#byeeee see you guys when i get back!

[ayoharuko]

Valentine Oneshots with the Luxiem Boys!~ (Part 5)

Hi! This is the last one, and its my Oshi too :)

Hope you guys enjoy this final valentine oneshot, also this is the last post I'm doing and I'm gonna be on full hiatus, see u guys~

Reader here is gender neutral!

REMINDER: Please know that I'm only writing about their persona’s and not the people thats behind them! This is also a work of fiction so please try not and take this too seriously :)

''I made you some chocolates!''

~Mysta Rias~ (Detective)

Mysta Rias didn't have any coking or baking skills, we all know this despite the amount of denial he gives us. This man cannot cook.

But this Valentines, Mysta got a dayoff and he wanted to bake you some classic sweet chocolates! But...nothing seems to be going according to his plan....

The chocolate tasted more salty then sweet and the batter was too solid then watery....what was this silly detective gonna do?

You were almost home and the kitchen was a MESS. He knew you were gonna kill him...but at least he brought you flowers! You'd like that..right?

Speaking of which, he heard the door to your shared apartment opening and he heard you calling his name...

''Mysta? Babe? huh..?'' You heard some stuff smashing in the kitchen...oh no...

You ran to the kitchen in a panic and, oh my Pomu......

There was your boyfriend, Mysta Rias wearing an apron that was stained with chocolate, and behind him was full of butter, chocolates, milk and it was just a dirty mess.

''Mysta Rias what did you do?'' You ask in disbelief, ''W-W-Well...i..I was trying to make these chocolates for you!'' Mysta said while showing you the chocolate batter he made...

''I know it looks bad..but I'm sure they'll taste good once I put them in the fridge-'' You stop him from finishing his sentence and just took the batter away from him.

''No. I appreciate this Mysta but..I already brought home a cake and chocolates..'' You said looking at him with a hopeful look.

Mysta looked upset and you felt really bad so...you decided ''Why don't I help you?'' You ask him with a smile.

''H-Huh? But I thought you already brought chocolates?'' Mysta said grumpily...

''Oh don't act all grumpy now Mystaa~, do you need help or what?'' You ask grabbing an extra apron putting it on your yourself and looking at him.

''Alright..fine'' Mysta finally gave in, and you both spend the next hours baking the perfect and delicious chocolates!

You and Mysta put the chocolates in the fridge to freeze so you could eat it later or tomorrow, ''Thanks for helping me babe! Tho..I'm the one who made more eheheheh'' Mysta saids while giggling.

You just shake your head and go to the couch to rest since you were tired from baking...you then felt a head resting on your chest.

''You alright babe?'' Mysta asks you snuggling his head onto your chest, ''I'm fine...just tired..'' You say while playing with his hair.

A comfortable silence pass and he decided to break it, ''Babe?'' Mysta called out to you ''Hm?'' You respond back.

''Did you know that, if you and I were a sock, we'd be a great pair?'' Mysta said trying not to laugh.

You facepalm at this and just lightly smacked his arm making him bust out in laughter.

You hate (love) this silly detective~

DONE!!! Thank you everyone for reading these! Hope you guys had a great valentines and sorry for the cringed pickup line just thought Mysta would do something like that lol

But I'll see u guys byeee!

Reblogs and Feedback/Comments are always appreciated! :3

[nereidprinc3ss]

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him. 

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened? 

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a  little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough. 

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes. 

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him. 

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was. 

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again. 

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again. 

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table. 

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world. 

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms. 

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now. 

[multific]

Love Potion

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: Mattheo always looked at you in a certain way.

His eyes always followed your every move.

You noticed it very early on just how much attention he was paying to you.

His eyes followed you everywhere.

No matter the place, time or occasion.

Let it be class or breakfast or lunch or dinner.

He always had an eye on you.

And you actually didn’t mind.

Mattheo is a very handsome guy. Even if everyone and even your instincts warned you about him, there was still something.

Something which kept you interested.

You felt a pull towards him.

A pull you never acted on.

So, it was mostly longing looks exchanged between you two, nothing more. 

One evening, you were having dinner with your friends.

Hermione talked about Ron and how stupid he was. Then you grabbed a bonbon and popped it into your mouth.

“Y/N NO!” you heard someone say but it was too late.

Amortentia.

Or as they called it, love potion. 

The entire room smelled like him. Amortentia tends to smell like the person you are in love with, you didn’t even realise. 

You were blind.

The room smelled like smoke, honey and wood.

You wanted to see him, kiss him.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for you to eat it!” said one of the Hufflepuffs. “I was meant to prank my roommate!” 

While everyone was talking, you were quick to run off into the backyard of the school.

You had a pretty good idea of where to find Mattheo.

And surely enough, you found him by the trees smoking.

“RIDDLE!” you yelled, making him flinch and almost drop his cigarette.

“Y/N?”

“Kiss me! RIGHT NOW!”

“Are you drunk?”

“Just in love, come on.” you ran over to him, almost making him trip as you came in contact with him.

He grabbed you to save you from falling and this is when he noticed your eyes.

“Were you given something?”

“All I feel is looooove.” you said and smiled.

Mattheo noticed Hermione from the corner of his eyes.

“What happened to her?”

“A Hufflepuff gave her Amortentia.” she explained as she grabbed your hand and began to pull you back.

“Love potion? Why?”

“Forget this happened Riddle!” Hermione yelled back at Mattheo as you waved to him.

“Byeeee Matty!” he lifted his hand and gave you a small wave back. He was utterly confused.

—

“I CAN’T BELIEVE I DID THAT!” you yelled into your pillow once the potion wore off. “Why didn’t you stop me?!”

“I tried!” said Hermione.

“I want to die. I’m so embarrassed. At LEAST he was alone! Imagine if I did that in front of the school!”

“Well… on our way back to our rooms… you kinda… just a tiny little bit yelled in front of everyone passing by that Mattheo is yours and you will fight for your true love… kinda.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. God. No.” you shook your head but she nodded. “NO. PLEASE NO.”

“And… maybe… kinda… The Slytherins were also there? Maybe?”

“I am jumping out the window,” you said as you stood up and walked towards the window, Hermione grabbed your hand and pulled you back. “I want to die, please. This is so embarrassing!”

“The thing is that almost everyone like cheered for you. Malfoy even wanted to give you a high-five for being so brave. I thought he was being sarcastic, but he was for real. Then Theodore came up and said ‘Go get him, Tiger’ They were all cheering you on.”

“So, I’m the laughingstock of the entire school. Lovely.”

You fell back into your bed, face into the pillow. How will you face everyone tomorrow?

—

 “Mattheo Riddle! The lucky guy!” said Theodore as he hit Mattheo in the shoulder. “Having one of the prettiest girl scream and declare her love for you. Lucky you!” Mattheo rolled his eyes at his friend.

Although he couldn’t sleep one bit for the entire night, his mind was way too busy.

“It was only a prank.” Mattheo said. It was the only logical explanation.

“Nope. You know Angie? The Hufflepuff girl? Nevermind… Apparently, she made some chocolate for her friend as a prank, but Y/N ended up eating one and it had Amortentia in it.” Mattheo looked at Theodore, trying to see if his friend was lying but he wasn’t.

“And how do you know that?”

“Angie told her friends and I heard it. They didn’t realize I was standing there. But lucky you, having a girlfriend! Don’t fuck it up tho! Or I might steal her.”

“Piss off.” Theodore laughed as they both entered the class.

