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reidmarieprentiss · 5 months ago

Text

Too Sweet

Summary: Y/N knows Spencer is too good for her.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), angst, light fluff

Warnings/Includes: porn with plot, additional warnings under the cut, cosplay, wearing dress, use of Y/N, alcohol consumption

Word count: 11.9k

a/n: idk man i really want him

main masterlist

part two part three

Additional warnings: breast & nipple play, fingering, oral (m&f), PinV protected, biting

The convention hall buzzed with excitement, filled with an array of fans dressed as their favorite characters from the iconic series, Doctor Who. The air was alive with the chatter of people discussing their favorite episodes, theories about the show's plot twists, and the inevitable debates about which Doctor was the best. Vendors lined the walls, offering everything from collectible sonic screwdrivers to handmade TARDIS keychains.

Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia were two of these enthusiastic attendees. Spencer was dressed impeccably as his favorite Doctor, the Eleventh, complete with a tweed jacket, bow tie, and fez perched jauntily on his head. Penelope, meanwhile, dazzled as the vibrant Thirteenth Doctor, sporting a rainbow-striped shirt, long coat, and bright yellow suspenders. Her hair was styled to perfection, and she wore a replica of the Thirteenth Doctor’s sonic screwdriver clipped to her belt.

They had spent the day gleefully exploring the convention together, indulging in all the nerdy joys the event had to offer. Panels, merchandise, photo ops with actors—they were having a fantastic time. They even participated in a trivia contest, which Spencer naturally excelled in, earning them a special edition Doctor Who poster. Everything was going splendidly until they ran into Penelope's ex, Kevin Lynch, who had the audacity to show up with his new date, a tall brunette who seemed to be equally as nerdy as Penelope.

Penelope's face fell as she spotted Kevin, her previous enthusiasm dimming slightly. She forced a smile and waved at Kevin, who looked surprised but waved back, a bit awkwardly.

"Penelope!" Kevin said, trying to sound cheerful but failing miserably. "It's, uh, great to see you here."

"Yeah, you too, Kevin," Penelope replied, her voice wavering slightly as she glanced at his date. She couldn't help but feel a pang of embarrassment and an awkward tension that hung in the air.

The encounter was brief, but it left Penelope feeling deflated. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she quickly excused herself and turned to Spencer, whispering that she needed a moment alone. Spencer nodded understandingly, his eyes filled with empathy, and watched as Penelope hurried off, clearly upset.

Now alone amidst the bustling crowd, Spencer found himself wandering around the convention hall, a bit lost without Penelope by his side. Despite being surrounded by thousands of people who shared his interests, he felt an uncomfortable sense of solitude creeping in. He adjusted his bow tie nervously, his eyes scanning the room for a friendly face or familiar sight.

As he wandered, Spencer couldn't help but feel self-conscious, almost like a lost puppy in a sea of strangers. The convention was vast, and though he loved the atmosphere, it was a lot to take in alone. He fiddled with his fez, trying to focus on the displays and booths around him, but the sense of being out of place lingered.

It was then that he noticed you, standing a short distance away, dressed as the most enchanting character from Doctor Who—Madame de Pompadour, The Girl in the Fireplace.

Your costume was a stunning recreation of the elegant 18th-century dress worn by Reinette, complete with intricate lace details, flowing skirts, and an opulent corset that captured the character's timeless beauty. A perfectly styled wig with cascading curls crowned your head, adding an authentic touch to your ensemble. You wore a delicate mask in your hand, which you twirled absentmindedly as you observed the convention floor, your eyes occasionally flicking toward Spencer with an amused curiosity. But what struck Spencer most was your warm smile, a beacon of kindness amidst the chaos.

You had noticed Spencer earlier, observing him with a gentle curiosity as he meandered through the crowd. Something about his endearing awkwardness and the way he carried himself drew your attention, and you found yourself walking over to him, compelled by a mix of admiration and empathy.

