#but to me this whole thing is holding a mirror up to him in a way that he really doesnt like and in a way

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 10

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader manage to discuss the direction of their physical relationship between makeouts. reader isn't feeling comfortable at her apartment, so they plan their first trip together.

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this fic is 18+ warnings/tags: d/s dynamics but not smutty, softdom!spencer/sub reader, mild pda?, hint at switch!spencer, they talk about sex/how r feels about her first time, making out, r has long hair, almost dry humping if you're standing several miles away, unresolved sexual tension, teasing/flirting. don't like? don't read a/n: yayyyyy hi guys!! no idea when part 11 will be out. I missed them. I love them so bad. they are my favorite ever. they are so special to me 4ever. hope u missed them and ur just as happy to see them happy as I am :")

“Do you like eyelet?” Spencer asks, reaching up to grab a set of sheets you couldn’t. He insists that you let him get everything from the top shelf because it’s been handled less. 

You shrug, distracted by the angle of his jaw and the line of his throat as he retrieves the plastic package. 

It’s Sunday. Three nights in a row spent with him—the longest sleepover streak thus far—and you don’t want to go back to sleeping alone tonight. But you know it’s time. Both of you have things to attend to tomorrow, and you’re not exactly in the habit of getting things done when you’re together. All weekend you’ve lounged in his lap on the couch or tangled yourself in his arms in bed—fully clothed, of course. Spencer had suggested the no-sex rule on Friday, and you’re glad for it. You feel no pressure to be doing more when he’s kissing you or holding you. 

Of course, the concept of having sex again crosses your mind—when you’re washing your face and catch a glimpse of the bruises on your neck in the mirror, or when the tips of Spencer’s fingers trace idly over a span of exposed skin on your lower back as you watch a movie on the couch and you’re struck with desire, or you move just right and feel a tiny lingering twinge of soreness. There was a time when if you had Spencer Reid to yourself for three nights, a Navy SEAL wouldn’t have been able to pull you off of him. Now, when you think about the fact that there will be a second time, you get that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling—but you’re not sure if it’s good or apprehensive. 

Either way, it’d be too much right now. 

You do miss feeling that kind of closeness with him. That intimacy. It can’t be replicated, no matter how many naps you take together. Probably something to do with brain chemicals and hormones. He could explain it all, if you were brave enough to ask. 

So you know it’d be too much… but it’s not that you don’t want it. There is also, of course, the issue of the way he looks. It’s not helping your cognition. It’s not encouraging you to make good choices. 

You’re not supposed to be thinking about sex. You’re supposed to tell him if you like eyelet. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Spencer gives you an exasperated look and sighs. He’s wearing his glasses today. His hair is freshly washed and fluffy. The navy blue sweater he’s wearing is about the only step between a button down and pajamas for him, and he looks good in casual clothing. You chew your lip. 

He doesn’t notice your ogling. “You’ve said that about everything.”

“I’m really not that passionate about the fabric of my sheets,” you defend, shoulders rising and dropping. 

“Surely you like some of them less and some of them more. Usually you jump at the chance to express an opinion.”

Okay. Uncalled for. 

He’s obviously kidding. You overreact anyway. 

“You suck,” you mumble, brushing past him in search of something suitable for your bed. 

Spencer processes this for a moment and then trails after you down the aisle. 

“I suck?”

“Here, look. Bamboo. That’s good, right?”

Your boyfriend glances at the package you’ve selected, probably holding back a whole host of facts about bamboo farming in China. 

“It’s fine. Why do I suck?”

“Because you implied I’m opinionated.”

“I didn’t imply it. It was an explicit statement.”You groan petulantly and put the sheets back on the shelf with force. Spencer picks them up and follows you deeper into the store. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t,” you huff, turning around to face him once you’re safely sequestered in a new aisle. The store’s not busy—an elderly couple roams for fake fruit and towels, humming vacantly to the Muzak, and a single mom wrangles her kids in a cart. Back here, it’s just the two of you. “Not really.”

“Then what did?” He asks gently, stepping closer. Spencer’s not overly-affectionate in public, but the tone of his voice, the way he’s looking at you like he can see your thoughts, feels intimate. 

You’re helpless when he gets like this, and he probably knows it. It’s an abuse of power and when you can think straight again you’ll have to scold him for it. 

“It doesn’t even matter. You’re just gonna drop me off after this anyway.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy, eyes alight with a good puzzle as he quickly strings together the facts in his head. 

“Is that it?”

You frown and hesitate, eyes catching on a loose thread at the hem of his sweater. 

“… No.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re upset because I’m taking you home.”

You scramble to deny. “That’s not it.”

“I think it is,” he murmurs, a smile playing at the corners of his perfect mouth. 

You study the waxen floor tiles intently. 

“Well… I mean, would that be weird? You’re gonna miss me too, right?”

You sound unsure—insecure, even. When you look back up at him, his eyes are melted chocolate, even under the fluorescents. He glances down at your mouth briefly and then over your shoulder. 

Pleasekissmepleasekissmepleasekissme.

He doesn’t, but you can tell he really wants to, which is almost as good. 

“Of course, I’m going to miss you. But we’ll see each other soon. Probably tomorrow.”

“Unless you get called out on a case. But it’s not even really that. It’s just—how am I supposed to… I don’t know! We just spent three nights together. How am I supposed to go back to sleeping alone for a whole week?”

Maybe you’re too attached to him now, because acknowledging the thought which has been lurking all morning opens the floodgates that were holding back a sea of dread, and you feel it in every inch of your body. Five nights alone stretch out before you like an infinite, impassable forest. Friday is an eternity away, and there’s no guarantee he’ll even be here Friday night, if the team gets a case. 

Spencer somehow regards you with both curiosity and innate wisdom, like you’re a new specimen in a familiar field, for a long enough moment that your cheeks begin to warm. 

“Sorry, that was embarrassing. I’m being weird, it’s fine—”

Just as you go to walk away, he pulls you carefully back in by the wrist, even closer than before. 

“No. You’re sweet,” he murmurs, hand warm even through the knit of your sleeve. Gingerly you look back up at him. 

“But you’re not gonna miss me as much as I miss you.”

“Do not undermine my capacity for yearning. I missed you when you were brushing your teeth this morning.”

“Ooh. So clingy,” you tease, though you’re obviously delighted by the information, and he borderline pouts. 

“Don’t say that. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh as he pulls you to his chest, keeping you there with a hand to your back. 

“Okay. Now say you love me.”

For a moment you’re distracted by the proximity, the lowering of his voice as he brings you into his space and your faces are only inches apart. The smell of his body wash coming from both of you. 

“I love you,” you breathe, and it’s not as teasing as you’d meant for it to be as his eyes dart to your lips. 

Even though you’re bossy, is what you don’t say. 

This seems to please him, because finally, he’s tilting his head down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. It’s still enough to make you lightheaded. 

“Apology accepted. I love you too,” he murmurs. And then he’s pulling back, trying to walk around you. “Do you wanna stop for coffee on the way back to yours?”

“Wait,” you order, suddenly listless and disoriented in the middle of the aisle. “You’re not gonna…”

Spencer frowns back at you.

“I’m not gonna what?”

“You’re not gonna… say it?”

“… I love you? I did say that.”

“No, there’s—usually when I do stuff you ask me to do, you say—”

Only when the first ray of understanding illuminates his face do you realize you actually shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“Nevermind. Yeah, let’s just go.”

Spencer catches your arm again as you attempt to walk past him, laughing quietly as he leans down to speak in your ear. 

“I am not calling you good girl in the small decorative statues aisle.”

“What if we go back to the bedding aisle?” You ask, through the warmth of your own cheeks. 

It’s sort of a joke. 

“Remember what I said about appropriate context?”

“All those sheets, and duvet covers, and stuff. It’s basically the same.”

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to tear your eyes from a little robot statue and look at him. Eyes ever-so-slightly narrowed, warmed only by a hint of humor. A barely detectable curve of the mouth. 

Oops. With all your blind-button pushing, you might’ve accidentally tapped the one responsible for all the marks on your neck—the one that makes him tick in a way which usually ends with you underneath him. 

And then, for the first time, you actually watch as he pushes it down—activates some sort of self-cooling system. Probably he understands that whether you meant to be provocative or not, this interaction isn’t headed in a salacious direction. Even if you weren’t in public, the rule is holding fast. 

His hand slides from your arm to intertwine with your fingers. 

“What are you doing next week?”

You blink at the sudden change in subject and tone. 

“Uh… I don’t know. Working, probably.”

“From home?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He chews his lip thoughtfully. 

“I… still have a few days of annual leave that I need to use. I don’t know if this is… this might be too much, and you can say no. But Rossi has a place in Shenandoah. It’s a cabin—it’s, it’s really nice, I’ve seen pictures. He used to use it for hunting, I guess now he rents it out in the summer and fall but it’s empty during the off-season and he’s always offering it to the team. It’s only like, an hour away. An hour and nine minutes actually, if you take the 66 Express outside the Beltway from Arlington. I looked it up, um… semi-recently. I’m sure he’d let us use it, if you wanted to come burn four days of leave with me. No pressure. Of any kind. I could also, just, y’know, stay home, and we could still spend time together that way. We could finish Deep Space Nine. Or watch something else. Or watch nothing. Whatever you’d like to do.”

Your heart rate has been increasing steadily since he started his impromptu speech—you’re glad he seems nervous inviting you. You’re a little nervous accepting. A trip together is definitely a new step. But getting the hell out of dodge with him for a few days sounds wonderful. 

“I’d love to go,” you say earnestly. 

Spencer’s face goes blank for a second, and then his eyebrows raise, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes. 

“Oh. Oh! Great! Okay, I’ll—I’ll talk to Rossi about it tomorrow.”

He remains highly chipper as he hands his card over to the cashier for your new overpriced bamboo sheets. 

The promise of getting Spencer to yourself for four consecutive days and nights is the only way you’re able to fall asleep to a cold bed that night. 

It’s harder, at home now—you’re self-conscious of every and any noise. Music, cooking, talking on the phone. 

It doesn’t make sense, because you know you can’t hear your neighbors, so they shouldn’t be able to hear you, and Jerry’s a creep, who might’ve made the whole thing up just to get under your skin—but it’s all you can think about, when you’re there. 

Monday evening, Spencer comes to visit, as promised. You undo all the locks and open the door just enough for him to slip through. 

He kisses you hello as you close the door and sets his things down at the table while you relock. 

“No Jerry today?”

“Nope. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“Good,” Spencer says only once you turn, a distinct chill to his tone and a mostly unfamiliar frigidity to his eyes. It’s not directed at you, but it’s unnerving nonetheless, so you draw closer and wrap your arms around his waist—hoping to melt him back into your Spencer. 

He reciprocates, speaks softer now that he has you in his arms, and immediately you feel better. 

“Rossi said yes to us staying at the cabin and Emily said I can take the time off. Did you still wanna go?”

You’re pre-occupied with your face buried in his shirt, so you just nod, basking in the scent of his shower products once more. They’ve gone from simply comforting to intoxicating. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks quietly, brushing your hair over your shoulder. His fingers barely glance off your neck and you almost shiver. Want begins to pool deep and warm in your stomach as you lift your head and he looks down at you, so fondly. 

Want which you can’t afford to feel if you’re not willing to act on it. 

“I’m fine,” you breathe. Fuck. He’s too close. He’s too hot. You pull away and move to the kitchen. “Um, dinner. What do you want? We could make something. Or order something. I don’t have much, honestly.”

“I’ll be happy with anything. You sure you’re alright?”

“I don’t want to have sex!”

The words simply explode out of you, like a bat out of hell as you whip around. Just barely you manage not to clap a hand over your mouth in mortification. 

You stand, back to the fridge, watching Spencer nervously for his reaction. 

His brow knits. His lips part and close again several times. 

You’re wondering what the fastest and most convenient method of not being alive anymore would be when he finally answers. 

“… Okay. I wasn’t trying to initiate anything, did I—did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, I’m sorry. I just… I wanted you to know that while I’m still, like, figuring things out—like, with my neighbor and everything—it’s just a lot, so… so I know this past weekend we agreed to not do anything and I think it would be best to… keep not doing anything. Just for now. I shouldn’t have said it like that—I didn’t actually… mean to say it. I was gonna, um, find a way to bring it up more delicately.”