Mattheo’s eyes immediately locked with yours. You looked scared as you looked away. He could only imagine how you were feeling.

But he was just as confused and embarrassed.

After classes, you wanted nothing more than to run back to your room and hide from everyone.

No one said a thing. But the looks they gave you, said it all.

You just wanted to get out.

You made it to the hallways when someone behind you called your name.

It was Mattheo, your eyes widened as you quickly darted into the girl’s bathroom.

“Y/N, I just want to talk.”

“Look I’m sorry what happened okay?! Please just forget it.”

Then he opened the door and came into the bathroom as you back away and walked into the sinks. 

“This is the girl’s bathroom what are you doing?”

“I need to know if, what you said is true. Did you mean any of it or was it the potion?”

“I-I.” you wanted to lie, you wish you were a better liar. All you could do was listen to your heart hammer in your chest. 

“So it’s true. What you said is all true… you do lo-”

“OKAY now, please, I’m embarrassed enough, I do not need your rejection, Riddle. Please can you just leave me alone?” you wanted to go into a stall and lock yourself for eternity.

“I thought you hated me.” he suddenly said and you looked at him, shocked. “I was watching you and… you always avoided my looks. Okay, not always but many times.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Just agree to grab some butterbeer with me. That could be a start.”

“What?” you were so confused.

“I’m asking you on a date.”

“You are asking me on a date?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” he asked as you turned your body back towards him.

“I thought you didn’t do… dates.” you sounded very nice, you worded it even more nicely.

“I don’t. But with you, I will.”

“So, what? You… like me too? After what I said and did yesterday?”

“It was very cute.”

“Cute? Which part exactly? When I yelled at you to kiss me or when I swore to kill whoever dares to go close to you?”

“Exactly.” he smirked. “I will wait for you, get ready for our date. An hour? Is that enough?”

“Okay. An hour.” he nodded and turned to leave.

You stood there, stunned when a voice behind you made you jump.

“How romantic!”

“Myrtle!”

“You have a date! Go get ready!” she yelled and you listened.

You got ready relatively quickly.

You debated not going, then you decided to give it a try and go.

Then, as you waited by the gates you were prepared for Mattheo not showing up.

Maybe this was his way of repaying you for embarrassing him?

But, he did show up. He did take you out to eat and drink and you did have a good time.

He did walk you back to your dorm and placed a small kiss on your cheek as a goodbye.

He did all that.

And if you only knew it would take a small amount of love potion for you to finally be with him, you would have eaten that piece of chocolate a long time ago. 

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster@capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak  @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[devil-in-hiding]

I sometimes see videos from this girl who raised her baby in college and all of her friends helped raise her baby with her so I just imagine the 141 collectively helping reader with their baby 🥺 can’t get the baby to settle? Price doesn’t even stop his debrief or meeting, he just scoops of the baby and the instantly settle. Tired and need a break? Soap will gladly take the baby for tummy time while the football match is on the tv. Gaz will send so many pictures of the 141 baby to reader while they’re busy (a favorite is Soap and the baby wearing matching sunglasses). And if the baby is ever up late and needing attention? Ghost is already on it and somehow gets them to sleep in record time

And the lads definitely will have that baby in their arms/strapped to their chest while they’re barking at recruits.

OKAY BYEEEE✨✨✨💋

I needed this cuteness ):

I had the thought of assistant!reader whose boyfriend up and leaves the minute you tell him you’re pregnant, and you have no idea what to do. Thus thats how you end up on your boss’s doorstep, on boys night, face drenched in tears and rambling so bad the guys can not decipher what you’re trying to tell them, and Price is leading you over to his couch, sitting you between Simon and Kyle, who immediately start rubbing your back.

“Pretty i need you to take a deep breath for me okay? Shhh, c’mon sweet girl. Breathe with me.” Price coaches, rubbing your hands affectionately as he breathes in and out with you, feeling your hands relax in his, but your tears never stop.

“I-I’m.. I’m pregnant and Todd just packed all his shit and left!” You wail, lip trembling as you pull your hands away from his hold, covering your mouth to muffle your sobs as you hunch over.

The silence in the small loft is deafening, just the sound of your sobs ring up, but then strong arms are hauling you up and into a lap, and you hiccup as you look up into Simon’s eyes. “No more crying over that fuckhead, got it luvie? You’ve got us.” He states, matter of factly, and your heart skips when he places a large hand on your belly, rubbing slowly. “Not gonna just leave you and the little one, you always got a place with us.”

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : stream hype

bf!hamzah x poc!reader

summary: based on this ask!!! just a lil blurb where yn gives hamzah and viewers a try on haul during a stream

mickey speaks: ok i did smthg different than the tiktoks for this one but i love writing these & im glad u love them too 😭💗 i need hamzah as my boyfriend like NOWWW

─────────── · · ୨୧ · · ───────────

hamzah’s streaming in the corner of your shared bedroom when you get home from a day out with your girlfriends

he can hear you make your way through the house before you peek your head into the room with a smile, “hi, i’m home!”

he’s immediately grinning at the sight of you, “heyyy, look who’s back” and motions you to come closer with his hand

he’s not shocked at alllll when you have handfuls of shopping bags with you when you open the door fully

you place them on your bed with a large sigh before coming closer to greet hamzah

he remains seated as you hug; his face tucked into your lower stomach and loving arms wrapped around your hips as you play with the bits of hair peeking from his beanie

he whispers “i missed you” hoping the stream doesn’t catch it since he’s further away from the mic

they totally hear that shit and the chat is flooded with remarks about how cute the two of you are

he pulls away and looks up at you as you talk, “missed you more...do you need me to grab you anything? i’ll probably go watch something and give you a haul whenever you’re done here.”

“no, im good. i won't be on for too much longer”

"m'kay," you nod your head and make sure to greet the viewers before you exit, bending down so you’re in frame and showing off your lovely smile and energy (that hamzah admires in the monitor) “hiiii and byeeee!” you wave and blow a kiss. hamzah’s smile never fades as he watches you.

as soon as you’re gone hamzah reads over the chat, which is full of people begging for you to come back, “seriously??? am i not enough for you guys?”

after a while he gives in and pulls out his phone to call you, showing the camera his screen with your name and photo on it, before putting it on speaker for them to hear

“hi, are you okay?” your smooth voice comes through the scratchy phone audio

“yes, but the people are not. they want you to hang out in here” he smiles and bites his lip in anticipation of your response

“are you lying?”

his face screws up, “why would i lie??”

“well why’d you call instead of yelling for me?? im just in the other room,” you giggle

“because this is fun-er.”

“okay, im coming”

“YOURE WHAT?!”

you hang up and hamzah laughs

★

you have a chair pulled up next to hamzah as you both sit and interact with the chat for a bit

you tell them multiple stories about your shopping trip and he suggests you give everyone a haul

you waste no time getting up to grab your bags from the bed and bring them over to his set up

as you go through and unfold various tops, bottoms, and dresses he adds plenty of commentary and “lemme see”s while holding them in front of his face

“this thing is not gonna cover your ass, are we serious???” he holds up a mini skirt with a laugh

and you grab it from him with a playful shake of your head, “i was gonna wear it for my other boyfriend anyway”

hamzah just stares at you with a smirk until you look back over to him, “what?!” you giggle.

“don’t play with me, girl” he smiles and leans back in his chair, “go ahead and show them the rest”

when you get to a particular dress you just about squeal, “h, you’re gonna looovvveee this one! i almost sent you a pic in the dressing room it’s so perfect.”

