#but i came up with them in about 7 minutes

[mochelisgf]

Morgan cheli prompt #2

pairing: morgan cheli x oc childhood bestfriend!reader

word count: 3002 !!! 

warnings — opposite attract! first kiss, parties/partying, small mentions of drinking, no smut I fear but there is making out and little kisses!. UConn vs USC mention (but UConn wins for the sake of the story), friends to lovers!!!!! Morgan sometimes called Misha (my oc) ‘M’ for a little nickname

summary — Morgan and Misha have been friends since they were young girls, even after going to seperate colleges that doesn’t stop their friendship from drifting apart, if anything they grow closer. So when Misha surprises Morgan by attending one of her games, well let’s just say she gets more than what she bargained for, but hey she’s not complaining! 

authors note — so I know it’s been some time since I’ve updated my morgan cheli fanfic, honestly it takes so much out of me to repost my word because of layout issues + im having insane writers block with chapter 4 so pls be patient, i'm hoping to get the next chapter out this week, anyways enjoy this little thing :) Also little note, there will be so many pov switches throughout this prompt, honestly i'm trying to grow out of this habit, so if it suddenly goes from first person to third, just ignore it pls. 

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Morgan and Misha had known each other since they were 5 years old, basically their entire lives. Like the typical first meeting between two 5 year old girls — it started on the playground. 

Misha had always been a loud child, often causing havoc for her parents and sometimes at school for her teachers. Morgan on the other hand was quiet, she enjoyed being on her own and she rarely caused problems at home or at school. 

So when the two girls began playing with one another during recess time, everybody was a bit surprised. The girls had completely different personalities, but that small little detail didn’t bother the two.

After the first meeting, Morgan and Misha went everywhere together. Misha wanted to go to the park and pick flowers? Morgan was there, messing up her newly bought jeans. Morgan wanted to play basketball? Misha was there, even though she sucked at basketball. The two girls were two peas in a pod. Where you’d find one, the other one comes not long after. 

But when Morgan got accepted into UConn and Misha into USC, it came to a surprise for everyone. People assumed that the girls would go to the same college, I mean they’d be together almost everyday since that one unforgettable day in kindergarten, and not just for the girls but for everybody. 

When the school season started back up, the girls were upset. But they’d just had the best summer ever, and it’s not like they’d be away from each for long, with school breaks coming up, USC and UConn playing against each other in December plus an endless amount of facetime calls. Sure they live 42 hours from each other now after living 6 minutes away from each other their entire lives but distance really isn’t a problem for them. 

DECEMBER 21, 2025 

6 USC vs 7 UConn

The arena was buzzing. For weeks people have been anticipating this match. And Misha was in town, supporting her best friend — well best friends as in plural. During her time at USC, Misha had begun an unexpected friendship with juju, her roommate but also her childhood best friends basketball rival team.

 And from both sides for the past week all the girls had talked about was the upcoming match, but I mean who wasn’t excited for this match. Misha herself had never really been a big basketball fan (and it’s definitely not because she sucks really badly at it) but even she had been excited for this match. 

She’d entered the arena not long ago and was grabbing some food before the game started, candy and a diet soda. As she finishes paying her phone rings, smiling at the cashier then grabbing her food and moving to the side in order to not block the way,  she sits her food down on a table and grabs her phone — it’s Morgan. 

It’s to be expected though, if anything Misha was waiting for Morgan’s call. Every game Morgan had since she’d started at UConn, she called Misha, her best friend. And Misha would have to spend the entire time calming her Morgan’s nerves because she couldn’t be there to do it like she’d done at Morgan’s games in high school. 

Picking up the call, Morgan’s voice rings through the phone —

“Dude what if I choke?” Her panicked voice is echoing throughout the device 

Misha letting out a gentle laugh replies “Mo calm down, look you’ve been doing good recently, like you’ve seriously been putting in the work this month. Don’t panic, you’ve got this.” 

The line is quiet for a moment, but then Morgan’s voice pops back up and you can hear the confusion in her tone “Where are you? It’s so loud.”

panicking slightly you hastingly reply “Oh i'm at a gathering, yeah a few of us are chilling at my dorm to watch the game since we couldn’t be there”  a hum echoes slightly after your answer.

Morgan didn’t know you were there. This would be the first time in 3 months that you’d see Morgan, and you wanted to surprise her by showing up to one of her games unannounced. A few of the girls from the UConn team had known you would be there, Aubrey was the first you told, Jana learned shortly after. 

you breathe in lightly then say  “I know you’ve been feeling off recently, but I just want you to know that i'm here okay? No matter how the game goes, I’ll be supporting you every step of the way.” 

Morgan’s breath is low, but you can tell that she lets out a deep exhale, her voice sounds shaky but you don’t mention anything, she’s about to have one of the most nerve-racking games she’s ever had.

“You always know what to say M.” Morgan begins, you smile into the phone and respond back with a  “ha ha ha, don’t get too soft on me.” Morgan in reply scoffs jokingly, her laugh echoes through your ears, you can tell she’s let out one of her soft — shoulder shaking laughs and your smile widens slightly 

Morgan responds “Yeah says you, okay I gotta go yeah? I’ll call you after the game, Love you.” You respond back with “love you too” and then she hangs up 

Putting your phone away, you get up, grabbing your food along the way and begin to make your way to your seat.

It’s the third quarter. Uconn was not having a good game, USC was in the lead at least 2 points ahead per every uconn point. Morgan had come off the bench at the beginning of the second quarter, she’d done good in terms of turnovers and rebounds, but you could tell that every shot she missed and every look at the scoreboard had brought her confidence down. 

It wasn’t until there was 4 minutes left in the third quarter that Morgan had even noticed me in the crowd – The game had come to a timeout, and as the team was on there way back to the bench, Morgan looks up and she freezes causing one of the girls to accidentally bump into her, Morgan looked to the side in response – it was Sarah, I wasn't exactly sure what Sarah had said but it was something along the lines of  “Oh sorry!”

Morgan had begun walking again and as she walked closer to the bench, her mouth made a somewhat round look as she mouthed ‘what?’ and her eyebrows lifted slightly and then she furrows them. But then her face breaks into a smile – smiling back in response I do a small wave in her direction in which she waves back before sitting down. 

You can see she’d shook her head. Turning to the girl beside her – Aubrey, you could see her smiling and rambling about how she’d seen you, Aubrey already knowing that you’d be at the game just let out a small laugh, turns around to my direction and waves at me. Morgan’s evidently confused and so she reaches across Aubrey’s lap to tap on Azzi, the girl turns around at the tap and you can see Morgan asking her something, Azzi in reply just shrugs, also turning around in my direction and giving me a small smile. 

The timeout had now ended and the players were walking back on the court, and as Morgan is walking onto the court she turns slightly to look at me – I give her a smile and small nod and she smiles back and continues walking. 

From there it’s like the game just turned around in those last four minutes of the third quarter. Kk with steals (and fouls) back and forth, Morgan getting more confident with the shots she was taking, having more assists, and both Sarah and Paige just playing with more confidence. 

By the last 5 seconds in the fourth quarter the score was 72 to 69. That was until a foul was called and Sarah was given three free throws. She’d made all two out of three, the score then laying at 72 to 21. Until Paige gains possession of the ball, passing it to Sarah who shoots the ball —

and makes the game. winning. three.

The party was buzzing, the music blasting through the walls. The fraternity living room is packed. People crowded on the couches, others dancing and tumbled over. The room is more than alive, laughter and chatter filling the air and the colorful bright lights flickering – almost blinding. The two girls walk arm in arm in an attempt to not lose each other in the wilding crowd, bodies moving fluidly and in motion with another. And behind them, the girls from the basketball team are following them. As the group walks in, people are cheering, some of them walk up to them to give them pats on the back and a thumbs up because why not! 

As the group walks to their area where some of their other friends are waiting, kk starts “They are definitely hooking up tonight right?” The girls all start laughing and agreeing, some even taking out money to make bets on how long it’d take for the two girls to finally get together during the week that Misha would be on campus. The said girls — Misha and Morgan are too busy in their own little world to even notice or hear what the girls are saying.

A few hours later 

They’ve been at the party for two hours now, Misha isn’t the most wasted and neither is Morgan — I mean at least compared to the other girls who are completely hammered. So when when one of them runs over to them and says 

“SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN”  the entire room that they’re in bursts into cheer. Misha’s a bit hesitant because come on? Seven minutes in heaven? The same game she played at every high school party she’d been to? Hell no. But before even getting the chance to voice her opinion, Morgan’s grabs onto her hand pulling her and dragging her to the floor where some of the girls, people from the men’s team, and other random party goers are all gathered, and sitting in the middle of the group is a singular bottle.

One of the party goers spins the bottle first, it lands on a random boy from the men’s team, so the two get up giggling at each other before making their way into the closet that lays directly across from the area the group is sitting at. Then one of the girls from the team goes, it lands on a random party goer, Misha herself even spins once and it lands on one of the girls from the team, they go into the closest and they just talk about random shit going on. It’s fun — actually 10 times more fun than she would’ve imagined until it’s Morgan’s turn, and the bottle lands straight on her. 

The entire room (the girls honestly) are letting out teasing tones going “oooo” and it makes Misha start giggling because it’s just Morgan — what's the worst that could happen! And so the two girls get up from their spots and make their way to the closet. 

The closet is dark and honestly kind of cramped from the stuff in it but it’s on the larger side so there is more than enough space to move around in it. 

“So….” Morgan says, her tone is slightly awkward which makes you snicker “Morgan we don’t have to kiss, I came in here with Azzi early and all we did was talk. ”

Morgan nods in reply, her eyes drifting slightly before she settles back onto your figure. She doesn’t really know what to do with her hands, they’re kind of all over the place but she sticks with letting them sit behind her back — at least that way you can’t see her playing with her hands. 

“So, the game was good today”— she cuts you off. Morgan cuts you off by moving swiftly and then leaning down and kissing you. The action catches you off guard and Morgan’s completely expecting you to push her away or just stand there awkwardly and laugh slightly but instead you lean into it. 

Morgan’s doubt all begins to slip away one by one as your hands begin resting on the back of her neck, tilting your head slightly to lean more into the kiss. Morgan’s hands which were awkwardly sitting on your hips begin to settle into a more comfortable and relaxing grip.

You slightly nibble on her lower lip, in which she opens her mouth in response allowing you to slip by our tongue into her mouth. Morgan’s hands begin moving again, this time one moves to your upper back so that she moves your body closer into hers. You break the kiss and start kissing on —

There’s a knock on the door, the two girls jump apart like they’d just been electrocuted and someone says “7 MINUTES ARE UP”. The two girls rush to fix their outfit (and hair) quickly and then they both walk out. They aren’t very slick because when they walk back to the circle, Misha looks at Jana who's looking at her with a teasing grin on her face.

When Misha wakes up the next morning her head is absolutely throbbing and her mouth is dry. She begins moving around to get more comfortable until a voice says 

“M stop moving around” and Misha freezes — she turns around and Morgan is laying there, arm laid over her eyes. Her hair is messy and she’s wedged between Misha and the wall. 

“Oh shit sorry” she sheepishly says before turning around fully in Morgan’s direction, Morgan puts her arm down, now laying on her side as well and they just stare at each other. Honestly they are still trying to wake up and the light peeking through the blinds isn’t helping. 

But nonetheless, Misha doesn't let that stop her. She’s lying there staring at Morgan who is staring just as intensely as her —

“So, last night…” Morgan starts, swiftly turning on her back to avoid her eye

Misha licks her dry lips “Yeah last night was um–” 

Morgan interrupts her “It wasn’t just a drunk mistake for me” 

The room is quiet for a few seconds, Misha just processing what she’d just heard. And maybe Morgan got a little anxious waiting for a response when she pops up out of bed, a small “shit” muttering underneath her breath. She puts her hair behind her ears as she starts to stand up out of the bed, last second Misha utters out a “ Mo wait” her hand reaching out to grab onto the other girls arm.

Morgan pauses looking down at the girl who simply replies “It wasn't a mistake for me either.” a small grin appeared on her face. Morgan grins back, trying to hold back her smile but she fails. 

Misha bites her lip, a small laugh escaping “I like totally fucked that up right?” 

“Maybe a little but–” Misha pulls onto Morgan's arm, the girl now laying on top of her and grabs the back of her head pulling her into a kiss. It's short but sweet and passionate. 

Smiling into the kiss, Morgan’s hands begin to wrap gently around Misha’s waist but there is a knock on the door, pulling away from the kiss Morgan lets an exaggerated huff with an eye roll making you giggle.

