#but just. what a stupid thing to do to a plant. it's like the way they'll paint a cactus or glue plastic flowers to one. UGH.

[astracora]

Reckless Fool

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc

Warnings: Lots of hurt/some comfort.

Word Count: 970

Written: 29th December 2024

Notes: Pre-relationship Sylus/MC, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. I finally got out the lil brain thing that was like 'MC yells at Sylus'. There's so many memories involving this, one day we'll get a memory where MC is gentle with his wounds.

Masterlist

He’s reckless. That’s what you’ve settled on.

Throwing himself into danger. Getting himself injured.

He can’t die, so Sylus takes injury after injury. Covers you in battle, lets you shoot him, all in the name of that.

You know he can feel pain, he’s told you so.

You know that for some reason his evol just… stops. Not working, not healing, and those are the moments you fear your heart might stop.

When he’d been cursed by the cats, you’d worried that made him killable. On edge, angry at him when he followed you on a mission, his tail a stark reminder he didn’t have his powers.

It’s a stupid thing that finally breaks you.

He covers you when some kid on a bike is not paying attention. Pulling you into his arms. It’s stupid, if a gunshot to the heart didn’t kill the man. You doubt a kid on a bike would.

It doesn’t matter though, you feel the anger, the worry, the frustration settle in your gut.

He’s reckless, and you hate it.

You’re silent as you both walk home, he tries to talk to you, but you can’t respond with anything other than a word, or a grunt. It stews and it burns.

The feeling dregs up things you don’t want to think about. Fire and ash. Ice speared through skin. It hurts.

The moment you get through the apartment door, Sylus finally reaches out, hand clasping around your wrist as you keep walking, pulling you back. Whirling around to look at him. Whatever look you must have on your face, whatever he must see in your eyes causes his to widen. “Kitten?”

“Do you want to die?” You snarl, voice ice cold but trembling. His surprise gives you enough time to rip your hand from his grasp. Pulling away from him like his touch burns you.

You haven’t felt that since he held your throat in his grasp.

“I told you-”

The snarl is unbidden and unfamiliar, like you’ve grown fangs, become a beast with scales and horns. “You can’t die. You can’t die.” You reach up to push him, hands planted against his chest. Forcing him against the door. “So you’ve said. Like it changes anything. Like I feel any less horrific when I see you injured or bleeding.”

Sylus is a strong man, you’ve seen him fight and survive things that most would cower at. You’ve seen him lead and forge forwards. He has never been anything other than a pillar of strength, despite his words that the strong can’t always be strong. He has always tried to be, with and for you.

You feel sick to your stomach. Is this what you’ve done? Made him this reckless beast, in order to keep you safe?

You think about the injuries you’ve stitched up, the pain hissed through his teeth, the way he turned you away when he pulled bullets out of his flesh. ‘So you don’t have anymore nightmares of me.’

Like he knew intimately that the first time you lay awake thinking about his threat to your life.

It bubbles and it ripples, lava in your stomach, melting through you.

You pound a fist on his chest, as he stands there, hands wavering. Taking your expended frustrations. Salt on your cheeks as tears spill from your eyes, “Why don’t you care about yourself more?”

Pound.

“Why aren’t you more careful?”

Pound.

“Why don’t you stop throwing yourself into danger?”

Pound.

Pound.

Pound.

Skin under your fists as you hit, and hit, and hit. The pain burning through you.

It cracks and it splinters and you fall inwards and forwards, crumpling in on yourself. Sobbing, and breaking, and crumbling. He catches you as you fall, following you to the ground and pulling you up and into his lap as you shatter to pieces.

Pressing you against the chest you hit, holding you tightly, hands shaking against your skin.

“I can’t lose you too.” You rattle out, cracked and quiet. Mumbled into this skin, carried to him on tears.

He sighs against your hair, pressing a kiss against your head and when he speaks he sounds like he’s close to tears too, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You shake your head against him, “You can’t promise that, no one can.”

“No, I can’t, but as long as I can, as long as there’s any life in me, I’ll crawl to you if I have to.”

You hiccup, and cling to him. Trying to fuse, to be one, “It’s not enough.”

Sylus nods, “It’s not.” He uses both hands to pull your face away from him, so that he can look right into your eyes. Deep red, filled with tears he can’t shed, but trembling and wavering like a weak flame, “It’s never enough, but I won’t go down easy Beloved.”

You think of the ash and fire, of things taken from you, of lost memories and broken promises. You think of all the ways the world has failed you. You think of every night when you can’t sleep. Thinking of things you wish you could forget. As thumbs stroke your cheek, and this man who wants to be strong for you breaks his back against the torrent, you reach for his. Tracing under his eye, leaning forwards to place a kiss there.

For a moment you feel a ghost of a tear on your lips, before the sensation disappears. “Not just you.” You manage to let out, “Both of us.”

His chuckle is relieved and broken all in one, and he closes his eyes at your touch, nodding against your hold. “Both of us. Together.”

As you hold each other, against the cold and against the ashes, you whisper your apologies in kisses against his chest. Everywhere you hit, to scatter the fear to the shadows.

[star-writes-fanfiction]

Heyyy could you possibly write a oneshot with Natasha Romanoff as a soft dom like you had her in your nsfw headcannons? Like if she was jealous at a party or something? Also I love your writing sm I just found you and am very happy I did :)

Omg of course this made me smile so much 😭😭 ur so nice :)) I wrote this from a female pov - I assume that's what you wanted but if not I can write it with different pronouns and stuff. <3

Cw: smut [<fingering, oral, edging, scissoring>], NOT PROOF READ, may edit later.

:: j e a l o u s y :: ☆ :: n a t a s h a ::

It was yet another party at the tower celebrating yet another stupid thing that Natasha couldn't care less about. I mean, she's not exactly shy around a crowd, not when she could easily beat them up in a matter of seconds, but she's not an extrovert by any means.

You, on the other hand, love to talk and interact with everyone, not staying in one conversation too long before making your way to the next. That night wasn't any different - you'd already made your way around half of the room, complimenting outfits and dress shoes.

And that's how you ended up talking to Carol, while Natasha glared at you from the bar with her watchful eye.

You weren't flirting - you wouldn't do that to Natasha - but perhaps you telling Carol her hair looked nice while running your hair through it was interpreted differently by your girlfriend. Before you even noticed her moving, she was by your side, arm around your waist.

"Sorry to interrupt you, Carol, but I need to talk to my girlfriend about something," she said with a slight snarl, taking you by the wrist.

"Oh! Umm, see you later Carol, I guess," you said, making a lame attempt to wave as you were dragged along.

Natasha led you up to her office, heels clacking on the floorboards as she walked. "What the Hell was that?" She asked when you got to the door, pulling it open and pushing you through it. You stuttered in reply, unsure of what she meant. "What was what? What did I do?" You asked with a yelp as she picked you up and placed you on her desk.

Her arms crossed in disapproval. "Your little married couple act with Carol. 'Til death do us part my ass." She began to unzip your dress as she talked - you blushed a furious shade of red. "We weren't flirting, I was just being nice, Tash," you protested, squirming as her hands pulled the dress over your head. "Well, I hope you enjoyed it, because I'm not gonna be so nice to you."

She rubbed her hands over the top of your bra, fingers finding the back and deftly removing it. Your nipples hardened as they came into contact with the cold air, Natasha taking one into her mouth, fingers playing with the other. You let out a soft breathy moan at her actions, letting your eyes flutter shut.

Her mouth moved slowly down your front, planting kisses as she went. When she reached your panties, she smirked against your skin. "Mm, you ready, Princess?" Her thumbs hooked onto the lace of your underwear, giving it a gentle tug. "You're so beautiful," she muttered, ducking her head down between your thighs. You gasped at the sudden contact, falling back onto your elbows.

Being a woman herself, Natasha knew exactly were your most sensitive spots were. She smiled as her tongue latched around your clit, your body trembling and back arching.

"Bet Carol can't fuck you like I can..." she muttered as her fingers replaced her mouth, curling in you and reaching that spot that made you see stars.

"God, Natasha, keep going!" You shouted as you felt your orgasm building. As if on cue, Natasha pulled out of you, all her work disintegrating into nothingness. She planted a kiss on your forehead. "You really thought I'd let you cum after what you did? You'll have to earn it baby," she said, tangling her fingers through your hair.

You pouted. "Please, Natasha?" You said, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes. She looked unimpressed. "Do it yourself," she said, smirking as she pulled out a vibrator from her desk's top drawer. Why does she have that in there? You thought before coming to your senses. She wanted you to... touch yourself... in front of her?

"Go on," she said, sitting back in her chair and watching you as your face as you experienced every emotion known to mankind. God, this is embarrassing... you thought as the vibrations came into contact with your clit, sending fireworks through your body. But any humiliation was quickly replaced with intense pleasure, your body shaking as your orgasm approached.

"Oh my God, Natasha," you said, back arching as you came dangerously close to your climax. It'll never be as good if it's not Natasha, you thought sourly as you came, probably ruining her paperwork.

"Good girl, you did great," Natasha said, disposing of her own dress and panties and climbing onto the desk. You lifted up your chin so your eyes met hers. "Have you ever been scissored, Princess?" She asked with a gentle smile. Whatever annoyance she'd had before had now been replaced with a need to pleasure you.

You shook your head. "That's fine, I'll guide you," she said, tangling her legs with yours and lowering herself down. "God, Princess," she said softly, beginning to move. The contact felt so undeniably euphoric, and eventually you found your rhythm until you were both a grinding jumble. Natasha ran a hand through her cherry-red hair, her eyes rolling back. Your breathing was replaced with guttural moans as your rubbed against one another, your thighs shaking as your second climax arrived. "Natasha, I'm gonna cum-" you said, and she smiled. "It's okay, my love, me too," she said, her moments becoming less and less mechanical and more sloppy. Your side left the table as you both came, shocked by how good you felt.