“show me, show me!” his eyes are wide now and his mouth spreads into a grin.

you reveal a soft, coconut white dress with leafy ruffles tied into roses (me when my describing skills shut down bc what does this even mean bruh)

“oh wow…” he looks from your glowy face to the dress held beside you and back. “can i see it on you?”

you nod your head, “yeah i took pics at the store,” you go to grab your phone.

he kisses his teeth, “now why would i wanna see some pics when i have you right here??”

you look up at him from your phone and begin to laugh under your breath. you look over to the monitor and your face gives away the joke you’re thinking of, “uh huh, okay. look someone said ‘the sassy man apocalypse has gone too far’” you point to the screen

hamzah looks for a second and then adds to the joke himself, “oh em gee, they’re saying ‘girl go put on that damn dress we wanna see already, with the rolling eye emoji!!!’” he covers his mouth as if he’s shocked, “are you really gonna take that bae??”

you try not to laugh at the pet name he uses, “hamzah whyd someone just say ‘take that fuck ass beanie off your head before you speak on a bad bitch, lil boy’?” you act just as shocked as him, “they’re some haters for real…”

hamzah deadpans and gives a side eye to the camera

★

“okay you can look now” you tell him and he slowly uncovers his eyes.

he immediately pretends to faint at the sight of you in the material that hugs you so perfectly

“oh fuck, my heart- it’s giving out, everything hurts. i can’t- breathe-!” he gives out a breathy monologue and you laugh at him before moving further away from the camera to give the viewers a better view

you turn around and ask them what they think all while hanzah fakes his death nearby

you eventually find a spot across his lap and tap his cheek telling him to be normal

“my bad my bad, i need to lock in.” he exaggerates a shake of his head

“you like it though?”

“of course i like it, look at you!!!!” he points at the both of you in the monitor

“good, i think ill wear it when we go to curaçao”

“that’ll be perfect- can you get up and do another twirl for me please? i missed it”

you pout but when he squeezes your thigh you get up and does as he asks

“guys isn’t she the prettiest??” he gushes

you blush in the form of a large smile and bend down away from him to grab another item to show off, to which he jokingly makes various sexual gestures and faces at your ass that is left pointed towards him

when you turn back around hamzah pretends to adjust a watch, which is actually just him hovering awkwardly over his wrist

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

Oh well damn to be honest I really wasn’t expecting that 🌌🧿Ancient of space🧿🌌 was going to win but you menaces always find away to surprise me but anyway let’s get started on what you voted for

🌌🧿Ancient Of Space + Dani and Dan 🧿🌌

Now for the ✨PLOT✨ so Danny got got by the GIW after being turned over by his parents because…it’s them anyway after a few weeks of being with the GIW Vlad gets him out with the help of Dani and Dan but as they were leaving via the portal some of the GIW catch them they off Vlad (the rest of the way) and destabilized Dani and Dan ( who for this story will be called Dusk for Dani and Dawn for Dan because I feel like it ) and Danny has to take their cores and incubate them until they are able to stabilize enough and it takes around 9 months for that to happen { how convenient}

anyway and Danny heads to the ghost zone but since he has been with the GIW for weeks it would be obvious that Danny injured and he’s been running on adrenaline for the past few weeks and stress so he kinda crash lands in the castle ( with redeemed Pariah Dark let’s go!!) And he nurses him back to health { like with my 🪷Queen Danny🪷 Au} they build a father / son relationship with each other ( more like overprotective father / Hurt and some what traumatized pregnant son) and after some shenanigans and some late night crying from Danny he ends up as 🌌🧿The Ancient Of Space🧿🌌 and now we have for this family dynamic

A redeemed warlord turned King

A pregnant teen traumatized Ancient of space

And a weird uncle/father who has romantic tension with the warlord

And this is Danny’s ‘life’ for a few months ( well he’s a lest 6 months and showing because this is  important for the story line later in) {and you get the pun :)}

And now for the DC part of this Tim drake gets sacrificed by some cultists who wanted to get the “Mother Of Sun rise and Moon rising and Child of War and Time” and wakes up and sees… the stars?? Well not the stars from earth it looks like it comes from deep space where no living thing has ever been and ever well be and as he sits up and looks around it looks like he’s in some dark castle/temple that looks well taken care of and as he gets up and walks around he walks past a pool of water that is so clear that it looks like a bit of the night sky full of stars that it’s reflecting ( it’s not water it’s a bit of the night sky ) and that’s when he sees her…him..? Them, they look gorgeous and that’s all I can think of right now I’ll add more if I feel like it

Now for the details

I’m thinking for dannys outfit

And for his hair I’m thinking

And for the castle/temple

And that’s about it hope this is what you guys wanted byeeee

[moonstruckme]

MAE I'm sorry, I thought of another (no pressure at all of course). maybe hot cocoa - send a character + a prompt with Spencer Reid and reunion? Maybe Spencer wasn't supposed to be home in time for the holidays and surprises his love??? AH so cute ok sorry I'll retreat back into my cave now thanks love you byeeee

Never ever be sorry lovely!! Thanks for your request <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 465 words

You set your keys on the counter when you come in, your cheeks tingling pleasantly from the change of the cold wind to your warm home. You’re carrying a small bag of presents which you set down next to your keys before taking off your shoes. It takes you a few seconds to realize something isn’t the way you left it a few hours ago. 

The Christmas tree is lit, its warm glow emanating from the living room and casting hazy shadows on the walls. 

You don’t proceed with as much caution as a woman who’s expected to be alone in her home likely should. You know Spencer and most anyone from his team would crow at you for leaving your mace with your keys by the door; but really, what creature of malintent plugs in the Christmas tree? You find Spencer sleeping on the couch, shoes nowhere to be seen but still in his work clothes. 

The smile that takes you is ginormous. He looks especially lovely. The gentle glow of the lights makes the curves of his face look soft and sweet, cherubic almost, but you’d be just as happy to see him if he were rough and grimy and frowning in his sleep. 

“Spence,” you murmur, crouching beside him. You touch his shoulder gently. “Spencer.” 

His eyes move under his eyelids before they open, settling blearily on you. “Hi.” His voice is rough but tilts up with pleasure. He blinks his way into the world. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, beaming. “What’re you doing here? What about the case?” 

“We, uh…” Spencer sits up, rubbing his face. “We solved it. They haven’t caught the guy yet, but I’m never as helpful with that part as Morgan or JJ anyway. I wanted to be with you.” 

Your cheeks are starting to hurt. You hug him fiercely. It’s awkward and half sideways, but full of more love than you can express. Spencer seems to get it. 

“I know how much Christmas means to you,” he says, folding an arm around your back. “I didn’t want to miss it.” 

Whatever he says, you know how much finishing out a case means to him, too. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got here,” you offer. “I’d have come home.” 

“That’s okay, I didn’t want you to cut your celebration short.” Spencer��s pinkie sweeps in slow arcs between your shoulder blades. “We’re together now, right?” 

You let him go to take his face in your hands, thumb denting softly into his cheek to make sure he’s really there. “Yeah,” you say, kissing him. “Thanks for coming home, Spence.” 

“Thanks for having me,” he says, a bit awkwardly. His smile when you laugh is the brightest thing in the room. 