You clear your throat and look down to study the patterned tile, cheeks burning. 

By way of several nervous glances up at him and back down, you watch Spencer silently come to lean against the counter across from you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. We’re not ever going to do anything you don’t want to do. But, out of curiosity… is this just because of your neighbor? Or because you maybe don’t feel ready yet?”

He’s asking gently, because he wants to know, and you know there’s no wrong answer. It’s still nerve-racking.  

“Um… like, a combination of the two, I guess. Mostly… the neighbor. I think. But I’m telling you this because…” and here comes the worst part. “I need you… to… hold me accountable.”

“For what?” He asks plainly, but you know what he sounds like when perfectly suppressing a smile. The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your face as you close your eyes and forge ahead in the name of open and honest communication—something the two of you are trying to work on.

“If I… come on to you… you have to turn me down.”

This is not getting any less embarrassing. 

“Should I anticipate you coming onto me?”

“Probably,” you sigh, looking at him through your lashes and bringing your hands to your cheeks, hoping maybe they’ll cool you down and poor circulation will work in your favor for once. “I know myself. You know me. I like… asking you for things. But for the rest of the week, if I do… you know, want something from you—you have to tell me no.”

Spencer nods slowly. “What if you genuinely change your mind?”

“I won’t. I might think I have, I might even tell you I have, but don’t believe me, okay? I don’t think straight when I’m turned on, and if we do anything, I’ll like it until fucking Jerry is pounding my door down the next day, and I just can’t deal with that.”

Spencer’s face goes completely void of expression to the point that if it weren’t for context clues you’d have no idea he’s probably imagining pistol-whipping the guy. 

“Has he knocked on your door?” 

Testosterone. 

“No. Back to my point. I’m trusting you to keep me in check so I don’t do anything I’ll… I’ll end up regretting. Not that I regret the other night!” You scramble just as Spencer’s brow begins to furrow. “I don’t. I just regret that my gross neighbor had to get involved. And I don’t want that to happen again. So… is that… is that okay? Will you do that for me?”

“Of course I will,” Spencer says gently, without hesitation as he pushes off the counter. “Can I ask a follow-up question?”

You nod and regard the space between you, unsure if you want to eliminate it or keep using it like a buffer. By not coming to you, he’s giving you the choice. 

“You said this was mostly because of your neighbor. But you didn’t sound sure. It’s fine if you aren’t feeling ready yet. I just want to make sure I know what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t really know,” you admit, after a brief pause. “I feel like… as long as I know he’s on the other side of the wall I wouldn’t even be able to wrap my head around how I actually feel. It’s also confusing because, like I was saying, I… just because I feel like I want something in the moment, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m actually ready for it, you know? I don’t even know if… I don’t even know what being ready again really means or would look like.”

“You did the other night.”

“Yeah, but that was different. Because now I’m gonna think I know what I’m getting myself into, but that’s not necessarily true.”

Another pause in which you chew your lip and look away. 

“I don’t want you to overthink it, honey. I think being ready just means you’re comfortable, and you’re with someone who’s going to keep you safe, and nobody’s pressuring you, and you’re not, you know—pressuring yourself. Wanting it is actually really important, too. But what I’m hearing right now is that even if you might want it, you’re not in a place that feels safe. And that makes sense to me. So we’re just not gonna do anything until that changes, okay?”

Eyes still cast downward, your lips twist into a sardonic little smile. 

“I feel like I’m talking to my therapist.”

He laughs with a single breath. 

“I really hope your therapist doesn’t speak to you like I do. The ethics there would be highly questionable.”

The joke refreshes your courage and you look back up at him, smile still edged with humor but mostly unspoken gratitude. 

The half-smile on Spencer’s face, however, is fading steadily as he studies you in flickering passes. Like there’s something still on his mind. You were hoping for a subtle invitation back into his arms, but the space between you remains—infused now with a tension as it becomes increasingly obvious. 

“Also… this trip we’re going on. I feel like I should say this—I don’t know if it was even on your mind, but… I don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex just because of the timing. Me inviting you on a last-minute trip to an isolated cabin—it’s not a master plan to get you to sleep with me again, I promise. I really just wanted us to be alone. Not—not that kind of alone—I mean, we’ll be alone, but it doesn’t have to be like that. I was just thinking about how nice it was for us to get those three nights together, you know, and the whole weekend too, and with my job, that’s not always going to happen, so it just seemed like a good opportunity—”

“Spencer,” you laugh, letting the tension snap like a rubber band as you go to him, slinging your arms over his shoulders, delighted to be the one doing the interrupting and not the flustered rambling, for a change. “I know you don’t have an ulterior motive. As for what kind of alone we’re going to be… we’ll figure that out, okay? Don’t worry about me. I don’t feel pressured by you. I never have. If anything, I’m the one who pressures you for sex.”

You’ve got him smiling once more, as his hands find your waist and his gaze flips from your mouth to your eyes and back again. It goes very subtly mischievous in a way you don’t quite trust, but he’s dipping his head to kiss you, and something tells you it’s going to be a good one, so when your nose bumps against his, and you can feel his breath on your lips, you’re not at all prepared for him to speak. 

“Begging is not the same as pressuring, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing you so thoroughly you don’t even have time to be properly affronted. The offended gasp gets stuck in your throat, and melts into a tiny huff as it turns out the kiss is a very good one. You can’t think hard enough to be offended. Not even when he chuckles against you. 

“That’s not fair,” you mumble when he allows you a second to breathe. He hums, satisfying himself with kisses to your cheek and playing along. 

“What’s not fair?” 

“You… I was supposed to have the upper hand in that situation! You were the nervous one for once!”

Another hum, buzzing against your lips this time. 

“You have to learn how to take the upper hand, angel. I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s a big part of my job.”

Admittedly it’s hard to think when he talks like this, but you try. 

“So… you manipulate me? That’s not very romantic.”

He laughs quietly again. 

“No. I do not manipulate you.”

“You’re just a control freak,” you tease. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, immediately, still soft-spoken as he pulls back to carefully search your eyes. “Does that bother you?”

You search hands and knees for a crumb of outrage, for a hint of any of that strong feminist theory you’ve instilled into your brain over so many years. 

There’s nothing to be found. 

“No,” you admit, dejectedly, hanging your head as much as he’ll allow. “Should it?”

“Only if you don’t like it. When I take the upper hand like that, I’m really just… posing a yes or no question. So far, you lean towards saying yes. You let me win. But you don’t have to.”

“What happens if I… if I don’t let you win?”

He angles his head, coaxing you to look in his eyes once more. A hand comes up to swipe a dot of mascara from under your brow. He’s looking at you so serenely, like none of this is at all complicated. 

“Whatever you want. I wouldn’t be the one making the rules anymore.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

You laugh nervously. 

“That’s a lot of pressure. What if… I want you to keep making the rules? For forever?”

He kisses you again, insistently enough you have to tilt your head back. When he answers, it’s low, a promise, and pressed right against your waiting mouth. 

“Then I will.”

You loose a tremulous breath from your parted lips and you know he can feel it. He can feel how you’re clinging to his shirt, pressing yourself closer, how your skin has warmed and your breaths have hastened, he can probably taste how much you want him, how you’re already thinking about giving it all up for him—

And maybe that’s why he laughs dryly into your mouth before pulling away. 

Because he’s a good boyfriend. 

Spencer knits his brow and clears his throat as his hand slides down your arm, eyes narrowed like he’s wondering how things escalated so quickly. You certainly are. 

Suddenly he’s back to the nerd you met in a coffee shop all those months ago, and you like him like this, too. “So… dinner?” 

“Mhm. Yeah. We should… we should definitely eat. What do you wanna eat?”

You don’t miss the quick once over he gives you. Or the way his throat bobs once he tears his eyes away. 

“Um… how does Indian sound?”

You swear you don’t know how it happened. 

Everything was going fine—there was food on the coffee table, a show on the TV. Spencer made tea. It was wholesome. 

And then, somewhere between setting the plastic takeout bag down and actually opening it, you ended up like this. Kneeling next to him on the couch, one hand braced on his thigh, the other tangled in his hair as you kiss slow. Like this could actually be leading somewhere. 

“We should stop,” he reminds you, even as his hand traverses up your leg. You lean further into him—he has to tip his head back to meet your lips. 

“We’re kissing. It’s nothing.”

“You were—” kiss. “Just telling me—” kiss. “That you don’t want this right now.”

Deep kiss. The grip he has on your hip does not agree with his words. 

“This is just kissing. Kissing isn’t sex.”

Even as you’re saying it, you’re throwing your leg over his lap, landing in a straddle. 

“No,” he groans as if pained, throwing his head onto the back of the couch and depriving you of his mouth. “Baby. You have to get off. We can’t do this.”

“My bathroom—we could—it doesn’t share a wall with his apartment, we could go in there and turn on the shower and we could be really quiet—”

Suddenly there’s a hand over your mouth. It’s not yours. 

“Please stop before I say yes.”

You pull his hand away, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“You should. You should say yes. It’s a good idea, I know he wouldn’t be able to hear us over the shower—”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that you asked me to turn you down not even an hour ago, no matter what you say, and I said I would.” He takes a shuddering deep breath. “And… I’m going to. I’m saying no.”

“No,” you whine, head falling to his shoulder, because you know he’ll keep his promise. He cups the back of your head—a kind, sympathetic gesture, which does nothing to alleviate the heat of your blood or the ache between your legs. You pout into his neck. “This is terrible. I might not survive.”

“I think you will.”

“Maybe if I enter a coma.”

He laughs and strokes your thigh. 

“There are worse things than sexual frustration.”

“Not right now. This is the worst thing I can imagine.”

“I’m so sorry. You poor thing.”

You pull back to face him, hands on his shoulders. 

“Oh my god. Don’t act like it’s not bothering you.”

“I’m not bothered.”

“I know that’s not true. You know how I can tell?”

The slightest adjustment of your hips draws attention to exactly what you mean. Spencer goes completely deadpan. 

“Stop,” he orders in monotone, and you laugh even you allow yourself to be tossed back onto the couch because you’ve successfully flustered him again. He puts a throw pillow over his lap and leans forward, hiding his blush beneath perfect hands with a tortured groan. “You’re terrible.”

The couch attempts to suck you in as you wriggle back from a lying position, propping yourself up on your elbows and grinning at him. 

“I did it,” you gloat. 

He angles his head toward you, revealing half a pretty face, still dusted red but now with all the markings of inquisition. 

“You did what?”

“I took the upper hand.”

Those dark eyes narrow and before you can think to retract your legs he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles, pulling them over his pillow and leaving you flat on your back once more. Again you giggle. 

“You took nothing,” he asserts, but you’re not bothered—still smiling as you accept your new position and toss your arms above your head casually. 

“Somebody’s a sore loser.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Eat your curry.”

“Sorry, I’m full. From, you know, the taste of victory.”

He exhales a dry chuckle, leaning forward to finally retrieve the containers of food. 

“I can’t believe I ever let you call me a nerd.”

The rest of the evening remains PG. Conversation flows and trickles comfortably over dinner on the couch, and afterwards, he suggests a documentary. From the outside, it might not look like much—but to you, with your head on his chest as the TV casts its flickering, ghostly light over the room, with the beating of his heart against your ear and his breath against the top of your head, it’s everything. Six months ago you didn’t know what it was to exist so comfortably around another person like this. Now, though he feels familiar and safe, you don’t take it for granted. The novelty of something so simple is not lost on you, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world as your eyes begin to flutter. You’re lucky to have someone you feel completely safe with. 

Spencer murmurs your name like a question.  It buzzes against your ear. You hum in response. 

His thumb fans lines over your shoulder blade. “Can I ask you about something?”

“Mhm.”

“The other night… we didn’t really get a chance to—to debrief, afterwards. Which is fine, you were tired, it was late. But then the next morning I had to go, and everything with your neighbor happened, and we talked about that a little bit, but… but earlier, it sounded like maybe you… I don’t know. Maybe you weren’t feeling good about how it happened?”

“Spencer, I told you I don’t regret it,” you remind him, pushing up from his chest to look him in the eye. His hand slides down your back. 