“Hey, you guys up?” It’s jana, she sounds just as tired and hungover. The two of you respond with a “yeah”, the sync word making the two of you look at each other and snicker — “Well me and the girls made breakfast, so if you guys want a plate just let me know” 

Misha responds “Yeah we’re coming, grab us plates yeah?” Jana hums in response and she leaves.

Morgan gets up first and you follow behind her, going to your vanity, you grab a brush throwing one to morgan and then grabbing another one to comb out your own hair. 

After brushing your hair, you both walk out the room, as asked Jana had grabbed the two of your plates and also two glasses. Going to the kitchen you both fix your food and join the rest of the girls in the living room to watch criminal minds while eating. 

But I guess you and Morgan weren’t the most secretive because some of the girls easily caught on. Only 10 minutes into eating a voice — paige’s cuts through the silence —

“Aubrey pay up” the room gasps and they look at the two of us, Morgan chokes on her food, puts it down and looks back at Aubrey “Dude really?” 

“Hey it’s not my fault you're a love struck puppy!” The girl proclaims, the room cackles and then Morgan says “Wait how many of you guys made bets?”

The room goes quiet. And Morgan gasps  “Oh my god?…Caroline you too?” Caroline looks at her sheepishly and shrugs her shoulders before turning back to the screen 

Morgan turns back to me and says “Can you believe them?” You chuckle slightly replying —

 “Funnily enough I can.”

[eliciana]

Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 (here) | ...

Masterlist

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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Cafe Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader, Traveler, Paimon

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. There is a taglist if you want to be tagged.

I am also sorry about the sudden disappearance guys. I fell down the stairs and somehow got into a coma. I fear that this is because of the AO3 curse bcs I was going to publish one of my works there so uhh ig I won't now bcs of what happened. Sorry about that guys. I woke up a week ago and I'm now a-okay. }

As a compensation, I am planning to release 3-4 chapters after this week :)

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Its been 2 weeks since the Traveler and Paimon had known about the existence of your otherworldy café, and within that time period, you guys have learned that the door only appears on Teyvat at weekedays. Both of them were devastated at the news. Literally. They spent their whole weekdays with you, they were pouting and whining at how they won't be able to talk to you much more or taste your meals, pastry, and refreshments though, the complaints mostly came from Paimon.

Their sincere sadness, pouts, and sorrowful eyes tugged at your heartstrings, evoking strong sympathy for both of them. They seem to clearly love your creations far more than anything they could prepare or purchase for themselves, so you made up your mind to surprise them for their lovely company and advices in making much more better food. You put your very heart and soul into making something special for your dearly beloved friends, hoping that they won't look so down as much as before when it is time for them to say goodbye.

You were so absorbed in organizing and preparing your suprise that the weekend almost passed you by. You looked at the old ticking clock besise the cashier register and saw that it was 6:55 pm, which was only a few minutes before your scheduled meeting time. You hastily cleaned up after hiding the suprise somewhere they can't quite see. You didn't want any people to recognize them because it would cause tons of trouble not only for you but for Traveller and Paimon as well. So you decided to meet up every 7:00 pm after you close for the day.

At exactly when the clock struck 7:00 pm the door you were once so afraid opened, the soft chime of the bell announced the arrival of your guests. Clearing your throat, you called out cheerfully, 'Welcome, dear customers! Feel free to sit anywhere you like!' The sound of the Traveller’s soft giggles reached your ears, and you turned to greet them with a warm smile. 'Hello, Boss!' they responded in unison, their familiar voices filling the room with an air of comfort and familiarity.

"(Reader)!!!!", Paimon exclaimed, twirling around you like an excited cat seeing its owner after a long time of absence. Though, instead of nearly tripping over her, you found yourself feeling quite a bit dizzy with her rapid spins round you. Thankfully, the Traveller noticed and swiftly grabbed Paimon by the collar of her clothing. "GAAHHH!", she yelped, her playful demeanor momentarily interrupted. "Could you stop spinning around (Reader) for a moment? They're getting quite a bit dizzy with your twirls." the Traveller gently scolded her, a hint of amusement in their voice.

“Hehe, it’s okay! But, Paimon, could you keep your spinning to a minimum? I won’t be able to greet you properly if I suddenly pass out from all the dizziness,” you teased, a playful smile on your face. Paimon’s expression shifted to one of shock. “NOOO! (Reader)! You still need to make me delicious foodddd!” she exclaimed, kicking her feet in the air as if throwing a tantrum. “Come on, Paimon. (Reader)’s just joking with you,” the Traveller said with a sigh, rolling their eyes at Paimon’s dramatic antics.

“Now, let’s settle down, shall we? I have a new item on the menu today. Would you like to give it a try? Here it is; you can read the description and decide if you want to sample it,” you said, handing them two menus. Paimon scrutinized the menu intently before shouting, “The same as usual, (Reader)! And also, one order of the new item!”

The Traveller smiled and added, “I’ll have one Cheesy Tortellini and Sausage Bake, one Creamy Chicken and Rice Soup, and one Iced Pumpkin Cream Chai.”

“Oh my! That’s quite a feast! Rough day?” you asked, taking notes of their orders. “I’ll make sure to throw in some extras for you.”

"*Sigh*, yes. It was a really rough day. *mumble**mumble*." You couldn't quite pick up what they said after but it seems that they truly had a real hard time judging by their deep sigh and slumped shoulders.

You went straight to the kitchen to whip up their orders while you kept a close eye on the suprise that you still kept hidden.

After a flurry of activity in the kitchen, you finally finished preparing their orders. With a warm smile, you approached the table, balancing the plates with practiced ease. "Alright, you two, no more frowning," you chided playfully, setting the dishes down one by one. "Dig in! You must be starving by now."

As you arranged the plates, you added with a wink, "Oh, and I threw in some Strawberry Creampuffs—compliments of the house. Consider it a little treat for my favorite duo."

Paimon's eyes widened to the size of saucers, her tiny hands already reaching for the pastries before you could even finish speaking. "Wait, for free?! (Reader), you're the best!" she squealed, clutching a creampuff like it was a treasure. She took a bite, and her face lit up with pure delight. "Mmm! These are heavenly! Paimon could eat a hundred of these!" She floated in the air, twirling with joy, her excitement infectious.

The Traveler chuckled softly, shaking their head at Paimon's antics. "Thank you, (Reader). You really didn’t have to, but we appreciate it." They picked up a creampuff, their expression softening as they took a bite. "These are amazing. You’ve outdone yourself again."

You leaned against the table, watching them enjoy the food with a satisfied grin. Seeing their smiles was always worth the effort.

"Alright, alright, take your time eating," you said with a soft chuckle, stepping back from the table. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything." With a warm smile, you turned and made your way to the back, your mind already buzzing with excitement.

You had a surprise for them—a special thank-you gift. Since the door doesn't appear on the weekends, you’d spent the last few days preparing an extravagant feast. It was your way of showing gratitude for their constant companionship and the joy they brought into your life. The portions were enormous, enough to last them for days—or, knowing Paimon, maybe just one. You smirked to yourself, wondering how they’d even carry it all. But then again, the Traveler’s magical inventory space was a blessing in disguise, so you’d gone all out without a second thought.

Your café had been thriving lately, with a steady stream of wealthy customers placing large commission orders. The influx of money was more than welcome, though the workload was starting to wear on you. Juggling the demands of your high-profile clients and the everyday crowd was exhausting. Maybe it was time to hire some help. The idea struck you like a bolt of inspiration, and you quickly pulled out your phone to jot it down in your notes. Hire workers. Soon. 3 workers perhaps.

But for now, your focus was on the present—literally. You glanced at the array of pastries you’d set aside earlier. Paimon’s delighted squeals from the dining area echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t help but smile. Why not add a little more? You had plenty of leftovers from today, and serving them tomorrow didn’t sit right with you. Giving them to the Traveler and Paimon was a far better option than tossing them out. Besides, their magical inventory would keep everything fresh indefinitely.

With that decided, you grabbed a large container and began filling it with an assortment of treats. A half Greek Yogurt Tangerine Cake, eclairs, chou à la crème, flan, lemon tarts, and egg tarts—each one carefully placed inside. The container was soon overflowing with a colorful variety of pastries, each one a testament to your hard work and creativity. You left a little bit to yourself to eat at home later as a good job treat.

You stepped back, admiring your handiwork. This was more than just food; it was a token of your friendship, a way to say thank you in the sweetest way possible.

Stepping back into the dining area, you found the duo slumped in their seats, looking thoroughly satisfied—and perhaps a little too full. Their slightly bloated appearances were hard to miss, and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“Oh deary me, you two look like you’ve been through a feast fit for a king!” you teased, walking over to clear the plates. As you picked them up, you noticed, not for the first time, that not a single crumb remained. It was impressive, though not as shocking as the first time you’d witnessed their bottomless appetites. Back then, you’d been utterly floored. Now, it was just another reminder of how much they adored your cooking.

The Traveler’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but they quickly recovered, flashing you a sheepish grin. “Well, what can we say? Your cooking is to die for, (Reader).” Their tone was smooth, almost suave, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at their attempt to save face.

“Thank you, Traveler,” you replied warmly, stacking the plates neatly. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”

Just then, the Traveler reached into their pocket and pulled out a small pouch, placing it on the table with a soft clink. “Oh, right! Here’s our payment. As always, it’s worth every mora.”

You picked up the pouch, feeling the satisfying weight of the mora inside. “Thank you, dear customer,” you said with a playful bow, tucking the pouch into your apron pocket. “Your patronage is always appreciated.”

“Oh, right! Stay there for a moment—don’t come into the kitchen,” you said, holding up a hand to stop them as you hurried back to the kitchen with the stack of plates. Paimon and the Traveler exchanged curious glances, their usual routine of following you to the front bar momentarily interrupted. Reluctantly, they took their usual seats, waiting patiently but with growing curiosity.

From the kitchen, they heard a faint grunt, followed by the sound of something heavy being shifted. Paimon’s ears perked up, and the Traveler leaned forward, concern flickering across their face. “(Reader), are you okay? Do you need help?” they called out, halfway out of their seats.

“No need, no need!” you replied, your voice slightly strained but cheerful. “This thing’s just a bit heavier than I expected, but I’ve got it under control!” Moments later, you emerged from the kitchen, carefully balancing two large, cloth-covered containers in your arms. You set them down gently on the counter in front of them, your face flushed but triumphant. “Wait, there’s still more. Don’t touch them yet!” you warned, holding up a finger before darting back into the kitchen.

When you returned, you were carrying yet another cloth-covered container—this one filled with the assortment of pastries you’d prepared earlier. Paimon’s eyes widened, and the Traveler tilted their head, their curiosity now fully piqued.

“(Reader), what are these? They smell amazing—and they look huge!” the Traveler asked, their voice tinged with awe.

With a dramatic flourish and a smug grin, you pulled the cloths away, revealing the contents. “Ta-da! This is my surprise gift for you! Are you shocked?” you announced, clearly pleased with yourself.

Paimon gasped, floating closer to inspect the containers. “Wait, these three ginormous things are for us? Paimon loves them already! But, uh… what exactly are they?” She scratched her head, her tiny face scrunched up in confusion.

You chuckled, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Well, since we can’t meet on weekends, I thought I’d send you off with enough food to last you a while. Consider it a thank-you for always keeping me company. There’s a bit of everything in there—main dishes, snacks, and, of course, plenty of pastries for someone with a particular sweet tooth.” You shot Paimon a knowing look, and she beamed, already reaching for one of the containers.

The Traveler’s eyes softened, a grateful smile spreading across their face. “(Reader), you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble… but thank you. This means a lot to us.”

“Nuh-uh!” you said sharply, your eyes narrowing as you caught the Traveler’s hand reaching for the pouch of mora at their waist. “It’s on the house! The payment you’ve already given is more than enough to cover all of this,” you insisted, waving your hands emphatically.

And it was the truth. Thanks to the connections you’d built with your high-profile regulars, you’d found a discreet way to convert mora into gold bars, bypassing the government’s watchful eyes (fanfiction logic, of course). Those gold bars had opened doors to even more lucrative opportunities, leaving you with more than enough wealth to afford this generous gesture.

“But—” the Traveler started, their brow furrowed in protest.

“No buts!” you interrupted, placing a hand over their mouth to silence them. “That’s final,” you said firmly, though your eyes sparkled with warmth. “Besides, this is my way of saying thank you—for your companionship, for listening to me rant about rude customers, and for always brightening my day. You two mean a lot to me, and this is the least I can do.”