[retroaria]

Chuuya Nakahara. That’s it, that’s the post.

summary: in my head Chuuya is lowkey crazy and would do anything and everything for you. Some of his more outrageous displays of love to you.

warnings: suggestive themes (MDNI!!!), slight yandere?, mentions of gang violence, my terrible potty mouth, these are just silly chuuya thoughts i had they are so unserious lol

BSD M.LIST | enjoy 🧸 -aria

That time when Chuuya took you to the roof of the port mafia headquarters and ordered for the entire Yokohama power grid to be shut off just so you could see the stars. Also so he could watch them sparkle in your eyes.

That time when Chuuya and his subordinates wiped out an entire enemy organization against the bosses orders just bc he thought the cathedral they were based in would be a perfect place for you guys to get married. He’s stationed guards there until it’s ready to be used, he’s got that shit on lock down. (he did this before you were even dating) (he’s a man of his prospects)

That time when Chuuya wasn’t sure how to get you to notice his affections and love him back so he threw an entire plane into your work building as an excuse to save you. Not the first catastrophe he’s caused as an excuse to carry you out of the rubble bridal style.

That time when Chuuya saw you in a giggly conversation with someone about 5 inches taller than him so he had Akutagawa break the guys legs “Yeah Aku totally went against my orders, poor guy will never walk again” *queue evil smirk*

That time when Chuuya cleared out the entire 7th arrondissement of Paris so he could fly you to the top of the Eiffel Tower. this is definitely how he proposes

That time when Chuuya had a literal bed made out of all your favorite flowers for the two of you only for him to fuck you later that night and absolutely defile it. This man is so devious.

The man, the myth, the legend. I’d let Chuuya burn down a city for me ngl. Sorry this was so short it was just some silly thoughts I had to get out. Alright that’s it byeeee. -aria

[m00ngirl777]

Feeling Loved by Peter Parker

Peter Parker x Reader

kiss number...9

“Sorry I kept you waiting, gorgeous,” With the gentlest of movements he grabbed your chin and pulled you in to kiss your lips, so softly but with an underlying hunger. The boy you had fallen in love with a little over five years ago, when you first met in Germany, was someone you will always hold so dear in your heart, in the purest of ways, but the young man he grew into, was the man you needed to shatter you and put you back together with his touch, because he was the only one that could. 

summary: Smutty, body worshiping, eating out, by the fireplace, storm outside, older peter and reader, baby girl and boy need each other so bad, he's yours, your his and that's on god bby.

A/N: forgive me father for I have SINNNNEEEEDDDD, JESUS CHRIST, im so sorry for tormenting you with this, hope you love it, im actually kinda proud, I did make Peter a little different, I imagine them being like 20, and I feel like, you know when spiderman comes out, Peter gets more confident and bold, and ykkkk, I feel like as he grows into his skin and body, and basically goes through a second puberty after spiderman, walking into his 20s, he just becomes this like very sweet but confident guy, who's not afraid to call his girl HIS, and be possessive and demanding, and dirty, I love him, can you tell??? anyways hope you love it, thxx for reading, love u, byeeee. xoxo. -N.

p.s. my requests are open my loves<333

tw: smutttttt, sex, raw, no protection, oral, riding, alcohol, like one mention.

wc: 4066

_ _ _

You craved it.

In the very quiet of your floor, where you found yourself in the soft carpet of you living room, wearing nothing but the red lacy set he liked and a soft robe, lying on top of a velvety blanket, captivated by the fire place. There was no light expect for that of the fire and other rose and vanilla scented candles placed through out the living area, the strong rain constant and the soft thunder rumble, setting an undeniably rousing mood. Everything so perfectly set for him to fuck you out, that’s why you didn’t even bother to contain the fact that you were aching for him to finally show. 

Earlier you had shared a beautiful meal and exquisite dessert, still he had a duty, and made a promise to make it back in no time to give you all of his attention, a couple hours passed and surely he was back, currently found himself in the shower, washing away the city, while you shed the soft robe you used to shield you from the cold, finding yourself in this position, waiting, craving, aching, longing, yearning. Call it what you want, you needed him to fuck you well into tomorrow.

At once he came out of the room you most often than not shared, in a slutty pair of grey Calvin’s you remember getting him, that allowed you to see how excited he could get before even getting out of them, and a pair of socks, he knew that was his version of the little red matching set he just now discovered you in. You sat up from the cushion you had been lying on watching the fire, as he walked. You grabbed the lonely glass of wine that was at your side, and sipped it, never losing sight of him, once he towered over you he got down and sat right in front of you, he grabbed the long forgotten glass of red, sipped it and stretched to placed it at a safe distance, the ripples of his muscles on display as he moved, full of grace. 

“Sorry I kept you waiting, gorgeous,” With the gentlest of movements he grabbed your chin and pulled you in to kiss your lips, so softly but with an underlying hunger. The boy you had fallen in love with a little over five years ago, when you first met in Germany, was someone you will always hold so dear in your heart, in the purest of ways, but the young man he grew into, the man that learned how to kiss your mouth and cunt, to fuck both of them so perfectly, to hold you down and wide open, to pose you to take his cock as he pleased, who became a little more selfish with his needs but never dared to neglect yours, the man in front of you, with his soft kiss giving you a taste of that pure boy he used to be, but letting you know with his wandering hand so familiarly finding place in your tit, that he has grown into so much more, that was the man you needed to shatter you and put you back together with his touch, because he was the only one that could. 

“So rude of me,” he kissed along the edge of your jaw, “to leave you sitting here, in this perfect little outfit,” the hand moved into the small of your waist, squeezing just tight enough, it was becoming hard to breath, “how much do you want me, baby?” he whispered in your ear, grazing his lips along its curves.

“So much, baby,” you pressed your forehead against his temple, it came out a little whinier than you had wished, but he did leave you here waiting, a couple of hours, for your thoughts to wonder all by themselves. He kissed the spot on your neck that sent shivers down your spine and straight into your cunt, you could already feel it, slowly dripping, just thinking about all he might do to you, with you, for you. He breathed in, his grip tighten slightly. Something else that had grown with time was his control, specially over his extraordinary abilities, those senses of him, had developed into those of a hound on steroids, making you the most vulnerable and helpless of preys, because he knew exactly what to do, to get you exactly where he wanted to. 

“Prove it,” Asshole, anyway you did, waisting no time, you pounced on him, capturing his lips, balancing yourself holding on to his upper back, his hands never stopping their wanders, he now sat with his legs stretched and you straddling them, the lacy material of your garments, and the cotton of his, a barrier between you, still he could feel the heat emanating from you. Every time you pressed yourself further to him, he could feel your pulsing cunt, involuntarily clenching around nothing, getting wetter by the second, just by a simple kiss and caress. He pushed you away, ever so softly and gave your body a good look, the goosebumps in your skin, the plumpness of your breasts threatening to spill out of the lacy bra, the matching thong rising up your wet pussy, giving him the perfect outline of your lips, as much as he loved the view he loved it even more when it was only you, bare, for him, you saw that pleading look in his eye, and slowly you unclasped the bra, teasingly letting it fall with your movements, when it was halfway down your arms Peter got impatient and decided to drag it off and throw it somewhere instead, your tits sitting so perfectly on your chest, he could not deny himself and neither could you, to grab them by the handful and bring them into his mouth, he took turns sucking, pinching, flicking and biting at the perky nipples, all you could do was lean into it, you arched your back and steadied yourself, placing your hands behind you, resting them on his meaty thighs, you chewed on your lower lip and closed your eyes, letting him continue the abuse to your breasts as he pleased, slightly trembling and letting out a throaty noise here and there. Slowly but surely he trailed back his kisses to your neck, leaving his hands to massage out whatever sore he had caused your breasts.

