant and hoping he doesn't notice your shifty eyes from across the kitchen.

“No way,” he says – not with curious incredulity, but knowing disapproval.

He turns to you and crosses his arms over his chest, and engages you in a short staring contest.

“What?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Joel swipes the dish rag from the countertop and reveals the evidence you’d hidden under it like he's performing a magic trick.

He holds up the hammer, displaying it to you. He looks mostly disappointed in you - in an oddly paternal way, but also slightly amused, likely by how poorly you’d conducted this whole covert operation of yours. “Why’d you break it?”

“I didn’t break it.”

“Kid, I’m not an idiot. Just fess up, so we can fix it and move on.”

“Are you gonna tell on me?”

“You afraid of your meemaw’s wrath?” he teases.

“I don’t want her to be disappointed in me.”

“Should she be?”

“I didn’t mean to break it. I just wanted it to stop beeping.”

“It’s supposed to beep.”

You give him a pathetic pout that you hope works. It doesn’t. It only makes his gaze harden.

“I’m sorry. It was just one cigarette, and I really, really didn’t want to get in trouble… so when it went off, I panicked and hit it with the hammer.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “You’re a piece of work, kid. Making me come out here on my lunch break-”

“-I’m sorry," you interrupt, "I won’t do it again, so just please, please don’t tell on me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I could offer you something… something to show my infinite remorse for my actions and my infinite gratitude to you for fixing the mess I made.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Okay. What’s your offer?”

His smirk makes you think you’re on the same page so you get down on your knees in front of him, but when you look up into his eyes, what stares back at you is complete bewilderment.

“Get up,” he says, offering you his hand.

“I thought…”

“I don’t think you were thinking,” he says condescendingly.

“You’ve gotta learn to listen to the thoughts up here,” he says, tapping you on your temple. “Not the ones down here.” His finger brushes against your clit.

The way he speaks to you only makes it worse, the throbbing, aching feeling between your legs. You can’t find a single thing to say that isn’t ‘please’ followed by some utterly depraved suggestion.

Joel turns back to his work, somehow unfazed by the interaction.

“Normally, I’d think this sounds a bit too chauvinistic to ask, but since you owe me, can you get me a beer from the garage?”

Oh fuck. Three strikes, you’re out.

“We don’t have any beer.”

“You sure about that? I just put a six pack in there last week.”

“Maybe my grandma drank them already…”

“Your grandmother said that Budweiser tastes like cat piss.”

“It does.”

“Yeah? And how would you know that? I thought you weren’t 21 yet. Who’s buying you alcohol?”

“I didn’t know they were yours.”

“Uh-huh, but I bet your grandma would’ve told you they were if you’d asked her. But she doesn’t know about your ‘habits’, does she?”

“No,” you admit weakly.

“Come here.”

You step towards him, and wait for him to give you an earful or to threaten to reveal your secrets.

“I’m reconsidering your little offer.”

Your face lights up at the opportunity to make things right, to expunge this from your record.

“So if I did that, we’d be cool, right?”

“Depends on how good you are, darlin’.”

For a second time that afternoon, you sink to your knees, but this time, Joel gives you the go-ahead. You try to balance the coyness you’ve seen women in the movies demonstrate with the eagerness you feel inside as you undo his belt.

With his jeans halfway down his legs, you place your palm over the bulge in his boxers and feel him twitch at your touch. When his cock is finally released from its confines, you try not to be too intimidated. Your confidence is falling but your arousal only rises.

You begin by wrapping your hand around him and stroking his length, setting a steady pace. Then, you tease the tip with kitten licks and hear his breath hitch when you flick your tongue across his slit.

There’s no way you can take him all the way down your throat – you’d probably bruise your esophagus. Still, you try, sputtering and letting saliva drip down your chin. You can’t help but feel a bit proud of yourself when he has to put his hand on the counter to steady himself.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he says through heavy breaths.

You pull away, upset at what you perceive to be a failure. “You didn’t cum…”

“I almost did, baby girl, but I don’t want to yet.”

You feel a bit pathetic imagining how you must look from his perspective, with your teary eyes, begging him to let you go on.

“You wanna give me a good apology, right?” He nods slowly, looking into your eyes, prompting you to do the same.

“Then, I want you to come sit on the couch with me.”

He takes your hand and walks you to the living room, patronizing since the two rooms are connected. When Joel sits down on the couch, he pulls you into his lap.

“I was thinkin’ about what I said before – how you’re not using your head. You could be such a smart girl – a good girl - if only you could think with your brain. You just need a little bit of help.”