“I know… I just wanted to give you another chance to talk about it. In case anything was on your mind.” He frets over your hair, an invisible speck on your skin. Like he’s nervous. “And I want to make sure you’re feeling okay about how it went. I know what happened the next day was an unfortunate addendum, and I’m sorry about that. As soon as you give me permission, I will have him arrested. But I don’t want that to overshadow your experience.”

“It’s… not,” you breathe, fiddling with a button on Spencer’s shirt. 

“So how did you feel about it? Barring anything external?”

“Good.”

Spencer strokes your jaw with a knuckle, gently admonishing. 

“Don’t just say that. Think about it.”

“I have,” you assure him immediately, cheeks warming as you realize just how swiftly you’d replied. 

What a lovely button. Mother-of-pearl. The shirt is a pale lilac. It looks good on him. One of your favorites, actually. 

Spencer lets you pick at it. He would probably let you pull the button off, tear every stitch on the shirt with a seam-ripper if it helped to soothe your nerves. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to go into explicit detail. I know it still feels weird to talk about. But it’s something we do have to talk about.”

“I know. And I would bring it up if something didn’t feel right. But it… was…” you chew your lip as you think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound too mushy-gushy. “Overwhelmingly… a very positive experience.”

“You sound like Yelp review,” Spencer says through a smile. You attempt to smother the continual heat of your embarrassment against his shirt. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, more intimately than anyone ever has before. And you’re still shy about acknowledging that fact. 

“Shut up. Say something nice back.”

With a typically gentle hand, he pushes hair away from your ear. 

“I…” he begins meaningfully, taking a moment to sweep your hair over your back. “Feel incredibly grateful that you trusted me to take care of you. I know that’s big for you, and I know it can be a really scary thing. Mostly I’m happy you’re happy. And that I didn’t mess up irredeemably.”

“What would you have messed up?” You laugh, retreating from your shelter against his chest to knit your brow. 

He makes a face in the half-dark like he shouldn’t have said it. 

“Uh… that… veers into explicit detail… and possibly too much honesty.”

You laugh again and adjust to frame his sheepish smile between your hands. 

“I see. You have to keep your mystique in tact.”

“I really don’t think it’s that much of a mystery.”

“Well, I’ll spare your ego.”

“Wow, thanks. For the first time in your life.”

You go in for a chaste, smiley kiss, which stays sweet and kind even as it melts into something stickier. 

It comes to a turning point and Spencer inhales deeply, gently angling his head away and shifting to check his watch. You collapse on his chest, catching your breath. 

“I should go.”

“No. I feel like you’re going away to war.”

“I’m going to Court House. Where I live.”

“What if I never see you again?”

“It’s twenty minutes away. So you could always just drive.”

You frown. 

“I hope you get trench foot.”

“You know seventy seven thousand soldiers died from trench foot in World War Two?”

“Obviously I did not know that.”

“Well, next time you should just say you want me to die. Up.”

He pats the back of your thigh and you push off of him, only after considering trying to hold him hostage for a split second. 

You hover by the couch like a ghost, watching with increasing anxiety as he gathers together the empty containers from your meal and throws them in the kitchen garbage before collecting his things. 

There is one thing—one potentially difficult thing you haven’t mentioned to him that seems to be a direct consequence of finally sleeping together. 

You’re clingy. 

Clingier than you’ve ever been. It didn’t seem possible to want to be around him more than you already had, but now when he’s gone you feel his absence like a vacuous hole by your side. Without his warmth, you’re always a little colder. A little less comfortable. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that you’re starting to get separation anxiety, so you won’t put it into so many words—but you think, as he turns, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a knowing look, that he understands. 

At the same time, you begin to close the space, meeting gently in the middle, toe to toe. You keep your hands behind your back, afraid that otherwise you’ll try and glom onto him like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. 

“There are some things I’d like to get done this week so I don’t have to worry about them during our trip. So I might not see you for a day or two.”

Dutifully you nod, though you’re slightly crushed. 

“That’s okay. We’re grownups.”

“I don’t know,” he tuts. “I’m worried I’m gonna start writing my name with your last on all my notebooks.”

That stupid, stupid charm. 

“Mm… I’m kinda out of your league,” you grin. 

Spencer’s smile wanes slowly, but his eyes remain soft and aglow as they explore your face as reverently as his hands would. When he speaks, it’s in an honest, borderline whisper. “I’m acutely aware.”

Slowly his head dips, and your eyes flutter shut. A sweet, lingering kiss lands on your cheek. Then he’s pulling back. 

“That’s it?” You can’t help but ask, peering up at him and barely concealing a frown. 

He smiles that lovely smile, but by this point you’re attuned enough to his facial expressions to recognize the subtle heat playing just beneath the surface of those golden-oak eyes. 

“What? Did I give you the impression that I put out?”

“It’s just a kiss.”

That teasing edge becomes ever so slightly sharper as he regards you, head tilting. 

“Mhm. And the last time you said that—was it before or after you mounted me?”

You shoo him away pretty quickly after that—partly for discipline, and partly because the sooner he’s gone, the sooner you’ll go to sleep, and the sooner it will be tomorrow. 

And this trip can’t come soon enough, because you’re pretty sure you know exactly what kind of alone you’d like to be with Spencer Reid.

[holybibly]

The latest news, my sugar bunnies.

Unholy thoughts of the day: Seonghwa's oral fixation always gets worse before a concert, as his girlfriend you help him to relieve the tension.

"Seonghwa, baby, you have to… you have to get ready for the concert…" Your hot, wet breath fanned the soft, thin skin of his ear, sending shivers of excitement down his spine. "Can you hear me, baby?" But all your attempts to get through to him were completely useless because Seonghwa could barely concentrate on your words. And how could he, when you were fucking yourself deep and slow on his cock, with two of your fingers sliding sensually between his plump, wet lips, rubbing against his tongue and caressing the inside of his cheeks? Your rings clinked against his perfect, snow-white teeth as you pushed them deeper into his insatiable mouth, pressing the soft tips of your fingers to the back of his tongue. "It's… so good… I just need a little more…" That's all he can manage to get out. His velvety, pornographic voice is muffled by the wet sounds of drooling saliva and noisy swallowing as he speaks through your fingers. "Fuck my mouth, my beautiful star… Please… Fuck my mouth… ""Everything for you, Hwa."

Your fingers slip out of his mouth for a moment, all slick with spit and cherry lip balm, only for you to rub it all over his luscious, fuckable lips in a kinky, dirty caress. But Hwa doesn't care, he opens his mouth wider, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, as he thrusts his hips up so that the thick, swollen head of his cock presses right against your cervix. The hot, smooth walls of your cunt immediately tighten around the massive girth, holding it securely in a velvety grip and stimulating the bulging veins on his cock.

"Fuck, Hwa, just like that... You do it so well, the most beautiful boy ever".

Behind the closed door of the dressing room you can still hear the loud cheers of the fans who have come for the sound check and you wonder for the umpteenth time what they would say if they saw Seonghwa like this - needy, whiny and not afraid to beg for what he so desperately wants.

What would his fans say if they found out what a slut he really is?

Your fingers return to his mouth, and his long, soft tongue immediately begins to move diligently to wet your fingers with his saliva.

You grab his chin with your other hand and hold his head still so you can enjoy the fucked look on his beautiful, godlike face. With drool dripping from the corners of his mouth and his dark cat eyes unfocused and heavy, you can easily see how much he enjoys having your fingers in his mouth.

Seonghwa pulls in his cheeks and sucks hard on the tender appendages, his tongue moving fast and chaotically around your graceful fingers, reminding you of how his tongue used to dance in the same way between your labia, licking and rubbing the moist, sensitive folds of your needy little cunt as you swallowed his amazing cock deep down your throat in your favourite 69 this morning.

You begin to move on his cock again, noticing how Hwa's eyes glaze over, becoming nothing more than a smooth black mirror. He looks like he's in a daze. Drool drips from his luscious lips, his tongue lolls out as he tries to swallow your fingers.

His loud, whimpering moans come through your fingers, and you just push them deeper, making contact with the back of Seonghwa's throat, making him choke on both his saliva and your fingers.

But just as you're about to pull away, thinking that maybe things have gone too far, Hwa's teeth sink into your fingers and his lips close tightly around you, preventing you from pulling his treat from your mouth. His muscular thighs begin to move wildly, the fast pace hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. Your walls clench, fluttering around Seonghwa's cock.

He came before you, his whole body shaking and his eyes rolling back. Hwa is too stunned to notice that you're carefully pulling yourself away from his cock and instead start rubbing your swollen clit hard and fast to bring yourself to orgasm.

The sound of his name falling from your lips as you finally cum catches his attention, and Hwa smiles apologetically at you, looking away shyly.

"Sorry, angel, I didn't mean to..." Seonghwa squeezes out barely audibly, his voice getting huskier and lower.

You smile lovingly at him, kissing his rosy cheek lightly.

"It's okay, love, really. I don't mind helping my handsome boyfriend with his damn hot oral fixation. But I still expect you to fuck me senseless after the concert."

[cursingtoji]

the cardio machine i want is on the cardio machine

cw: gym rat toji x loser!gf - size kink, sweat kink (?), toji is a big old meanie. loser!gf series: geto gojo nanami.

loser!reader who, like a million other sedentary people on new year’s eve, said “new year new me” and proceeded to enroll at the local gym.

gym rat!toji who knew how things are in the beginning of the year, so the first week he arrives one hour earlier than usual to avoid all the lazy fucks that won’t last two months.

of course he makes a few mental bets on the ones that would quit and how long it would take, you included.

it’s easy to spot the “i don’t want lift weights cause i don’t want look jacked” type of girl.

at the breaks between one set and the other he looked around, not surprised to see you slowing down the treadmill after running not even two whole minutes.

sometimes he caught you staring at him through the mirror, not an uncommon occurrence amonst the women there, though you surprised him one day by tapping his shoulder after he finishing his weighted squats.

“can you… give me a few tips?” he looked so intimidated, from up close his shoulders looked like a wall, he stared at you from above, dark green eyes seemed to be heavily judging you, “never mind this was a bad idea, sorry” you turned around, grabbing you bottle and running off the gym.

by the time you managed to gather the courage to show your face back there two whole weeks had passed.

“consistency is the key you know” you were distracted looking down your phone while slowly walking the treadmill when the handsome man appeared beside you, the sudden presence destabilized you.

before you could become the viral video of the week when inevitably a gym employee decides to post the security footage of your ass rolling off the active treadmill, toji wrapped one big arm around your waist and pulled you to the stable floor.

“you caught me off guard the other day” he said completely unfazed by saving you from a life of embarrassment, “then you disappeared.”

“yeah i didn’t know if i wanted to come back anyways, i haven’t see any results so far” you pulled the hem of your shirt down.

toji snorted, “‘course you ain’t seeing results, sweetheart, you don’t lift.”

“well, it’s hard…” toji rolled his eyes, there was always an excuse.

though he also did a new year’s resolution of being more patient, for his kids primarily but teaching a cute thing like you could be a good exercise too.

soon enough, toji was correcting your form, texting you asking why you haven’t showed up to the gym and ringing your bell incessantly when you complained about muscle pain and said you wouldn't go that day.

“it’ll feel better once you start to move” he explained, resting on your door frame when you opened the door on your pajamas.

“let me alone, just today” you whined.

“you asked for my help now go put on something without cartoons on it” he waited for you to turn around and slapped your butt. it had been only one week he was coaching you but there was already a weird intimacy due to the fact he was pretty much always looking at your body and touching you.

to correct your form. obviously.

"what do i have to do today, coach fushiguro?" you asked from your bedroom through an ajar door which allowed toji to get a peek at your pink underwear and cute ass.

"cardio, bicycle first. get some blood flowing on those sore muscles" he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows watching you bend over to grab a biker shorts at the lowest drawer then holding back a laughter at the grunt of pain coming from you.

"once it gets better i can teach you other types of cardio" he walked around your kitchen examining your cabinets and stuff you kept in your fridge. needless to say it was all junk.

"can't wait" you replied sarcastically, failing to understand the meaning.

it took a few more days till you got used to toji's training, then he decided to focus on your upper body.

"such a simple movement, how do you manage to get that wrong?" he raised from the bench he was sitting behind you watching your form through the mirror. you almost dropped the weights at your feet when he came close. it was almost scary how much bigger than you he was especially seeing it throght the mirror. his right hand wrapped around yours on the dumbell and his bicep touched your arm as he pushed your arm closer to your body, "tuck your elbows in, straight your back" his free hand pushed your shoulders till they were touching his chest.

how come he smelled so good, so... musky and...