Paimon, who had been floating nearby with a pastry already in hand, grinned from ear to ear. “See, Traveler? (Reader) says it’s fine, so stop being so stubborn! Paimon’s not complaining about free food!”

The Traveler sighed, their resistance melting away as they shook their head with a soft chuckle. “Alright, alright. We’ll accept your gift—but only because you’re being so insistent.”

You laughed, stepping back and crossing your arms with a satisfied smile. “Good! Now, make sure to enjoy every bite. And don’t even think about trying to sneak mora into my apron later—I’ll know!”

The Traveler simply smiled at you, a look of helpless gratitude in their eyes, and nodded in understanding. They knew better than to argue with you when you were this determined.

The café was soon filled with the sound of laughter and lively conversation as the three of you shared one last chat before it was time for them to leave. The warmth of the moment made the impending goodbye a little easier to bear.

Finally, Paimon floated toward the door, her tiny hands waving excitedly. “Goodbye, (Reader)! We’ll see you again in two days! Make sure to take care of yourself, okay?” she chirped, her voice brimming with genuine affection.

Beside her, the Traveler stood, balancing the three large cloth-covered containers with ease. They gave you a nod, their expression soft but resolute. “We’ll be back soon. Don’t overwork yourself,” they added, their tone gentle but firm.

You smiled, feeling a bittersweet tug in your chest. “Same to you two. Safe travels, and don’t let Paimon eat everything in one sitting!” you teased, earning a playful pout from the floating fairy.

Paimon reached for the door and swung it open, revealing the sprawling landscape of Guili Plains. In the distance, the towering silhouette of Wangshu Inn stood against the horizon, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.

You waved as they stepped through the doorway, their figures framed by the breathtaking view of their world. “See you soon!” you called out, your voice carrying a mix of fondness and anticipation.

The door closed softly behind them, leaving the café quiet once more. You stood there for a moment, the warmth of their presence lingering in the air, before turning back to the kitchen with a smile. Two days would pass quickly, and you already couldn’t wait to see them again.

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Taglist:

@kameyo-kumo @esthelily @haru-tofuu @udretlnea @shining-nebula2000 @ifeellikejumpingoffacliff @resident-cryptid @allblognamesaretakenlikereally @leilakaro @stvrbrighttt @chericia @evaline-ethan @ra404 @mmmhyperfixation @original-person @chaoticfivesworld @lexal-amber-rose @floofeh-purpi @time-shardz @animeobsessed56 @fantasyhopperhea @yuan1819

I'm sorry to those in the taglists whose names didn't tag them. Tumblr doesn't want them. I even double checked your accounts.

[bookworrm1999]

How Far Away? Part 12

Caleb x Mc

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication

Mentions of suicide

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she's pregnant. She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Epilogue

Laying on the couch with a bowl of popcorn on your belly, you absentmindedly put a handful into your mouth.

An old cartoon movie playing on the Tv in front of you, it was nostalgic but you were only partly paying attention.

Your little girl was currently dancing the samba inside your tummy. Her little head pressed up firmly into your right side of your ribs.

Reaching down you could lay a hand over the pressure and feel the hard little curve of her head.

She was quite insistent on making her presence known.

Maybe it was to comfort you.

Her little movements made the bowl on your tummy wiggle up and down, like it was laying on jello instead of your firm belly.

Wondering about names, you briefly thought about naming her Apple as a joke. But no, you’re not a celebrity and while her dad may like apples, she didn’t need to be saddled with a name based off an obsession with food.

Ah well, you’d come up with something. Your stomach grumbled despite you shoveling popcorn into your mouth.

It wasn’t especially filling but the baby made you feel so hungry despite popcorn starting to fill your stomach.

Wandering into the kitchen, you scanned the fridge for leftovers. Oh there, there’s some leftover chicken. Dumping it into a pan to warm it up, you set it on the stove and wait impatiently.

The smell started to fill the house and made your mouth water with anticipation. God, you were so hungry you could eat a whole cow.

You’d think that a baby so small still, wouldn’t cause hunger like this.

Arms came up behind you, wrapping around your belly. A sleepy head laid onto your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

A low voice next to your ear

“You could’ve gotten me up, I would’ve made you something.”

“You’re still recovering, besides we have leftovers so I’m not exactly exerting myself too much here.”

“I thought I was supposed to be your personal assistant for the rest of your pregnancy.”

“That was before your heart stopped and you refused to come back for a while. You took two days to wake up Caleb. That doesn’t exactly make me want to ask you to hop to it and make food for me.”

Yes, Caleb was stubborn even in death it seems as it took 10 minutes for his heartbeat to come back.

Maybe he subconsciously thought that you would be ok without him, maybe you screaming at him after coming to your senses to come back or you’d beat his ass, helped him come back to the light.

It took another two days for Caleb to regain consciousness. You had nearly strangled him for doing it to you once again but the sight of him finally awake with a sleepy smile, had just sent you, tears and all, into his arms.

He had only been awake for a day and he was still recovering. The nano probes seemed to be hard at work as Caleb had reported to Sylus that it no longer felt like ants beneath his skin.

You had caught them nerding out together over his arm just a few hours ago over a video call.

They had been talking all morning and it made you feel lonely…

**

“So you have a bird that you built yourself?”

“Yes, I’m quite proud of him. I named him Mephisto and he’s quite a beauty. I only wish that he wasn’t so sensitive to water. I’ve tried to tweak him but the solution still eludes me.”

“He looks magnificent. I’d love to help you with him, you’ve already helped so much with my arm. It’d be a way to pay you back!”

You watched from the doorway as the boys gushed over technical stuff that flew over your head a bit.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you’d never think that Caleb had basically hated him not too long ago.

They sounded like long time friends.

**

“Hey, what are you thinking about?”

“Just thinking about when you wanted to set up your next play date with your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?”

You blink innocently at him

“Yes, your boyfriend. You two spent all morning talking, it seems a shame that we should keep you two apart.”

“Oh for- he’s not my boyfriend! I was just giving him an update on the progress on my arm.”

“Uhuh, for three hours. ‘Oh Sylus! I’d love to help your with your bird! You’re so smart! Thank you for all your help, you’re my savior!’ Don’t worry, I’ll set up a play date for you two boys soon.”

“Really? You’re going to regret that!”

You pretend to think with a finger on your chin

“Mmmm, no I don’t think I will.” Laughing as you plated your chicken and tried to move towards the table.

A hand takes the plate from you, placing it on the counter.

Lips meet yours in a flurry. Sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, his hands coming around your back and your head. His thumb drawing small circles on your bare skin left by your shirt riding up.

This quiet intimacy was one of the many things you had missed while he was gone all those months.

Pulling away to rest your foreheads against the other, breathing each other in.

“I thought this was supposed to be a punishment?”

“Do you want it to be? Cause I can take things to the bedroom.”

“Mmm maybe when you can prove to me that you’re all better.”

His hand slides down to cup your backside

“Oh I can prove that just fine.”

Rolling your eyes, you push his face away and turn to your food.

“I’d rather eat.”

“Rude.”

“Who got me pregnant?”

“Point taken.”

Sitting down at the table, you start to devour your chicken with zeal.

“Actually, I was thinking of going to scout out Ever’s Headquarters here in Skyhaven.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that? Seems a bit soon.”

Coming over to stand behind you, he puts his hands on your shoulders, large enough to reach down to your breasts. His hands began to massage you and you almost melt against the table.

This was playing dirty to get you to be putty in his hands.

“I’m not going to actually kill him yet. I just want to go take a look, see where the best place would be. I have an idea of what I will most likely do but I need to double check.”

Looking at him with suspicion in your eyes, the emotion coming through in your voice

“That’s what happened the last time you went out, it can’t be a spur of the moment thing. This guy is the head of a big company and we can’t take it lightly.”

“I promise I won’t.”

“I’m choosing to trust you.”

Caleb comes down and kisses your cheek, smoothing your hair down.

“I promise your trust isn’t misplaced.”

**

Caleb looks up at the building with trepidation. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he wasn’t going to do anything today besides do some scouting.

He hadn’t told her yet but his brain felt a bit like mush. Like he had received a concussion which made sense since he did receive some amount of damage to his brain.

Caleb hadn’t realized how much that chip was affecting him. He felt so light and all of his emotions didn’t have to be tamped down.

Anger, joy, sadness, all of it was there at the tips of his fingers.

That chip had really made his worst qualities come out into full force.

Hopefully it would let him make this plan with a clear head.

With his brain feeling like mush, his Evol felt weaker for the moment.

That was worrying but he’d give himself some grace.

Okay, it was showtime.

With his uniform in place, the blank mask on his face, he made his way up to the secret top floor.

No one paid him any mind but his brain kept whispering that everyone knew. They could tell that he was a dog unleashed and that they would try and get him back under their thumb once again.

Taking a subtle breath, he gets his anxieties under control.

The head of Ever wasn’t always on the premises but with the Professor dead. The man in charge was here to take care of part of the void left behind.

Caleb had an idea of what he wanted to do when it came to assassinating him but he’d need access to that man’s office first.

Well, that’s when an opportunity presented itself.

“Hello, Caleb. Fancy sssseeing you here.”

“Hello, Viper.”

“Wow, I’m sssurprised you haven’t attacked me yet.”

Caleb twists the other man’s hand behind his back in response.

“Uncle, uncle!”

Such drama, his evol is weak right now. He lets Viper go with a flourish.

“Now, what a way to greet me. After I came here to tell you that the big man wantssss to talk to you.”

“Thanks ever so much.” Sarcasm coming from his tongue with a heavy tinge. As Caleb walks away, the other man calls out to him.

“There’ss sssomething different about you.”

He did not need this, he needs to bring Viper to his side somehow before he blabs his mouth.

Viper loves to call him his friend but really he just appreciates the strong.

“Do you think that I’m strong, Viper? Who will you choose to follow in the end, I wonder?”

Leaving him alone to think on that, he heads to the head of the company's office.

Caleb stands in front of the large desk with his hands folded behind his back.

It was always dark in this office, the only light coming from the doors leading to the balcony.

The building was quite high so it left this impression of a billionaire looking down on the rest of the world from his solitary dark room.

The other man sat in front of him, his hands folded in front of him on the desk

The two regarded each other with vague interest, waiting for the other to break the odd silence.

A battle of who will give first.

Caleb has a lot of patience in this department, he’d stand here all day. This was all for her sake after all.

Standing there, he surveyed the room for anything he could use.

An alcohol cart in the corner, self help books and poets like Samuel Beckett and John Keats on the bookshelf, the way the room is always kept dark, energy boosting drinks, the way the room seems to feel so bleak.

An idea had already been formed in his head but what he had collected so far just helped it along.

Yes, this would do nicely.

He had promised not to do it today, he’d go home and wait for another day but taking the time to survey was worth it.

The man in front of him broke first

“Colonel Caleb, we don’t usually talk in person, one on one like this, do we?”

“No, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear that you returned from that deep space mission alive and in one piece. The Professor seemed quite distressed about the whole ordeal.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I seem to remember that the day of his demise also coincided with his check up on you. The time of his death happening almost not an hour after you left.”

“It was unfortunate, sir.”

“Mmm, yes.” As if the death didn’t really bother him, but Caleb caught the tightening of the other man’s fingers on the chair he was in.

“It has left me with quite the predicament. No one left as capable as he was, to head the Fountain of Atei project. We frequently send you out to keep our dogs in line and it puts your life on the line.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It honestly leaves me with so few options that it brings me back to a plan that we had kept on the back burner. You know the one that I’m referring to?”

Caleb tells himself not to react, this man wants to see him break, show a feeling.

“Yes, sir.” Keeping calm was like keeping a lid on a boiling pot.

“Mmm, I suppose you do. Well, I’ll be putting together a game plan to bring in our new asset. It will need a new team to bring it under control. Which is where you’ll come in, you were manufactured as a pair after all. Your sole purpose was to keep it under our control.”

“Yes, sir.” Murdering this man would never be able to sate his lust for bringing these arrogant bastards to heel. They think they can just walk over everyone in this world, modify humans, control wanderers, play the chess board so that they alone come out on top.

It was sickening.

“That was all I had to say to you, you can leave now.”

“Sir.” Caleb turns to leave and is stopped at the door.

“Good to have you back… Caleb.”

It sends an eerie shiver down his spine. Not gracing this man with an answer, he leaves without a word.

**

Coming home, he feels exhausted. Putting on a front, for work and for his love was draining.

It must not be enough because she notices how he really feels in an instant.

“Bed, now.”