You can feel his hard cock poking through his boxers and rubbing against your pussy. It’s hard to resist the urge to roll your hips, just to get a bit of friction, a bit of relief.

His hand finds its way between your legs and he asks, “What’s gonna happen if I put my hand in your panties right now, baby? Are you gonna be wet?”

While you try to form a response that doesn’t make you sound too desperate, his fingers toy with your waistband. “Remember, baby, good girls are honest,” he whispers into the shell of your ear.

“Yeah, I am… wet.”

“For me?” His hand meets your bare skin and finds that you are, indeed, dripping wet. “Did I do this to you?”

“Uh-huh.” You arch into his touch, shamelessly using his fingers for your own pleasure.

“If you want more, you have to be a good girl.”

With the promise of a reward, you follow his implied instructions and still your hips.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

He takes your word for it and begins rubbing circles on your clit. You could cum from that alone but he slips a finger inside you, curling it upward to meet that special spot.

Joel expects a response from you, but not the one he gets.

A single word: “Daddy…”

“Oh, baby. I get it now. Been needin’ daddy to take care of you.”

He’s right. You do need this. He can take care of you, you can be good for him. When he fucks you with his fingers, you swear you could fall in love with him.

But when he takes them away, you cry.

“Shh… It’s okay,” he says, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I wanna do something else. It’s gonna make you feel even better.”

Before you have a chance to think, your panties are on the floor and his head is between your thighs. You can feel his breath on your clit when he speaks. “I want you to be a good girl and cum on my face – can you do that?”

“Yes, daddy.” The word leaves your mouth more naturally than it probably should, it's almost instinctual.

Joel wastes no more time talking, knowing his tongue can convey much more when it runs along your folds, and his lips can elicit a better response when they suck lightly on your clit.

The only thing you have for him is moans accompanied by breathless chanting of “daddy, daddy, daddy.”

He hums into your core, an affirmative, a reminder that you are a good girl. You can do this.

You can cum for him. You will cum for him – there is nothing that can stop the euphoria that rushes through you. It’s the kind that makes your legs shake and your eyes roll back into your head.

Joel was right – the orgasm clears your mind. But the realization that the situation you’ve ended up in – naked on your grandmother’s couch with her middle-aged neighbor who is supposed to be fixing your mistake, not helping you make another - is a precarious one. Being a smart girl seems to be a double edged sword.

Euphemistically, speaking.

In truth, it’s Joel’s cock that’s fully-sheathed inside you. Pain and pleasure mix as he thrusts in and out of you. You swear he might split you open, but even if he quite literally tore you to pieces, you'd die happily.

“You’re takin’ it so well,” he tells you, “knew you’d be a good girl.”

And maybe it’s the praise, or maybe it’s his thumb on your clit, but you’re rapidly approaching a second orgasm. All you can do is hold onto Joel, dragging your nails down his back. He bites your neck in response, and hopefully he doesn’t intend for it be a deterrent, because it only serves to heighten your pleasure.

He slows his pace, but his hips slam into yours harder, filling the air with the sound of skin slapping against skin in a steady rhythm.

“Whose pussy is this?”

You can’t breathe when the weight of his cock knocks the wind out of you, so he stops, allowing you to answer.

“Yours, daddy!”

His lips on yours are your cue to cum – or so you hope because it happens regardless of your will.

He has the sense to pull out and let his release spill onto your stomach.

You sigh, relaxing into the couch. “I need a cigarette,” you say.

“Did you not learn anything from today?”

“Mm-mm,” you say grinning dumbly.

Caught up in a daze – absolutely enraptured by his need to have you – he made the mistake of fucking you stupid.

[fluentisonus]

This is all definitely true, thank you for the elaboration! However to be clear when I made this post I wasn't really intending for it to be taken literally (as in literally being able to look up from the deck and see them without ropes exactly as pictured), rather that since their name derives from "dead man's eyes", their resemblance to skulls was clearly something that sailors thought about and were conscious of when they went about their work. It was meant more to express a sense of awareness that the rigging above you (& there I was thinking of the tops) was full of metaphorical body parts than that there was a direct line of sight

standing on the deck of a ship while all the dead men's eyes look down on you from the rigging. just sailing things

[emphistic]

Oblivion

a/n: repost bc the original isn't showing up in any tags

Most Thursdays went this way.

As captain of his basketball team, Sukuna always showed up to the gym first. Sometimes, rarely, you would also accompany him. Which is what you did today.

You and Sukuna sat together, talking between yourselves about whatever was going through your minds. Sharing chaste kisses every once in a while.

Fifteen minutes after you and Sukuna entered the gym, the rest of his teammates arrived. The sound of sneakers against the floor boards made you look up from your spot on the bleachers.