"are you even making any force?" he lowered his head, his reflection looking annoyed. so you decided to ignore the sudden heat between your thighs and flex your arm the way he taught you.

and just like he promised, when you were consistent enough and handling a good 5 minute run he decided to show you a more pleasing cardio.

"toji please~" you whined, thighs burning from riding him, you were using his rock hard abdomen as a support, but still.

"one more minute, come on" he looked at the watch on his wrist and slapped your ass, "haven't i prep-ed you good enough?" his thumb rubbed your bottom lip then pushed in meeting your tongue, where you tasted yourself in his digits one hour after he ringed your bell and said he was going to reward your good discipline, but he had to strech you first.

"good girl" you felt his abdomn flex when he raised from his laying position on your bed, "now leave it to daddy" he pecked your lips and quickly changed positions, putting a pillow under your ass and rolling his neck to start his cardio of the day.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 3!

happy sunday! hope you all enjoy these wonderful fics <3 if you're looking for more recs, here's another rec list i made this week!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

a guide to playing matchmaker for your boyfriend | sammyunhinged/@sammyunhinged | 52.9k | M

When Ravi incidentally finds out that Buck is questioning his sexuality, he offers him support, being the only person in Buck’s life that understands the particular intricacies of realizing you’re bisexual. In the process, Ravi learns that Buck just wants to date a guy, some relationship where he could discover himself and get comfortable in sexuality. Something short-term and casual. Ravi thinks he might be the perfect option. i've been on a ravi kick this past week (started before anirudh's video so like i'm not saying i manifested it but i'm also not not saying that lmao) and this fic was one of the highlights for sure!! wonderful writing and such great characterisation of ravi, but also such fun buddie <3

all my atoms | extasiswings/@extasiswings | 3.9k | T

There are three things every child learns about daemons: Don’t ask questions or talk about another person’s daemon—it’s rude. Don’t put too much distance between yourself and your daemon—it’ll hurt. Under no circumstances should you ever touch someone else’s daemon. Simple. Straightforward. Easy to remember, easier to follow. That’s what Eddie thinks of the rules. buck and eddie's daemons are so lovely and i love how this fic weaves daemons into a canon compliant setting!!

buck buckley hours on the diaz couch | sunlight/@justonebigbee | 5.8k | T

“Did you see me come over the back of the couch earlier?” Eddie asks. It’s such a non-sequitur that it makes Buck laugh a little. “Yes, I did. Very cool, man.” He’s only half-teasing. Eddie could make anything look cool. He just also happens to look silly most of the time too. Like now, for example. Lounging over top of Buck on his couch in this ridiculous get up. “I’ll go get us a snack, and—and, I’m probably going to do it again.” Eddie whispers the second part, like it's a big secret. i love this fic's combination of flirty buddie and non-sexual intimacy and the birthmarks and the couch!!

evan buckley and the art of crafts | beezethe/@evanpercy | 26.3k | T

Five times Buck gives Eddie a handmade gift out of love, and one time he actually means it. (or: the craft fic) crafty buck has my whole heart <3 this fic does such a good job capturing buck and his new projects and the firefam relationships!

he touched me, so i live to know | kejfeblintz/@kejfeblintz | 4.1k | T

5 times Buck and Eddie touched, and one time they really touched. so soft so cute so them <3 just a delight!!

life is just the way you hold me | allyasavedtheday/@littlespoonevan | 10.1k | T

Some people, when they go online shopping at night, buy things they don’t need. Like a Fitbit or a novelty t-shirt. Eddie… Eddie buys a professional cuddler. this was a reread, and a lovely one at that <3 soft and cozy and just wonderful. the fic equivalent of a warm hug!

next to your heartbeat, where i should be | rainbow_nerds/@rainbow-nerdss | 11.4k | E

Eddie’s not a complete idiot. He knows this isn’t normal. He stands in front of a mirror in his underwear, the tightest pair he owns, and he poses for a picture at an angle he’s learned flatters his ass and the curve of his thigh, to send to his best friend. ohh man something about buddie being Platonic Best Bros TM and engaging in decidedly non-Platonic Best Bro behaviour gets me every time. this is hot and fun and such a delightful read <3

rouge my neck | notathingtoseehere | 4.1k | M

Eddie is definitely not jealous at all, and has a completely normal reaction to strangers talking to Buck. they're idiots, they're in love, what more could a girl (me) want? nothing, the answer is nothing, because this fic is everything!!

take the bitter with the sweet | fruitsdoesnotknow/@fruitsdontknow | 5.2k | T

No one thought to brief Ravi on the Buckley-Diaz situation when he finally joins the 118. Spoiler: it goes about as well as a car crash. ravi struggling to figure out what on earth is going on with buddie is one of my favourite things in fics <3 this one also has brilliant firefam dynamics!!

the cost of doing business | pretentiousswanqueen/@hotcinnamonsunset | 5.4k | T

Ravi's landlord status makes him privy to some confidential information about the 118's finest. another one in a string of really lovely ravi fics <3 fluff and humour and such wonderful ravi narration!!

there's one thing (it's the weight of our wish) | atlasblue85/@atlasblue85 | 3.6k | GA

“I just don’t get it,” he says to Buck over the phone one day in mid-February, a couple months into the relo. “Last time they were because I was dating someone I shouldn’t have been dating. I’ve been single for nearly a year now, this shouldn’t be happening.” Buck hums across the line and Eddie rolls his eyes, tracking a flock of birds heading west. “Okay, you clearly have thoughts. Out with it.” “It’s just…” Buck starts. “Is that really why your panic attacks were happening? Because you were dating the wrong person?” the structure of this fic is so cool, and i love the buddie phone call at the start <3

TRUST! | pairofraggedclaws/@pairofraggedclaws | 7.8k | E

“I get used to it, I guess. Kind of. After a while,” Eddie says. Then, very quietly, “I’m just, uh, sensitive.” “Oh,” Buck says. Eddie's just sensitive. Eddie, his best friend, who he has now seen when he comes. Who comes in under a minute if he isn’t getting some on the regs. This is – this is – interesting. yeah buck interesting sure is a word you could use lmao. THIS FIC. this absolute gem of a fic <3 so hot and soft and just a delight!!

winner winner chicken dinner | lecornergirl/@clusterbuck | 1.9k | T

He’d rolled his eyes when Linda had sent him the recipe, the brightly coloured letters at the top of the page spelling out MARRY ME CHICKEN. She’d told him to make it for Buck some time and he’d sent back every unimpressed emoji he could find, but— It wasn’t supposed to work. He hadn’t made it because he’d thought it would do anything, only because the creamy chicken with sun-dried tomatoes actually sounded really good.  sweet and funny and fluffy! this fic makes me crave chicken. i did in fact bookmark the recipe <3

worth it | tabbytabbytabby/@tabbytabbytabby | 1.6k | T

When Buck gets a cold, Eddie takes care of him. buddie taking care of each other, my absolute beloved <3 based on the tags, this is right up my alley, and the tags were right! one of my favourites for sure!

[dootznbootz]

Hello, I want to ask this question but I don't want it to sound disrespectful, I really want to know and I'm not trying to be rude.

Why are Helen and Menelaus one of your OTPs? I mean, at least the versions I know Helen falls in love with Paris and willingly goes to Troy with him (but I have to say that this was told to me, I didn't read it from any legitimate source, so I could be wrong) so I'd like to know what makes you love them! And that's all, I hope you have a nice day:3

YIPPEE! :D First of all, I wanna say thank you for being polite and genuine with your ask :3 I really appreciate that you seem to be coming from a genuinely curious perspective and want to know why! I hope you have a lovely day too <3

And then~ Ima put some links to other posts of mine (AND some other lovely folks) that discuss Helen and Menelaus and the whole thing with Paris. Most have text evidence :3

I have made the ones that I think are most important to read in bold

Menelaus in the Iliad talking about how Paris stole Helen

A fantastic essay written by another Tumblr user (deactivated now. you will be missed!) that delves into the reality of Paris and Helen's relationship alongside Paris as a person

My own essay about how Odysseus and Helen play "similar roles" in their stories. I'm assuming you've found me through my Odyssey and Water Wife stuff, so you're probably an Odysseus fan so this kind of delves into how I, personally, believe that Odysseus and Helen mirror each other in many ways plot wise. So if you are also in agreement that Odysseus couldn't have cheated because cheating requires consent, Helen is basically in the same situation. Paris is just basically having Aphrodite strongarm Helen for him.

My Own personal feelings on Paris

A neat essay on how, narratively, the story fits into the themes of the whole Epic Cycle and the Iliad if Helen was actually kidnapped

Some stuff on Menelaus being a soft man in canon :3

My Own post delving somewhat into Helen's unwillingness with some text evidence

I recommend reading most of these (or at least the ones that intrigue you) and then I can chatter about these sillies below 🥹

So in canon, just for the Iliad and the Odyssey, Menelaus is often portrayed as a quiet, shy even, and I would even go so far as to call him gentle, man. (It's kind of a collective fanon headcanon that Menelaus is austistic coded based on his behavior in the texts) It's something really interesting that one of his epithet's is "War Loving" and yet, he's one of the more "peaceful" kings there.

Adrestus rolled out of the chariot beside the wheel, face down in the dirt. Menelaus, son of Atreus,                        stood there over him, holding his long-shadowed spear. Adrestus clutched Menelaus by the knees and begged: “Take me alive, son of Atreus—you’ll get good ransom. My father is a wealthy man, owns lots of things—bronze, silver, well-worked iron. So he’ll give you a splendid ransom, if he learns I’m by Achaean ships, alive.”                             Adrestus pleaded. Menelaus’s heart in his chest was moved. He was about to hand Adrestus to his attendant, to take back captive to the fast Achaean ships.           But then Agamemnon came running up to him, sharply criticizing Menelaus:  “Menelaus, you soft-hearted man, why are you sparing men’s lives like this? In your own home, Trojans treated you exceptionally well, did they not? So don’t let any one of them evade a terrible destruction at our hands— not even the young child still carried in his mother’s belly. Let no one escape.                         Let everyone in Troy be slaughtered, without pity, without leaving any trace.”    

(Book 6, Johnston)

Like the main reason WHY Menelaus is fighting this war in the first place and fighting so hard, is because he just wants Helen back. Literally the most "violent" we've seen Menelaus is, imo, during his fight with Paris, the man who kidnapped Helen and is forcing himself upon her. As he literally starts DRAGGING Paris by his helmet on the ground. And when Paris offers Treasure in place of Helen, Diomedes' declines on his (and technically all the other Achaeans') behalf as Menelaus was injured.

And if you've looked at the bolded links I put above, you'll see how Helen also desperately does not want to be there and just wants to go back home, missing Menelaus and their daughter, Hermione.

And with Helen, she literally basically tells Paris that since he would've lost the fight with Menelaus, therefore would've been killed, if not for Aphrodite, that he should kill himself because that's what's honorable.

“You’ve come back from the fight. How I wish   you’d died there, killed by that strong warrior who was my husband once. You used to boast you were stronger than warlike Menelaus,  more strength in your hands, more power in your spear. So go now, challenge war-loving Menelaus to fight again in single combat. I’d suggest you stay away. Don’t fight it out man to man with fair-haired Menelaus, without further thought. You might well die, come to a quick end on his spear.”  

(Book 3, Johnston)

I honestly fucking love how Helen straight up says to Paris' face that she wished Menelaus killed him. Deserved.

In some ways, I think Paris is a very neat contrast to Menelaus in how Paris left his wife and child behind to start a life with a new "better" wife, while Menelaus is willing to go to war to bring the wife he loves so much back home, safe and happy, with him. Menelaus can't even think of the idea of just "starting anew".