Caleb doesn’t have the energy to argue and goes to sleep instantly.

The next day, he’s talking with Sylus once more and goes over his preliminary plan with him.

“May I ask why you’re going over this with me and not her?”

“She tends to want me to put my safety as the utmost priority when she is. I want to do this, this way because it’s fast and efficient. It will save her. I told you what they want to do with her. Can I trust you to help me?”

The unspoken words being, can I trust you to help me which is really about helping her.

They each knew the other's feelings towards her, it wasn’t a topic up for discussion but they could trust the other when it came to protecting her.

“Yes.”

So the plan began, Caleb gave a rough outline to her but kept the finer details to himself.

If this went downhill, she needed plausible deniability if they decided to question her.

Caleb waited at a corner store on the street below the balcony of the building containing Ever’s headquarters.

The very balcony of the office he had visited a few days ago.

This is where Sylus came in, sending Mephisto in to do surveillance and relay information to Caleb.

They need to wait for the right moment, their target needs to be on the balcony alone.

He had been sitting here for an hour, looking unbothered with a book in hand and a coffee on the table in front of him.

It had taken some convincing to let her let him out on his own for leisure for so long, but having Sylus come along convinced her.

Not that Sylus was physically present, but she didn’t need to know that fact.

“Target in sight.”

Showtime

Caleb gave no indication of being bothered, the only signal being a nod of his head as if agreeing with what he was reading.

A small pad nestled in the pages of his books gave him a view of what Mephisto was seeing now that the target was in view.

The man was watering a plant, how quaint.

“Beginning now.”

Slight red energy creeping around the target’s legs, manipulating them so that the man walked haltingly and unwillingly to the edge of the balcony. Coming up to the man’s waist but it was no matter for Sylus.

“In position.”

The man pulled himself up onto the railing, standing with uneven balance. The energy just barely showing through Mephisto’s eyes, manipulating the man’s body. Caleb’s power pinching the man’s mouth and paralyzing his tongue over the distance, seen only through the screen.

“Now.”

The energy lets go, the man falling forward, no longer being held up.

The fall was not fast enough for Caleb, wanting the man to suffer and make sure that the fall really killed their target.

Placing gravitational pressure on the falling man’s back, speeding his process, already starting to crush his bones. Keeping his tongue paralyzed, so no one noticed the man falling yet.

The illusion that it was this man’s choice being supported as he didn’t make any noise, as if he accepted his fate.

The man hit the ground with a small splat and boom. Concrete cracking and blood blooming, like a flower of hope for a new world.

All happening across the street from the corner store that Caleb was at.

“Confirming no vital signs.”

That was all he needed to hear, getting up and gathering his stuff unbothered. The sounds of a siren in the distance, the crowd gathering around the fallen body, it was as if none of it existed to Caleb.

Tasking the clean up and crushing of Ever to Sylus. Recruiting Viper to help take it down from the inside as it was no longer the all powerful cooperation that he had been interested in, in the beginning.

It was all over on Caleb’s part.

He was finally free and so was she.

Only one more part and it’s the epilogue!

Tags: @moonberry69 @supermyeon22 @tinnyrabbit @gavin3469 @marina27826 @crowleysthings @tabi-callico @midiplier

@his-ocean-emissary @rosalyne08

@xaviers-pookie-bear @tsunamethyst @thejujvtsupost @cherrybeomgyu

@gojosballsack69 @apple-lov3r @dinochocochip @violetpurplez @raiyuxa @nickibunny23 @sh3sa1dwhat @playboygeniusphilanthropist @flwerie @lynnlovesthestars @twilightsmissingfur

@kasuumi @i-messed-up-big-time @mcdepressed290 @mc-cos-charm @needsleep3000

[pet-slut-chrissy]

We knew we weren’t going to be able to see each other much this week, so Mistress @owner-of-pet-slut-chrissy was determined to make our playtime at the beginning of the week memorable.   She had left me detailed instructions on how to dress for Her, my vinyl maid’s outfit, holdups, highest heels, and restraints on my wrists and ankles with bells on them.  Oh, and the lush in and set on sound mode so I would be dripping wet and frustrated when She arrived.   

She added a few more accessories, my inflatable plug so I would have a tail and the little vacuum tube on my clit.  Then She wanted me to dance for Her, the same dance that She thought would be good for my coming out party.. Slave 4 U by Brittany.  She was very specific about the moves She wanted to see me doing as I danced, crawling, laying on my back humping, spanking myself and acting like a slut while She was using Her rabbit to get Herself just as excited… after just under 4 minutes I was a whimpering mess, so She wanted me to stand with my legs spread and me holding my wand like a microphone, then mashing it tight against my pussy and keeping it there until I exploded into an orgasm for Her and then right into an encore.   

We were both breathing hard when She dragged me to the bedroom with our toy bag and threw me on the bed.  The lush was still teasing me as we got everything set up for me to be tied spread eagle on the bed.. the hitachi wand was put in my harness, pegs were put on my pussy lips to keep them spread wide open.  I was going to be hooded blindfolded and with the penis gag in, and She was trying to decide how long I would be bound, 20 25 or 30 minutes when I started whimpering, realizing I was getting close again.. I started begging to cum and She said go ahead but you’ll get 30 minutes locked..  I did my best to get the hood and gag on before but of course I didn’t make it.  the wand was turned on high and my wrist locks were set for 30 minutes..

I was barely aware of the locks opening, I tried to keep track of how many orgasms I had but wasn’t sure.. I was crying begging Her to turn the wand off, but She was so close to another orgasm Herself and wanted it with me.. I was screaming and She told me to scream Her name and cum.. I did, then She mercifully turned the wand off and took the pegs off my pussy lips, my head was so hot as Mistress took the hood off too..  She then grabbed the battery wand and put it in the harness.. I started begging as She She said we should see if I could go another hour, please Mistress no I might die.. so She said I could be spared if I begged Her to lock me in the belt.  My head was spinning I couldn’t do that and I felt the wand pulsing and my wrists locked for another 7 minutes this time.. thrashing fighting everything was so sensitive as She forced a few more orgasms out.  I was biting my lips trying to catch my breath as She gave me a short respite from the wand.  Then She asked if I was ready to go another 7 times, or would I want to be locked in the belt.. no, please no I can’t but She just smiled and turned the wand on again and pressed it hard against my pussy..  it was too much, I was too sensitive and couldn’t take it, She kept pressing I finally cried out begging Her to belt me just please make it stop as we both came again..  

As we cuddled and recovered, She said She was so proud of me.  I finally got the nerve up to ask how long I would be belted..  mmm my very generous Mistress said I wouldn’t be belted if I did a writeup of our playtime..  here it is, and it’s just another example of how lucky I am to be collared and Owned by Her.  

[comiverse]

OMFG YES CREPIC (Or Tpose, as I like to call them)

ALSO LIKE, THE FLUFF AND ANGST POTENTIALS, DEPENDING ON YOUR AU OF CROSS.

(Ranting under cut because it's looong 💀)

Like, imagine Cross still being with the Dark/Bad Sanses, and the reason why Epic meets him again is because the Star Sanses asked him to help Cross. (In my AU, the Star Sanses are trying their best to rehabilitate the Dark Sanses through neutral Sanses, since the Dark Sanses would be too suspicious of them if they tried to get too close themselves)

Because when Cross was taken by Nightmare, he wouldn't have met Epic again since the last overwrite, so to Epic, Cross would've just... vanished.

Imagine the Mcfucking side eye Dream would get from Epic when he casually mentions that oh yeah, Epic's amnesiac boyfriend is running around with an infamous gang of murderers, and Dream had conveniently found him specifically to help get Cross back despite probably not knowing about their relationship.

Talk about a coincidence.

Cross would struggle between his loyalty to Nightmare and his love for Epic, having to choose one or the other and almost being unable too. Nightmare would act as a stone wall between them, refusing to let Epic take Cross away from the gang. This might ultimately work as a distraction of sorts, something to divert Nightmare's attention so he wouldn't notice Dream sneaking in close to play his part and help Nightmare too. After all, once the boss is convinced/changed, the rest are more likely to follow.

Eventually the gang would fall under the determination and protection of the Stars, now to be sheltered, healed, and allowed to grow closer to their respective lovers/friends who helped them.

Maybe one day I'll rant about the others, but this is for Cross and Epic. >:)

Or maybe Cross was found by Dream first, and joined the Star Sanses. Maybe one day Epic caught Dream's attention by the negativity of losing his best friend/lover, and Cross, being the good loyal guard he is, follows Dream to help Epic too. Maybe that's how they'd meet, and Dream would give them time for them to reconnect, to be with one another again. Aka, the easiest and healthiest route.

...Or maybe Epic's issues got the better of him. Maybe Nightmare sensed his negativity, and offered him a deal. No, a place to stay, where he could let it all out. Maybe he'd reject Nightmare's offer, only to be asked again, and again, and again, almost every other day. Maybe it'd only get worse and worse, the sleep deprivation muddling his mind and clouding his judgement until he found himself lashing out at the people around him. Maybe he'd accidentally gotten too violent, almost dusting a friend like Color or Delta.

All while Nightmare kept his aura in the back of Epic's mind, twisting his thoughts and feelings.

Because of the accident, he'd be scared of himself, believing himself to be too dangerous to stay around others. The once carefree and humourous skeleton trapped in his own head, now more violent and unpredictable, almost reminiscent of Dust. And of course Nightmare was there, still offering that place in his gang, where Epic would have a new purpose.

Maybe then he'd finally break, and accept it.

And then he'd meet Cross there. His only love was right there all along, hidden in plain sight in the finer details of the 'deal'. Maybe it was the right choice. Maybe it was his fate to join the gang anyways.

It's fine. His lover's there too. It'll be fine.

Or maybe, once again, Cross was with the Star Sanses. Imagine Epic on a mission with the gang, and he meets Cross again on the battlefield, their roles now reversed. Now it's Cross who has to help Epic, who has to convince Epic to rethink this path.

Depending on how long Epic had stayed with the gang, this would either be easy or difficult. Maybe he hadn't been pulled too far down the rabbit hole, and maybe he'd jump at the chance to be with Cross again. Or maybe he'd have sunk too far into his guilt and fear of himself, being terrified of accidentally harming Cross too.

It's up to interpretation.

And there's four scenarios that I could think of rn! I could probably rant more, but it'd be way too long. bUT YESSS, CREPIC/TPOSE NEEDS TO BE TALKED ABOUT MORE.

I’m giving you a free card to rant about any character if you want to

I just like listening to people rant about characters or things they enjoy tbh, I find it interesting what they have to say

ok.. not a character but a ship because right now i have really bad brainrot for crepic, ive already done an essay long ramble about cross, and my essay long ramble about epic is in the works, so let’s go!!!!!!!!!

okay i genuinely really love them. more than most ships. hell i love their dynamic regardless of what it is—romantic, platonic, whatever. they’re something i genuinely care about a lot!!!!! they mean da world 2 me… do not be mean to them around me!!