"'Sup Y/N."

You waved back.

"Hey, Y/N, long time no see."

"Hi, Y/N!"

"Y/N! Hey! Captain should bring you out here more often, instead of keeping you locked up." The player laughed, and you stifled a giggle.

The captain grumbled; he planted a soft kiss on your forehead before standing up to join his team and start warm-ups.

Sukuna checked his watch, but when he looked up, he saw his newest teammate, Adam — a brunette, who was just a little taller than you. The coach had recently picked him out. Oh, right, Sukuna thought, clearly having forgotten.

"Yo, Captain. Who's that Y/N chick everyone said 'hi' to?" He jabbed a backwards thumb in your direction. "She the coach's daughter?" Adam continued to check you out, while you remained oblivious on your phone. "I wonder if she's single—"

"Run a lap," Sukuna cut him off, his tone stern.

"Wha- why?" Confusion was evident on the brunette's face.

"Five laps."

The man started jogging, but he turned back and asked, again, "Please don't make me run more laps for asking but. . . Dude, why?"

"Because Y/N's my girlfriend, dimwit." Sukuna sighed, before looking over at you, who was still oblivious to the whole situation.

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul

[coco-cinnamon]

Better Than Me?

౨ৎ Warnings: cursing, drinking, Y/N being a bit of a player (I've never wrote Y/N doing that so lmao), sexual themes, degrading, smut, Rafe being an ass but, when is he not lol 18+ MDNI.

౨ৎ Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Female Kook Reader.

౨ৎ Summary: When Y/N is at a party, she messes with Rafe, pretending like she's tired of him and going to go to Topper for her new sex buddy but, Rafe makes sure she learns her lesson.

౨ৎ Word Count: 900+ words.

౨ৎ Author's Note: this was originally supposed to be a re-write of one of my old Topper fics but, it turned into a Rafe fic lmao. I'll post the old Topper fic soon.

©coco-cinnamon 2024, please do not steal, copy, modify, repost, or translate my work.

Sipping your beer from a red solo cup, you surveyed the lively party. The pulsing music reverberated in your chest, as Rafe Cameron's parties always went all out. When one of your friends caught your eye and waved you over to the dance floor, you smiled back, ready to join her. But before you could make your way through the crowd, a hand suddenly gripped your arm.

Attempting to pull your arm away, you snap, "What the fuck?!" But it's no use - their grip is like iron around your arm. You whip yourself around to see who had grabbed you. Looking up, you're met with ocean blue eyes staring down into yours, hazy with lust. "What the fuck do you want, Rafe?" you ask, finally managing to yank your arm out of his grip. He just smirks at you, his eyes a mix of amusement and lust. "That isn't any way to greet the host, is it?"

You crossed your arms, your gaze piercing up at him. "Again, what the hell do you want?" you asked.

He smirked. "Well, I figured since you came to my party, we could head up to my bedroom. I'm sure we could do way more interesting things up there than you would be able to do over there with your friends."

You cocked a brow, considering his words. He watched you, his impatience growing evident on his face. With a sarcastic smile, you said, "Thanks, but no thanks," and began to turn away. Before you could fully turn around and walk off, he yanked you back to face him again. Rolling your eyes, you groaned, "what now?"

"I thought we had something good going on here." he said, tilting his head quizzically. "We did, at first." you replied with a small shrug. His jaw clenched slightly as he growled, "What do you mean 'at first'?" Maintaining a calm demeanor and a small smirk, you replied, "Exactly what I said. At first, we had a pretty sweet thing, but then I got bored. Plain and simple." You crossed your arms as you continued, "You care more about your own pleasure than mine, so I'm no longer interested."

Rafe scoffed bitterly. "No longer interested? That's bullshit, Y/N, and you know it. You and I both know there's no one here who can make you feel as good as I do. No one knows your body like I do. Do you really think any of these idiots could make you cum the way I can?" He growled, tightening his grip on your shoulders.

You smirked up at him. "Maybe, maybe not. But it's worth a shot to see if anyone can do better. As of right now, I've got my eye on him." You gestured towards Topper Thornton, who was across the room drinking and chatting with Kelce. Rafe let out a mocking laugh, as if the very notion was absurd. "Really?! Topper Thornton is who you're interested in?" he scoffed. "That's got to be a joke, Y/N. You'd actually lower your standards that much?"