And in the Odyssey, it's just... It's just so sweet seeing how these two interact when Telemachus goes to Sparta to talk to them. Helen is no longer in tears, and while she's still dealing with her self-loathing and guilt, so does Menelaus. They share this burden together and are very gentle with each other. The way she's back to being so happy and hosting as a happy Queen and wife should, is so SO different from how we see Helen in the Iliad, as she's finally happy, safe, and at home. 😭

Like, please look at how silly these two are when they see Telemachus:

Right away she started speaking to her husband, asking him some detailed questions:                                   “Do we know, my divinely cherished Menelaus, who these two men who’ve come into our home claim to be? Shall I speak up and pretend, or shall I tell the truth? My heart tells me                            I must be frank. I can’t say I’ve ever seen                            someone who looks so much like someone else, whether man or woman. When I see it, I’m amazed—this man looks just like the son of brave Odysseus—I mean Telemachus, who, when he left home, was a new-born child, when, because I’d acted so disgracefully, you Achaeans all sailed away to Troy, your hearts intent on brutal warfare.” Fair-haired Menelaus then answered her and said: “This likeness you’ve just noticed, my dear wife,               I’ve seen, as well. His feet are similar, as are his hands, the glances from his eyes,                                              his head, and his hair on top. And just now, as I was remembering Odysseus, discussing all the troubles he’d endured because of me, he let a bitter tear fall from his eyes and raised the purple cloak across his face.”

(Book 4, Johnston)

Like??? She feels free to speak and state her mind because she IS free with Menelaus. She feels respected and loved in her own house and is the queen to his king and slkdjf kljdsfalj THEY'RE HAPPYYYYYY

In the Odyssey also, it was she who interpreted the omen that Telemachus and Pesistratus even though Menelaus was asked to interpret it! ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF HER HAPPILY BEING A QUEEN AND HER AND HER WORDS BEING RESPECTED.

Menelaus, for all his warlike qualities, was at a loss to give him the correct interpretation, and his beautiful wife forestalled him. 'Listen,' she said, 'while with such inspiration as I have I explain this omen and what I feel sure that it portends. [...]

(Book 15, E.V. Rieu)

LOOK AT EURIPIDES' HELEN

Like to me, these two in canon are kind of "opposites attract" while OdyPen are "Likeminded". As Helen is definitely one to chatter more and Menelaus is perfectly fine letting Helen talk for him.

And while young, Menelaus and Agamemnon after their father, Atreus, was killed by their uncle, they had to flee Mycenae to stay safe and were exiled. And where did they stay during this time?

In Sparta, WITH TYNDAREUS AND LEDA, HELEN'S PARENTS >:3

And with most depictions of Menelaus and Odysseus when getting married to Helen and Penelope, both are usually beardless, implying youth/same age. So I love the idea of them being childhood friends to lovers. (that's just MY interpretation though) It's part of the reason why Helen picked him out of all the suitors (though yeah, another interpretation)

AND look at this depiction of them reunitiing!!!

So for the context for this specific version/interpretation of them reuniting, he has just killed Deiphobus, Paris' brother that Helen went to after Paris died, (Troy was fated to fall, if Helen was returned, Menelaus and the other Achaeans would go home and Troy would be left alone, so... Fate interfered with Helen even possibly going home) and she was in the room when it happened. Helen, being somewhat scared that Menelaus would try to kill her, started to run. (That's Helen on the Right, the left is supposed to be Aphrodite, who, while she did keep Helen in Troy for Paris, is still the goddess of love. So that's why she's there.)

BUT LOOK HOW HE TOSSED HIS SWORD TO THE SIDE TO RUN TO HER?! 😭

In general, I love the dynamics that play into their relationship AND how their relationship even plays with other characters like OdyPen. I'm not as detailed with their lives as I am with my OdyPen, they're still heavily involved in my ideas and they're all very close. They go on double dates!

Heck, since I have the whole "childhood friends" stuff in my stuff, Helen, Menelaus, Penelope, Castor, and Deiphobus all grew up together and were kind of a goofy lil crew :3 (I have aged up Clytemnestra to work with my Agamemnon more with how I have my timeline work out :') The timeline is a mess and this is how I'm making it work)

Like, My OdyPen are my "Freak4Freak, Likeminded, ADHD, squirming, wriggling, giggling, nuzzling noses and constantly moving and chattering" couple while my MenHelen are my "Slow and relaxed, long kisses, Helen chatters while Menelaus listens, Menelaus is Helen's weighted blanket person who eases her anxiousness with his quiet demeanor, staring at each other with big eyes." couple 🥹

Snippets of my goobers being affectionate in their own special way, my OdyPen one from my one longfic and my MenHelen is just a snippet I wrote recently.

OdyPen squirm and wriggle while MenHelen stare at each other with big eyes and are each others safe place.

My dear friend, @thehelplessmortals (One of MenHelen's super fans! Check em out if you're even more curious about them! they have their own fanart and headcanons for them too!) doodled my version of the goobers being silly. My Helen is Chubby and 6'4 (Zeus' child and most beautiful woman in the world) and she likes to wrestle, and Menelaus is 6'2, she can pick him up >:3

"DAD, I WANT THIS ONE!"

Also~ Here's my list of Odyssey translations I've gathered :3 Feel free to pick one if you ever wanna read the actual text.

[luwritesstuff]

Hi! Could you possibly do something with Eddie Diaz? Maybe his Tia sets you up on a date 🙏🏽

this one was so cute and fun to write 🙊 let me know if you'd want a part 2!

Dating in the 21st Century

wc: 831

Pepa Diaz has been your mom’s client for years now. No one gave manicures like her and Pepa had ended up becoming her best friend in the process. You'd even met Pepa once or twice at the salon, and the occasional lunch your mom dragged you to.

It wasn't uncommon for your mom to try to set you up, it had become somewhat of a ritual of you gently letting guys down and reporting back to your mom on everything that had gone wrong on the date. So when she came to you to tell you about Pepa’s nephew, you couldn't hold back the sigh that escaped you.

“Mama, that's very sweet of Pepa, but I don't know if I have another blind date in me,” you called over your shoulder while you finished mopping the front of the salon. You didn't work there full time anymore, but you still helped out where you could.

Your mom tsk’ed you and pinched your side, “Don't be so pessimistic! I wouldn't tell you about him if I didn't think it was a good idea. Pepa showed me pictures, he's very pretty, mija,” she wiggled her eyebrows and managed to pull a small smile out of you, “Just one date, yeah? You can leave early if you hate it, but promise me you’ll try. His name is Eddie, you'll love him.”

You never really could say no to your mom, ultimately. You cursed her internally while doing the finishing touches to your makeup and adjusting your sundress. With any luck, you wouldn't have to go through this whole routine again anytime soon. Maybe your mom would give you a break after this one. After a final glance in the mirror, you threw your bag over your shoulder and left to meet your date at a small cafe you'd agreed on earlier in the week.

You arrived to find Eddie waiting by the entrance in a cream, long sleeved shirt and dark wash jeans. In an effort to keep an open mind like you'd promised your mom, you let yourself admire the way his shirt tightened around his biceps. So Pepa wasn't lying, he was attractive. “Hi, Eddie right?” You smiled and held a hand out to shake his.

After introducing yourself, you both ordered a latte and a pastry before finding a table on the patio to sit in the sun. Eddie was a perfect gentleman, he paid for your drink, held your chair out for you, made sure the sun wasn't in your eyes. You felt a sudden relief and let yourself relax into your seat. “Your Tia is your biggest fan, by the way. Her and my mom wouldn't let me rest until I agreed to meet the 'most amazing young man in LA’,” you teased, grinning at Eddie over the rim of your mug.

Eddie blushed easily and you filed that away for later. “She's all talk. She's just getting tired of me being single,” he laughed and leaned back in his chair, “you'd think her full time job was setting me up on dates.” You let out a dramatic groan, “You too? My mom bought me a subscription to a dating app for my birthday last year!”

This made Eddie let out a shocked laugh and you noticed the way his eyes crinkled and you were already thinking of ways to get him to laugh more. You took turns telling first date horror stories and making each other laugh. Eddie was good at that, you found. You hadn't laughed like that in ages, not in a way that wasn't forced or awkward. Eddie told you about his son, showed you pictures, and the way you took in each one made Eddie’s heart leap with possibilities. Maybe his Tia was right, maybe you'd be good for him.

“I just feel like there's so much pressure to date, you know? I have to act a certain way, say the right things, it's exhausting. I just want to be myself,” you sighed and Eddie felt more secure than he had in years. He agreed wholeheartedly and you felt comfort in knowing that you were with someone who wasn't interested in putting on an act or playing some stupid game.

After another few hours and more shared pastries, Eddie walked you to your car. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn't feel the need to come up with some lame excuse and you found yourself wishing the day was longer. You didn't have to ask if Eddie felt the same way, he pressed a careful kiss to your cheek and squeezed your hands in both of his own. “Can I see you again?” he whispered and you nodded, returning the kiss to his cheek, “Please.”

Your mom and Pepa spent their next appointment gossiping over your date, and the two dates after. And they were totally not smug about it, only saying ‘I told you so’ a reasonable four times.

[lilgarbitch]

Running In Circles - One

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: Slight angst, slight fluff, anxiety...I think that's all so far

Word count: 6k

Author's note: I’M BACK BITCHES!!! So I changed/ am changing a few things and I hope it doesn’t upset anyone. As much as I loved Tommy, Tony, and Cam, I feel like I could’ve put more effort into their names. So Tommy is now Finn, Tony is now Calum/Cal, and Cam is now Damien. Some dialogue and things have changed as well and I can’t say I’m extremely happy with the way I wrote this chapter, but I didn’t want to change too much. Still, I hope you’re as excited as I am ;)

Y/N

I sit hunched over, elbows resting on my knees as my leg rapidly bounced up and down. My chin rested on my fist, with a stressed scowl covering my face as I sat in the lounge of our tour bus. I realize I’m shaking my whole body by bouncing but I truly don’t care. It eased the racing thoughts of the show we’re about to play. The first show of our new tour.

Finn walks into the lounge and gives me a slightly pained pitying look. I try to sit up and let his presence distract me from the stress, waiting for him to say something, but it just takes over my body once again and I fall back against my seat with a loud huff and shut my eyes. 

“I know you always get nervous shows, but…Hun..” he sends a small pout my way, “you look like you haven’t slept. You’ve been dreaming of us touring with someone big for so long…But it almost looks like you’re regretting it.” Finn looks at me with pity filled eyes. 

I let out a long exhale, rubbing my hands against my fishnet-covered thighs, trying to soothe myself. 

“I am excited, trust me. I-” I pause to squeeze my eyes shut and try to push the stress away again. I try to give him a smile, hoping to look nervous rather than unbelievably stressed. “I just… can’t wrap my head around it…especially who we’re touring with.” 

He gives me a look telling me that he doesn’t believe me and is slightly confused. I had never fully explained myself to Finn. He knows nothing about what’s truly been on my mind for the past few years. He doesn’t know who I write about in my lyrics. And there’s a reason for it. It’s utterly embarrassing and confusing for me to say any of it out loud. 

I wave him off with a small ‘it’s nothing’ before getting up and pacing around the tour bus. We were about a half hour away from the venue for the first show. I look at myself in the mirror and run back to my bag, deciding to change my outfit once more. I just want to feel good enough for first impressions with the band, so I can’t have myself thinking too much about my appearance. I look through my bag, look down at myself, then back at my bag. I grab my phone and check the weather before picking out a few pieces of clothing and walking back to the seating area, Cal now sitting with Finn. 

“Is Damien still sleeping?” I ask, my mind getting sidetracked, seeing all my bandmates but my drummer. 

“No, he’s in the back on his phone. Said something about needing quiet, as if he isn’t the one causing the noise most of the time” Cal replies with a snort, staring out the window at the passing scenery. I give him a nod before remembering what I was holding. 

“Okay, so. It’s going to be a little chilly out today, but I’m sticking to my skort and fishnets. Do I wear my sweater-” I say holding up my oversized knitted sweater, “Or my lace top with a cardigan?” I proceed to hold that pairing up. Cal turns to me and eyes both choices and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he visualizes what both outfits would look like, causing a small humorous smirk to form on my face. 

I glance towards Finn and he’s tapping a finger against his chin, before replying, “The sweater would be warmer, yeah?” and I give him a small shrug. “That one, then.” 

“Dude, I’m asking which would look cuter, not which I would survive better in,” I laugh. I love my band. I can fully say that I view everyone in the group as my family. My brothers. But it has reached a point where I am purely treated as a little sister and not their lead singer. 

I turn back to Cal as he’s still deep in thought, but he finally spoke. 