(this is going off of cross’ canon and not epic’s, since they don’t overlap! epic is canon to cross, cross is not canon to epic. kind of an ink and dream situation)

i love the fact they’re so close. they’re besties. best buds. best friends. besties. a lot of characters have the ‘dating close’ but not ‘friends close’ aspect in their ships/dynamics (ie cream) but not crepic! they have both!!! they’re not friends to lovers they’re best friends and lovers. and it’s unique to them in a way, you can’t name two characters who are canonically best buds like they are. and it’s GREAT. they play video games and eat cookies and make no homo jokes three years into their relationship. and i really love that for them. the idea of a romantic relationship following this just feels that much more natural compared to other characters. oh god im tired soryr anyway

i also love the angst. ive been thinking about this for ages. cross doesn’t remember epic. epic remembers cross. it hurts especially if you like to think they were also dating prior to this. imagine waiting years to see your lover again only for them to just.. not remember you. at all. and obviously you don’t tell them you were dating because then there would be that weird “so should i date you again? is that what im supposed to do now?” pressure that you don’t want, you’ll bring it up later on when you’re more comfortable with each other again, but lo and behold he likes you again and you can’t help but tear up even though you’re not a genuinely emotive person because it’s so similar to how it was the first time and you missed this.

epic has reflexes. sometimes he itches to give cross a quick peck on the cheek because he’s used to that but they’re not dating obviously so he can’t. when they start dating again though he absolutely capitalizes on it. sometimes he wants to call cross a generally romantic nickname but doesn’t. bruh is fine anyway. he used it all the time back then too. no need for other names anymore.

sometimes cross acts like he used to and epic feels a pang of sadness and nostalgia. there’s something so sad about memory loss. it’s like you lost a lover but they’re still there. they just don’t remember you. you’re stuck alone with the memories that you both once shared. and it’s kind of miserable. they’re so “sometimes i wonder if she sees me through your eyes. what would she think of me now?” “well. i think you’re pretty great.” pls understand

i like to headcanon that cross didn’t age as much as epic either due to the nature of his au and xgaster and the overwrites. so cross looks exactly the same as the day epic lost him (httyd,,,, save me) and beh they’re cute. so cutie actually. cutie pies!!!!

they r so affectionate physically cause i said so. they cuddle on the couch and play video games but if anyone asks epic says no homo and cross nods even though his face is literally buried in epic’s neck. yeah uh huh. so straight of you guys. yep. cross gets embarrassed in public about it becasue that’s literally canon he’s so stupid I hate him so much I hope he dies /affectionate. in private though cross is all over that shit. daddy issues amiright

they’re so stupid too. people don’t know if they’re dating or friends because they’re just like that. cross, normally the most uptight pissy prick out there, seems to only unwind when epic’s around and he drags cross to do something fun or stupid (often both). cross just seems happiest. and epic, normally full of “yeah lmao i am so unbothered and chill and not harboring dark secrets and withering sanity as well as living off of 0 sleep total”, seems the most relaxed around cross. i like that.

also their dads hate each other and it’s hilarious. they also probably hate each others dads too given how they each abused them like what!!! stop abusing ur kids guys…! but xgaster and epic!gaster would be in-laws and that’s super funny to me. imagine hearing that. the son of the guy you hate most married your son (who you also beat as a kid). wtf

i love the idea that epic, after ages, opened up to past cross about his issues and now all that is gone. the comfort and understanding is gone. and epic misses it but he doesn’t know if he can open up like that again. god

they’re so bittersweet. but they’re also soulmates 2 me. cross found epic again in another life,, how great is that. memory loss cannot keep them apart!!!!! they are so close. in a do not separate box. they’re like color and killer or error and ink to me. in a little ‘these guys MUST be kept together’ kennel. bonded pairs.

hfhrhfjhhh. they love each other a lot but they’re really unserious about it. everyone is done with how obnoxious they get when they’re with each other. epic puts up with cross’ temper tantrums (love you but you got issues cross) and cross is the only one that seems to find the rubber chicken jokes funny a millionth time in a row even though by now they’re to everyone’s chagrin.

they’re so cool. and lovely. i think they should be boyfriends forever and ever and never die so they can always be in love. they mean a lot to me they’re like if me and my childhood bestie worked out

I LOVE CREPIC!!!! Thank u for the ask i used this as an excuse to rant about them. needed to get this out of my system. this isn’t even all I could talk about in terms of them it’s just. so long already

OK BAIII!!!

[puppppppppy]

good morning sifloop nation

[phantom-overdose]

((If anyone ever wants to write with a scruffy, kind of (unintentionally) goofy, sweet but still totally animalistic, former prisoner, werewolf-esque, character (complete with wolf tail) who has read a bunch of self-help books and who is super committed once he falls in love, and who also just so happens to be from a post-grand-fairytales fairytale realm full of magic and chaos and all that good stuff... just, ya know, let me know <3))

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent misc pictures

[ladysqueakinpip]

not me lying wide awake at 5:30am on a sunday on my day off bc after almost a full year I finally FINALLY realized the implication of the end of remember them from the cyclops saga

[somnoir]

My father's secretary

Danny Fenton did not expect to be secretary material but after 7 years of being a hero and having Jazz as his elder sister, he was damn good at it. He needed a job, he knew that, and Wayne Enterprises was willing to hire a 21 year old taking online college classes for aerospace engineering.

And he was fucking thankful for that cause Mr. Wayne was pretty neat and bought him good food and coffee whenever he looked out of it. Half his family were already in Gotham with only his parents in Amity. They were finally reformed and now their research finally advocated for the rights of ghosts and spread awareness on their culture. Good for them.

Jazz and Dante were in Arkham working as a psychologist and guard. Elle was still in school, enrolled into Gotham Academy once Vlad insisted on paying her tuition. To be fair, he was paying for Danny's tuition too.

But back to his secretary duties. His boss was Bruce Wayne, yes, but he did often work with the man's son and the current CEO. Tim was nice and had the same caffeine addiction as him. (Jazz highly discouraged this friendship in case they both made a monstrosity of coffee and energy drinks.)

But Mr. Wayne was the best. He was rather clumsy and a bit airheaded but he was the best fucking boss he could ever ask for. The man's paternal instincts were on point and Danny was almost intimidated when the man started handing him extra cash whenever Danny came to the office looking more tired than usual. When that failed, Mr. Wayne resorted to giving him more material things.

Now, he doesn't want to take advantage of this ridiculously kind man with a lack of self preservation (God, was this what Jazz felt about him?). But Mr. Wayne had given him this amazing coffee maker and then proceeded to give Danny the best toaster ever. And Danny has always been known to resolutely be against Billionaires adopting him. But Mr. Wayne?

Danny had honed his back talking skills to perfection to talk down arrogant elites that kept demanding for his boss. He mastered his customer service voice and that condescending look he saw the receptionists give people like they were tantruming toddlers. Danny was ready to fight for that man (Vlad was choking somewhere as the Fentons worriedly look at him).

Jason has heard about Danny Fenton a couple of times. Tim, Dick, and Bruce had mentioned him a lot. Bruce's new secretary that looked like he'd woken up from a coma and was comparable to a grumpy cat on his best days. He's seen the guy a couple times, noticed how he was almost as tall as Jason. Honestly, he kinda looked like a twig (but then that was because of Danny's suit that he made sure didn't completely fit him).

Seriously. Danny was willing to fucking fight anyone and everyone for Bruce Wayne.

The guy was strange. Very strange. Especially when the pits seemed to either become frantic or calm whenever he was around. It depended on the situation really, but mostly the pits grew calmer around Fenton. Like a cat that finally saw its favorite person. It was so weird.

He was drawn to Fenton, sometimes finding himself walking towards the man before he snaps out of it.

It's on this day where Danny was by Bruce's side, a stylus and tablet in hand. He was furiously tapping away at his phone, cursing under his breath about bothersome and stuck up cialiteses.

"Jason!" Bruce happily greets, "Don't mind Danny for a bit. He's telling of some investors for trying to meddle with the company. Tim is too sleep deprived to handle it."

"Where is Tim?"

"Danny threatened to throw the company's coffee maker out the window if he doesn't take a nap." Bruce chuckles, glancing fondly at his fiesty secretary. "Danny?"

"Give me a minute, Mr. Wayne. Some people are trying to squeeze into your schedule when I specifically told them that they can't." Danny says, clearly irritated but looks at Bruce with an apologetic gaze. "No—Mr. Luthor, neither Mr. Drake nor Mr. Wayne are available on that day—"

And it dissolved into Danny telling of what Jason assumes was Lex Luthor to stop his attempts. In other words, corporate for Fuck off.

"He's good, isn't he?" Jason humms as he follows Bruce down the hall, glancing at the tired employees that looked utterly exhausted and horrifically motivated. "Looks like adoption bait."

"Unfortunately, Danny is a very much against Billionaires adopting him. His godfather is one and has attempted multiple times." Bruce sighs, feigning a sorrowful look as he sends Danny a small pout. "What did you do when he tried the fifth time again?"

"I blew up his car, Mr. Wayne." Danny nonchalantly says, "But that only made him want to adopt me more."

Jason blinks, baffled before he's laughing at the utter absurdity of the situation.

"That sounds similar to—"

Gunshots tore through the air as people immediately screamed. At the entrance of the building was the Joker in all his insanity, guns blazing. Jason froze, sucking in a deep breath as he took one step back. They weren't in costume, they weren't the Red Hood and Batman in that moment.

"Nightwing, Robin, and Spoiler are on their way." Oracle says through the comms but that doesn't comfort him in the slightest.

It's chaos in moments and people are ducking their heads to avoid the bullets. Jason and Bruce look right at each other, taking cover as bullets ruin the walls and furniture. But Bruce is dragged from his spot, pulled towards the Joker who laughs maniacally as he pressed a gun against Bruce's head.

"Mr. Wayne!" Many people yell as they all stared in horror as the Joker threatens Gotham's beloved prince.

Jason immediately remembers an explosion and a crowbar.

(Reminder, Danny Fenton was very much ready to go to war for Bruce Wayne).

A tablet and a stylus was suddenly shoved into his arms. Jason blinks, turning to Danny who tugs at his tie and rummages through the counter for something. The Joker sees this, clearly irritated.

"You! Eyes on me!" The Joker practically demands, hysterical that not everyone was paying attention.

Danny apparently doesn't give a damn before looking the Joker straight in the eye.

"Eyes in me." Danny repeats.

A second later something was thrown and a cutter was cutting through the Joker's eye.

Jason gaped at the seemingly harmless secretary, unable to comprehend that this man had just thrown a fucking cutter into the Joker's eye.

Bruce is set free.

Everyone is frozen in place.

Everyone watched as Bruce Wayne's tired and overworked secretary beats the shit out of the Joker, saying something about how he wasn't going to lose a good boss.

No one particularly knows what to do once Danny pulls out the cutter with the Jokers blood and... Fucking shit, was that his eyeball?!

Dick and Damian arrived at some point, also too shocked to do anything. When Danny was done and satisfied, with the Joker still alive, groaning and whimpering from the pain that Danny inflicted.

As if he hadn't almost killed the Joker, Danny turns to them with a tired smile.

"Mr. Wayne, I implore you not to die. I can't lose the best boss that I've had." He plainly says and takes the tablet and stylus back from Jason.

Jason thinks he might just marry this feral man.

Yeah.

Yeah, he was definitely going to marry Danny Fenton.

Part 2 | Masterpost

[evilgwrl]

Simon Riley x Reader

Can You Ride?

Summary: Simon can’t wait to get home

CW (MDNI): Established relationship, car sex, riding, unprotected PIV, messy, fingering, squirting, praise, lovey dovey sex, semi-public sex?

Word Count: 1,477

Masterlist

Your fingers interlocked with Simon’s, smile adorned across your face as he led you back to the car. “Y’ enjoy lunch?” He said, voice naturally gruff as he squeezed your hand.

“Mhm, was good. Did you?”

He mumbled a ‘yeah’ as he opened the door for you, the hem of your dress riding up slightly, his gaze fixated on the exposure of your plush thigh. He coughed as he walked to the driver’s side.

It was a decent drive, around 45 minutes as Simon’s fingers fumbled with the CarPlay before you shushed him away and jabbed in your address.

“I had it,” he said, eyes darting to you as you laughed.

“I’m sure you did, baby.”

His hand fell on your thigh, thumb rubbing it soothingly as you stroked up his exposed arm, gently scratching with your nails. He liked that.

You were both quiet, but it was never awkward. You knew that Simon wasn’t a massive talker, and you were both secure and comfortable enough to know that you didn’t need to talk 24/7, even if you were together.

You pulled down a long road, trees aligned on both sides, minimal cars zapping across the other way as Simon’s eyes occasionally darted down to your exposed skin. He felt himself chub up slightly.

Did you wear a sundress on purpose? You know how he felt about them.

His fingers itched for more, trailing up your leg slightly, and if you realised, you didn’t show it. His touch got more wanting, burning up your thigh as it slipped under your dress. You looked at him, eyebrow cocked as he shrugged, yet didn’t hesitate to spread your thighs, an appreciative hum passing his lips.

Being around your boyfriend was difficult. Everything about him turned you on. His height, his build, his muscles, his tattoos, when he wore his mask, when he didn’t, him being in the military and a Lieutenant and that. It was all too much, so it wasn’t a surprise to him when he finally reached your panty-clad pussy, that there was a damp spot.

He let out a huff off a laugh, his eyes not leaving the road as another hand pushed your undies to the side, pussy now exposed as you lifted your legs up, spreading them. It was taboo, if a truck drove past you they would know what was going on but you think Simon liked that, knowing someone was watching how he was making you feel and only him.

You gasped, clutching his hand as you felt a rough finger pinch your clit before teasingly rubbing it in slow, small circles. Long middle finger dipped into your slit, running through your folds as he turned to you, cocky smile on his face as he felt your wetness.

You rolled your eyes at him before stuttering out a moan as a finger plunged in, massaging the gooey walls of your sex as soft pants fell from your lips.

His strokes were painfully slow, almost like he wanted you to break and tell him to hurry the fuck up. You gasped at the fullness when another finger breached your entrance, slowly pushing in as he somehow managed to focus on the tangling depths of the tar.