"God, Tash, remind me to chat up girls again next time," you joked, pulling your legs away and starting to clean yourself up.

"Don't you dare," she replied with equal enthusiasm, standing up from the desk. Damn, that was hot...

OMG I'M SO SORRY IF IT SUCKED I've never written lesbian porn before lmao 😭😭 anyways tysm for requesting, and plz like and rb as always yall. I love you guys!

- star ✨️

[dark-elf-writes]

Izuku is claimed by Persephone as he cries over the flower that he was trying to protect from Bakugou.

It was just a fragile little thing.

A late bloom standing in defiance of the turning of the season, stubbornly clinging to life even as the air turned colder. Such a delicate thing that refused to stand down.

Izuku loved it immediately.

And like most things Izuku loved, Kacchan wanted it rendered to ash.

“Move, stupid Deku!” Kacchan growled at them, eyes burning as hot as his hands as he reached down toward the delicate bloom.

Izuku felt that burning on their own skin. Felt the coming explosion down in their very bones.

They refused to back down, head tipping back in defiance as they lifted their hands like some of the heroes do before a fight. For the second time in their life they looking into Bakugou Katsuki’s burning eyes and felt a fire of their own spark in their chest.

“No.”

After, when Izuku was burned and broken and crying over the scorch mark that was once that flower, they wanted to scream. Stupid, weak, useless Deku who couldn’t even save a flower.

They didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. Didn’t they even notice they weren’t alone until slender fingers slid under their chin and tipped their head up to see the lady kneeling on the ground next to them.

She looked like she should be cold, was Izuku’s first thought. Her dress would have looked more in place in the middle of summer. Green and flowing and covered in flowers that Izuku could have sworn swayed and moved like they were alive. She wore a crown too, white and odd compared to the flowers woven into her dark hair. They wouldn’t realize until years later that it was made of bone.

The deep brown skin around her eyes wrinkled as she smiled at them, blood red lips that seemed to drip with some kind of juice dragging up in a smile that was full of far too many red stained teeth.

She was the most beautiful person Izuku had ever seen.

She was the most terrifying person Izuku had ever seen.

“My little warrior,” She crooned to them, wiping the tears from their cheeks and leaving a trail of that juice in their place. “Do it weep so.”

Izuku hiccuped, feeling their burns throb in time with their heartbeat. “He killed it! It wasn’t hurting anyone, and he killed it!”

The lady’s smile was sad and her red stained fingers traced over Izuku’s cheeks again. “Such is the way of men who believe themselves strong, little warrior. They exert their dominion over any and all they deem lesser, but only the truly brave dare to stand against them.”

“I couldn’t stop him,” They whispered feeling something tearing deep in their chest. A flower ripped from its roots and left to wither.

“Not yet, sweet warrior, but you will grow strong. You will be the one to make tyrants waver. The one who will stand in the face of men who scream their dominance and teach them what it means to be small and afraid. My champion of green and growing things.”

Izuku wasn’t sure what she meant. Wasn’t sure they entirely wanted to. They smiled at her anyway.

The lady leaned down and pressed a kiss to their forehead. Izuku could feel the hot wetness left behind even as the throbbing pain started to fade. “My Izuku,” She breathed, and it wouldn’t be until later that they realized they had never told her their name, “carry my blessing in your heart, and teach the strong what it means to be afraid.”

When they blinked they were alone with a flower in full bloom in their palm and sticky red juice over their face and hands.

Izuku planted that flower in a little pot on their windowsill that night, but no matter how hard they scrubbed the red mark on their forehead in the shape of lips refused to fade.

[causenessus]

present

part 0.2. HIGH DIVE

"you calm me down like you said you would i'm calling / you were never mine / i'm falling again / in the summertime"

he didn’t know how he’d gotten here.

maybe it was intoxication. he hoped it was; he hoped he could blame his decision to come here on his irrational state. the thought of coming here and what excuse he would make had been tugging at him for days; he hated trying to explain himself to others. too many times had he never been understood. he’d lost everyone he’d previously trusted as if the world was determined to make him carry his burdens alone. the rules seemed unchangeable yet here he was, setting himself up to be hurt again.

yes, he was intoxicated. that must be it. why else would he be here? it wasn’t because of her eyes. those eyes that drew him near; looked at him with so much emotion he’d almost crumbled immediately under their gaze. it wasn’t a look of pity she'd looked at him with, but one of empathy. a part of him wanted to lash out every time she looked at him like that, tell her she had no idea what he was thinking or going through, but he didn't want to do that. he didn't want to lash out at her when she was only trying to help. the truth was, she probably did know what he was going through. she was probably the only one did.

damn.

he was so damn trusting. why was he here, wearing his heart on his sleeve? he didn’t need this.

maybe that was true. but did he want it? he was damned if he said no. and if she didn’t open this damn door–

the door swung open, his breath hitching at the sound.

‘stupid. do you want this or not?’ 

he was about to tear off his own head at this point. he couldn’t stop thinking. ‘stop stop stop–’

she was calling his name. taking a step forward.

he was tempted to give up and bolt down the hallway, away from her presence, or her touch which would surely bring him to the point of no return. he still had time, maybe he could the elevator and dive off the roof. no, he shouldn’t do that, that was suicide. suicide–

“chuuya, come inside,” she spoke softly, stepping to the side. she didn't reach out to touch him, worried about where his boundaries lay. she was giving him all the control, he just needed to walk through the door.

she already knew. she already knew. she knew everything he was thinking. was that a good thing? or was he pathetic? emotional? needy? he nodded in appreciation, stepping past her and letting out a loud exhale, attempting to combat the noise of his own thoughts as he slipped off his shoes. she fumbled with the hem of her shirt as she waited.

she led him down a wooden floored hallway to the right into an open room, with a wide window that took up the entire wall. they lived on the same floor, yet their apartments were drastically different. his was much bigger, yet the smaller apartment fit her well. it was the perfect size for her and everything she seemed to need. while he often found any noise echoing through his apartment, her's seemed to be a perfect mix of rustic, cozy, and cluttered with decorations but organized.

their floor was high enough in the sky that they seemed to tower above the rest of the city that never slept. warm lights spilled from nearby glass buildings onto the neon signs illuminating the streets below, mixing wavelengths and giving the city a red glow; it was never truly dark in yokohama. past the window and the sight of the city, he noticed the plants and flowers that lined both her balcony and interior walls. his eyes then landed on her, standing in a makeshift kitchen; it wasn't separated from the lounge at all, except for the change in floor tiling. she stood straight from where she'd been reaching into a lower cabinet for a kettle, “do you want anything? tea?” she offered.

“yeah. please,” he replied quietly, taking a seat on her nearby couch. it was worn, but not in the way of stained fabric and frayed threads. he sunk into certain cushions that had begun to lose their color further than others and the base of the seat gave him a low groan. like everything else in her apartment, the piece of furniture was well-loved. 

he watched her in silence as she moved through the kitchen in practiced manner. her stove was in the center of the kitchen area, plenty of counter space and a sink alongside the appliance, forming a small island. the gentle noise of paper tearing, mugs clinking down onto the marble of the spotless white counters, and steaming hot water being poured into the mismatched cups helped quiet his mind down. he let her steal his full attention, bringing him back to the present. in this moment, nothing mattered more than the two hot mugs she was bringing over; not what had happened in the past, or what was going to happen in the future, all that mattered was her. she took a seat across from him on the other side of the couch, pulling her knees to her chest after she'd placed a mug down on the coffee table in front of him while keeping the other for herself. 

her voice broke through the silence that had settled over them after gotten settled, “is it about–”

he grimaced instinctively at the mention of him. he wasn’t used to talking about his thoughts, or other people reading his thoughts. he wasn’t even sure how he felt, which made his head spin more. were his emotions plain and easy to read for her? was he the only one that couldn’t quite understand how he felt? why did he feel so confused? he knew how he should feel; angry, upset, betrayed–and yet none of those words seemed to accurately capture the weight upon his heart inside of him.

he clenched his fists tightly before trying to calm himself down. he turned his body, copy her position. he held his mug in one hand before leaning his back against the arm of his side of the couch, bringing his arms to wrap around his legs.

“it’s just…” he needed to say it–he just needed to get it out. he’d give one more person a try, and if she didn’t respond well, he’d accept that he was fated to suffer alone for the rest of his life; it was as simple as that.

“it’s too quiet. i know,” she watched the steam curl up from the cup in her hand, similar to the living marks that twisted across her own skin.

that was it.

that was exactly it, and she was the only one who had admitted it, appeared to notice it, or simply let it show.

everything was too quiet, but no one had addressed it. no one around them talked more than they had to, or let the fact that an integral one of them had left. perhaps that had been part of why he’d showed up at her doorstep. he was sick of pretending nothing had happened and drinking alone trying to numb out his misery; he wanted to talk to someone other than himself without immediately comparing it to how things used to have been when he was still around.

because essentially, the mafia was nothing without dazai. he hated walking down the halls, past that one pillar the boy’s stupid bandaged hand had etched three lines into. it almost made chuuya think dazai knew he’d be leaving soon and was leaving his mark while he could. he hated the part of him that anticipated seeing dazai, every time he walked down a hall, getting ready to think of something snarky to say or give him a crude look.

but he never came.

they would never pass each other in the halls again.

that was now only something of the past, and it had happened for the last time only days ago without him even realizing it. whether dazai knew that, though, was another story.

yes, he felt betrayed by dazai. he could acknowledge that much. but his focus wasn’t on how the man had betrayed the entire port mafia, but how he had betrayed him. they both hated the other so much, but who else could chuuya trust in true times of peril? who else could he always rely on to come up with the strangest but smartest plans when there was no time to think? who else was familiar with every single movement chuuya made, and could predict even the movements he didn’t make but had thought of making?

the realization made him close his eyes, but a brush against his hand made him open them again.