“I want you to suck my dick…please,” The please was simply for your amusement, the way he said it, the tone he used, left no place for denying. You just nodded as his request, a light patheticness to how dumb you’ve turned with simply foreplay.

He completely handled you, like you would a doll, and pushed and lifted you to kneel in front of him, he mirrored it, kneeling in front of you, and kissed you, stronger, hungrier than he had done last. He pulled away and effortlessly stood up, his bulge and growing wet spot on full display, damn those Calvin’s. You wasted no time, you wrapped your hands on the outer meat of his thighs and pushed him a little closer to you, you kissed around the bulge, blindly and still expertly trailing from the confined base, to the tip, eliciting the lowest, throaty sounds, and ragging his breath. After a moment, seeing how his dick got impossibly hard, the wet spot darkened and his member pulsed involuntarily, finally you decided to free him and hook supple fingers to his waist band, quicker than not, Peter grabbed your hands and bent over slightly to bring them to his lips, kissing your knuckles, and dropping them back down.

“You know better than that, gorgeous,” The gruff on his voice went straight to your cunt, once again you placed your hands on his thighs, and pulling him a little closer, you bit down on the waistband, craning your neck, you looked up into his eyes, and pulled down. Peter made a sound when his cock was finally on full display, and you're almost sure so did you. Never taking your eyes off his, you licked a strong line from one of his balls to just before getting to his tip, and repeated the same with the other, still just grabbing his thighs to seize him, you kittened licked around the head, never touching his tip, making his dick bounce with every flick of your tongue, he whined at the lack of stimulation, with his senses at a thousand percent too little or too much were actual torture for him, he usually lets you do your thing, doesn’t interfere, but tonight he was just extra in need, not unlike yourself.

“Please, baby, don’t tease me, please,” he placed a soft hand to the side of your hair, tangling in all the way to the back, you didn’t know if the manner meant to be begging or threatening, but softly he massaged the spot. You also thought it was enough, there was something very confronting about having him so desperate and so heavy on your mouth, you slowly brought him in and deep, still teasing, now using his thighs as an anchor you moved your head, bringing him in bit by bit, your goal for his head to lightly touch the back of your throat, but it seemed he couldn’t restrain himself and pushed all the way back, you gagged strongly in surprise and both of you pulled away. 

“S-sorry baby, please, I’m so sorry,” You let out a soft chuckle at how his body betrayed his gentleman, at last you thought he deserved it, you placed you hand at the base of his dick and brought the tip inside your mouth, violently sucking, the moans he was letting out were loud and proud, now both hands on your head, but simply resting there, giving you an idea, of just how deserving your boy was. After a good minute of truly giving him head, you pulled away, letting him catch his breath, your own hands left his thighs and brought them up to the back of your head, where both of his hands, that could break your skull with no effort, maintained the gentlest touch, and rested them on top of his. Once he had partially caught his breath, again you brought him in your mouth, your hands pushing his, to push your head, once settled deep, you found his wrists and wrapped your fingers around them, now pulling them, the way his fingers were tangled in your hair made them pull your head back, after a moment of these commotions, he seemed to understand, you dragged your hands back to now the front of his thighs and let him fuck your face, because he deserved it. He tried to be so gentle, but giving him all this pleasure, all this freedom, he pushed your head back and forth a little carelessly, letting out the most pornographic sounds with no shame, he was feeling so much so intense, he constantly had to restrain, his strength, his stamina, his intelligence, his desires, so when you so freely let him fuck your face, he spiraled into it. Soon enough he was close so, so close, you knew he was about to come, because he completely stilled your head, rubbing your temples, now just moved his hips instead, you knew he would leave you so very sore, at once he settled on the back of your throat, letting out deep moans form his chest, pulling your hair back using it to push you further into him, letting you to grasp at his thighs and breath through your nose, eyes tightly closed, threatening to spill more tears.

“Oh my God, baby,” he slowly pulled himself out of you, and kneeled back down, pulling you to him, wrapping himself around you. After a moment he kissed the side of your face, “fuck…thank you, baby…fuck, sorry,” he said, into your cheek.

“How are you? Was that too much? How do you feel?” he cupped your face and looked into your eyes, wanting to make sure how you were after the abuse he put your mouth through. 

“Soaking wet,” He almost came again, instead he pulled you in to kiss your lips, so much different from the first kiss you had shared a little bit ago. He pushed you back, laying your head on a soft cushion on the floor, he felt around every part of your body, from your thighs, to your hips, waist, ribs, breasts, shoulders, arms, and hands, never pulling away. His hands traveled back down pulled off your soaked lace, gave it a good smell and threw it aside, he intertwined your hands and pulled them up over you head and continued kissing you, slowly trailing down to your neck. Weakly, you wrapped your legs around his torso and pulled him closer to you, his hands freed from yours and slowly dragged his fingertips up and down your arms, now going back to taking turns between your breasts, again all you could do is let him. After a little bit, he dragged himself further down, he placed his hands on each your breasts and kneaded them going back to kissing your lips, very briefly, he pulled away and leaned back he was face to face with your chest, his hands still at your tits, he leaned down, as you took in a deep breath he, so, so lightly dragged his lips from the top to the bottom of your sternum, such a strange thing, but it made your whole body react, making you arch inwards and shiver slightly, he did it once more and planted a soft kiss right in the middle, before, with the same technique, dragging his lips all the way to your Venus bridge, this shiver now so much stronger, the arch deeper but now the other way, with a gentle hand he pushed you down before wrapping both around your thighs, spreading you as open as you could go. 

He watched with hunter eyes, how your pussy sobbed for him, he could see the soft dripping every time it pulsed, beggingly, so naturally he started there. With the tip of his tongue he collected your mess from your lowest hole, flattening through your perineum, before so lightly dipping the tip in his favorite hole of yours, flattening again on the way to your clit, letting it have just a taste of his tongue, he repeated that two more times, still just using the tip of his tongue he circled it around your clit, not touching the bud, just the edges around it, making you tremble every time he got closer. At this point you didn’t bother trying to form words anymore, if you could, you would’ve already screamed at him to properly lick your pussy, so you just made all types of sounds, hoping he’d understand. After feeling like he had put you through enough torture he decided to slightly reward you, he quite literally started to make out with your cunt, properly frenching it. He dipped his tongue, molded his lips to yours, from your entrance to your throbbing pearl, loving the stimulation it got from this particular way, but still being to short lived to get you anywhere. You could not take it anymore, it had been at least five minutes of this torture. 

“P-ple…please! Please!” you cried out, “suck my fucking clit Peter!” be careful what you wish for, with not a single falter he wrapped his lips around the pretty button and sucked hard, making you groan out your moans straight from your core, your hand pulling his hair, your heel digging into his back, your other hand pushing you up to fold into yourself as you felt the band in your lower tummy about to snap, so fucking close, he sucked and sucked like he did your tits, both his hands on your ass, lifting you slightly, he softly grazed his teeth against it with every suck, and you closed your eyes, frowning and your mouth hanged open, so fucking good, so intense, and just as you were about to come, so gone. 