“S-stop teasing me,” you gasped out, breath jammed in your throat as he let out a laugh before his fingers began to work up their speed, hitting your spots deliciously as you moaned.

Your own finger came down to toy with your clit as you noticed his eyes flicker down to it, a groan leaving his lips.

“Eyes on the road,” you teased as he shot you a dirty look.

Your breathing sped up, his fingers pumping in and out of you at the perfect pace, your walls contracting to the thick digits and squelching appreciatively at the sensation that was building.

It never took Simon long to make you cum but every time still took you by surprise. You could feel the slow build up beginning as you stuttered out a moan, your own finger rubbing desperately against your hardened bud as you dug your nails into his arm, hard enough to leave crescent shaped marks but not hard enough to draw blood.

You were a moaning mess as you gushed around his fingers, juices spluttering across his hand and onto the leather seat in-front of you as you whined at the sensation.

“Jesus Christ,” Simon practically growled before he was pulling down a dodgy side road, dirt grumbling against the tires.

You looked at him as he lowered his seat down, veiny hands instantly tugging off his belt as he shoved his pants down to his ankles, cock leaking precum as it slapped against his stomach, a soft trail of hair leading down to his heavy set of balls.

“Get on,” he grunted as you looked at him, before you were ducking down to avoid hitting the ceiling. Car sex was difficult with Simon, his massive thighs barely giving you any room but somehow you managed, wedging your own next to his as he held the base of his cock upwards.

No matter how many times you guys had sex, it always took you a minute to grow accustomed to his cock, the sheer girth and length stretching you to the max.

You straddled his lap, tits flush against his face as he pulled the straps of your dress down, tongue flicking out to wrap his laps around a puckered nipple whilst you lowered yourself down his length slowly, hands reaching out to grab at his massive shoulders.

He watched your face scrunch up, both in pleasure and pain as you slid slowly down him.

“That’s it baby, you can take it,” he encouraged, rubbing a small circle on your back as you whined at the fullness, his cock still not all the way in.

He pushed up slightly, bottoming out in side you as you let out a pornographic moan, his hands reaching out to grope at your tits while you sat there, growing comfortable with the staggering girth inside you.

You began to move, hips raising slightly before lowering, growing your confidence as he continued rubbing your back, mouth sucking at your chest like he was starving.

“Good girl, hm? Taking me so well.”

His words were like a fire inside you, taking over your entire body and setting it alight as your hips began to move faster, his cock disappearing and reappearing as your pussy swallowed it with each thrust.

The squelches and the slaps of your sex were obscene, the windows beginning to fog as Simon began to meet your thrusts, hitting against your g-spot as you cried out, wobbly legs barely able to take him as you tried to keep up with his demanding jabs inside you.

“Fuck,” you swore, “I love you, Simon.” Your hands planted on his cheeks, foreheads merged together as you matched each other’s pace.

“I love you,” he grunted, his hand pulling on the back of your neck into him as you kissed. There was no tongue, just gentle touches between your lips, savouring every breath you both shared, your bodies becoming one, being as close as you could possibly ever be to another person.

Your thrusts became more lazy, your stomach spiralling again into a bundle of blistering nerves ready to pop.

“I’m gonna- gonna cum, Si.”

“Me too, angel,” he panted, voice thick with both lust and love as you held onto him, your skin slapping against each other, his hands grabbing at every part of you before you staggered your movements, a loud moan passing your lips as your pussy convulsed, squeezing and throbbing around his length as you orgasmed, the muscles in your legs throbbing as they vibrated against his owns.

His pace became sloppy before he let out a guttural groan, hot pumps of semen seeping into your exhausted cunt, the remainder of your orgasm milking his length as you both moaned in unison.

You slumped against him, body sweaty as he kissed your forehead, whispering praises in your ear as he rubbed your back. Your legs wobbled as you tried to sit up, his hands reaching out to grope your tits once more before pulling your straps back up.

He placed a gentle kiss on your lips as you craned your neck to the side, laughing at the fogged up windows before his index finger reached out, drawing half a heart before you copied him, connecting the two.

He gave you a pat on the ass as he helped adjust you back to your seat, digging in the compartment for some wet wipes before gently wiping you and the seat down and placing it in the tiny bin he kept on the side of the door.

“You okay?” He whispered, holding your hand.

“I’m perfect baby. Let’s go home.”

[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

[prickly-paprikash]

Pushing aside the fact that I am, quite possibly, a Kendrick fan—disregarding my biases, I think Drake needs to stop. Push Ups was a good diss. Surface level, vapid, but it possessed that mean, petty spirit that carries a diss track all the way. Even bringing up accusations that are, realistically speaking, unlikely still works because a diss is supposed to show just how much you hate a person and how cleverly you can bring it.

Taylor Made was weird. I get that it was a strategy. Drop the main diss first and then drop this one to really prod at Kendrick. Using Pac and Snoop AI voices sucks though. Distilling Kendrick as Taylor's underling also doesn't work because Kendrick only collaborated with her once (twice when they remade Bad Blood) and that's it. Meanwhile Drake is out here always looking for new, up and coming artists to pounce on their trends or cling to established artists. Then it got taken down, because of course it would have been. You used 2Pac's voice. Did you really think his estate, his family, wouldn't do anything?

So he bought Pac's ring and used his voice without permission. More and more we see just how much of a vulture Drake is.

And then Euphoria drops.

Your first diss was met with solid reactions. Your second got taken down. Kendrick drops on a random hot Tuesday, and in a matter of hours surpasses your numbers that took weeks to accumulate. Kendrick did that. Euphoria was also harsh, clever, and sounded so good that people kept replaying it over and over again. Once more, Kendrick schools you.

A few insiders then say that Drake will drop that night. Right after. But he then allegedly gets cold feet. A few hours later from when Drake was supposedly ready to drop but backs out, Kendrick drops 6:16 in LA.

In your previous disses, you begged Kendrick to drop something with quintuple entendres. Euphoria did that. But he took it a step further by naming his second diss 6:16 in LA.

June 16: Father's day. Referencing the fact that Drake has been proven to be a deadbeat father.

June 16, 1971: Tupac's Birthday. Kendrick idolizes him. Drake steals from him.

June 16, 2019: First episode of Euphoria drops. A show Drake is listed as a producer on. A show about underage girls entering a life of sex, substance abuse, and more. Things that Drake has been accused of repeatedly in the past.

June 16, 2011: in June 2, 2011, Kendrick posted on his twitter that there will be a concert at Toronto on 6/16. Allegedly this is where Drake and Kendrick first met.

6:16 AM: The time of release for this track.

6:16: Multiple possible Bible verses, given Kendrick's Christian background.

Other claims felt like reaches though, so I'll stick to that.

The final two lines of 6:16 also reference the Michael Jackson, R. Kelly, and their song "You Are Not Alone". Drake, who has always claimed he is Michael Jackson or at the very least his equal/successor, is now tied to him in a way he does not want. Because we know all of the dirt that came out after MJ's death. We all know what R. Kelly was sent to prison for. And we all know what Drake has been accused of multiple times.

Kendrick also alludes to the fact that you have a leak in your circle, Drake.

So Drake drops Family Matters. A scathing 7 minute song that makes fun of the GKMC van. Saying that Kendrick's daughter isn't his. Saying that his wife cheats on him with security. Saying that he beats his wife.

Now, these are enormous accusations levied. But Kendrick has responded before, years ago, that the DV accusations were false. He has also always been open about his faults. Adultery. Sex addiction. Insecurity. God complex. Kendrick, for better or worse, has always laid out nearly every aspect of his younger life on his songs. This also helped by the fact that in both Euphoria and 6:16, Kendrick says that Drake has spent millions on finding dirt on him but came up with nothing. Again, these accusations can still be proven true and if so, Kendrick needs to be held accountable for them.

But if not? Then Drake just adds another to the pile of "He's a liar and a master manipulator."

Drake also posts a Parody on his Insta that gains little to no attention because 30 minutes after dropping Family Matters and supposedly going on his victory lap, Kendrick drops meet the grahams.

Another thing. 6:16's cover was a glove. That meant nothing to us, the audience. meet the grahams makes it make sense by zooming out of the glove and showing off a shirt and drugs that Drake supposedly uses. Drake has not had any receipts with his accusations against Kendrick. Kendrick puts Drake's supposed prescription, his full name, on a bottle of Ozempic. Kendrick, for now, seems to make good on his threat. OvO, Drake's company, is full of leaks. And they're leaking it straight to Kendrick Lamar.

Nearly 24 hours later, Kendrick drops Not Like Us.

Euphoria was a general character dissection and assassination of Drake: Insecure about his identity as a biracial man. Culture Vulture. Blaccent user. Code switcher. Fake abs. Womanizer. Misogynist. Using black features just to feel black enough. A deadbeat dad that knows nothing of raising a child. And even revokes Drake's ability to use the N-Word (I have no stake in that I am Asian so I will keep my brown mouth shut for that).

6:16 in LA was an ominous threat that slowly reveals that Kendrick has insider information on Drake. That he is ready to leak so much more should Drake continue.

meet the grahams is a brutal open letter to Drake, his parents, and even to Adonis, Drake's son. Saying that Kendrick could be a better mentor to Adonis. Saying that Drake abandoned you and that's not your fault. Don't be like your father—whatever anyone says, for better or worse, you are a black man and don't code switch just to make yourself feel better. He says that Drake failed his mother for what he did to women. Saying that Drake's father is the cause of his gambling issues. Drake is a body shamer. Leaving the mother of his children to rot. And of course, the reveal that Drake has a secret daughter, the same way Pusha T revealed Drake has a son. Adonis.

And of course, now. Not Like Us. Where Kendrick goes all in on one topic that he has alluded to in every diss track before. Drake is a groomer. A pedophile.

I am sick. I should not be tuning into this beef. But my fever can go ahead and end me, I need to know how this ends.

[mysticlael]

Bat inco quotes

Roy, in Jason’s bed: Morning… how’d ya sleep last night? Jason, knocking Roy off: WHAT THE HELL?! Roy: Ow— Jason: What were you doing in my bed? You were supposed to sleep on the air mattress on the floor! Roy: I had a nightmare. Jason: You had a nightmare? What are you, five years old? Roy: Listen, I needed to feel comfortable and I was getting this perverse power dynamic vibe from me sleeping on the floor and you sleeping up there- Jason, in a royal accent: Why yes, how high and mighty I am up on my twin XL! Roy: That is not what I meant— Jason: Silence in the presence of your king, who sleeps a lofty twelve and a half inches above the ground! Roy: Listen, I’m not ashamed. I slept comfortably when I got up on your bed and I’m sure you did too. Jason: Yeah, okay- Roy: You know what? I wanna know. How’d you sleep last night? Jason: …That was the best I’ve slept in a while. Roy, gasping: The king slept comfortably with a peasant in his bed! Jason: I did not consent to this- Roy, dramatically: But my liege, our love is forbidden! Jason, on the phone: Hi, is this the front desk? Yeah, there’s a bed bug in my room and he’s five-foot-eleven, he’s got red hair- Roy: Ask them if they have one of those “Do Not Disturb” signs. I’ll put it on the door next time we… do it. Jason: Okay, I'ma go shower and wash all of the you off of me. Roy: Oh, maybe together we could— Jason: NO. Roy: Just to save water— Jason: No! You don’t even pay for the water! Roy: …Good point.

Steph: *Texts a selfie to the group chat* Hey besties!! Jason: *Texts a selfie clearly parodying Steph's* hey besties !!1! Steph: I literally hate you so much.

Dick, holding a box of Lunchables: Ah, I loved these when I was your age… fine dining. Damian: Fix yourself.

Tim: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Steph: 'Prettiest Smile' Dick: 'Nicest Personality' Jason: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Cass: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

Steph: Today at 7 am, Tim poured a Monster energy drink in their coffee, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing. Dick: I watched Tim brew their coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think they ascended into the astral realm. Damian: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me.

Damian, carrying a box: What would you say if- if I, hypothetically, came home with 7 kittens one day? Bruce: … Bruce: What’s in the box? Damian: What woul- Bruce: Damian, what’s in the box? Damian: I think you know.

Bruce: Did you buy eggs like I asked? Damian: Even better! Bruce: What the fuck did you- Damian: *holding up a chicken* Her name is Fluffy.

Tim: What are we gonna do?! Jason: Blame you?