“don’t keep it in your head, say it out loud. i’ll listen,” she held his gaze.

as if he even needed to say anything, she understood him completely. “i didn’t know him like you did– i wasn’t around him like you were, but i know.”

he’d averted his eyes at the statement. the way she looked at him and talked made him feel exposed as if he was bare in front of her despite how many walls he thought he’d built up to keep him safe from everyone around him. he focused instead on the shadowed tendril slithering down her hand, curling around her ring finger before she squeezed his hand still gently placed over his and he looked back up.

only then did he notice how tired she looked. 

in a normal instance, perhaps he would have quipped back that it was a good thing she wasn’t around dazai as much. he would have cursed dazai out, saying it was a pain being around him so much against his will. yet saying those things felt like reopening raw wounds that hadn’t yet closed. he’d been around dazai too much for his own good, and his absence still hurt. she hadn’t been around dazai as much, but it still hurt her. it had hurt everyone. he knew it wasn’t true anger he felt at the plain fact that dazai had left; was it hurt? was he hurt that dazai had left?

“i hate him. i hate him so much, you know. and yet i–” he hadn’t expected to get choked up on the words, but it was as if just starting to say what he felt out loud had begun to alleviate some of the pressure in his head and chest. and with that, came a burst of emotions and pain he'd been pushing down. it felt safe here, in her apartment. sitting on her couch, with her hand on his–he hadn't even truly realized how much he'd already opened up. it’d been such a natural progression, starting with her offering him something to drink, then touching his hand, and then he was letting his mind loose before he knew it. “i can’t understand why he left,” he whispered.

that was the root of the entire issue. call it the lesson he had learned from being around the man for so long, but chuuya knew it was impossible to try to understand dazai’s actions. it would only lead him down a never-ending rabit hole, yet he couldn't help but question why. everyone had called them a team. they were known as a team–the double black. the name and idea of a duo held weight in and of itself. dazai was the only one who could stop him in the event that he used corruption. there was no one else like them, and yet dazai had been able to simply leave as if those values meant nothing to him–as if chuuya meant nothing to him. they hated each other, yes, but that had still been more than nothing, right?

these were parts he couldn’t say out loud–at least not yet–but she hadn’t pushed it. instead, she gave voice to the rest of the feelings that plagued him, “i get it. no one knows what will happen after this; if he'll come back, or if he'll expose all our secrets. no one can understand dazai’s mind, and certainly no one was expecting an executive to suddenly up and leave. i didn’t work with him as closely as you did, but i’ve known and worked with him for long enough that i just feel so confused. i can't help but come up with reasons why he may have left–were we not enough? did we do something wrong?”

at some point, they ended up leaning against each other rather than facing each other. now that he’d been able to get the weight of the situation off his chest, he felt like he was about to crash out at any second after a week of tossing and turning. 

he hadn’t even spoken that much. [y/n] had talked the most and understood him completely. in the beginning, chuuya had wanted to label dazai as just a flat-out traitor, but of course dazai wasn’t that simple of a character. the day dazai had left, chuuya had fell into his bed wondering why, if they had been unstoppable, had that not been enough? 

but the girl next to him had been able to take some of those pointless questions that would never be answered off of his mind. and if his mind was no longer filled with accusations and insecurities based around the man that had left them both, then maybe he was ready to move on. “thank you, [y/n]. really,” he said, meaning to say it as a goodbye but he didn’t get up. he didn’t want to move.

she didn’t move either, her head staying where it was, resting on his shoulder, “if you want to stay here, that’s okay, chuuya. even though you’re just down the hall– if you just want company, that’s okay. you can stay here.”

she had read him so well his pride wanted to deny it, tell her she was wrong, and he didn’t need company or anything like that.

but it wasn’t that she was calling him weak, he had to realize. she was instead affirming to him that it was alright to want company–to not want to go to sleep or wake up alone.

as one last attempt to justify his stay on her couch, he once again told himself he was under the influence.

but that was a lie; he hadn’t touched a glass of wine since the bottle he’d opened in initial celebration of dazai’s disappearance a week ago. 

this was simply him listening to the pull in his chest, whatever that was.

the pull had led him here, to her apartment, and once they'd begun to lean on each other, the tug had disappeared. he'd found exactly where he'd needed to be.

with her.

yes this is in fact the chapter that started it all which is much like the oneshot I wrote 🙂‍↕️

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

but it's nice to see how I've hopefully improved with my small edits!

due to [y/n]'s ability, there are always parts of her skin enveloped in shadows that are ever-moving and changing. the more (mentally) unstable she becomes the more her shadows consume her body

[y/n] and chuuya live in the same apartment building on the same floor. there are rooms on both sides of the hallways and then one big more penthouse-esque at the end of the hallway if that makes sense. chuuya lives in the apartment at the end of the hallway and [y/n] lives in one of the ones on the sides

i have reference pictures if anyone is confused and i deeply apologize for the confusion

and also I thank you all for all of your love so far!! it means the world i'm kissing each one of you individually MWAH <3

taglist: @kameyyy @miiyas @saoirseyun @phoenix-eclipses @writingandmusing @strawberryuri @viovya (form to be added to taglist! <3)

[americas1suiteheart]

Not In On The Joke || Sequel

Brian "Q" Quinn x Fem! Reader

(NOT MAKING A PART 3!!)

Summary; Q and Y/n go on a date. Sequal to Not In On The Joke.

Notes; I wrote a sequel/part II!! I figured why not, as well as the asks I've been getting.. 3rd person POV btw

Warnings; Some foul language, though not very much.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

A date.

It had been ages since Y/n has been on a date, a few years to be exact, and she was scared out of her wits.

A week ago, some random guy came up to her one day out of nowhere, flirted with her and asked for her number, as well as making her late for a meeting.

She didn't mean to be disrespectful, but man was he hot.

It was just going to be a simple café date, nothing fancy, so she got ready and put on a t-shirt and the first pair of pants she saw in her drawer, of course with a jacket and her favourite blue scarf due to the cold weather. Looks good enough, presentable.

On the other hand, Q was going way over the top, for one of the first times, he was anxious.

"What about this one?"

"Q, it's a café," Sal says, crossing his arms.

"And it's a date! What if she dressed up?" Q looks at Sal and throws his arms up.

"You know what, do what you want, I'm out," Sal says as he walks away.

Q now looks at Sal in astonishment.

"This is fine. This will be fine." He tells himself as he looks in his closet and picks his Superman t-shirt and a black sweater.

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

Maybe Y/n shouldn't have been too early. She showed up 20 minutes early out of nervousness that she'd be late.

She'd already been through two cups of tea and a scone. A really big scone.

Her phone dings with a buzz. It was a text from Q.

Brian (Q): I should be there in 5 minutes ;) - 1:34 pm

Y/n lets out a deep breath, 'Finally,' she thought to herself.

Wait.

The winky face?

The fact that she started to burn up at something so small and simple made her even more embarrassed than before.

She sipped on her water and waited some more. She looked around, the ambiance of this café was mesmerising, dimly lit, some plants here and there on shelfs, and soft jazz playing. Now she knows why Brian picked this place. It was so cozy and nice in here.

"Y/n?"

She turns around to see Q standing next to the two seater round table.

She quickly gets up from her seat and puts her hand out to shake his. She had no clue what she was supposed to do.

"Brian, hello, I'm glad you were able to make it!" She says as he awkwardly looks at her hand.

The uncomfortable pause made her realize that there was no need to be professional, "Oh my goodness, I'm– I'm so sorry, Brian, I apologise for the odd professionalism," she says as she pulls him into a hug, to which he returns.

"It's alright don't worry and don't apologise sweetheart," Q says, pulling away from the hug and sitting down in the chair opposite of Y/n's.

"So.."

"Uh, how have you been? How was that meeting?" Q asked with a small smile.

Y/n smiles, "It's been alright so far, the meeting went well, I was only just a tad bit late but I wasn't chewed out for it," she laughs, "how about you, Brian?"

'Good chance to say something,' Q thinks to himself. "It's been good but it's a lot better now that I'm sitting here with you," He says with a wink.

Y/n turns bright red at the flirtation and begins to laugh a few moments later, a genuine one. A genuine laugh that made Q smile even bigger than he had before.

"Likewise, Brian. Oh, I ordered just some waters, I didn't know what you wanted so.." She said awkwardly.

"Thank you, I hope I didn't make you wait too long." He was trying his best not to be stupid, say anything stupid. But working with his friends for years will do something to anyone.

She lies, "Oh no not at all, I got here about 5 or 10 minutes before," She didn't want to make him feel bad on the first date, but she did think for a moment that he stood her up.

Q and Y/n talked for a while after ordering their meals, simply things that one would speak about on a first date, things that they like such as food or music, but even that wasn't enough for Y/n to get to know Q.

"What do you do? Like, job wise," Y/n asks, taking a sip of her water.

Q panicked for a second. 'How the hell am I supposed to tell her I work on a national television show? That proves me to be totally stupid at times!' He thought to himself.

"Uh, well–"

"Heres that hamburger, and the special," the waitress interrupts, "would you two like anything else to drink?"

"Thank you, I'll just take a black coffee," Y/n says.

"And for you sir?"

"A Coke, would be nice,"

The waitress jots down the two drinks onto her notepad, "I'll be right back with that," she says as she leaves.