“Uurghh! Ah!” you gasped, completely baffled at what had just happened, “Peter what the fuck, I was about to come, shit!” you almost sobbed, Peter put both his hands on the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart, not letting them rub yourself out if it, all you could do was convulse and hiss at the sudden loss, and whine a lot, defeated you fell back into the soft cushion, “fuuuckk,”

“You never said make me come,” He thought he was so fucking clever, you didn’t even respond, you just closed your eyes and folded your arms over your face, catching your breath. You felt as his hands left your thighs and circled around your hips, rubbing the bone there, kissing your inner thighs, you jolted up your arms holding yourself up at your sides as he placed his tongue flat to your clit and shook his head, you gasped and whined at the sudden touch, he had left you so sensitive from your denied orgasm, you knew it would come any second, you moved your hips, grinding against his tongue, crying out pathetically, and finally you burst, you kept moving and so did Peter as you reached your peak, making the most absurd noises, finally you let yourself fall back trying to regulate your body, but Peter continued his laps, licking and licking your clit like it was chocolate covered gold, and he was a starving poor man, so weak from your denied and achieved orgasms, what could you do but cry, until he got his second batch of milky sweet nectar from your pussy, this time you jolted away from him, if you hadn’t he would’ve most definitely continued. After pushing him away, exhausted you rolled face down and pulled the blanket you were laying on to cover you. Peter spooned your trembling body and helped you get the soft blanket over your bodies, holding you in his strong arms, he stroked your hair back and enjoyed the soft moment, complete oppose from his rock hard dick pressing against your ass, you knew what he wanted, you just really needed a moment.

“You’re so hard,” You whispered. 

“Don’t worry about that,” He coaxed you to stay in your post orgasmic bliss, not wanting to make you jump back into action so quickly. You turned around anyway and cuddled into his front, swinging a leg over his hip pressing yourself to him, he let out a breathy sound at the action and let his face find shelter in the crook of your neck. So, very softly, you started to move your hips back and forth, your lips and his shaft rubbing against each other, he tightly wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you flush to him, his face completely buried in your neck, your hand stroking the back of his head, now your turn to coax him into a less calm kind of bliss, but just as delicious. He would make the prettiest sounds here and there, so soft, when rubbing harder or on a spot you hadn’t, he couldn’t help himself and just softly moaned. 

“I ne- uh… I-I, argh…baby, please,” His voice was slightly muffled by the skin of your throat, but you understood, you further leaned into him, pushing him back, until you were on top of him, he threw his head back and placed his hands on your hips, and you placed yours on his chest. You lifted yourself up, and searched for his lips, placing a soft but deep kiss in them, once you were satisfied, you reached one of your hands back, to align him to your entrance, and sunk yourself back into him, in unison letting out a groan of pleasure, eyes screwed shut. His beautiful cock deep inside you, pale, matching the color of his skin, how it flushed the same color of his cheeks when the moment called for, an average length, but an exquisite girth, perfectly complimented by the occasional vain, like the ones in is arms, that would run from the base to the middle, and from the middle to his mauve pink, leaking head. 

After a moment of getting used to the new stretch and when Peter loosened the strong grip he had on your hips, now just rubbing the spot, slowly you started to move, back and forth, and rode your man, leaning slightly forward, putting all of your weight on him. 

“Do you like that baby?” Your voice was so breathy.

“Yes, yeah…so good,” He struggled to get out. Both of you so lost in the act, your movements had gotten faster, but still very punctuated, not letting the pleasure shorten or falter your thought out, deep back and forth, Peter just seemed happy to be there, under you, powerless by choice.

You were getting impatient, you knew neither of you would last long, sensitive and desperate for the other, great combination for an intense but rather quick fuck. As you tried to chase your own pleasure your movements became sloppy, shorter but faster. Peter seemed to love the way you were using his dick to get you off. As your body leaned back, the tip of Peter dick hit you at a complete different angle, you let your weight fall back and moved your hands to the meat above his knees, quickening your pace, letting your weight fall forward while leaning back, slamming down on his dick, making him jolt up.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby fuuucckkk,” Peter slightly bended his knees and placed his hands on your ass, helping you deepen your movements.

“ah! Ah!” you anchored yourself on his shoulders and let him help you chase release, this new position allowed you to deliciously rub your pulsing pearl on his pelvis, both of you so close. All you could do was look in the other’s eyes, any second now, ready to burst, both of your mouths open in a silent cry, your foreheads pushed together.

“Oh! Ah! Argh!” You came crashing first, and gripped him like a vice, making him follow, yanking him strongly into it.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He pulled you into him and rolled your bodies so that now he was on top of you, your hands still on his shoulders, pushing your breasts together, he crashed into them and repeatedly slammed in and out of you, his cries muffled by the plumpness in your chest. That  until he settled deep inside you, holding you tight to him, feeling his cock pulse between your walls, your mind completely blank of anything else, but that feeling, not a register of what could be happening around you. Just him, just Peter, on top of you repeating “I love you” catching his breath on top of you. 

You were so out of it, when Peter suggested a quick shower before bed, you think you nodded and mumbled something, you even barely felt the warm water hitting your sensitive body, or how Peter placed a toothbrush with a dollop of toothpaste on your hand, not even when he lathered you up with the soft pink loofa and your favorite body wash, you only gave a small whine when he rubbed a little too hard on your pussy, again when he placed a kiss on your neck and used the smaller shower head to wash the soap away, when the water hit your clit you shivered and backed away, he let it rest for now. Then, after having some amusement in the shower you think that maybe he dried you and wrapped you in a warm towel, walked you to the beautiful walk in and put you in panties and a loose tank, how he so gently moisturized your face with your favorite five hundred dollar cream, or when he kissed you wearing a thick layer of your favorite lip mask, almost feeling like a doll he could move, and dress, and do whatever he wanted to with, including guiding you to bed, getting in the covers with you, cuddling you from behind, so close and warm. What you did feel was loved, how much he loved you, and knew you, and took care of you, and maybe that's all you cared for, feeling loved by Peter Parker. 

[hplonesomeart]

HEYYY GUYS quickly hopping back on here, messily taping/supergluing my art onto the blog, and then promptly skedaddling right afterwards because OH BOY I need to focus this week and lock into my animation MAP part. The time crunch has gotten real!! AUUUUU!! But I had to get this image out of my system before anything else so here ya go enjoy some solitary confinement Puzzle appreciation. I’m sorry that it’s rushed!! Maybe once I finish this MAP I’ll return and make it less janky (specifically for the animated gif here because OOF that looks rough buddy. But it’s the best I can afford to do without getting totally side tracked on my goals. It looks real lazy and is low-key triggering me but I’m letting it slide—sir is mocking my perfectionism right now. Gotta focus all that energy onto the MAP instead).

Yea okay that’s all folks byeeee

Okayyyy so apparently not only is the animated gif janky in motion but also kinda broken?? It’s supposed to loop but that’s not working on Tumblr so guess the entire thing needs to be redone when I have spare time :P

I’ve decided to include a compressed version so you can at LEAST see what I was trying to achieve jksjsksp help this is a mess right now

[ayoharuko]

Hiatus post (Important)

Hello! Now this hiatus post is different from my other ones, why?

Well..I'll be going on a vacation to my home country (Philippines), for about a month, and I want to take a break because I don't think I'll have time to write things nor answer requests :(

So for now I'll be closing requests. But it doesn't mean I'll be off of Tumblr! I’ll be posting some pics and little updates that you guys can see, also you guys can send in thirsts because why not? lol :D

And I'll be working on my drafts as well, now this won’t be a long hiatus, only a month after all.

Thats all I have to say really! I hope you guys have an amazing year :)

See you guys!