With a kind and playful smile, you approached him and said, "Hey, you look lost. Do you need help finding your parents?"

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise at your teasing comment, and he let out a surprised snort, momentarily caught off guard. He quickly recovered from his initial embarrassment and noticed the twinkle of amusement in your eyes.

"Uh, no, no thank you," he replied with a sheepish grin. "I was given permission to look around by myself."

Your laughter was infectious, and Spencer felt the tightness in his chest ease. It was as if your presence alone had a calming effect, grounding him in the moment and reminding him that he wasn't truly alone. Your genuine kindness and humor were like a breath of fresh air.

"I'm glad to hear it," you said, still smiling as you playfully curtsied. "I'm Y/N, by the way. A fellow time traveler, it seems."

Spencer hesitated for a moment before bowing slightly at the waist, feeling a little more confident now. "Spencer Reid," he replied, introducing himself. "And yes, it seems we both have a knack for getting lost in time."

Your shared laugh seemed to lighten the atmosphere, and Spencer couldn't help but feel grateful for your unexpected companionship. It was a simple moment, yet it carried a weight of significance—an unexpected connection made in the most delightful of circumstances.

As the vibrant crowd continued to flow around you, your conversation with Spencer felt like a moment suspended in time, a quiet bubble amidst the lively chaos of the convention. The laughter, chatter, and occasional shout of delight from fellow fans echoed through the hall, but you found yourself entirely focused on the man standing before you.

"So, Spencer," you began, looking around at the lively crowd, "what's been your favorite part of the convention so far?"

“Well, I won the trivia contest!” Spencer replied with enthusiasm, his eyes lighting up with pride. “I love seeing everyone’s costumes too, the creativity and thought they put into them is inspiring. And the food court! Did you see they have—why are you looking at me like that? Am I rambling? Oh, I am, hah, sorry.”

You chuckled softly, finding his rambling endearing. “Don’t stop on my account; I happen to think it’s very cute.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your compliment. “You… you do?”

“Indeed, Doctor,” you replied with a playful glint in your eye.

“How did you know I’m a doctor?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Um…” you pointed at his costume, a classic Doctor Who ensemble that perfectly captured the essence of the Eleventh Doctor.

“Oh! Right, you meant Doctor Who Doctor,” he realized, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

“Yes, but are you really a doctor?” you inquired, intrigued by the idea of him being both a fictional and real-life doctor.

Spencer nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of humility and pride. “I have three PhDs.”

“Oh wow, that’s hot,” you said, your voice teasing yet sincere, enjoying the way his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

“What?” he squeaked, clearly flustered by your unexpected compliment.

“Tell me, Spencer… do you have plans after the convention?” you asked, leaning in slightly, your interest in him evident.

“Um, no, nope. No, I do not. Totally free,” Spencer stammered, trying to keep his composure but feeling his heart race at the prospect of spending more time with you.

“Good to know,” you replied with a warm smile. “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

“I would love to,” he answered, his voice brimming with exhilaration.

“Wonderful,” you said, pleased with his response.

The two of you exchanged numbers, a small gesture that felt monumental, sealing the promise of further connection beyond the convention's vibrant confines. As you parted ways, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

As he watched you disappear into the colorful sea of costumes, you turned back to Spencer, your heart still racing with the promise of more time together. “I’ll see you later, Spencer,” you said, offering him one last lingering smile before slipping away into the crowd.

Spencer stood there for a moment, his mind whirling with possibilities and the thrill of new connections. As he adjusted his fez and prepared to rejoin Penelope, he smiled to himself, the Doctor Who theme echoing in the distance as he headed back into the lively fray.

—

Later that night, you and Spencer agreed to meet up at a cozy little bar nestled in a bustling neighborhood near your apartment. The day had been a whirlwind of excitement and adventure at the Doctor Who convention, but now, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the city lights twinkled, a new kind of eagerness filled the air.