"Black coffee? Not even with a little bit of sugar in it?" Q questions, an amused look on his face.

"Pfft, no way! I only put sugar in my tea, and it has to be a specific one." She laughs.

"Specific one? Like what?"

"Well, most black teas pair great with sugar and cream. Take London fog for example. It's Earl Grey black tea with steamed milk, sugar or sweetener, and lavender extract. Herbal and white teas pair better with honey, same with green teas. And then there are some that just taste good by themselves," She explains. Q admired how intelligently she spoke about this.

"Well, you've proved me wrong. Guess you'll have to show me all the different ones some other time, sweetheart," Q flirts, sending her a wink.

Y/n began to burn up once more at not only the pet name and firting, but also his asking for another date, "Are you suggesting another date, Brian?" She smirks.

"Possibly," He sets his arms on the table and leans closer towards her.

"Here's that coffee, and here's that Coke for you guys. Can I get anything out of the way?" The waitress had unfortunately been interrupting most of the date, and for some reason, Q believed it was on purpose.

"No thank you," Y/n smiles, "So, that reminds me, you never answered my question asking you about what you do for a living. Care to share?" She asks after the waitress leaves the table.

Q hesitated, should he really tell her or lie? 'What's the use in lying?' He thought to himself.

"Well, it's a little complicated," He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh? How so?"

"I kinda work in the television buissiness,"

"Like what? Tech? Acting?" Y/n questioned, her brow crooking.

Shit.

"Unscripted reality TV show." Slip of the tounge..

"Wow, really! That's so cool! What sort of show?" She exclaimed a little too loudly for the liking of everyone else inside of the café, earning a few looks and glares from others.

"Well it's this thing me and my friends all do, it's kind of like challenges and stuff," Q was sheepish, he was afraid that Y/n might like him only for his fame.

"Oh, so you're like, a star of the show? What's it called?"

"Impractical Jokers,"

"I think I've heard of it before, though I don't think I've ever watched it. Unless there was an episode without you because then I would definitely remember a face like yours," Now it was Y/n's turn to flirt.

"U-uh well, no, I've never missed a shooting before," Q was glad she'd never seen it, especially with all of the stupid and embarrassing shit he's done. And that episode with her in it. She'd hate him.

"I'll have to see it, then," Y/n says before finishing her food.

Oh jeez..

"Anything I can get out of your way?"

How many times has she come already?

"This plate and– Brian, do you need to get rid of anything?" Y/n asks politely.

"Yeah, the two plates, please." Q stacked the plates on top of each other as Y/n put the used napkins and utensils on them.

"Oh, can I get the check as well?"

"Of course, I'll be right back with that for you two." The waitress collects the plates and leaves. Leaving for what felt like the millionth time.

Y/n sighed and adjusted herself in the seat, looking around the café and finally settling her eyes back on to Q, "You have pretty eyes, did you know that?" She complimented.

Q wasn't one to get flustered. He was a guy, what kind of guy flusters as easily as him?

He finally snapped out of it, immediately thinking of something better to say, "Not as pretty as yourself, I assure you."

Y/n flushes and looks away in a pathetic attempt at hiding the bright red that tinted her cheeks.

"Here's the check, will you be splitting it?" The waitress asks, putting the black booklet with a pen and receipt on the table.

"No, that's alright. Just my card,"

"And here I thought the man was supposed to pay for the date? Hmm.." The waitress hummed, a look of disappointment on her face as she took the card from Y/n and walked off.

Q looks at her astounded, she practically judged him before he even got the chance to offer his own card. There was definitely something off.

"I could've gotten that for ya' you know?" Q frowns.

Y/n laughs, "It's alright, Brian. I don't mind at all. It was your treat taking me here, I could at least pay the bill,"

"Let me pay the tip?"

"Be my guest."

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

"Thank you for this, Brian. I had a lot of fun, I haven't had that in a while," Y/n smiles at Q who was walking her to her car.

"No problem, sweetheart. I had a great time with you, too. You still up for that other date?" Q asks.

For the millionth time, her smile grew bigger, deeming it to be possible one could smile that largely, "I'm more than up for that other date,"

"Great. I'll be talking to you soon, then," Q stops where Y/n's car was parked.

"Of course, talk to you soon, darling." Y/n says, placing a small peck on his cheek before entering her car.

Q stood still, "Darling.." He whispered to himself, a smile quickly making a way to his face.

"Look who's lovestruck,"

Q turns around to see a camera crew and his three friends approaching him, "What the hell?"

"How was the date? Darling," Joe asked, nudging Q's arm.

"Wait, wait! Was she in on this? Did you guys spy on us?" Q exclaims, confused and upset.

Murr snickers and walks away with the crew and other two Jokers.

"Was she in on this! Hey!" Q shouted, unable to go after them.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

I did this really fast, I think I wrote it in like, a week? And finished it at 3 am so😬 I dunno if it's sloppy, but here's your sequel.

[itsbenedict]

Did anyone else play Cluefinders as a kid? They were these edutainment point-and-click adventures, sort of... Indiana Jones by way of Scooby-Doo? These were my jam back in the day, and I went back to them to see how they held up.

And the answer is... uh, there's a surprising range of quality!

Basic Cluefinders knowledge:

The Cluefinders are a group of mystery-solving teens, who, uh. It's not entirely clear how they find clients, but they're apparently world-renowned for it.

Joni, the redhead with the glasses, is the leader. She is spunky and belligerent and likes to punch problems until they're not problems.

Owen, the green shirt kid, is Shaggy. He talks in surfer dude slang and likes to eat. He's just Shaggy.

Leslie is Velma. Just Velma. That's kind of it. She uses big words and knows about science and things.

Santiago is also there. He has a phone? I think his trait is that he has a phone.

Laptrap is the mascot character and the game's menu. He is a hovering robot turtle thingy. His job is to be scared of things and complain about them. Both entirely reasonable reactions to the things that are happening! He is nonetheless treated as an embarrassing wet blanket and deserves better.

3rd Grade is weirdly the best one, I think? And the first one they made, indicating that the budget dried up at some point. It's this kind of mystery about an evil dragon that's been terrorizing a magic jungle full of living plants and talking monkeys and stuff, and it's got like 20 different educational minigames that teach and test various skills. The writing is like, very stupid and for-kids, but not offensively so. It all comes together with a twist villain that they foreshadow pretty well over the course of the game.

And there's musical numbers!

Fun stuff! I was kind of surprised by how well it held up. The others... did not, as much.

The fourth grade one is... bad. It has this structure where there's just four minigames, and you have to do them over and over and over and over again to get enough "Cairoglyphs" to proceed. Proceed how? An old man decrypts them and tells you clues. What clues? Don't even worry about it. Once you get enough of those, we switch to a second phase of the game that's also doing four minigames over and over and over again, this time to get gems to get past way too many doors in an ancient temple. It drags things out so much.

And the rest of it is... truly bizarre. Everyone's drawn totally off-model. It's narrated by a talking dog with a Brooklyn accent who's treated like a core member of the group despite never showing up again, and concerns... uh, a plot by an evil egyptologist to resurrect Set and take over the world? Maybe? It's very weird and loosely-sketched. Like... nothing connects.

The badguy is a comically extreme Dan Backslide ne'er-do-well, and he's the only part of the game that's any fun. I love him. He does not have a motive. He does not have a reason to kidnap "the professor" who the player's stated goal is to save. The professor appears to only exist for this guy to gloat to about how evil he is to. He dies almost immediately upon realizing his ultimate ambition when the evil god he resurrects predictably fails to recognize the authority of his summoner. Could not be more stereotypical, but the voice actor is clearly having the time of his life and the energy is infectious.

The rest, though... The Cluefinders' connection to this kidnapped professor is something it has no interest in describing, apparently banking on the audience's willingness to accept that they must just be walking in on an episode of a show whose background was established earlier (it wasn't).

It's hard to even describe how silly the climax of this one is. You... collect gemstones from talking mice on behalf of a sinister cat, who lets you into a temple where various ancient Egyptian gods congratulate you on being so smart and give you entirely useless superpowers.

Joni gets "bravery" (a costume change, she was already brave), Leslie gets "intelligence" (a costume change, she was already the Smart One), Owen gets flight (a costume change, useful precisely Never for any of the puzzles that involve finding a way to cross over a pit), and Santiago gets "strength" (a costume change, useful precisely never for any of the puzzles that involve finding a way past a heavy stone door). Then, in short order, you arrive at the villain's lair somehow, too late to stop his evil plan! But then, you do anyway! By, uh...

...you, um... it all happens in a cutscene, and I couldn't follow the mechanics of it at all, but there was some kind of mechanism in the temple? And they had Santiago lift up some pillars? And this somehow resulted in Set falling into a bottomless pit and that's the end?

I... I dunno, man. I dunno what happened here.

The 5th Grade one is pretty wild. There's like, a floating island that eats people? It collects castaways from across various time periods, somehow, and shlorps them down into some bottomless pits that appear out of nowhere, and you gotta figure out what's up.

The writing is like... weirdly... I wouldn't call it good, but the writers put their actual-writer hats on for it. There's one minigame that's like a reading comprehension thing, where there's all these lore journal entries from various survivors ruminating on their situation (and they're broken up into paragraphs and scrambled so you have to put them in the right order for the entry to make sense), and you get this kind of background on the culture clash of castaways from different time periods banding together to avoid being eaten by the island (and ultimately failing).

Gameplay's pretty bad, though. 3rd Grade had 20 different minigames, 4th Grade generously had 13, and this one's got eight. In terms of reusing content by making you do the same thing over and over to bypass arbitrary obstacles, it's one of the worst offenders.