"I think I already lowered my standards when I started sleeping with you," you retorted with a smirk, knowing you were getting under his skin. You begin to speak once again, "I mean, Topper is very attractive. Or if you'd rather, I could go and sleep with Maybank. I know for a fact that he'd know how to—"

But you get cut off as Rafe's hand suddenly wraps around your throat. He yanks you forward, his nose only inches from yours. The height difference causes you to rise up on your tiptoes. "Cut it out Y/N or I swear to god I will take you up those fucking stairs right now and fuck your ass so hard that you won't be able to walk the next day." He said, his voice lethally soft. You look up at him, remaining defiant as a a smirk playing on your lips before you speak "I think I'd rather Topper over there to fuck me."

"You want Topper to fuck you?! Fine!" He snaps, his grip around your throat tightening slightly as he continues, "but just know that I will make you beg on your fucking hands and knees when you crawl back to me, begging me for my cock because Topper couldn't fuck you properly." With that, he roughly drops you. You glance over to where Topper stands with Kelce, then shift your gaze back to Rafe. He smirks down at you, tilting his head. "Well? What are you waiting for? I thought you wanted to whore yourself out to Topper." His grin widens as he sees your face twist with annoyance. "Or are you having second thoughts?"

You glared at him before turning around and starting to make your way towards Topper. But before you could reach him, Rafe came over and grabbed you, throwing you over his shoulder. He then smacked your ass roughly, eliciting a squeak from you.

"I- what the hell, Rafe?!" you yelled as he carried you towards the stairs. "Did you really think I was going to let you fuck him? You're mine, Y/N, and by the end of the night the only name that will be able to leave your lips is mine," he growled.

౨ৎ Author's Note: tysm for reading, babes! part two coming soon!

[anantaru]

neuvillette eats pussy to distress

cw. oral (fem! receiving), you're a lil bratty, fem! reader

what comes out of your mouth are nothing more than short-planted whimpers, little, hesitant cries, and then a filthy moan of neuvillette's name, but you tell yourself that you do not want to give him that certain satisfaction he had longed for all night— and you sneakily trace along his scalp with your trembling fingers, he hisses when you tug on his roots, then whines into your pussy when you do it again, eyes growing wide at your fine-drawn pursue.

"there certainly is no need to hold yourself back for me." he suddenly claims and it has you avert your eyes, the way he had phrased it was almost a little too detached and apathetic to your own liking— almost as if he didn't take this whole thing serious and believed that he gave in, just for a second, in one of the lewd, obscene pleasures of human kind, before adding, "because you do, in fact, hide your voice."

"am i correct?"

"i don't!" sweet sweet liar, because you do, you've been blocking them out this entire time, "maybe you're not as good— fuck, as you think you are!"

the man laughs, a little aloof, and evidently, neuvillette was aware on what he was capable of doing to you and his fingers are cool and persistent in fucking in and out of your little hole, and despite it being only a digit, not even fully in, your toes curl and your legs clasp around his head when he adds his tongue, it has your sticky slick pooling between the folds of your cunt and merging with his spit, fuck, acting as if he didn't bring you unrecognizable pleasure was harder than you originally thought.

especially since he appeared to be exceptionally fatigued and certainly used your body as a way to distress from day to day work— for him, this type of work life balance was the most sufficient one.

neuvillette slides his warm tongue up and down your pussy in long swipes when you shiver at the mere sight of him doing so, feeling like everyone in the giant building can hear what's happening to you right this second, more so know who is pulling those lewd noises out of your sore throat.

your glowing eyes, in a sudden haste, spring open when you feel how he languidly spits on your cunt, once, twice— so you're wetter for him, he claims you taste better that way, lubricating you so he can drag his tongue into you faster, just like you so desperately wanted him to, yet in secret, you'd never tell him that— while, the chief justice most definitely preferred it if you're adequately messed up whenever he comes to see you, your exposed core luminous, hole clenching around his digits and you swear you can feel him smirk faintly, although he wasn't a man of great emotions, while proceeding in this particular task, he couldn't possibly suppress this feral, animalistic desire housing deep inside his chest, rumbling and aching for a possibility to escape.

the twist in your stomach builds up quickly, quicker than you initially had anticipated, "how— how, fuck!" you manage to say, "how are you so fucking good at this?" and your fingers find themselves wounding in his hair, holding onto him for your dear life when a tremor of cold shivers crossed over your figure when he groans into your pussy by the nature of your rough tugs on his scalp, his breath hot and wet when it ghosts over your soaked folds. 