*Dick comes home absolutely drunk, undresses, and stands in Barbara’s bedroom.* Barbara: Dick, are you.. coming to bed? Dick: No thank you, I’m sure you’re lovely but I have a girlfriend. Dick: *Lies on the ground and falls asleep* Barbara: ...

Roy: sapnu puaS. Kori: What?? Jason: What language is that? Roy: Turn your phone 180 degrees. *Roy was removed from the groupchat*

Kon, admiring a sleeping Tim: You’re so cute. Tim, sleepily: I could beat your ass. Kon, lovingly: I know.

Duke: How do those little boys on XBOX parties always know what slur to call you? Tim: They're empaths.

Steph: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute. Dick: No, that's not how you make cookies. Duke: FLOOR IT!! Jason: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!? Damian: YOU'RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN- Steph: I'M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES! Tim: DO IT! Bruce: NO-

Tim, at Kon: Would you like to stay for dinner? Bernard, from the kitchen: Would you like to stay forever!?!

Damian: What the fuck is with english teachers and being like; "write a story about a deep and personal memory that impacted your life". Ma'am, if I do that you're going to send me to the counselor's office.

[whumpuary]

Whumpuary 2025!

(edit in case anyone actually reads this, i messed up and put "i'm fine" in twice for day 25 and alt prompt, so either ignore that or you can use "do it" as an additional alt prompt)

these prompts came together through community submissions and then a voting form where people voted for their favorites, here are the top 53 prompts

i want to try a slightly new format where there are still only 15 days for creation prompts but with additional community prompts/questions. those are entirely voluntary but are here to possibly inspire some community interaction and trying new things

i'm excited to see some awesome creations in january!

go here for info/rules/tagging go here for faqs

(note: number 31 is not a creation prompt and therefore not required to complete the challenge, it's just colored black so the colors add up)

text version of the prompts and rules is under the cut

(image description note: there are 31 numbered prompts, on each odd number the text color is black and on even numbers the text color is white)

Whumpuary 2025

a whump-themed multi media creation event for january

create for at least one prompt from each odd/black number to complete the challenge community prompts (even/white) numbers are voluntary

main prompts

1. sacrifice | headache | "this will hurt" 2. how did you find the whump community? 3. choice | storm | black eye 4. what are your favorite whump tropes? 5. "do you trust me" | manhandled | chills 6. share your favorite whump creations (others or yours!) 7. unfair fight | insomnia | "no one is coming" 8. what media genre do you like whump in? 9. trapped under rubble | gunpoint | out of time 10. write your own whump prompt 11. "i didn't ask for this" | blood | abandoned 12. create something in a new/less familiar medium 13. close call | sleep | choking 14. what's your favorite character dynamic? 15. handcuffed | dead | "please, stop" 16. leave a comment on a whump fic/art/creation 17. drugged | "i'm glad you're alive" | revenge 18. favorite whump medium? (movie, book, art, ...) 19. "let them go" | overworked | head injury 20. send a nice message to someone in the community 21. bruises | "who are you?" | immortality 22. take 10 minutes to work on a wip 23. backhand slap | alone | "i can't do this anymore" 24. what do you take inspiration in? 25. "i'm fine" | missing | drowsiness 26. draw/doodle something whumpy 27. stuck in a loop | twisting the knife | rescue 28. find a creator in the #whumpuary tag and send them an ask 29. kidnapped | "don't leave me" | devotion 30. make a whump meme 31. say something nice about your own work

alt prompts

hiding impaled "i'm fine" rain betrayal hair pulling darkness falling (added later, not in the image: "do it")

rules & info

-any medium is allowed (art, writing, gifs, edits, ...) -prompts are open for interpretation (but the context does have to be whumpy) -create for at least one of three prompts on creation prompt days (black/odd numbers) to complete the challenge -if you're not aiming for completionist you can do however many prompts you want any way you want -community prompts (white/even numbers) are voluntary and don't count for completionist (but can be combined with creation prompts if applicable) -use alt prompts to replace main prompts you don't like some works posted on tumblr will be reblogged if tagged correctly -#whumpuary2025 -#whumpuaryno1 (number of the prompt(s)) -#sacrifice #head injury #"i'm fine" (the prompt(s) you're using) -any trigger/content warning tags -any additional tags (fandom, oc, other used tropes, ...)

[mistyorchid]

Meet-Cute (Ch. 2)

Old Man!Logan x fem! reader

summary: Logan is a man of his word. You and Logan have your first date in the only nice restaurant in town, except it doesn't last long because you want him the food hot to go. Ch. 1 Ch 3 warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, smut, age gap, reader is 21+, pet names (doll, baby), oral (fem! receiving), fingering, praise kink, light slapping, logan's claws come out, set after the events of Logan (2017) except he doesn't die, some angst it's all in logan's head dw. wc: 4k

Logan mindlessly traced the glass of water he'd been nursing for the past hour. The circular rim numbed his finger as he theorized all the reasons you might've been late.

He tended to foster seeds of doubt within his mind, an old habit that was built by decades of loss and betrayal. Romance was almost always an empty promise.

Logan checked the clock on the wall without moving his head, not wanting the other patrons to assume he was being stood up. He enjoyed wallowing in his solitude by drinking alone at dingy bars, but that was before he met you. Now, all he could fantasize about was showing you off to every establishment in town, softly guiding you to each bar counter by the small of your back.

The Italian place on fifth street, 8PM, you recited after exiting Logan's limo last night. Before opening the door, you checked your phone. 7:50 PM. You would've arrived twenty minutes earlier, but you didn't want to seem too eager, so you decided to touch up your makeup before heading out.

Logan noticed the restaurant's comforting hum cease when you entered the lobby. He's pretty sure he could hear some poor guy choke on a meatball, stunned at the sight of your little black dress.

You were busy exchanging information with the maître d', nervously darting your eyes around the room to find your date. When he realized you mouthed the word, "Logan," he sprung up from the booth and briskly walked to the lobby.

"Evening, doll," he beamed, extending his arm. A faint blush settled on your cheeks as you looped your hand around his bicep. He stole glances at your outfit as he guided you to the booth, suddenly leaning down to whisper, "You look stunning. I'm glad you came."

Logan gestured towards the seat opposite him, but you motioned for him to scoot further into the booth so you could sit alongside each other.

He raised an eyebrow, confused by the unusual arrangement. You explained, "I want to be next to you, if that's okay. Sitting across from you feels way too formal after last night."

Logan inhaled sharply, suddenly reminded of the intoxicating drag of your skin against his. He replayed the heavenly echo of your debauched whines in his head, silently praying that you'd let him hear them again.

"Yeah, of course," he agreed, sliding to the end of the booth.

You followed, leaving a small gap. The urge to connect your thigh with his was strong, but you tried to maintain decorum for the other patrons. Your eyes briefly met Logan's before surveying the table, noticing that the candle in the centerpiece was comically short.

"How long have you been waiting?" You asked, peering up at Logan's relieved face.

He stroked his beard, contemplating whether to be truthful or lie to save face. "About an hour," he responded. Logan decided that you deserved the truth; he wanted the foundation of your budding relationship to be built on candor. "You weren't late, I arrived way too fuckin' early. Haven't been this nervous for a first date since . . . well, ever."

You pouted your lips and gently placed your right hand on his thigh. He instantly flexed, surprised at the abrupt contact.

"Aw, baby . . . " You doted, slightly leaning to whisper into his ear. "There's nothin' to be nervous about. You already know I like you enough to suck your co-"

Logan swallowed the end of your sentence, his left hand cradling your jaw to angle your lips into his. You gasped into his mouth, earning a playful bite on your lower lip.

"You wanna give me a heart attack, doll? Jesus Christ." He muttered, releasing his grip on you and straightening himself in the booth.

You smirked, removing your hand from his thigh. A waiter appeared, acknowledging your arrival. "Ah, good evening, signorina," he beamed. "Mr. Howlett has been patiently waiting for you. Welcome to Frizzante."

While placing two menus on the table, he started reciting the specials, emphasizing the last item. "Tonight, our chef has prepared a Festa degli Innamorati. Lover's Feast," he translated.

Logan wanted the seat cushions to swallow him whole. Frizzante's sous chef was a personal friend of his; the bastard must've seen his name on the reservation and whipped up something special to embarrass him.

You stifled a laugh at the sight of Logan's dumbfounded expression. "It's served family-style, with two separate plates so you can share. It's a beautiful spaghetti dish blended with the savory roe of sea urchins and fresh margherita tomatoes. I assure you, it's an incredibly rich and unique experience."

"That sounds wonderful," you chimed, appreciating the waiter's suggestion.

Logan couldn't help admiring the sweet smile that spread across your face. He slid the menus towards the waiter before responding, "We'll take the Lover's Feast, thank you." He silently cringed at the feeling of the special name rolling off his tongue, but he found himself willing to curtail his pride if it made you happy.

The steady hum of the restaurant lulled you into a comfortable silence. The waiter soon returned with a glass of water and a warm basket that filled the air with the savory scent of flour and butter.

Logan picked it up, offering you a slice. "Would you like some bread?"

"Yes, please. Thank you." You giggled as you retrieved a slice.

After you sunk your teeth into the aromatic bread, he took a slice for himself. "What's so funny?" He asked, playfully raising his eyebrows.

You chewed slowly, savoring the richness of the dough. "You're being so . . . proper. I'm not used to guys treating dates like . . ."

". . . A date?" Logan finished, perplexed by your response. "Those guys don't know how to treat a woman." He huffed, wondering how anyone could fuck up the privilege of courting you.

Your eyes raked over his clean blazer, following the strong curve of his arm before landing on his wrist.

"You're wearing cufflinks . . . " You murmured, in awe of the lustrous material.

Logan moved his arm closer so you could feel them. "You gotta expect more than the bare minimum, baby." He chuckled.

You slowly swirled the round cufflinks with your middle finger. "So-" You paused, shifting closer so your bare leg finally grazed the cool material of his slacks. "-If you're so traditional, why didn't you pick me up?"

Logan cleared his throat, stunned by your confidence. "I would've, doll, trust me. Then I figured that you might've been uncomfortable if I asked where you lived. Best to meet in a public space," he reasoned.

His concern for your safety was undeniably attractive. You stopped tracing the edge of his cufflinks before whispering, "I fucked you within an hour of meeting you. I would've been comfortable giving you my address."

The fragrant smell of your pasta dish wafted through the aisle, momentarily relieving Logan from having to respond.

"Attached at the hip already?" The waiter quipped, noticing your proximity to Logan. He delicately lowered the platter onto the table, followed by two silverware sets and the most intricate plates you've ever seen.

"Buon appetito." The waiter gestured towards the dish with a grand flourish of his hand and then promptly walked away.

Logan waited for him to be out of earshot before saying, "I want to get to know you, but you're making it extremely fuckin' difficult with that dirty mouth of yours."

He used his utensils to scoop a large portion of pasta onto your plate before serving himself.

You bit your lip, picking up a fork to slowly twirl the fresh noodles. "Alright, what do you wanna know?" You asked, lifting the fork into your mouth.

"What do you do for fun? Besides fucking strangers within an hour of meeting them."

You choked on your food, shooting an accusatory glare towards Logan. "Okay, okay . . . you got me good. Um, I like going to shows. Punk, country, pop . . . I just love to feel the music in my bones."

Logan put his fork down and rested his chin on his palm, invested in your answer. He briefly envisioned your hips swaying to the soulful twang of Willie Nelson. "Live music, huh? I know a club around here that promotes every genre under the sun. We should go some time."

His left hand traced gentle circles on your knee. "This okay?" He asked, briefly pausing his movements. You rested your fork on the plate. "Mhm," you chirped, pleased by his courtesy.

"I also enjoy making art," you continued. Logan leaned closer. The majority of his past was dedicated to destroying things and harming people. He'd always admired those who used their time on earth to create.

"What kind of art?" Logan asked. You were distracted by the warmth of his palm, which was now splayed over the broad expanse of your thigh.

"I, uh- I like drawing, painting, making collages . . . mostly drawing, though. It's peaceful, you know? Making something out of nothing." You chewed the inside of your cheek, flustered by how intently Logan was looking at you.

He was daydreaming about making space for a studio back at the smelting plant, bringing you tea while you worked well into the night. The domesticity that he secretly yearned for manifested itself in your image.

"You're so beautiful, you know that? Could listen to you talk forever."

You smiled and bashfully looked down into your lap. "Thank you . . . " You lingered, focused on how he absentmindedly stroked your thigh with his thumb.

"What about you? What do you do in your free time?" You asked, peering up at him through your eyelashes.

"After work, I usually head to a bar and pop a couple of quarters in the jukebox to hear Cash while I drink."