You arrived at the bar first, filled with anticipation and nervousness. Gone was the elegant 18th-century gown you wore at the convention; you now wore a low-cut, tight shirt that hugged your curves and showed off a bit more cleavage than before. It was a bold choice, one that made you feel confident and sexy, and you hoped Spencer would appreciate it.

As you waited for Spencer to arrive, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of fever at seeing him again. Something about his awkward charm and genuine kindness had struck a chord with you, and you were eager to see where the evening might lead.

When Spencer walked in, your breath caught at the sight of him. Gone was the Eleventh Doctor costume, replaced by a classic sweater vest ensemble that was quintessentially Spencer Reid. He wore a crisp button-down shirt under the vest, paired with slacks that somehow made him look both dorky and endearingly handsome. You found it incredibly attractive, and a smile tugged at your lips as he approached.

“Hey,” he said, a bit shyly, his eyes darting around the bar before settling on you. When he noticed your outfit, he froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of your low-cut shirt. “Wow, you look... amazing.”

“Thank you,” you replied, feeling a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Doctor.”

Spencer chuckled, running a hand through his hair in a self-conscious gesture. “I, uh, didn’t know what to wear, but I’m glad it works.”

“Oh, it definitely works,” you assured him, your gaze lingering on his sweater vest. “I have a thing for sweater vests.”

He laughed, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Good to know. I have plenty of them.”

You motioned for him to join you at the bar, where you ordered drinks and settled into a comfortable conversation. The atmosphere was relaxed, with soft music playing in the background and the hum of conversations surrounding you.

“So, how did you get into Doctor Who?” Spencer asked, genuinely curious as he took a sip of his drink.

“I’ve always been a fan of science fiction,” you replied, leaning closer to ensure he could hear you over the chatter. “The idea of time travel, the adventures, and the characters just drew me in. Plus, the show has this amazing ability to make you think about life in new ways.”

Spencer nodded, clearly pleased with your answer. “I completely agree. The show is more than just entertainment; it’s a way to explore complex ideas and emotions. I think that’s why it resonates with so many people.”

“Exactly!” you said enthusiastically, enjoying the ease of conversation between you. “And what about you? What drew you to the series?”

Spencer shrugged, his eyes twinkling with the joy of discussing something he loved. “It started as a way to escape, I guess. Growing up, I didn’t have a lot of friends, but Doctor Who was like a companion, in a way. It taught me a lot about empathy and bravery.”

You smiled, touched by his honesty. “That’s really great, Spencer.”

“Thanks,” he said, looking a bit bashful under your gaze. “I’m glad I met someone who appreciates the show as much as I do.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly, a dance of words that brought you closer with each exchange. You found yourself laughing easily, the tension of earlier dissipating as you both shared stories and jokes, losing track of time in the warm ambiance of the bar.

As the night wore on, you noticed Spencer stealing glances at your shirt, his eyes flickering to your cleavage before quickly averting his gaze, trying to be polite. You couldn’t help but find his flustered reactions adorable, and you decided to tease him a little.

“Is there something interesting over here?” you asked, gesturing to your chest with a playful grin.

Spencer’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he stammered, “Uh, no, I mean, yes, but—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You laughed softly, reaching out to touch his hand reassuringly. “Relax, Spencer. I don’t mind. It’s kind of flattering, actually.”

He exhaled, clearly relieved by your response. “Well, in that case, yes, it’s very distracting,” he admitted, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“Good to know I still have it,” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a satisfied expression.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “You definitely do.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, filled with the promise of more to come. As the night deepened, the conversation shifted from playful banter to something more intimate, the chemistry between you undeniable.

“So, Spencer,” you said, your voice dropping to a more sultry tone. “What does the rest of your night look like? Are you all booked up?”

“Um, no, not really,” he replied, his heart racing as he caught the glint in your eye. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” you said, leaning closer, “I was wondering if you’d like to come back to my place. We could continue our conversation somewhere a bit more private.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, his mind spinning with possibilities. “I would love that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Great,” you replied with a smile, feeling a thrill of anticipation as you both stood up, ready to leave the bar behind for the promise of what awaited you.