"there they are." he moans into your cunt, not giving a single flying fuck if his face was slicked up in your juices, as said, he adored making a mess, "those noises i've been looking forward to."

at last, when he adds another finger into your hole and curls them up, the tightened thread in your stomach snaps in half and you shake violently while pinned down with one of his arms strongly locked over your stomach, with a cry of his name, that you originally preferred to stay hidden in your throat, your loud moans tumble and bounce from your lips to his ears as you cum all against his mouth so he could finally taste you.

but the long-rooted waves of your pleasure have not dissipated as he continues to flick his tongue over your clit, your slick by now basically coating the entire lower half of his face, his eyes fixated on nothing but your addictive, more so intoxicating expressions— you knew neuvillette wouldn't stop, there's no such thing as leaving a case half finished, he had a habit of prolonging your orgasm until you're overstimulated to the hilt, always, whenever he had you under him, it's his way of fucking you, until you're nothing but satisfied, such as he was whenever a trial ends with no complications.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[rosieofcorona]

Mythal, Solas, and Lavellan (An Analysis)

Please be aware that this post contains spoilers for Dragon Age: The Veilguard, so now is the time to click away until you have finished the game. All opinions shared here are just opinions, and are not intended to be presented as fact. 💕

So, this is sort of an abridged version of what could be (and may someday be) a more in-depth analysis, but I just want to offer a different perspective on the Mythal vs. Lavellan discourse when it comes to Solas’ love and loyalty. I've included a lot of supporting evidence from the game, and wanted to share some of it for your consideration: I want to start in the Lighthouse, for the folks who are upset that we didn't see Lavellan amongst Solas' memories. I think this is for the best, all things considered. The regrets we see in the Lighthouse are all of Mythal– taking a form for her, letting her mold him, doing things he thought were “monstrous” at her request, however well (or ill) intentioned. To me, Solas regrets Mythal nearly as a whole. He loved her, certainly, but I think it’s very apparent that he wants more than anything to close that chapter of his life and move on, which he cannot do without confronting the mistakes of his past. From my view, it’s an excellent sign, actually, that Lavellan is not among the great regrets of his life. He says to Rook that he regrets being selfish with her– but he “cherishes” his closeness with, and his love for Lavellan “more than [his] victories.” The same cannot be said of anything on those walls in the Lighthouse.

That same closeness with Mythal– regardless of whether it was romantic, platonic, familial– hurt him, over and over. Everything he did in service of that love, he regrets. He does not cherish it, at least not in the same way. I think I would’ve been offended, frankly, if Lavellan had been on those walls beside her.

Moreover, he acknowledges Lavellan’s goodness, and doesn’t really do that for Mythal, at least not here. Yes, in Trespasser, he said that Mythal was the best of the Evanuris, but we know it’s a low bar to clear. Does that mean she was evil? Not necessarily. But he also says to Rook that all the Evanuris “were monsters, in their own ways,” and moments later tells them, by contrast, that Lavellan “is a good woman.”

I don’t think it’s his love for Mythal (or even his loyalty to her) that keeps him away from Lavellan, either. He cannot in good conscience give himself what he wants most without first fixing what he broke. He doesn’t want to bring down the Veil anymore, not really. He even acknowledges the Dalish as "our people," to an elven Rook (Lavellan's influence?), and says it was a "privilege" to help them again. He says in the final confrontation that he is compelled to bring down the Veil at this point because otherwise, he has failed and wronged and harmed people for nothing– Lavellan among them. He says, more or less, that he has to see it through, has to bring back “the world [Mythal] wanted,” or else all the suffering he’s imposed has been in vain. That reads to me as a sunk cost fallacy more than an act of great loyalty. 

If we’re talking about what Solas wanted, by comparison, we see it in his codex letter to Lavellan– he says, outright, “I could have…even put my plans aside, and simply stayed with you as Solas…which is what I wanted.” His desires do not match Mythal’s, and in fact are the opposite. But again, how can he allow himself to have his own way when he does not yet feel he has righted his wrongs? 

Here we wade into murkier waters (as this could be a more personal interpretation than what was actually intended), but I think it’s fascinating that in Solas’ memory of manifestation, he tells Mythal, “I will always follow where you go.” I think this may be his original regret. I think he wishes he would’ve followed his heart (both in the moral sense, and later, the vhenan sense), rather than pledging himself to another being that “broke him,” as Mythal herself admits to doing.

And speaking of vhenan, my final note: Mythal is never anything but Mythal, to Solas. Even when she calls him “love" in his memories, he does not reciprocate. He refers to her as nothing besides her name. Lavellan is always given the title of Vhenan. He has not called her Inquisitor since before Trespasser, and even then it was because he was trying to create distance, to avoid hurting her further. But ultimately she is his heart, and he wants to follow her, and Mythal is the only thing stopping him– not because he is holding onto her, but because she is in his way.