“I agree. But only because the lace top with the fishnets may clash, and the sweater still lets your neck tattoos show,” he answers as if I gave him a pop quiz. I roll my eyes with a smile before turning around and heading to change. I look at my outfit after, and agree with Cal. The short skort shows off my leg tattoos which I hate covering up, and the sweater covers enough to keep me warm, but shows off the cybersigilism tattoo on the front of my throat, the barbed wire on my left collar bone as it hangs down on that shoulder. The sleeves are a little too long, so I rolled them up enough so they aren’t going to get in the way, and so they show off the detailed skull on my left hand and the more cybersigilism print flowing onto my right. 

I give myself a final look over in the mirror, take account of if I’m comfortable enough, and if there’s anything I’m going to think too much about out of insecurity. Giving a small smile to myself in my reflection, I leave the bathroom and walk towards the front. 

“ETA 5 MINUTES” Damien shouted from behind me, both scaring me and bringing the dreaded stress and fear back into my body. I let out a small shriek and he laughs out an apology, patting my back as he passes me and goes to sit with the rest of the boys. With a long exhale, I sit down with them all as we pull down a dirt road and head towards the bus park. We have 3 hours until doors even open, so I let out a sigh of relief when I see no other buses around as our bus halts to a stop. Maybe I can eye this place out and find a good place to relax (aka finding good hiding spots to get away from everyone when things get too much.) 

I feel a small pat on my shoulder, waking me from my daze as the boys get up and start heading out of the bus. I stand and follow, trying my hardest to calm my nerves. If this was a situation where I was just a fangirl about to perform with her favorite band, this would be so much easier. But it’s so much more. 

We all step about and stretch our legs, finally feeling solid ground after hours and hours on a tour bus. Feeling better, I head off towards the venue, stopping as I notice something in the distance, towards the front of the venue. A group of people forming, causing a wave of confidence to rush over me. Even though I know most are here for Bad Omens, they’re here early. Meaning they still want to see our band, whether they know anything about us or are just open to new music. I let out a deep exhale. Maybe I can do this. I walk further until I’m heading in through the back doors. I eye up the green rooms and backstage. I search out all available bathrooms because it’s always good to know. And then I walk towards the actual stage, seeing where I will be performing today. I mentally start mapping out where everything will go and watching our show perform perfectly in my mind as a way of bringing some sense of comfort and stability to this stressful day.

Suddenly, I heard doors opening and footsteps behind me, making me jump, but when I turned around, I was thankful it was just the boys and our crew carrying our things in. I grab my custom mic stand, that I just had to splurge on for this tour because I for some reason thought it would help with my identity crisis of this whole thing, and walk with everyone onto the stage and help set up what I can. We thankfully have a large enough crew now that we had gotten bigger, so the boys and I are eventually able to walk away and scope out the area more. 

Once we finally felt settled in enough, knowing where everything we need is, we stepped outside for some fresh air and to let off some pent-up stress and emotions that we didn’t need on stage. 

A few feet from me, Finn and Cal are chatting about whatever the hell guitarists talk about, occasionally letting out their practice vocals, as they’re my backup vocalists for a few parts of songs, while Damien and I are doing an odd preshow ritual that we started way back when. I’m doing my vocal exercise, making sure my screams and growls are up to par for today, while also making sure I can hit my clean vocals well, with Damien letting me know if anything sounds too harsh. And while I do all of this, I have my hands extended out, palms up, with Damien beating on them lightly with a pair of drumsticks. It looks and sounds insane, but it’s a good exercise for both of us, as we need to be able to do our own thing while listening to the other to make sure we work together, but also so we don’t get distracted by external noise. 

We get so stuck in our own zone that we, or I guess mostly I, don’t even notice the other tour bus pull up close to ours. Damien stops beating on my hands, bringing me back to reality as I look up at him. I follow his eyes and land on the new bus in the lot. I instantly feel my heart and stomach drop down to my ass. My breathing stops as I see a few heads starting to file out of the bus. They don’t immediately see us, but when they do, they send a wave and a smile. 

At first, I only see long, slightly messy hair, instantly recognizing it as Jolly, Mr. Joakim Karlsson himself. Finn and I have talked about him a lot, just pure adoration of how he plays. Finn has even become good friends with him over the last few year, even helping us get this spot on the tour. Then I see one of the Nicks. Nick Folio, the drummer, causing Damien to instantly leave my side and immediately use his gift of being an extrovert to walk up and start chatting with him. Next to him was the other Nick, Nick Ruffilo, their bassist, who had the sweetest smile on his face as he waved to all of us, and I just couldn’t help but mirror his actions. 

But now, the stress was fully hitting me. It hit me that the only way I could get through today and even the rest of the tour was to do what I do best. Put on a complete front when stressed. It was what I’ve always done when I was in uncomfortable situations. Even in childhood, I could pretend to be someone who was completely not myself, just so no one would see what I was truly feeling. I know it’s going to throw my bandmates off guard, but they’ll catch on.  Unless I want to look like a maniac to the new group, I can’t let my true feelings show. 

As I was planning out in my head my plan, thinking of ways to make it foolproof, the man of the day stepped off the bus. With hair like Levi Ackerman, looking beautifully styled even though you could tell the only thing he’s done was run his hands through it. With his arm and throat tattoos on full display as if I were walking around a goddamn art piece. He looked ethereal. To me, at least. I now realized that I had once again fully stopped breathing and my heart was beating out of my chest. Before Noah could even glance my way, I slowly backed up toward Finn, letting him know that I was going to be right back, trying my hardest to sound okay and not cause any concern. With that, I sneakily slipped past him, praying that no one saw how suspicious it looked, and sped walked back towards the venue, to a bathroom as far out of reach as possible.

I walked in and locked the door behind me. My breath started picking up and I immediately did everything I could to stop a panic attack from fronting. I ran my hands under cold water, trying to shock my body back to reality. I did my breathing exercises. I did everything I could. But the second I glanced at myself in the mirror, it was as if I allowed my brain to go back in time. 

I couldn’t be happier right now. Finn and I were walking around a metal festival. I had just forced him to watch Erra’s set with me and now he was taking me to see a band he thought I’d like. He was excited to show them to me and I was just happy to be here, seeing bands I love and seeing new artists that I would absolutely be adding to playlists tonight. We stopped and stood in a spot where we thought would be perfect. There were a few people in front of us, but we were close enough to the barricade and stage that we could see the whole show perfectly. 

While we waited for their set to start, Finn and I chatted about the bands we had seen that day. We both mentioned a few we enjoyed that we never heard before, then talked about how some bands put on performances that we either loved or thought could have been a lot better. We even threw some ideas back and forth of what we saw and heard that could be implemented into our own shows. We were just joking, giggling, and having the best time. It was a little sad that we had to wait until the next day of the festival for Cal and Damien to join us, but I truly enjoyed spending today with just Finn, as I definitely felt closest to him out of all of them, knowing him a lot longer than the others.

We were talking about the lineup for tomorrow and what bands we wanted to see and who we wanted to show to Cal and Damien. I was mid-sentence when I heard people beginning to cheer around us, which brought a giant smile to my face, out of complete and utter love for the environment at concerts, and then to glance up at the stage, trying to see who had stepped out. It was the drummer. He was cute. He flashed the crowd a sweet smile, waving at everyone, before sitting behind his drum set. Then came the guitarist and bassist. I eyed all three up and down, a little shocked at how attractive everyone was, but knowing Finn, it made a lot of sense as to why he wanted to be so close to the stage. 

The three of them got everything ready, and I was about to turn to Finn to mention how hot they all looked when the voice in my throat died and my body stiffened as the lead singer walked on stage. No words could explain the feeling that overwhelmed my body as I saw that confident, long-haired man stand right before me. 

He started addressing the crowd, hyping everyone up, including Finn, but I didn't hear a single word he said. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t regain control over my body. I did my best to shake out the stiffness, trying my hardest to look like a normal person in the crowd, but there was nothing I could do to get my brain to start working again. 

I watched as he moved around the stage. I could see the love that he had for performing. But absolutely nothing could knock me out of the daze I was in. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. The emotions were so foreign. I completely forgot where I was after a while. The only thing my brain allowed me to focus on was him. Everything about him. I felt like an owl, using all my senses to focus on every single thing he did. I knew I probably looked like a madman, or at least I felt like one, but there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop myself. 

After some time, probably a few songs, he was closer to the crowd, looking through it as he sang, and we locked eyes for a moment. But it almost seemed like he did a double take, before forcing himself to go back to serenading the whole crowd after a few moments. It was most definitely because I looked utterly insane, but in that moment, I didn’t care. The feeling that shot through my body when we did make eye contact was like nothing I had ever felt before. 

Time moved by at such a weird pace in my daze, so before I knew it, the set was over and he was thanking the crowd and the festival for having them. As he bowed and was about to leave the stage, our eyes locked again, and a shiver was sent through my body. I saw him blink a few times before sending a final wave to the crowd and walking off stage. 

The second he was no longer in my line of sight, reality finally came back to me. I blinked a few times and let out a deep breath as if I had been holding it the entire time. Finn started talking and caught my attention, so I turned to him as if nothing happened. 

“So… what’d you think?’ he asked, nudging my arm with a smirk. I gave him the best fake smile I could before replying, “Oh, that was amazing. Why didn’t you warn me about how hot everyone was?” which caused him to let out a chuckle.

“I figured it would be a good surprise.” he shrugged out as we walked away from the stage and towards the next set. My mind was racing a mile a minute but I tried my best to keep my composure as we continued to talk.

“So, who was your favorite?” Finn randomly asked as we stood at a different stage, waiting for Of Mice and Men to start. 

“Uhh..” I trailed off, not wanting him to know I already had an answer. 

“It was Noah, wasn’t it.” he cut me off with a smirk. 

“Was that the-” 

“The singer? Yeah. I could totally see the heart eyes you got when I saw him look at you.” he laughed out, causing my face to redden. All I could do in response was nod. I mean, it’s a simple crush, wasn’t it? We all fall for random artists, so there’s no reason for me to feel weird about it. As long as I completely ignore the fact that what I just felt was nothing close to what I felt when I used to fangirl over boybands in middle school. 

A year later

‘This isn’t a normal crush.’ I kept repeating in my head. I was currently writing lyrics for new songs, trying to find emotions in me to write about, but all I could do was dwell on that feeling I got that day, and the feelings that came after it. 

I look at my paper filled with messy writing, which was surrounded by other papers of the same misfortune, all with the same thought behind it. One talking about losing control to a man who never knew me, another begging to “be his sweet dreams.” My eyes land on another, catching the words, ‘I want to feel your heartbeat on mine,’ causing me to let out a loud groan and fall back into my chair. I rub my hands down my face and let out a dry sob. I was so tired of this. I’ve become a fucking cliche.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Cal with a small sheepish smile on his face. He crouched down next to my chair and looked up at me. 

“Do you need some help?” I know he thinks my frustration is coming from the struggle of writing, and not who I’m writing about, and I’m going to keep it that way. 

“Please. I can’t keep looking at these. And if anyone could help me, it’s going to be the other hopeless romantic in this band.” I answer with a sad chuckle. He nods and motions me to stand up so he can sit at my desk. I do so, sitting in a chair a few feet away and just staring up at the ceiling as I hear him rustle the papers around. 

“Oh for fucks sake, dude, who the hell are you writing about,” he asks, thankfully rhetorically. He knows I never answer, the embarrassment being too much, so I just reply with a tired giggle and let him do what he can to fix this part of my mess. 

I blink a few times, finally back in the bathroom. Reality crashing into me, finally grounding me once again. My hands are cramping as I look down and see that I’ve been gripping the sink so harshly, I don’t know how I didn’t break it. I loosen my grip and stand up straight, shaking off my nerves. I take an actual look at myself in the mirror, fix my makeup with my finger a little, before taking a deep breath and unlocking the door, ready to at least confront today. I can deal with the future later. I run my plan in my head a little, deciding that I can at least pretend to be an extrovert for a little while, just to ease the awkward tension that I know will build if I keep acting this way. 

I walk back through the hallway of the venue, then outside, towards the group of guys who were all chatting, and let out one last exhale of stress before putting on my confident front and joining the rest of them. 