There is this guy, though:

There's a minigame where... god, it's such an off-the-wall justification for the minigame, but- it's a geography minigame about reading maps and stuff. There'll be various cities or states or countries on a map, and you start at one and need to reach another target one, and you have a bunch of rules written down like "don't pass through Illinois" or "you must cross the Mississippi river twice", and then use a limited number of options to chart a path from point A to point B that satisfies all the conditions. Kind of fun, honestly.

But this guy- the fluff for it is that he's the notorious Cryptile Thief. He stole everyone's cryptiles, and to keep them safe, he threw them into, uh...

...this small grove of piranha plants. He knows how to get them back, because he knows some safe paths through the evil flytrap cluster, somehow. But he wrote down his paths in code, basically, in the form of those constrained maps. No explanation is given for how he mapped real-world geography problems to flytrap-safe loot routes, but supposedly it Just Works. Problem is, he got locked up by the villagers for stealing everyone's cryptiles, and can't get out.

(No, it is not explained why in the world the villagers had a bunch of cryptiles and why they valued them or what he was trying to accomplish by stealing them.)

But then while he was in the stocks the ground opened up and slowly devoured all the other villagers one by one, including the ones with the fucking key, so unless someone goes and saves them, he'll be stuck here forever. It's kind of grim! It's unclear how the time-warping aspect works, and how long this guy's actually been here. Is he immortal and he's been here for three hundred years, or did all this happen yesterday? He acts like it was yesterday, but there's also a crazy old man castaway who acts like it's been decades at least.

Anyway, 6th Grade was, if I recall correctly, about an underground army of sentient mutant plants plotting an invasion of the surface world, but this was apparently when they discovered 3D graphics and did a lot of experimental bullshit under the hood that no longer works on modern computers. It kept crashing on room transitions when it was trying to do fancy 3D effects. Womp womp.

The only other one of these I played (besides some sort of... weird day planner software that wasn't really a game) was Math Adventures, which I remember being my favorite as a kid but I couldn't tell you why. It was based around this logic cube thing, where- after completing minigames for villagers- you'd get clues that would let you eliminate possible culprits, until you got down to one and could corner them.

Culprits of what? There's this remote Himalayan village where the village's treasures have all been mysteriously stolen. Somehow the Cluefinders get wind of this and go to solve it, and then... you play eight minigames over and over again.

Structurally, it's very weird. You corner the culprit, and invariably it's one of the minigame host NPCs who just says "okay, yes, I took this thing and hid it here, but it's because I was being threatened by the yeti! So we're cool, right?" and then the village chief goes yeah, "we're cool, we're not going to have you face any consequences for this." (If they went to jail, how could you play their minigame fifteen more times?) Repeat, yes, fifteen times, until you've recovered all eight treasures. Yes. There's duplicates of these priceless unique treasures, for no apparent reason. I think they designed it around eight and then decided to double it to pad it out???

Some of the minigames are cool and challenging, like the one where ice blocks fall from a conveyor belt and you have to form them into valid math equations. Others are...

...a really shoddily-implemented breakout clone where you have to catch numbers to solve equations, but the game can only handle three numbers onscreen at once so actually being good at breakout is actively disadvantageous because breaking too many blocks at once just makes it harder to hit blocks later. Or... uh... the second one there, where, um... these blobs of purple goo with numbers on them come down a track, and you need to shoot them at these shelves to splat the right numbers into place based on the graph to the left. It gets insanely hard later in the game, because there'll be three rows of shelves and three graphs and the graphs will stop conveniently locking to the marked numbers so you have to try and eyeball whether that line on the line graph which bends between 20 and 30 is doing so at 26 or 27. If you ever get one wrong you instafail and have to reset. Ugh.

(Why is this happening in a library? What are we accomplishing? How does any of it help this woman remember a clue to the mystery? Not one second of thought is spared for these questions.)

Anyway the ultimate culprit was the only NPC who doesn't have a minigame and only shows up in the opening cutscene to loudly blame the stolen treasures on the yeti and insist that everyone give up on finding them. This was not even surprising to me when I was eleven years old. Very lame.

I never had any of the rest of them! I'm kinda curious to play them and see what I was missing, even though I kind of don't expect any of them to have been good.

Anyone else remember these things? Or know what was going on with the one with the scary clown rollercoaster or the evil toy store?

[triaelf9]

absolutely fascinating, that post I make about ppl who make it their life's goal to be miserable to other ppl online reaching the point where it slipped out of orbit and just made a mad dash through a lot of random folks ahah. Very much a microcosm of the internet for sure.

I was specifically referencing the ppl connected to the g@ter movements b/c they all seem to have a very specific playbook, (cant forget that they know everything about art and game making and journalism and film making despite never doing anything in it, and of course the bonus transphobia/racism/etc) but also it was kinda me thinking about like...just make sure you branch out? like find joy in things that isn't just hurting other people? You don't have to be nice to everyone, you don't even have to not be a hater but like...knocking off the personal attacks that the fascists use could be cool, and like, I dunno, make sure you smile at something else that isn't telling artists they should become obsolete b/c they can do something you can't? or like, turn some very well deserved anger to things that need it and affect the real world we all live in & maybe make some change? I dunno, it IS open ended, so I guess death of the author is bound to happen like most meme-y things lol

I just didn't expect it to go anywhere to be honest ahaha. I do appreciate that is speaks to most folks in the way I hoped it would, and I hope everyone has their potted plant they can enjoy, whatever form it may take lol

[running-in-the-dark]

today was exhausting - my friend was here for about 7 hours and I just. oh man I love her and all but it's just a lot sometimes. it's probably for the best that we only meet up like 2-4 times a year now (gives me enough time to forget how draining it is so I look forward to it, and recover afterwards)

I don't talk to anyone but my husband most days, and he doesn't really talk. so that's maybe 15 minutes total of talking. and today it was literally. 7 hours. no breaks except when we were eating (but no even then someone was always talking).

first of all ouch, it hurts (my voice is very hoarse now). and also. it's so so so draining. like. we really have nothing in common at this point. but she's my oldest friend and I do love her so it's tolerable... but just barely. these days there's way too much diet/food/weight loss talk, and also she seems to be getting into alternative medicine which I cannot fucking stand (it's one topic where I can't pretend or be nice about it either). lots and lots of very preachy vegan stuff too (I don't have any problems with it, I admire people who can do it, but fuck dude you know I eat meat and that I've said many times that I *can't* go vegan (I would starve. there's not enough foods that would be left. seriously.) and it feels pretty shitty to keep going on about it every damn time. I'm not sitting there trying to convince her that she should really be an atheist or something, because I know what her thoughts are about that and I respect it.

when she hangs out with her other friends a lot it's mostly just talking about all the issues that come from that (they fucking suck). I don't know, it kind of feels like I'm her therapist. when I talk about something I'm interested in she doesn't ask many questions and it kind of sucks. like, dude I don't care about your plants either, but I'm interested because you care, so. maybe try that too. would be nice!

[milfbrainrot]

kdksjf wait so presumably the Fixer Watcher runs into in Chapter one in the memory thing is actually Principal manipulating the simulation.

So. "She whispers to an Occupant" and "We were supposed to fight the Occupants, not fuck them" thing is... so much more interesting through the lens of Principal's obsession with Iris. Like she's jealous that Iris is close with an Occupant the way she wants Iris to be close to her ??? Absolutely insane implications

[fucktoru]

satoru’s pregnant wife who can’t keep her hands off him. you’re far along now, and he swears that the more your stomach grows with his child, the hornier you get.

he had to keep on his toes around you in order to not get you so worked up. the pregnancy hormones were really getting to you, and you lashed out at him or cried over every little inconvenience. but what he had to be most careful about was the way he touched you.

if his hand lingered a little too long on your waist — the intention wholeheartedly innocent — you’d somehow take that as an invitation to palm his bulge. it’s happened numerous times recently—even in public!

his poor, pregnant wife had no shame nowadays. yeah, he’s done his fair share of groping your ass when others were around, but it was always under a private eye, secret giggles shared between the two of you.

unfortunately, you had picked up the habit of doing it out in the open. he couldn’t count the amount of times people would gawk in horror, all while you continued to browse the baby section, unbothered, as if you hadn’t squeezed his balls like a stress toy in front of dozens of people. maybe you were an exhibitionist?

either way, it was clear your thoughts only consisted of three things as of late: eat, sleep, and fuck.

how could he resolve this? he wanted to cry. this wasn’t fair! why couldn’t you be this thirsty for his cock when you weren’t pregnant? never in his life would he have thought you could out-freak him. and as badly as he wanted to fuck you senseless in return, he had to be gentle—cautious. sex was increasingly dangerous at this stage — according to the doctor after a long night of abusing your needy cunt — and you were driving him to the brink of madness with the way you were acting.

tensions were higher than they’ve ever been, neither of you speaking or acting on it. however, things came to ahead one morning while he was leaving for work. like usual, he stood by the door in his suit, prepared to head out after your usual once-over. it was a domestic routine he looked forward to every morning despite him whining in your ear about how he was going to be late, watching you softly as you “fix” his collar for the millionth time.

satoru wasn’t stupid. he could tell you were stalling for more time with him, not-so discreetly using it as an excuse to touch him. and don’t think he doesn’t notice how you’re practically sniffing him like an animal in heat. he knew just how much you loved the scent of his cologne, and it was as if you couldn’t help yourself around him when you caught a whiff of it.

now, here’s the part where he may have messed up. after your initial aggressive arousal towards him — plus with the advice the doctor gave him on the down low — he made sure to no longer kiss you on the lips in your current state, and instead, opted for your cheek. when you hand him his lunch, he leans himself down to your height, lips puckered to plant a chaste peck on your soft skin.

though, what he hadn’t expected was for you to outmaneuver him, slapping both hands on the sides of his head, tugging him close to the point that he stumbles as you begin to utterly ravish his mouth.