[dabuggh3]

I kept seeing couples on tik tok do this “prank” so I wanted to write something with it. Enjoyy!!🙈💗

[◉¯] 𖠋♡𖠋

You and Hamzah were getting ready for a party. You sat on your vanity doing a get ready with me, when you thought of the perfect prank. Hamzah was in the room on his phone, sitting on the bed waiting for you to finish. You set up your phone and start talking as if you were doing a normal get ready with me.

“ Hi guys, so I’m gonna start with my make up, today me and my husband are going out to a party” you said it causally not laughing or giggling. Hamzah turns to look at you, scrunches his eyebrows and smiles letting a small chuckle out. You pretend you didn’t hear him and continued.

“ So first I’m going to be priming my face, oh wait I forgot my moisturizer” you turn and look at Hamzah, “ can you get me my moisturizer pleaseee, it’s in the bathroom”. “ Yea” he gets up going to the bathroom and bringing to you. “ Thank you”, you continue the video, “ Sorry guys I forgot my moisturizer but good thing my husband was here and he got it for me, okay so” you look in the camera to see Hamzah reaction. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed behind you smiling and staring at you, “ Whattt”. “ Huh oh, nothing nothing continue” he says smiling letting out an airy laugh.

“ Sorry guys my husbands being a little weird just ignore him, okay so now I’m gonna prime my face and put on my foundation”, you say giggling. You finish your make up and you start picking out an outfit, “ Okay so these are my two options but I really don’t know which one I should wear, let me ask my husband, babe which one do you think” Hamzah gets up, coming closer now being directly in frame of the camera, “uhhhh I think the second one, I like that color on you”.

You change then come back out and start recording, “Okay, so he picked this one”. “ Who’s he?” Hamzah says in a playful tone. You look at him confused, “ What did you mean? He? I’m talking about you” “ Nooo you missed a word”. You stare in confusion and then you get it, “ OH yea yea, Okay so my HUSBAND picked this one” “ Yea I picked that one, my wife looks so pretty right guys” he says holding your waist kissing your cheek.

You start smiling and blush, “ Okay that’s it guys here’s my outfit byeeee” you end the video in a rush. Hamzah laughs at you, “ Now you want to get all embarrassed huh” “ Shut up cmon we have to go already”

[chameleonwritess]

Okay I accidentally got the flambé insanity out of my system on my enstars spam Instagram but I’m still gonna scream about ibayuzu bc I NEED TO….

Listen, I may say things about how awful they are for each other and like ‘lol ibayuzu is their bad ending’ because I love me some toxic yaoi, but hear me out: nah it’s not actually all that toxic OR bad for them, they just need to SIT DOWN AND COMMUNICATE WITHOUT THE DRAMATICS AND THE CONSTANT TRYING TO ONE UP EACH OTHER which is probably not gonna happen because they both love the dramatics and one upping each other too much

Now here’s why: pretty much the ONLY TIME we see Yuzuru get to be himself is when he’s talking to Ibara. Can you imagine how much of a relief it must be to him that FINALLY he can drop the act and SNAP at this Guy? Knowing that a) he can take it because he’s actively encouraged it and is already well aware of exactly how ruthless Yuzuru is capable of being and b) it’s not going to ruin his reputation or leak his background to any fans or higher ups because Ibara needs to keep their history just as secret at Yuzuru. Ibara is so so important to Yuzuru because as much as he can complain about how much he despises him…. He’s not even ALLOWED to express open distaste for anyone else- this is the one person he can be a bitch towards without fear or without having to cover up the bitchiness with feigned niceties (and Yuzuru is such a bitch at heart xoxo)

And now for Ibara. Yuzuru is one of the only people he can ALWAYS trust. He knows Yuzuru’s past, he knows Yuzuru’s mindset better than anyone else and he KNOWS he’s the only one who’s aware of how Yuzuru really feels and works, which gives him the comfort of knowing that Yuzuru isn’t gonna betray him. Yuzuru has nothing to gain from screwing him over and ruining his life or anything else. Sure he’s a thorn in his side when it comes to his sneaky tricks and schemes, but when it comes to being able to breathe freely and not have to battle every day of his life, afraid that everyone around him is just waiting for the opportunity to tear him down and send him right back into the battlefield, he knows that Yuzuru is safe. And I think he’s aware enough by now that Yuzuru does genuinely care about him- favourite pupil privileges and all that.

So basically, Flambé sent me insane because of the amount of mentions about their joint past and the way they instantly retort back to anything the other says. Yuzuru snarkily saying that Ibara must struggle to give gifts because he doesn’t care about anyone else (I smell resentment from the past. Why are you so convinced of that, Yuzuru? You know Ibara just wanted a safe haven- upset that wasn’t you? Upset he chose Nagisa over you???? Upset that he doesn’t care about you like you care about him??????????). We also have Ibara scheming in his own mind and WATCHING for Yuzuru’s reaction. Because Yuzuru doesn’t say anything. We just get a sprite of him narrowing his eyes. And suddenly Ibara’s like ‘haha he noticed! Just as I expected hehe! Can’t get away with anything with Yuzuru around!’… Ibara why are you watching? Why are you waiting and hoping he thwarts you????? (Lmao Perry and Doofenshmirtz ass dynamic) Ibara you don’t need to pretend to be evil just to get Yuzuru to stop you so you have an excuse to enjoy being an idol….. I mean, Yuzuru sees through it and is gonna enable that for you anyway but THERE WAS NO NEED I PROMISE!!

Ugh they make me insane. Read Flambé, y’all!!! It’s also one of my fave Rinne stories because I love love love when an all out over the top dramatic character gets to show a more subdued side and drop the mask for a bit- especially around a specific person (rinniki nation winning) (wow weird thing for the notorious wataei freak to comment on)

And I’m done byeeee

[oddussy420]

hello hello ☺️ this is about the actress reader x security guard Miguel bit you wrote:

I’m thinking about how they met, how reader was so kind and open with everyone on the first set, talking to everyone including the security guards. Miguel was surprised since all the other actresses never really paid attention to the staff, but you went out of your way to be kind to everyone.

Eventually you realised you needed more practice and like a good friend, Miguel offered to help. He is terrible at running lines but he cooks dinner every time you go over so you can’t complain. Or maybe you should because the scene you’re playing is so romantic and full of tension you’re not sure if Miguel is even trying to act.

When you tell him about the gala he makes sure he’s working that event (not realising you would have asked him to go with you) so you show him your outfit and he matches you. Perhaps he spends the rest of the gala trying to find you, leaving his post and wandering around. Is his carelessness a security breach, or is it finally his chance to tell you how he really feels?

Sending lots of inspiration your way with absolutely no pressure to do anything with it ☺️

This is so cuteeeee. Thank you for the ask

You affect him with everything you do and you dont even know it. He doesnt know how youre so famous but youre still so human. Every interaction with your fans just shows your kindness and hes one of the few people that sees you behind closed doors and he knows how kind you are.

When he first started working around you his first thought was “oh great. Another spoiled selfish egotistical actress who thinks the world revolves around them” he learned from past jobs to not make eye contact or physical contact with any of the elite. In his mind there are two different worlds the rich and famous and everyone else. He thought you were gonna be like everybody else hes ever worked for.

The first event he worked he was assigned to be your personal security guard. He was in the back of the limo sitting across from you, recalling all of his training when you spoke to him. Not any sort of command or request or rules as to how he should act either. A genuine honest to god question. “So whats your name?” I guess that should just go to show how hes treated in his day to day life that such a simple everyday question would break his persona so quickly.