Thankfully, it seems I was gone for barely 10 minutes, as their crew bus wasn’t even here yet and they’re still chatting about interests and how they were happy to finally meet after talking for a few months. I walk close enough that I have now caught the attention of a few of them, and I give them the best confident smile that I can. I walk towards the other band of boys and give them a small wave. 

“You must be Joakim!” I say, him giving me a proud smile for using his real name, and I internally thank myself for pronouncing it correctly. He tells me to just call him ‘Jolly” as I give him a small side hug, feeling comfortable with him since I know that he and Finn have become good friends lately, and I would love to be one as well. I then face to his right. 

“And you must be the Nicks!” I say without trying to under or overdo my enthusiasm. “I am really happy to meet you all. Sorry I haven’t been as chatty over the phone as the others, but preparing for a tour kinda makes me a recluse.” I give them both a sheepish smile as I give my hands a squeeze, trying not to feel too embarrassed about completely ignoring them when the boys would chat with them. They both chuckle and tell me that it was all good since we’d be hanging out now, and that thankfully made me feel better, knowing they were falling for this fake extroverted version of me. 

Now here comes the hard part. I take the deepest breath I could through my nose so they can’t tell how hard this is for me. I take a few steps to their right and meet face-to-face with Noah. I hold my arms behind my back, knowing that my hands are definitely shaking right now, and give him a warm smile. 

“And you must be the famous Noah Sebastian.” I try giving him my warmest smile and a small nod of acknowledgment. His eyes show an emotion I can’t quite understand and his mouth parts slightly before closing and giving me a fake warm smile back. Almost completely mirroring mine. My stomach sours at the sight, fearing that he may already hate me, but maybe he is just nervous and trying to hide it as well. 

“And you must be Y/N.” my breath softly hitches as I hear his deep smooth voice, and it being directed towards me was causing small shivers down my spine. I play it as cool as I can and nod before he continues, now facing my whole band.

“We’re really excited to play with you guys. We’ve actually listened to Praising Deities for a while, even before Thomas and Jolly met. So I was super excited to hear that our teams were able to come together and make this happen. And I truly hope that we all enjoy spending the next few months together and become good friends.” He finishes, giving us all a warm smile, his eyes trailing over all of us, but lingering on me the longest, making my heart race.  

Finn, Calum, and Damien all thank him and continue on with compliments and getting to know the other band, Jolly and the Nicks responding back the same way. But that just left Noah and I alone in our own little worlds. We listened to the others chat about things, occasionally answering if someone asked us something, but we didn’t contribute much. I couldn’t get my mind away from the thought that I was barely a foot away from the man that has been infiltrating my thoughts daily for the past few years. 

At some point, I guess I had dazed off, overthinking everything and just staring down at the ground while everyone chatted. Who knows how long I did this before I felt someone to my left nudge me. I blinked a few times before turning to them, only for my eyes to widen slightly, seeing that it was Noah and that he was closer than ever before. He leans down until his face is near my ear.

“You alright?” He mumbles into my ear with a slight nervous strain, sending shivers down my spine, once again, at how deep his voice got when he was trying to keep quiet. I take a deep breath before giving a half-assed nod. He clears his throat, standing up straight, and then places a hand on my lower back, pushing me out of the crowd of our bandmates. I really didn’t know how to react other than letting my heart start racing again, so I just let him, until we were far enough from them that we could have our own conversation. When he stopped, I looked up at him, slightly confused. 

“I- uh I just figured you needed to get out of there. I was starting to get overwhelmed and saw you staring off in the distance, so I figured you needed a way out of there as well.” He answered my silent question, rubbing his tattooed hand on the back of his neck, almost looking shy. 

“Oh!” I let out a fake airy laugh. “ Yeah, I uh just have a lot on my mind… I was honestly waiting for our manager to come out and tell us to do our soundcheck, just something to get away from the questions. I..uh..it’s been a stressful day, so as much as I’d love to have a good chat with all of you, it’s probably going to have to wait until I’m more settled in with..all of this,” I finish, motioning to the tour busses and venue. He seems to be listening intently when I talk and gives me a small nod when I finished. 

“No, I get it. To be completely honest, I still get anxious on the first show of a tour..” he pauses for a moment, before looking like he had an idea. “Here. You go head inside, I’ll be right back.” He quickly moves towards his tour bus. I shoot him a confused look at his sudden excitement but realized he was already so far away, so I just do what he says and start walking back inside. On my walk in, I continue my deep thinking. How I’m actually really happy that I’m playing off my anxiety toward him super well, and was surprisingly able to have a conversation with him without freaking out. And I was especially thankful that he had more confidence than me, actually starting the conversation. Maybe I can survive this. Maybe I can get over all these weird feelings over the next few months. I mean, having a natural human conversation with him seems to be okay for me, so hopefully my brain will start seeing him as a normal everyday person…right?

Still deep in thought, I make it inside and head towards the backstage area. As I walk, my reflection catches my eye, and I turn and take a good look at myself in the full-length mirror they have in there. “I look sane enough” I quietly tell myself with a nod as I fix my outfit a little before letting out a deep breath, forcing the rest of the stress out of me. I’m glad I put extra thought into my outfit today. I know I’m gonna have days where I’ll just want to put something comfy on to perform, but with first impressions and it being the first day of the tour, I’m pretty proud of my appearance.

Since it was the first day, and I liked my look, I pulled out my phone and took a quick picture (or a few, trying to find the right pose) and then headed towards the couch. I open Instagram and click on the picture I like the most. One where my tattoos show and the lighting was good enough. Then I type, “Day 1 jitters slowly easing away. Can’t wait to see you all out there <3” in the caption, making a face at how that was somehow the best idea for a caption I could come up with, but not really caring and hitting post anyway, after tagging the band’s account. 

Almost instantly, I started getting likes and comments and was about to put my phone away until a few caught my eye. They all mentioned Noah. Some asking weird personal questions, some wanting to see how we were all getting along, and some even asking when a collab was happening, which made me chuckle. Then I saw a few with account names that had either ‘Bad Omens’ or ‘Noah’s’ in them and each had some snarky comment to make. One mentioning how I was probably sleeping around since I was going to be touring with 7 other boys, which I just rolled my eyes at. If it hasn’t happened yet, I doubt I was ever going to do anything like that. I don’t like mixing work and play, and I absolutely would never see any of my boys like that. The thought alone made me grimace. 

But then I thought about it more. I’m going to be spending the next four months with Bad Omens. I’m going to be spending the next four months with Noah. Singing my songs. The songs I wrote..about Noah. Fuck.  And Noah is currently on his way here by himself. We’re going to hang out by ourselves…Why did I let him tell me to wait in here? What happened when speaking to him that I just forgot about the debilitating obsession I got all those years back. Hell, what am I even doing here?

Almost as if on cue, the doors open and I hear a single pair of footsteps walk towards me. My knee began to bounce and I tried my best to hide my attention in my phone as he got closer.

“Hey,” he said softly, not needing to be any louder since it was just me in here. I looked up from my phone and saw that he brought a Nintendo Switch with him. I giggled as the sight brought me out of my mental battle. Such a large, tatted man, looking down at me with excitement as he held a colorful, handheld gaming device. He walked closer to me until he sat down about a foot from me and gave me a smile, which I mirrored back as authentically as I could. 

“Whenever my nerves are getting bad, I always force one of the boys to play with me until soundcheck. So I figured..” he trailed off as he motioned the switch towards me. I let out a small laugh before responding. 

“You know, that might actually help. Are you sure you don’t have anything you have to be doing? I don’t want to be using up your time-” 

“No! I mean… I have a lot of time. You guys still have, what? An hour? before soundcheck, and I can do everything I need during that time’ he rushed out, catching me a little off guard a little, causing me to giggle. 

“Okay. Okay. If you say so.” I laugh out as I reach my hand out. He gives me a smile and places the controller in my hand before setting the body of the switch on the table in front of us. We go back and forth deciding on what game to play and eventually just settle on Mario Kart. 

Finn

The boys and I chatted for a good 20 minutes or so, or what I thought was only 20 minutes, before we realized that Y/N and Noah never came back. I noticed first, then slowly the rest of them did, a few of us sending each other confused glances before Cal mentioned needing to look for them, as we probably had to get ready soon. I agreed and we all started walking back.

We all headed towards the door to the back of the venue, Damien being the one to open it. As soon as we stepped inside, we all heard arguing, causing a few of us to share concerned looks before speed walking towards the voices, leading us to the room backstage. The second we got close enough, we saw Y/N leaning over Noah, trying to knock a tiny switch controller out of his hands, as he was yelling about how she was cheating. 

“WHY’D YOU PICK RAINBOW ROAD FOR YOUR TURN, JACKASS! YOU OBVIOUSLY KNOW THE TRACK WELL! SO YOU’RE THE CHEATER!” Y/N yells, still occasionally elbowing Noah’s arm, but his tight grip on the controller and focus on the screen not faltering once. Noah’s laughing more and more every time she tries messing with him. 

“YOU’RE LITERALLY TOUCHING MY CONTROLLER! THAT’S AGAINST THE RULES!” Noah yells back as he starts shouldering her back into her spot. The boys and I just watch in awe as these two argue over a racing game, which I do fully understand, especially since I have played against Y/N before and boy, does she get competitive. I see Y/N catch us in the corner of her eye and she smirks. 

“Noah, the boys are here for you,” she tells him, and the second he glances up at us, she instantly smacks the controller out of his hands, it landing on the thankfully carpeted floor, and she lets out an almost evil cackle. Noah shouts as he loses the controller and immediately reaches for it as fast as he can. He sits back up, fumbling with the controller to get a good hold of it, and goes back to playing, only to let out a ‘WHAT THE FUCK’ which causes her to laugh even harder. 

“I WAS IN SECOND PLACE AND NOW I’M IN TENTH,” Noah shouts towards her before turning towards us. “She is vicious!” he warns us, causing all of us, but mainly Cal, Damien and I to just laugh because if anyone already knew that, it was us. Damien and Ruffilo walk closer to them, standing on each side of them, watching as they finish the race. I can tell by the teasing scowl on Ruffilo’s face and the excitement in Damien’s that Y/N was winning. After a few moments, with Noah and Y/N looking like they were both about to fall out of their seat, Y/N jumps up and Noah falls back as Damien and Y/N cheer and high-five each other. The boys and I all clap for her and she gives an over-the-top bowing performance, before turning to Noah, who’s throwing a fake pity party. This causes her to sit back down and try to ease her laughter. 

“Awe, I’m sorry, Noah,” she says with a fake pout. He lets out a huff in response, causing her to have to stifle a giggle. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the stage manager walking towards us, and I look over to Y/N. The movement catches her eye as well as she glances at us, getting the hint that we need to head for soundcheck. She stands and walks around Noah so he’s looking at her and leans down. 

“I’ll make this up to you next time,” she tells him with a smile as she turns and walks away, Damien following her. As I was about to turn to follow, I managed to catch Noah’s eyes trailing down Y/N’s body, eyeing up her tattoos, and then just her, as she walked away. I had to hold back a snicker as Cal and I walked away from the group and headed on stage.