“mff—!”, satoru sputters in protest against your lips, eyes wide open in shock. his lunch slips from his hand, the bag falling to the ground with a thud. shaky hands hover over your waist, your protruding stomach pressing against his hard abdomen as move against him as sensually as you can.

he doesn’t touch you back just yet, but you force him to. gripping his wrists, you bring his large hands up to palm your round, tender breasts that swelled throughout these past few months. your soft, cherry-flavored lips moved against his in desperation, and he finally responds back, moaning into your mouth with just as much fervor, squeezing the plump flush of your soft tits. the whimper you let out to the massage sends a shudder down his spine and goes straight to his cock.

you pull back, and he finds himself chasing after your lips until you plant a firm hand on his chest. his breathing is ragged, pupils dilated as satoru stares down at you through his blindfold. he takes in the sight of your kiss-swollen lips and furrowed brows, certain he appeared just as flustered.

before he can utter a word, you gaze up at him through your lashes, a cheeky glint in your eyes that he knows all too well.

“stay.” you pout, and he almost finds the willpower left in him to say no—

“please?”

you didn’t have to ask him twice.

[confinesofmy]

bought a halloween themed air plant and the bastards glued it into its pot. i soaked it and peeled it off but the roots were like fully embedded in the glue. so now it's time to play the waiting game and see if it will survive. 🙄 why did they dooo that.

[starkeysprincess]

"we listen & we don't judge" escalates after a little white lie༉ೀ

warnings — fluff at first, mention of rafe being a panty stealer (are we even surprised…) reader telling a little white lie, oral (f. receiving), spanking, mirror sex, fingering, being put in a headlock, praising & degradation, slight daddy kink, unprotected sex, overstimulation wc — 1.5k a/n — based on this post i made & ty @whytheylosttheirminds for letting me spew dialogue ideas to you <333

"do we have to do this stupid challenge? i don't see what the point of it is," your boyfriend groaned while you set your phone up, propping it against your vanity mirror. "rafe, not everything has to have a point," you pout, "it's just a silly little challenge where we say things we wouldn't normally tell each other, and we can't judge, it'll be fun!".

“okay, i’ll do it,” his face softened when he noticed how excited you looked to do something as simple as playing a challenge with him. he watched your face light up, “wait, really? you’re actually agreeing to doing it? willingly?”.

"i figured if i disagreed, then you would’ve forced me anyway,” rafe teased, a small chuckle bubbling from his throat when you lightly smacked his chest. “hey, ‘m just messing with you, you know i’d do anything for you,” he planted a soft kiss on your cheek, “alright, start recording before i decide to use the camera for something else.”.

“rafe,” you smacked his chest again before hitting the ‘record’ button, “we listen, and we don’t judge,” the two of you say in unison. “the first time you buzzed your hair off, i lied, and said i liked it," you turned to look at him. "what? why did you keep letting me cut it if you didn't like it?" you shrugged, "unlike your hair, it started to grow on me."

"we listen, and we don't judge," you say together. rafe pauses to think, "whenever i don't wanna hang out with topper and kelce, i tell them it's 'cause you don't want me to go out." your eyes widen, "what? is that why they're always making those snarky little comments?"

as the two of you played, the confessions soon started becoming less innocent, “remember when i dropped you off at your house after our first date, and i asked to use the bathroom before i left?”. you quirked an eyebrow at the sound of rafe’s chuckle, “well, i went into your room and stole a few pairs of your panties.”

“i knew i wasn’t crazy when i noticed a few missing!” rafe laughed at your small outburst, “hey, we listen, and we don’t judge, remember? and i eventually made it up to you later on when we started dating.”you rolled your eyes, “since we’re not judging, whenever i don’t feel like having sex, i just say i’m on my period.”

"oh, we're going that way now, huh? okay. sometimes, after you suck me off, i tell you that i'm tired, so i don't have to go down on you." you blink and stare at him in disbelief through the screen, “you can’t judge.” your mind was racing with what you could say to get back at him before settling on a little white lie, “you know what? that’s fine. it’s fine, ‘cause i faked a couple orgasms within the past few weeks.”

you giggled at the fact you rendered him speechless, but your laughter quickly died down once you felt the anger radiating off him. “rafe—” you turned to look at him, “take that shit off,” he clenched his jaw, reaching forward, and snatching your phone off the vanity to stop it from recording any further. “where are you going?” you frown, watching him stand up, “rafe…come on, it was just a harmless—“.

his hand wrapped around your arm, “you think this shit is funny?” rafe yanked you up from your chair before bending you over your vanity. he pushed your skirt up, letting it bunch around your hips, your body jolting forward from the impact his palm made on your ass. "rafe! i was joking, i'm sorry!" you tried to stand up, only for him to shove you back down, your flesh stinging as he delivered another sharp smack. “did i tell you to move?” he grabbed your hands, forcing them to lay on top of the vanity, “don’t fuckin’ move your hands.”

he nudged your legs apart, dropping to his knees behind you. his fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them down your legs, leaving them to pool around your ankles. his hands ran up the back of your thighs to the globes of your ass, pulling them apart. “not even surprised you’re wet,” he tsked, his gaze fixated on your glossy cunt. your jaw went slack, feeling his tongue move along your folds before sucking your puffy clit into his mouth. you wanted nothing more than to reach behind you and pull him closer, but in an attempt to keep your hands planted on the vanity, you settled for rolling your hips against his tongue.

a whine bubbled in your throat when rafe pulled away and stood up, his hand landing on your ass. he leaned over you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “i meant it when i said don’t fuckin’ move.” his arm moving to wrap around your neck, keeping your head upright, your eyes meeting his in the mirror of the vanity as he puts you in a headlock. he pulls you back, making your back arch into his chest as his fingers trailed up your inner thighs to your cunt, running along your slick folds, his thick digits slipping inside you with ease.

“you’re gonna stay still and take what i give you,” he pumped his fingers, scissoring them in and out of your soaked hole. you let out a strained moan, his bicep digging into your throat the more your nails clawed at his skin. “yeah…there you go, takin’ my fingers like a good little slut,” he cooed, “look at how desperate you are for it.”

the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit, circling it in time with each pump of his fingers. “r-rafe,” you whimpered, your free hand sliding to grab at his wrist between your plush thighs. “what is it, baby? you wanna cum? wanna show me what you faking it looks like?” he taunts, curling his fingers, stroking that spongy spot inside you. the coil in your stomach tightens, and you look at him with heavy-lidded eyes in the reflection of the mirror, your nails sinking into the flesh of his hand. “good girl, show daddy that he knows how to make you cum,” he rasps.

your orgasm washes over you, your cries of pleasure filling your bedroom, making your head roll forward against his bicep. “atta girl,” rafe whispered, your legs trembling as he continued to pump his fingers, his thumb still working your clit. you squirm, trying to get out of his arms, “shh, s’okay. gotta make up for all those times i supposedly didn’t make you cum, yeah?”

his fingers slipped from your cunt, snaking up your body to your mouth, pushing past your lips, and forcing you to taste yourself. rafe removed his arm from around your neck, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck, guiding you till you were bent over the vanity again. he worked the button and zipper of his pants, pushing them with his boxers, off his hips, and kicking them aside. rafe slotted himself between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock along your glistening folds.

he thrusted into you, a squeal slipping past your lips at the delicious stretch his thick length had to offer. his fingers threaded through your hair, tugging at the roots to pull your head up as he set a brutal pace. your eyes were met with your reflection, your fucked out expression staring back at you as his hips smacked against your ass. your bedroom is met with the sound of your cunt squelching around him, “f-fuck, rafe,” you hiccuped. rafe watched as your brows pinched together in pleasure, your hands gripping the edge of the vanity, and your nails scratching at the wood.

“what’s wrong? can’t take my cock?,” rafe grunted. you yelped; the searing pain from your hair being pulled is overpowered by the pleasure. tears welled in your eyes, your mascara smudging under your eyes as tears ran down your cheeks. he dipped his head, leaving sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kisses on the flesh of your neck, his tongue flicking out to run up the side of your neck to your ear, “s’what happens when you wanna be funny and run your mouth.”

he nipped at your earlobe. the tip of his cock persistently hitting your cervix as he thrusted into you relentlessly, his hand snaking to your front, rubbing your pulsing clit in harsh circles. “rafe…’m gonna cum!” you choke out a moan. “yeah? cum f’me, baby. need you to show me how good i make you feel,” rafe moaned in your ear, feeling your walls pulse around his length. your legs shook, your orgasm hitting you tenfold as you cried out his name.

his hips didn’t falter, his cock continuing to pound into your soaked cunt. “n-no, rafe, s’too much,” you stuttered, sobbing from the overwhelming pleasure, reaching behind you to push his hips away. rafe grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back, “no, no, no, you can take it. i don’t care if you’ve drained me completely of my cum, ‘m not gonna stop till that pretty little head of yours can’t even remotely think about saying that shit again.”

tagging: @oceandriveab @babygorewhore @bloodibambiidoll @cameronsprincess @starkeysbabygirl @nemesyaaa @rafesangelita @rafeyscurtainbangs @rafesthroatbaby @fae-of-prey @sturnioloshacker @heartsforvin @drewsephrry @fallbhind @hallecarey1 @ilovefiction4lmen @jjslaybank @kisses4angels @userchai @whinyangel @rafeysangelbaby @momoewn @kazanskied @zyafics @saintlike05 @st7rnioioss @coco-cinnamon @sturnskiss @blckbrrybasket @wearemadeofstardust0 @starkeysbebe @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @starkeysheart

[reignpage]

Lying To Himself

Content: in which toji is left alone and how he deals with your temporary absence

You have to leave for two weeks, something about a mission in another city. Your boyfriend, Toji, swears it'll be okay, even insists that time will pass by in a blink of an eye. 