But a part of him thought that it was a fluke and to think nothing of it so he responds with his name. Then you ask another question than another question then another until you are both having a decent conversation. I mean he cant believe it THE A list y/n l/n known for the worlds most critically acclaimed movies and tv shows is chatting to him.

You constantly remind him to not call you by your first and last name. Even a nickname would be acceptable. He would do anything for you. Big or small. Whether it be carrying your purse or giving you a piggyback ride bc you broke your heel. He is happy to do it. He was even happier when you hired him as your exclusive and sole bodyguard. He was gonna ask you anyway but was afraid youd say no.

Thats all i got for tonight. Lmk if you want anymore parts or even if you enjoyed this one. I love hearing from people!! You guys are never a burden and i will always make time for yall <3 sorry for getting sappy im just emotional and probably pmsing rn anyway byeeee 😘😘

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

Heyyy so I have a idea

The Caretaker

Protecter of the scorned and broken 

Yeah so Danny leaves Amity park behind ( Jazz, Sam and tuck get got so there’s not really for him to care about there ) and just chills out in The Ghost Zone for a bit and during that time Danny’s ghost from changes from how it was ( a 14 year old in a hazmat suit ) to ( Ethereal Fea/God + long haired Danny ~I need more of this goddamnit~ )

so we have an Ethereal Danny who’s just chilling until he hears crying coming from a portal but not just any crying it’s a Child crying so now that has Danny’s attention so he looks though the portal and sees a little girl with feathers in her hair and sticking out of her skin and she looks around 7 or 8 and her hair is being pulled by a man who looks like the girl just mines the feather. And Danny looks at the seen in front of him and has only one thought

“My Daughter Now”

And just goes through the portal beats the fuck out of the man and takes the girl back to his lair and treats all of her injuries and is just talking to her when the girl ( who I have dubbed as Vivienne or vivi for short ) asks “ who are you?” And Danny responds on habit ( he grew up not really having to introduce himself as Danny but as phantom he had to ) and he responds with “I’m Phantom” but in like that voice that all ethereal fea beings have so now he has this traumatized little raven girl who is looking at him like he hung the stars and his name isn’t Danny “commit to the bit”Fenton for nothing

Now a few years later Vivi got older and Danny’s saved a few more kids ( at this point most of the kids call him “Mother” or “ mama” like that ) and he’s been taking care of them for a while in human years but for him it’s just a few months

Now on to the DC part of this so Tim and his team were fighting a new magic villain and get thrown into Danny’s lair in the more overgrown and forest bit and that’s all I can think of at the moment

For the details I’m thinking Danny looks like this

Mixed with this

~{ :) I am very proud of this find }~

And for Vivi I’m thinking, this dress

And this face and hair

Sorry this is a bit rushed and I’ll probably change and add more in the future but I hope you guys lik it byeeee



[tallulahneale]

Title: You play too much

Pairing: Vince staples x fem!reader

Summary: Home girl who loves to get ate but doesn’t suckie suckie and wants to prove Vince wrong.

Word count: 1k

a/n: Where are all the Vince Staples lovers at?!?!

Tagline: “I’m not selfish”

Friday night and all the guys on your roster had served their purpose. Eating you out. You enjoyed it more than any other intimate act. So with nothing to do, you hit up your homeboy Vince. You and Vince go back since kindergarten, kinda drifted apart during high school but y’all reconnected during college.

You check the time, 5:18pm. “It’s not that late and chick-fil-a has drive-in perfect!” You thought to yourself. You reach for your phone to call Vince, he’s a homebody so you know he’ll be down to kick it with you.

*Ring ring*

“Hello?” Vince answers.

“Can you pick up some chick-fil-a pleaseeee? I’m peckish and bored.”

“Hello to you too nigga. Get you some manners”

You pause. You know he’s serious and you don’t like that.

“…”, ignoring what he said.

“… y/n, I know you can hear me” he continues, sounding unbothered.

“I want ice tea this time please. Ohh and the new honey pepper sandwiches! Thank youuu”

“Why you always like this bruh? FYI, you need some salad in your diet…”

“Hey! Be Nice!”

“Says the person that can’t even say hello.”

This nigga always doing the most, you thought to yourself.

“You’re coming over anyway so I’ll say hello when you get here. Killing two birds with one stone.” You replied smartly.

“Whatever cuh, I’ll be at yours around 6.”

“Okay; thank youuuu! Byeeee!”

“See you so-“

*Click*

You cleaned up around the flat and went to freshen up. Changing into your nightgown, the one that kept granny pregnant and all her bills paid! It’s extra comfy and you didn’t want to tease Vince. Recently, he’s been calling you out on a lot of your bs and you didn’t want to hear it today. Plus you knew you weren’t going out, once Vince came you’ll probably watch movies till you fall asleep.

The buzzer rings and you press the intercom, already knowing it’s Vince. You look at your outfit one more time to make sure you look presentable.

*Knock knock*

You open the door and see the bag of food on your welcome mat.

“I know damn well he didn’t just drop my food on the mat like I’m a raccoon.”

Vince jumps out the corner, startling you.

“Vince! Don’t do that! You know how I be spazzing out!” You give him a hug, “How have you been?”

Vince picks up the bags and follows you in.

“I’ve been good you know. Just getting ready for the Black in America Tour and the new season of the show, you know the usual.”

“I hear that! I’m hella excited for all of it, you really deserve all and more!”, you beam.

“I really appreciate that and you too cuh. You the homie for real.” He said giving you a hug before settling down on the couch.

“You’re welcome. You can pick what to watch, I’ve just been watching re-runs and I’m bored of them too.”

“Alright, but don’t complain when I pick one of my favourite 80s show.”

You grab a plate and a tray for the food. Just as you set it on the table, you hear your phone ringing. You check to see Peter Peter pumpkin eater calling. Vince sees it too and shakes his head. “Here we go again”, you thought to yourself.

“Why are you shaking your head like that?” You ask, knowing he’s about to say the truth that you’ve been avoiding.

Vince stares straight at you with an unimpressed expression “Why you save his name like that?” He says.

“You know why V, don’t make me say it.”

Sometimes you feel shy talking about intimate things with him, maybe because you know he’s cute but he’s your homeboy and you want to respect that boundary.

“First of all, that’s weird because the story is about a husband whose wife cheats and doesn’t know how to keep her. Secondly, I’ve seen Marcus the muncher, Louis the licker and Simon the sucker all call you before. Y/N you are creative af but you’re still wrong for all that.”

“You bet not be judging me like you don’t have a list of girl names saved worse and anyway, why you be looking at my phone. Mind your business sometimes” you say, feeling heated and a bit embarrassed.

“I know you’re still doing the “get licked and get kicked” out. Selfish ass.”

“I’m not selfish!” You exclaim.

“…”

“… I’m not! Quit tryna get me to feel guilty. You know what, I’mma prove you wrong. Tired of you being all high and mighty.”

You go to sit down on the couch right beside him, staring shyly into his eyes. He looks back at you with an intense smouldering expression. You’re not sure what he’s thinking so you ignore it. You gently run your fingertips across his bare arms, tracing his veins which draw your attention more than usual. You wink at him again before looking away. You bend over, arching your back closer to his zip, slowly pulling down, you realise that his little big friend is awake. Just as you’re about to pull it out, you look up and whisper to him…

“I told you I’m not selfish.”

You smirk and sip your ice tea.

——The End——