The walk back to your apartment was filled with a charged silence, the kind that spoke volumes without needing words. You felt Spencer’s presence beside you, a comforting warmth that made your heart race with excitement.

As you reached your apartment building, you turned to him, your eyes meeting in a shared understanding. “This is me,” you said, gesturing to the entrance.

“Nice place,” Spencer commented, trying to keep his cool despite the nerves bubbling inside him.

You unlocked the door and led him inside, your heart pounding with each step. The atmosphere was electric, one that promised something incredible.

Once inside, you turned to face Spencer, a playful smile on your lips. “Make yourself at home,” you said, gesturing to the cozy living room. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just some water would be great,” he replied, trying to steady his racing heart.

You nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with two glasses of water. As you handed one to Spencer, your fingers brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through you both.

“Thank you,” Spencer said, his voice warm and sincere.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, sitting down beside him on the couch. The proximity was intoxicating, and you could feel the tension building with each passing second.

“I have to say, I’m really glad we met today.” Spencer said, his voice slightly shaky.

“Me too,” you agreed, your gaze locked on his.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world fading away until it was just the two of you, enveloped in a bubble of connection and desire.

As you leaned in closer, your lips mere inches from his, Spencer’s breath hitched in suspense. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the magnetic pull drawing you together.

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice a soft caress.

“Yes?” he replied, his eyes searching yours, filled with longing.

“Would you like to stay the night?” you asked, your words laced with an invitation that left little room for doubt.

Spencer swallowed, his heart racing as he processed your offer. “I’d love to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

With that, you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a gentle yet passionate kiss. It was a kiss filled with promise and possibility, a moment that transcended the ordinary and ventured into the extraordinary.

Spencer kissed you back with a low whimper as he began to ravish you. His lips were soft and urgent against yours, moving with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the strain in his body as he pressed against you, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to spark and crackle in the air around you.

You responded eagerly, threading your fingers through his hair, feeling the silky strands slip between your fingers as you deepened the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of the lingering sweetness of the drinks you'd shared earlier and something distinctly Spencer that made you crave more.

Spencer's hands moved with a purpose, exploring the curves of your body with a gentle yet insistent touch that left you breathless. His fingertips traced the outline of your spine, sending delightful tingles through your skin as they traveled lower, coming to rest on the small of your back. You arched into his touch, pressing your body more firmly against his, savoring the feel of him against you.

With a quiet moan, Spencer shifted, guiding you backward until you were lying beneath him on the couch. He broke the kiss for a moment, his breath warm and ragged against your lips as he gazed down at you with a smoldering intensity. The look in his eyes sent a thrill through you, a promise of the pleasures to come.

Spencer leaned down, capturing your lips once more as his hands continued their exploration. His touch was both tender and demanding, a perfect balance that left you yearning for more. You felt his fingers trail over your exposed skin, slipping beneath the fabric of your low-cut shirt, and you shivered in anticipation as he began to explore further.

The sensation of his hands against your bare skin was electrifying, each touch sending ripples of pleasure through your body. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, an insistent ache that begged for more as Spencer's touch became more insistent. His hands roamed over your body with a confidence that contradicted the initial shyness you had seen in him earlier.

Your shirt slipped further up your torso, and Spencer's lips left yours to follow the path his hands had traced moments before. His mouth moved with a deliberate slowness, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your jawline, down the column of your neck, and across your collarbone. Each kiss was a promise, a vow of what was to come, and you found yourself lost in the sensations he was creating.

As Spencer's mouth traveled lower, you let out a soft sigh of pleasure, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his sweater vest. The texture of the material beneath your fingertips was a comforting contrast to the fiery sensations his lips and hands were invoking, grounding you even as you felt yourself soaring.