Your eyes lit up at the mention of your favorite country artist. "Cash? Like, Johnny Cash? I love him."

Logan couldn't believe that you didn't make a snide remark about his "hobby." He elaborated anyway, not wanting to seem lazy in comparison.

"Yeah, exactly. I also like fixin' old motorcycles and gardening. Keeps me in shape, I guess." He didn't miss the way your thigh flexed, reacting to his words.

You loved a man who was handy . . . in more ways than one.

"You wanna get out of here?" You asked, desperate to relieve the palpable tension that settled in the charged space between your bodies. Your senses were overwhelmed again; the heady scent of his cologne mixing nicely with the smokey tendrils emanating from the candle.

Logan smirked. "I thought you'd never ask. My place or yours?"

Although your apartment was only a short walk's distance from the restaurant, you wanted to immerse yourself in a slice of Logan's world.

"I'd love to go home with you, if that's okay." You shyly tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He fished out his wallet and haphazardly threw more than enough cash to cover the bill and your waiter's tip. The velvet material of your dress bunched around your thighs, further exaggerating the short hem.

Logan averted his eyes as you slid out of the booth. You turned around and tilted your head, realizing why he wasn't looking at you. "You're such a gentleman," you praised, straightening your dress.

Logan didn't feel like a gentleman when he helped you into the passenger seat of his limo. He almost opened the back door, reminded of your first night together.

Your eyes grew heavy an hour into the drive. You yawned, soothed by the soft turns of the road and the limo's plush headrest.

"Sorry, doll. My place is a bit farther, away from the city." Logan apologized. "Feel free to rest up. I'll wake you when we get there," he continued.

You surrendered to your fatigue and closed your eyes. "Mkay. Thanks, Logan."

He smiled, glancing at the passenger seat a few times to admire how peaceful you looked.

The first thing you felt when you woke up was Logan's callused hands supporting the back of your knees and your spine. You felt pleasantly weightless above the ground, realizing that Logan was carrying you past the threshold of a doorway.

"Mornin," he joked, noticing you scanning your surroundings. It was still late in the evening.

"Didn't want to wake you," he whispered, gently setting you on his bed. The smooth texture of the sheets contrasted with the rough corrugated walls of your environment.

"Where exactly do you live?" You asked, puzzled by the industrial nature of his home.

"A smelting plant north of the border. People leave me alone out here," he chuckled.

Logan exhaled as he sat on the edge of his bed, turning to meet your shocked expression.

"You mean I'm in Mexico right now? Logan!" You exclaimed, lightly slapping his arm.

He caught your wrist, weaving his large fingers through yours. "You're lucky I'm such a gentleman," he teased, reiterating your choice of words a few hours prior. Your hand relaxed into his.

"First, you followed me into my car. Tonight, you fell asleep while I drove to fuckin' Mexico. Now, you're in my bed wearing nothin' but a cute little dress," Logan smirked, letting his hand fall on his knee. His back ached from turning to caress your palm.

You blushed. "I can tell you're a good guy. I wouldn't have gone home with you if I didn't."

Logan doubted your praise. I'll force myself to pretend that's true, he thought.

The comforting chirp of cicadas serenaded you from outside. Linen curtains gently billowed above your head; the cool night air swathing your body like a translucent blanket. Logan suddenly averted his eyes, exposing the rugged plane of his neck. You breathed in notes of fresh cotton and bourbon as his potent cologne fanned out across the room.

"I need you, Logan." You sighed, slowly drifting onto your back and languidly spreading your legs. Your dress prevented you from fully relieving the throbbing sensation in your core, so you settled for tracing the inside of your thigh instead.

You faint sighs cascaded over your arched form and into Logan's ears like a siren's song.

Too many fuckin' layers, he thought, quickly unbuttoning his blazer and dress shirt before tossing them onto the floor.

He groaned when you skimmed the hard outline of his torso, gently tracing a prominent scar that ran across his ribcage. Logan leaned into your touch, closing his eyes and releasing hushed breaths.

He could get used to you tending to his wounds.

Logan strained his back to grip your legs, swinging you around so that your lower half hung over the bed.

"Can I take this off for you, baby?" He whispered, gathering the material of your dress by your hips.

"Mhm . . . " You nodded, hooking your knees over his shoulders for support. His palms firmly slid up your thighs and effortlessly shimmied the dress below your ass, pausing when the hem caught on the underside of your breasts.

He purposefully pressed the material harder against your torso before exposing your tits, forcing them to bounce harshly against your chest.

"You're so pretty," he sighed, cupping your breasts and leaning forward to gently tug on your nipples with his teeth. You bit your lip, knitting your eyebrows together as you admired how content he looked.

Logan's cock twitched in his slacks when your breath hitched in your throat after a particularly hard tug.

"You like when I make your tits sore, hm? Want me to make it all better?" He cooed, blowing lightly on your stiff nipples before enveloping them with his mouth.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head when you grabbed a fistful of his hair.

You crossed your arms, hastily moving your dress over your head. Logan paused, realizing that your shoes were still on. He slowly released your tits as he slinked down your body, his hot breath raising goosebumps along your stomach.

"Fuck," Logan moaned, now eye-level with your cunt. Your cotton underwear was soaked, clinging to the outline of your lips.

It was the simplest pair you owned, but Logan marveled at it like it was the most expensive set in the world.

He pushed closer, resting his chin on the edge of the bed. He arched his back slightly to accommodate the stretch.

"Can I taste you, baby?" He pleaded, staring at your dilated pupils.

"'Course you can, Logan . . . You can do anything to me, I-" He flattened his tongue and dragged it over your underwear, tasting the wetness that escaped the material.

The delicious pressure of his tongue cut off your response. "I trust you," you continued.

You whined when Logan distanced himself from your core to unbuckle your shoes.

"Shhh, let your old man make you more comfortable," he doted, placing a sweet kiss on your heel.

He resumed a kneeling position, sliding his hands under your thighs and bringing your clothed cunt closer to his hungry gaze. The intoxicating musk of your arousal unlocked a primal instinct within Logan.

A primal groan ripped from his throat as his claws unsheathed on either side of your face. His cock bucked into the unforgiving material of his pants.

After realizing what he'd done, Logan quickly withdrew his claws. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, doll, I could've hurt you . . . won't happen again," he apologized profusely.

You propped your elbows on the bed to get a better look at the bloody slits between his knuckles. "Oh my god," you gasped, eyes widening in fascination. "Are you a mutant?"

Logan's eyes slowly met yours, initially afraid to be met with a fearful expression. "Yes, I am. I've always had these claws, but they weren't always this-" Logan flexed his arm, a faint snikt sound filling the air. "-sharp," he continued.

Logan held his breath as you slowly ran a finger along the blunt side of the blade, admiring the way it reflected the moonlight.

"They're beautiful, Logan." You carefully guided his right hand to rest on your thigh. "Can you tear this off?" You asked, lightly snapping the underwear elastic against your hip.

"I don't want to hurt you, doll." Logan's claws hesitantly hovered over your skin.

"I trust you, remember?" You pulled the elastic away from your body, allowing him to lightly twist his wrist and cut through the fabric.

You gasped as your underwear scattered on the bed. Your cunt fluttered around nothing, suddenly exposed to the cool night air and Logan's unwavering gaze.

Your empathy startled him. Those who had gifted him their trust had often suffered, cursing him to an eternity of self-loathing. He felt undeserving of your kindness.

"Wanna make it up to you," he promised, moving your legs onto his shoulders.

The tantalizingly slow drag of his tongue against your folds made your thighs quiver against his head. He chuckled, prying your legs apart with his callused palms.

He gently lapped into your eager hole, moving his head up and down to increase his range of movement.

You mewled when the tip of his nose bumped against your clit.

"Oh, fuck. My girl's rosebud is so sensitive . . . " He groaned, lightly kissing your clit before sucking it into his eager mouth.

His right hand inched up your thigh, teasingly stroking the apex of your leg.

"How many fingers can you take, doll?" He slowly slid his middle finger inside, palm flushed against your sensitive folds. His lips were still stimulating your clit, now adding the delicious drag of his finger.

Your hips raised off the bed, eagerly meeting his thrusts. "Ah!" You whimpered after Logan pulled out before adding a second finger. He spread his digits, satisfying the hollow throb in your core.

"Three . . . I need three," you elaborated, biting your lip to stifle your needy moans.

His fingers slipped out of your cunt with an embarrassingly loud squelch before easing into your pliant mouth.

"Wanna hear you, baby. That's it," he cooed, making you enjoy the taste of your own slick.

Your tongue trailed the crook of his fingers, mimicking the patterns you traced on his cock last night.

You whimpered when Logan used your saliva to guide three fingers into your weeping pussy.

"Holy fuck, Logan . . . Mm," you babbled, eyes glazing over at the overwhelming feeling of his thick fingers stretching your walls.

If you could sit upright, you'd wipe that cocky grin off his face.

"You're so fuckin' wet for me, doll. Takin' me so well," he praised, focused on increasing the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Oh, I know you want my thick cock, baby . . . Is that why you chose three, hm?" Logan taunted, abruptly pausing his movements.

You whine, spreading your legs even farther apart to invite him back in.

"Yes, fuck-" you admitted, eyes screwing shut at the feeling of fingers returning home.

You felt Logan smirk into your clit as he confessed, "You think you can come without my cock? Tonight's all about you, doll."

The growing pressure in your abdomen threatened to burst, spurred on by Logan's filthy words. He enthusiastically lapped at your cunt, collecting the wetness that pooled near the base of his fingers and gliding up your folds before licking your clit.

He lightly slapped your pearl, motivated to usher in your release as you clamped your knees around his head.

"Holy shit, doll . . . your pussy's singing just for me, hm?" He hummed, referencing the vulgar sounds emanating from your folds with every thrust.

He expertly twisted his wrist as his fingers glided through your cunt. The new movement stimulated the sensitive nerves of your walls, earning a guttural moan.

"Oh my god, I'm . . . I'm coming," you whined, throwing your head back against the mattress.

Logan intertwined his left hand with yours, silently permitting you to squeeze it through your orgasm.

Your back arched, overstimulated by Logan's relentless attention to your pussy. You were too busy rocking your hips against his mouth to register him burrowing his cock into the sheets, a ragged growl escaping his lips as he spurted into his slacks.

"It's too- fuck, too much, Logan . . . " You stuttered, pawing at his forehead to distance yourself from his tongue.

You raised yourself on your elbows just in time to witness him savoring the taste of your cum, his tongue darting against the sensitive pads of his fingers and swallowing with a content moan.

"Mhm . . ." He drawled. "Sweeter than sugar, baby."

You covered your eyes and slumped against the mattress. Logan made you feel hopelessly giddy, and you loved it.

"Stop it, Logan . . . " You cringed, aware of the rosy blush that adorned your cheeks.

He scooped your knees with his right hand and supported your back with his left, mirroring the stance he assumed when he first laid you on the bed. You nuzzled your cheek against the soft pillow, thoroughly satisfied and exhausted.

The small twin-sized bed couldn't support the full breadth of his back, so he turned on his side, lovingly bumping his nose against yours.

You lazily stroked his graying beard, noticing that the whiskers closest to his mouth were damp with your arousal.

You blushed. Again.

"I usually don't even let guys kiss me on the first date. You should be grateful," You teased.

Logan lightly kissed your wandering fingers. "Trust me, princess, I am. Thank you.

Princess . . . that was new. You draped your left leg over the strong muscle of his thigh, suddenly needing to be consumed by his warmth.

He just coaxed an explosive orgasm from you using his mouth, and he was thanking you?

Words failed you. You decided to snuggle closer into the inviting expanse of his bare chest. Logan shamelessly gripped the supple flesh of your ass, pulling you flush against his body.

"I think our first date went well, hm?" He cooed into your ear. Your breathing slowed to the point where Logan assumed you had dozed off.

You felt his body still to avoid waking you up. He whispered, "I hope we get to go on a million more."

Your ears perked up at his covert promise of devotion.

I hope so, too, you thought before finally falling asleep.

Thanks for sticking around for Ch. 2 of Meet-Cute!

an: Their banter was so fun to write. Also if you don't go to shows (I'm talkin' small clubs, not stadiums) or make art shhhh wdym, you're literally reader?! Anyway, I specified those hobbies because everyone can do them, yay! The FBI-level questioning that usually occurs on first dates was shortened to keep this a true reader insert (my reasoning for reader's vague background.) *The jukebox bit is canon, from Wolverine Vol. 1 (Benjamin Percy.)

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