“‘m not a fucking child, ma. I’ll be fine. Just take care, yeah?”

And so, you peck him on his lips and wave goodbye before you get in the car. Then you’re disappearing in the distance. Toji shrugs, going back in feeling pretty excited to have the house to himself for two weeks — this has never happened before. As he sits on the couch, bottle of beer in one hand and tv remote on the other, he thinks about all the things he can do now.

The toilet seat can stay up, the bins will be full for longer, same goes for the dirty dishes in the sink, and he can watch whatever he wants; no more of those sappy romcoms with predictable plots and cheesy lines. 

“’s gonna be fun,” he mutters, a growing grin on his face. 

A couple days pass in relative silence, he stays out late, sleeps till noon and eats all the junk you’ve banned from the house. Toji cooks all the steak he wants and leaves the beer bottles to collect dust on the coffee table. And he accepts every invitation from his buddies to go out for drinks, watch basketball at the bar, and plays a couple games too.

He stays up all night, on the evenings he's not getting stupid drunk, playing videogames -- the violent ones you cringe at. During the day, he walks around the place in just his boxers, sometimes not even that, and it's liberating. All a man needs is to be free to be balls naked in their own kitchen.

"You're not missing her at all?" Shiu asks, smoke blowing in his face as they stand in the back alley, leaning against the wall of the bar.

Toji snorts. "What am I? Five years old? I can last a couple weeks without being sappy."

His friend gives him a look, half amused, half disbelieving and a hundred percent smug. None of them miss the death grip he has on his phone, the way his knee is bouncing, and how he isn't even looking at the hot chicks that sway their asses as they walk by.

It’s been great. Really fucking great. 

You haven’t been texting much. Sure, you check in here and there, letting him know you’re alright, you’re safe, and making sure he’s watered your plants. However, there are rarely any opportunities for phone calls longer than five minutes, no FaceTime either, and sometimes he goes to sleep without a ‘goodnight’ from you. 

It’s fine. 

At least, he can sleep at whatever time he wants without you whining about needing cuddles.

More days pass just like that. 

And now he’s rarely leaving the house, finding his drunk friends boring, obnoxiously loud. It’s like he's suddenly realised they’re kinda fucking stupid. He starts to get sick of all the steak and fried chicken and takeaway, and instead he’ll text you for the recipe of your lasagne or that smoothie you make him in the mornings that’s always greener than the last. 

His feet tap on the floor when you don’t reply straight away. And when his phone lights up, he practically dives for it and grips it tight in his palm, screen threatening to crack when it’s not from you. 

“God fucking dammit, Shiu. Don’t fucking talk to me if it’s not important.”

The movies he’s been dying to watch are pretty shit. There’s no depth, no proper pacing, and the dialogue’s cheesy as fuck. Usually, you’d throw popcorn at the screen and complain about all those things, but he finds that he has to mutter them to himself for white noise. Even smirks when he thinks he got it exactly right, guessing what you’d say as if you’re yapping right in his ear. 

“She’d totally find that shit stupid. And that blood looks fake as fuck. What was the fucking budget for this shit?”

Most of the phone calls on his history log are from him, more reds than greens. What the fuck have they got you doing over there anyways? 

When you do reply to his ‘g’night’ and ‘hey, sleep well?’, he’ll have a go at you for taking so damn long. It’s just fucking ridiculous that you’re clearly sleeping well when he has to hit the gym and tire himself out to even get an hour of shut eye nowadays. Sometimes, he can’t even get any and he just paces the length of the living room waiting for a notification from you to pop up. 

“Fucking come on! Y'r phone better be dead or something.”

Toji hates having dinner on the table; the seat opposite him is empty, the placemat bare and he feels a freaky fucking soreness in his chest. When that happens, he never finishes his dinner. Must be a symptom of early heart disease. Gotta talk to the doctors about that. 

Instead, he eats on the sofa or in his car.

Eventually, you find time to speak to him for an hour, recounting all the crazy things you’ve seen and had to do. He doesn’t interrupt, he just grunts here and there, not even really listening but he urges you to keep talking when there’s a pause, like you’re unsure if you’re talking too much. And when you try to turn the conversation on him, asking about his day, he gives one word answers and then throws you another question. 

“Yeah?” He grunts. “What else? Speak up, ma. Wanna hear ya. D’ya go to that shop? Yeah? Y’ buy anything? Send me a picture.”

He gets two nights of decent sleep after that.

But then…

The guys at work know better than to open their fat mouths around him when he turns up with an extra wrinkle and a ticking in his jaw. Toji is somehow even more sadistic and violent and eager for blood. Even finally accepts their invitation to go out for drinks and drowns himself in the extra strong shit. Assuming he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they don’t question his sour mood. 

But what they don’t know is that you texted, just a day before you’re set to come back, to let him know you’re staying another week. 

Fucking texted. 

Didn’t even get to hear it from your own voice. 

He buries himself in more work and stays at the gym for even longer, pushing his body so far, his mind quiets down and he don’t gotta think about the fact that he’s started sleeping on your side of the bed, that the house is losing your scent, and that divot on the couch where you always sat has flattened out. 

Everyone knows he’s losing his mind. They can tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he’s started snapping at women who are either flirting or just doing their jobs. And sometimes they even have to block his view of couples practising PDA. That’s the closest to hell they ever want to get around Toji. Suddenly, everyone’s hoping you throw the guy a bone and send a nude or something. Literally anything to rein him back in.

The day comes, though, when you’re finally returning home. 

“Y’ sure? Not gonna flake again? Be fucking sure, ma. Alright, get back safe.”

Toji throws all the rubbish out, washes the dishes and dries them, double checks that the toilet seat is down, and he’s followed your recipe for beef stew to the letter — it’s cooking in the oven, and it looks fucking great. Even exfoliated in the shower like you’ve been asking him to, almost took off an entire layer of skin. He doesn’t want to admit he feels pretty fucking fresh. 

The door handle rattles. 

He sits up. And then stands. Walks over to the front door, arms crossing and then uncrossing. 

You’re here. 

“Hey, Toji—“

Your greeting is smothered in his chest as he threatens to suffocate you with the hardest bear hug in the whole world. And though he’d never hurt you, if you weren’t a sorcerer, you’d have been in big trouble. 

“Y’ hungry? Or y’ wanna shower first?”

His hands are all over you, lifting your chin to search your face for any scratches, even squishes your cheeks to be sure, and he’s patting you down for bruises or just to make sure all your limbs are intact. There’s a frown on his lips and it’s pretty darn cute. 

“Aw, Toji, baby. Did you miss me?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not a child, blah blah blah.”

Walking past him to take your shoes off, hang your coat and roll your suitcase to the side, you’re inhaling the air and moaning about the delicious food in the oven. Oh, God. You’ve been craving homemade food for so long now. You might actually die if you don’t eat. 

“Come here.” Your eyes dart to him, still standing by the doorway, fists clenching and unclenching. Toji looks furious. You look closer. No, he looks…embarrassed? “Said come here, ma.”

“Why?” You ask, head titling in curiosity and slight suspicion. 

He grunts. “What? I gotta spell it out for ya?”

Laughing, you tap your foot on the ground and retort back, “Yeah, you might because you need to have a good reason from keeping me from both a good shower and a warm meal.”

Toji rolls his eyes and stalks over to you, yanking you back to his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and keep you still. It’s much softer than before, but you feel the same sense of passion, something that verges on desperation.

It’s almost like…

No. 

It can’t be. 

Oh, but when you feel his face bury itself in your neck and you hear that long inhale, followed by a deep groan vibrating through his chest, you’re absolutely sure. 

Toji missed you. 

An overwhelming feeling of love fills you, so does a sense of victory, and you just hug him back, inhaling deeply too. He smells like home, like reluctant cuddles, pats on the ass, and early morning sex. You thought you’d have the most trouble in the two weeks, which turned into three, but as it turns out, he didn’t fare much better. 

Though he’d never admit it with his own mouth, his body betrays him.

Toji doesn’t let you get very far without a hand on you somehow, whether that’s a hand on your thigh as you eat dinner side by side, instead of across from each other, or you sitting on his lap as you watch the movie you want to watch. He even waits on the toilet lid as you shower, though that only lasts a couple minutes before he’s stripping and joining you. 

“Y’r not washing y’r hair right,” he tuts. 

Getting into bed is even worse because he’s practically lying on top of you the whole night, still sniffing your neck, and with his hands exploring your body. Not really in a sexual way, which is odd for him, but as if he just wants to feel you. He wants to feel your warmth, your softness, and reassure himself you’re home. 

Soon, he’s out cold and you mumble a goodnight against his forehead.

He wakes up feeling completely refreshed, like a newborn, stretching and grinning about getting ready with the day, and frowns when you’re still fast asleep. Part of him wants to make sure you’re getting your rest, but that part doesn’t win for very long and the much bigger part is shaking you awake.

“Come on, ma. Fucking bored here. Wake up, yeah? Let’s get some breakfast. Wanna talk to ya.” 

And when you do wake up, grumbling at how loud he’s being, he ignores the glares you’re giving and the swatting of his hands. Toji gives you a rare, wide, toothy smile and he says, 

“There’s my gorgeous girl. Good morning, baby.”

Yeah, this man totally missed you. 