Part Two

[to-boldly-ship-mcspirk]

okay so people seemed to actually like my post on having read the tos mirror universe saga comic (and thanks for the further comic recs!) so I thought I'd share my thoughts because I have SO MANY. I was not prepared for how married mcspirk was gonna be in this, especially kirk and mccoy.

as for the actual plot of the series: it picks up after the search for spock, with spock still recovering while kirk and the rest have to face off with their evil versions from the mirror universe episode. It was published by DC comics during the 80s in eight issues, and later turned into a graphic novel with eight chapters, which is the one I read. So, because I also intend to add as many photos as tumblr lets me, I thought I'd split my thoughts per chapter and if you're interested you can read my thoughts on CHAPTER ONE under the cut:

so this is literally how the comic opens, spock is recovering on vulcan and this is the first thing he says:

like come on, he's so in love. Also the "jim, his name is jim" mirroring his exchange with kirk from the search for spock, where he says: "jim ... your name ... is jim" and kirk says "yes" (which lives rent free in my mind) is so cool!

then we have a glorious exchange with bones, whose first words to spock after the events of wrath of khan and search for spock are "you look good" ... okay, I know he meant it as a medical opinion but come on. Also the fact they're immediately back to bickering, I love their relationship so much. Spock paying him a compliment and calling him excellent and bones just going: "yeah, something's up, he's lost his mind", they are so MARRIED

the next exchange is so funny to me because mccoy's "you bet" and saavik's "indeed" are so unnecessary but they're all being so supportive 🥺🥺 it's so sweet

and then of course spock and jim holding hands and being all lovey-dovey. Like, "you came back for me once, Jim ... I have no doubt you will do so again" is insane, and they're holding hands again .... just kiss already

I also love how obsessed amanda is with kirk in this one, she treats him like her son in law and it's so sweet

and of course kirk says sth like "I have to do this but I can't order you all to follow me into danger" or sth similar like 3 times and of course everyone (and mostly sulu, the adrenalin junkie he is) always goes "stop being stupid, of course we'll come with you" and it just warms my heart

then we have more of mccoy being the most relatable ever, and this exchange with kirk just screams married to me. The way I was giggling every time bones had a line is definitely not normal

also the death of david is still so fresh and kirk is clearly suffering and bones is just so worried.

it's so sweet! And then mccoy, who canonically hates/fears nothing more than transporters doesn't just agree to beam down with kirk solely for support, no, he immediately OFFERS it himself. Like, no questions asked, he sees this is important to jim and he's just like "what can I do to make him feel better". Bones I love you so much (and so does kirk) and if this isn't husband behavior then idk what is

and kirk admitting "I've never been okay" is wild. Yes, it's about Carol but still.

mind you, we're 15 pages in and kirk is already so depressed. I know david just died but he literally goes "I wish I could die" every other page and it ripped me apart, like this is literally what he says:

meanwhile bones is constantly trying to cheer him up, the whole thing just went: mckirk being married - depression - mckirk being sweet - depression - mckirk - depression ... the whole time

also we have a scene between sulu and uhura being besties and singing together in the botanical gardens and it made me SO HAPPY. And then chekov comes in and they're all like: "oh shit we stole the enterprise to rescue spock, that might have consequences", so then they're worried and uhura is just the biggest badass (which, we all know already)

like, she's so done with it. Literally like "yeah I might lose my job but who cares, spock is more important" and it's so valid.

also, I didn't expect to see so much friendship between scotty and saavik but I'm so here for it, they have a bunch of scenes together just playing chess and being sweet

then mccoy is taking carol to david's funeral because she and kirk are not on speaking terms, like, the man loves jim so much he's doing everything he can. And at the end of the chapter kirk and carol are able to talk it through and make up solely because mccoy talked to her and convinced her that blaming jim wouldn't help. Anyway, just another example of bones being the best

that's all I have to say on chapter one, or at least all I could think of with the photos that tumblr let me include. Let me know if you want me to continue? I'd love to make a post like this for every chapter and guess what? They're even more married in the next one

[puppppppppy]

fake ep idea + doodles

[triflesandparsnips]

Something something Ed seeks out or is confronted by his own reflections three times in ascending order of violent emotions (the hand mirror, the salver, the knife)--

And we see Stede being painted twice in his old life, not looking at the painter or the painting but at some distant other thing, and then finally seeking to see himself in the third appearance of his portraiture-- only to find he's been painted out.

I wonder if Stede will someday ask to be drawn, and how, and whether he will look at the artist while they work, or the other people in it (if any), and seek out the finished work and be happy to see himself reflected in it.

...and I wonder if Ed will avoid reflections now (remove the mirrors, avert the eyes, but sometimes he'll catch himself in still water and flinch away--) because he knows what he is, he made himself this way, he knows how others see him and he can see it in their eyes without needing any further proof (except what he sees in Stede's eyes doesn't seem to match, so better not look there, fuck, fuck--)

Stede will look so, so hard now, and Ed will look at anything but-- a switch now, from their season 1 selves, lasting, perhaps, until they can finally see themselves -- and each other -- fully.

(And maybe, after that, they'll be able to see themselves together.)

[ljesaw]

IS IT YOUR OWN DESTINY? OR IS IT A DESTINY SOMEONE ELSE HAS TRIED TO FORCE ON YOU?

[myownprivatcidaho]

new supervisor @ my job this semester who's great and super friendly and a great listener. he said today im the most guarded of everyone who works there and that "[i] want to talk about everything except [my]self" and from what he gathers im a "walking contradiction" because im an "intentional person who's afraid of intentionality" i-

[mikuhats]

Idk how to properly word this, but it's like... Kendall bringing up how he doesn't think he's a good father was definitely because he realized how much Sophie is an afterthought during this, right? His priority is his position as CEO. As much as he cares for Sophie, she does not measure up to how much CEO means to him unfortunately! So much of an afterthought actually, that he would rather call Mencken to spite Shiv, than continue to abstain. And he calls Rava, in hopes to speak to Sophie, to feel better about himself. But it doesn't happen, because it's late and she's asleep, and Rava ends the call by saying she needs to sleep too. And I think that's probably gonna bug him for the remaining episodes... That the poison does, in fact, drip through. That it has been for way longer than he seems to realize. That business IS, ultimately, more important than his children. That he isn't a good person, or a good father. Lol 👍

[shariasweet]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ angel girl

_._____ 𝒙 f.reader

wc ::: drabble length sharinote ::: contains dumbification and some other stuff! unprotected sex as well as mirror sex… also pet names (SLIGHT daddy kink… im so sorry) and overstimulation + squirting and maybs a little roughness. this isn’t proofread grrr :(

[porn no plot] just your boyfriend fucking you dumb and making you squirt 👻

'dumb baby...' your boyfriend relentlessly fucked into you from behind — his breath hot and fanning against you neck, fueling to the fire that was your arousal.

the mirror in front of you was just as foggy as your brain — your eyes clouded, and rolled back as you babbled incoherently. 'mmm...' a soft groan fell bubbling from between your lips.

'you're drooling everywhere, sweet girl...’ your boyfriend’s rough thrusts coming to a slow halt as his hands snaked around your body. ‘here… give daddy your chin, sweetheart.' his long slender fingers came crawling between the valley of your breasts and past your neck to firmly grip you cheeks.

'look at you, sweetheart. so, so pretty.' as he forced your face up and out of the sheets his lips met your own in a sloppy wet kiss — one filled with passion and desire. once more, his hips forcefully slammed against your ass — red from the friction as he buried himself deep within your sopping cunt.

'good girl...' his hand groped the swell of your breasts. as you were overwhelmed with pleasure, you could feel yourself slipping away. what you’d assumed to be your third, maybe fourth orgasm crept up on you. 'aht aht...’ he tutted in your ear. ‘want you to look... watch it, pretty girl.'

you could feel him roughly repositioning your face yet again to stare into your reflection.

he trailed kisses along your neck, chuckling warmly as he saw your eyes snap open in awe at the scene before you: your thighs littered in hickeys your lips puffy and swollen and your whole body quivering in absolute bliss.

'ah! s'too much... s'so deep!' you squirmed. he pressed on the bulge poking out from your lower abdomen. 'too deep? m'only right here... how about this?' harder. deeper. you suddenly hit the mattress, his grip on your waist faltering as he fucked into you with even more dedication... slamming you down and splitting you open for the umpteenth time on his cock... he continued bullying himself cozily into your cunt as he drilled further, and further within you velvety wet walls. ‘ffuck… always so tight aren’t you, baby?’

'ahw fuck, fuck mh!' gasping, your fingers knotted up in the sheets as you moaned uncontrollably… back arching far into the bed before he lifted you up yet again — his tip practically kissing your cervix.

‘shit! w-wait…’ the knot in your stomach began to wrap itself up. waves of pleasure threatening to fall and crash over you if he continued — which he did.

it only took a few more thrusts — each drag of his cock soothing your high as you’d finally came.

sharp thrust after sharp thrust… you took note of how he carefully overstimulated you. harshly rubbing your clit even after your orgasm. ‘shit! a-already… fuck… I already came.’ you pout, whining. ‘I know, just hold on, baby… need one more thing from you.’

‘unghhh!’ the male had lifted you up once more… your reflection not your own as you appeared completely ruined. ‘how’s it feel hm?’ your sore core ached — burning hot as you cried, leaning into his neck. ‘don’t hide.’

‘feels like im ‘gonna pee…’ you mumbled beneath your breath. he nodded. ‘good girl, let go f’me.’

another knot came forming in your tummy…

‘w-wait! ohmygodohmygod..!’ and clear liquid shot from between you legs. drenching the sheets and you and your boyfriend's thighs.

the two of you breathed heavily collapsing onto one another as he kissed your forehead. ‘angel girl…’ he purred. ‘did so good for me yeah?’

lee heuseng: yang jungwon: choi soobin: kang taehyun: jeong yunho: choi san: taesan: leehan: park gunwook: suh johnny: lee jeno: whoever else your little heart desires 🤍

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[loveanddeepdick]

nerd!nanami halloween edition

batman & catwoman

nerd!nanami who helps you into your costume. it was supposed to be a surprise but there was so much tight latex you had no choice but to ask him for help. gojo had invited you to his annual halloween party in his penthouse and nanami reluctantly accepted the invitation.

“honey.. are you sure this thing is made for.. humans? it looks like a medieval torture method,” nanami grunts as he pulls the latex up your legs, “are you in any pain—shit! are you in any pain, dear?”

“no, no, kenny! just get it on my arms and we’re all done!”

“i might have to oil you up, dear..” he chuckles wholeheartedly before he pauses, realizing his innuendo.

“… okay ken,” you giggle, slapping his arm.

nerd!nanami who finally gets the whole costume on you after another hour while his batman costume only took a max of five minutes to pull on.

“i think i look silly, dear,” he runs his hands over his hair before putting on the black mask, his face dwarfing the spirit halloween accessory. he was just ginormous in all ways.

“you don’t look silly! i think you look very handsome,” you smile, rubbing a hand over his biceps under the black shirt. he refused to wear anything too silly, opting for a black batman shirt and black sweats along with the mask.

you two stood before your bathroom mirror as you giggle excitedly at the sight. you whipped out your phone, taking what seemed like a thousand photos of him before you two left for gojo’s halloween party.

nerd!nanami who tries his hardest to hide his boner at the party. he was a reasonable man, of course he let you go have fun and party with your friends. but that didn’t stop him from keeping a possessive eye on you.

he couldn’t believe it. his girlfriend. his catwoman. he used to pray for a day like this to come. he had to pinch himself to realize it wasn’t a dream and that you were indeed real, a goddess in his eyes.

nerd!nanami who doesn’t last for another thirty minutes seeing you in that costume, pulling you to a guest bedroom in gojo’s penthouse where you two usually stayed if you crashed there.

you gasped as he pressed you down against the bed.

“hold on, kenny i’ll just—“

you try to take off the panted pants yourself until your hear a loud stretch and a rubbery rip. you shriek, eyes widen as you look back and he’s got the spandex in two pieces, baring your thighs and pussy to him.

“please, honey.. i need you now,” nanami groaned, pushing his hand along your back to guide you back onto your stomach.

gojo’s sheets were always cotton, thank god. they’d be easy to wash after this.

nerd!nanami who has your head pushed into the pillows as he plows your pussy from the back, spanking your ass to watch them move like water.

“fffuck, baby.. you feel so good”

nanami groaned as he leaned forward, angling deeper inside you as his cock reached what seemed like you stomach.

“kennnn.. so big!”

“shh, shh i know, i know, baby, just take it,” he grunted as he felt you clench at his words, reaching down to rub your clit as he watched you drool onto the pillow.

“i-im gonna—ah! i’m gonna!”

“you’re gonna what, honey? use your words”

“i’m gonna cum, kennnn”

he was never the one to tease you or enjoy watching you like this, but something inside him snapped when he watched you stumble over your words, whining to try to find your sense of mind when you went dumb on his cock.

“cum for me, baby, c’mon, i know you”

“fffuck! ken!”

your pussy held his cock like a vice and shit, thank god he wasn’t batman cause he would never be saving the world since he has you waiting at home.

he shot thick, creamy ropes of cum deep into your pussy, warmth filling you up as you sighed contently. he pulled out, admiring you for a minute, watching as his cum spilled out. he was about to get up to clean you until he saw you subtly wiggle your hips, the sight of your plump ass, your ruined pussy, your legs only half covered in spandex, fuck it only made him hard again.

he leaned in, spreading you open, watching your gaping, twitching holes before licking a stripe over them as you shivered

“honey, how about i clean you up, hm?”