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

--

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

[katszumi]

“have you seen the abs on that man?” hagakure sat across of you. “sexy on a stick, i swear!” she giggles. she was going on and on about the guy that starred in the superman movie you girls put on last night. henry cavill was his name.

mina agrees with her statement with a nod. “he’s the hottest white man i’ve ever seen before.”

“sure, he was hot, but are we forgetting the misogynist comments he’s made? sexy is one thing, but being controversial is a whole ‘nother thing.” uraraka inserted her input.

“oh, please. i’d cook and clean for him anyday he asks.” mina retorted. both uraraka and yaoyorozu shake their head in shame.

“speaking of controversial.” uraraka murmurs under her breath, you peer over your shoulder, wondering the intent of her statement.

you notice bakugou making his way over to your desk, his eyes planted on you and you only. you shift uncomfortably. why the hell would he be coming to you? did you do something?

once he makes his way to your desk, you look up at him with a half smile.

“hey, bakugou. what’s up?”

his eyes analyze the other girls before looking back down on you.

“my pencil?”

you flutter your lashes at him. “pencil..?” you repeated in a trance of confusion.

he groans. “the fuckin’ pencil i gave you last week. i need it back.”

now it all clicks. you nod, laughing nervously because of your stupidity. you reach in your backpack and grab the black mechanical pencil that you forgot to lend back to bakugou.

your arm extends to the male in front of you, waiting for him to snatch it back.

“sorry.”

he gently grasped onto the pencil, his hand brushing against your fingers for a small moment.

“it’s whatever. just rather not be the one to find you after i lent you something.” he shoved the pencil in his pants pockets, leaving his hands in there. “that’s one of the last pencils i have.”

you shoot your eyebrows up in defense, quickly lowering them after. your eyes falling down to your desk for comfort.

“well, hope you take care of that one.” it was a half-joke. a lame one, might you add. you were just unsure on what to say. especially since it seemed like bakugou was lingering around your desk. as if he didn’t want to return to his seat just yet.

“so, what’d you score on your test?”

“ah…it wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t horrible.”

“well?” was he really desperate to know that bad? you knew bakugou was smart, so he probably only wanted to know so it could boost his ego.

you rubbed your arm out of shame. “a seventy-nine.” you stared at his face to recognize any humility or laughter, but there was none.

he shrugged. “should’ve asked for my help if you needed it.”

right. you almost forgot that bakugou offered to help you study and go over notes with him for the next test. it was such an out-of-bakugou thing to do that you nearly didn’t take him serious.

you nodded slowly, processing his information.

“i was planning on making it up, so maybe for that.”

“fine.” his short one-worded response was dull. but what else did you really expect? “next time, don’t steal my pencil.” was his last comment before leaving your presence.

you sat in your thoughts, reeling the conversation back in your mind. what the hell just happened? it was the most simple yet confusing conversation you’ve ever had. was bakugou joking with you or was he seriously irritated with the pencil situation?

regardless, you made a mental note that bakugou was very protective over his mechanical pencils.

once bakugou returned to his seat, he unzipped his backpack, secretly opening his pencil box. within the box were a collection of pencils. there were so many pencils that he could give one to all of class 1a and 1b and still have few left.

aside sat denki who was clearly peeking inside of bakugou’s bag.

“damn, bakubro. you saving up pencils for a potential pencil outage or something?” it’s denki. of course, he never used his inside voice.

“i will literally blow you out this fuckin’ window and across the lot.” bakugou turns his head immediately, a faint pink blush spreading across the apples of his cheek.

bakugou just didn’t want you to know that the pencil was obviously an excuse to talk to you.

pt 2 of the study sesh

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.4

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

Danny was sitting in the back, his backpack obnoxiously taking up the seat next to him, when the door to the lecture hall creaked open near silently.

“What are you in here for?” Danny asked the guy who crept into class. He sympathetically took his backpack off the Seat of Shame and allowed the guy to sit down. Funnily enough, they had the same hair and eye color.

“Gen Ed. Undecided. You?” The guy grunted quietly back.

“Environmental studies. I’m Danny.”

“Tim.”

With the implicit understanding of two people in a required class they could not give less than two fucks about, Tim and Danny tuned back into the lecture. When the class was assigned group work, Danny looked over to see Tim softly snoring, head slammed down on the table.

“Tim. Wake up, dude.” Danny poked his shoulder.

“Huh? Class over?”

“Nah, we got group work. Discussion board.”

“Oh shit, thanks for waking me up. Wanna team up?”

Danny shrugged. “Sure. We should aim to post it in the middle so the professor doesn’t read our answers to the class.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Any idea what we’re talking about?”

“Kind of?”

“Good enough for me.”

——

Tim Drake kept seeing Danny Fenton around on campus.

“Danny! Dude, what are you doing?”

Danny turned, gloved hands full of crumpled trash. “Picking up after the student population, apparently.”

“Didn’t think environmental studies was that serious.”

“Global warming is very serious, you jerk,” Danny smirked at him, crossing the grass to put the trash into the trash can. “Reduce, reuse, oil shouldn’t be spilled in water and all that.”

“Basic stuff,” Tim grinned. Nice, he basically had a friend past Bernard now!

They were friends, right?

“And yet humanity fails to comprehend it. Incredible. Incredibly stupid that is.”

“They get it. Major corporations just don’t care.”

Danny sighed. “True that. You on your way to your next class?” He took off his biodegradable gloves off (nitrile and nylon, baby!) and chucked them into the trash.

“I’ve got free time, actually. Prof cancelled for his daughter’s surgery.”

“Oh, shit, that’s rough! You wanna go downtown and join the strike?”

“A strike? What for?” Even as he asked, Tim hiked his bag higher onto his shoulder, ready to go. They fell into step as the two left campus.

“Apparently, Quillan Pharma was doing some shady shit at their manufacturing plants. I think it’s like killing kids, and pouring toxins into the ground.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. Oh! Poison Ivy’s gonna be there!”

Tim blinked. He casted a sideways look at Danny. Sure he’s been here long enough to know… but it couldn’t hurt to check. “You know she’s an eco-terrorist, right?”

“Okay, but like… people suck sometimes. And all she’s asking for is like don’t kill the planet. And she doesn’t do that whole mind control thing too much anymore! The Sirens are so cool. Plus, one of my best friends at home might actually kill me if I don’t try to get her autograph. Poison Ivy is like, Sam’s personal hero.”

Tim snickered. “Yeah, okay. Mind if one of my friends join? His name’s Bernard.”

“The more the merrier,” Danny nodded. “Ooo! Hot chocolate. Want some?”

Danny bought three drinks as Tim trailed behind, texting Bernard.

“He said yes.”

“Cool! We should meet up somewhere before the drinks get cold.”

Well, Danny got the autograph. Tim got a new friend, and Bernard got a drink from his crush.

——

“Oh, you’re the glowing dude that Batman always talks about!”

Danny blinked, eyes scanning the wing-like cape and the yellow emblem on the hero’s suit. Danny was indeed glowing, stars and nebulas freckling across neon green skin, and glowing hair the color of a white dwarf star, tinged with the blue from his ice core.

“I… have absolutely no idea who you are,” Danny lied, like a liar. He’s found a surprising niche of entertainment in messing with the local vigilantes and he’ll be damned if he missed this opportunity.

He heard a snicker from the comm lines as Red Robin visibly brushes it off.

“I’m Red Robin. Why are you picking up trash?”

“Picking up after you humans, apparently.”

The both of them blink, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu. A moment of awkward silence passed before they both shook it off.

“Are you here to help? No offense, but the track record for you people is terrible.” Danny strode over and grabbed a bag. He opened it, and shook it at Red Robin’s face. “See? Batarangs, these odd bird looking ones, the R’s. Seriously, pick up after yourselves!”

“Oh, woah, can we have these back?”

Danny yanked the bag back before Red Robin could get close. “Pay me. These were incredibly tedious to pick up. Especially the batarangs. I mean, I even found a whole bunch of old rusted ones in the middle of the bay. What did you do, dump an entire bag in there from the air?”

Red Robin sighed and took out a wad of cash, with tracking fluid all over it. Danny grimaced, smelling the odd scent on the money. “That’s not real cash. It smells off. Are you trying to give me counterfeits because you’re broke?”

Red Robin gaped, oddly offended. “No! They’re real!”

“Doesn’t smell like it. It’s stinkier than the trash. Go get the one with the money, the litterer. Tell him I’ll be back the next full moon. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” Danny grumbled, disappearing on the spot to watch Red Robin flounder with the stack of cash and the piles of dead bodies on the shore.

“What the fuck even is my life these days?” Red Robin wondered out loud, stuffing the cash back into his pocket. He looked over the plastic wrapped bodies and slumped, sighing.

Oddly enough, Danny felt a sense of sympathy. Well, he’s not getting paid for sympathy. He’s not getting paid at all tonight, actually. Danny flew off, plunging once more into the depths of the significantly cleaner waters, and used his ice to scoop out oil stains.

Danny glanced around and sighed. He had a lot of work to do.

——

“So you’re saying he’s like a werewolf mermaid fae child immortal god thing, right?”

Bruce grunted.

“B, what the hell are you smoking these days? You know drugs are bad, right? Do we need Superman to give you that PSA?” Jason snickered.

Tim, massaging his arms from having to haul an ungodly amount of dead bodies, grunted. He’s so similar to Bruce that it gave the people currently in the cave hives.

“He said full moon. I don’t think we can track him with regular stuff. The bugs kept shorting out.”

“Oh boy,” Dick sighed. “Don’t fall off the spiral cliff, Tim. You’ve got midterms to think about so no stalking the guy.”

“Yet,” Tim shot back, changing out of his suit.

Bruce grunted, setting aside a huge stack of cash.