Spencer's lips moved over the swell of your breasts, his touch reverent yet possessive, as if he were memorizing every inch of your skin with his mouth. You felt a thrill at the thought of being the focus of his attention.

Spencer’s lips ghosted over your skin, each kiss sending waves of heat coursing through your body. As he reached the edge of your shirt, he paused, his fingers gently teasing the hem as he looked up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Are you planning on keeping this on all night?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You chuckled softly, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Well, Doctor, I thought I’d give you something to unwrap. Consider it a mystery.”

Spencer grinned, his fingers deftly pulling your shirt higher until it slipped over your head, leaving you exposed beneath him. His gaze raked over your bare skin, appreciation evident in his eyes. “Mystery solved,” he whispered, his tone filled with a mixture of desire and admiration.

You felt a rush of heat at his words, your skin tingling. “You’re a fast learner,” you replied, your voice sultry as you reached up to pull him back down to you. “But let’s see if you can handle what’s next.”

His eyes darkened with intensity at your challenge, and he captured your lips in another heated kiss, his hands exploring your newly exposed skin with renewed vigor. The sensations were dizzying, each touch and caress a testament to his growing confidence and desire.

Spencer’s hands traveled down your sides, tracing the curves of your waist and hips before slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You let out a quiet moan, arching into his touch as he began to work them down, his fingers deft and sure.

“Getting a bit bold, aren’t we?” you teased, nipping at his lower lip as he freed you from the confines of your clothing.

“Just trying to keep up with you,” he retorted, his voice tinged with amusement as he leaned back to admire his handiwork.

You reached for the hem of his sweater vest, tugging it upwards with a playful smirk. “I think it’s time we even the playing field, don’t you?”

He chuckled, raising his arms to help you remove the vest, followed by his button-down shirt. You couldn’t help but appreciate the lean muscles beneath his clothing, the way his skin seemed to glow in the dim light of the room.

“Not bad, Doctor,” you quipped, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest appreciatively. “Maybe I should have gone to med school.”

Spencer let out a low laugh, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I doubt they teach this in med school.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a course or two,” you replied, your fingers trailing lower, teasing the waistband of his pants.

He inhaled sharply, his body responding to your touch in a way that made you both feel like you were on fire. “I think we’re about to graduate to something more advanced,” he murmured, his voice a mix of fieriness and teasing.

You grinned, pulling him back down to you, your lips capturing his in a passionate kiss that promised more than words ever could. The heat between you was intense, a consuming fire that left you both breathless and wanting more.

Spencer’s hands continued their exploration, mapping every inch of your skin with a reverence that made your heart race. You could feel the tension building, a delicious feeling that promised to leave you both satisfied yet craving even more.

As you shifted beneath him, your body pressed against his in a way that made your intentions clear, you whispered, “What do you say we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

He nodded, his eyes filled with a hunger that matched your own. “Lead the way,” he replied, his voice husky with desire.

With that, you guided him toward your bedroom, the promise of what was to come hanging in the air like an electric charge. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the enticing possibilities that lay ahead.

Once inside your bedroom, the atmosphere shifted, the intimacy of the space amplifying the pull between you. The dim lighting cast shadows across the room, creating an intimate bubble that felt like it was just for you and Spencer.

You turned to face him, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you slowly backed toward the bed. “I hope you’re ready for this, Doctor.”

He followed, his movements confident and sure as he approached, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve been ready since the moment I saw you,” he replied, his voice low and filled with want.

As you sank onto the bed, Spencer joined you, his body warm and inviting against yours. The tension between you was palpable, a magnetic pull that drew you closer with each passing second.

You reached for him, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw before pulling him in for another searing kiss. His lips were soft and insistent against yours, his touch possessive as he pressed you back against the sheets. The mattress dipped under your combined weight, and you felt the cool, crisp fabric of the sheets beneath your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Spencer’s body.

Spencer’s breath mingled with yours, warm and intoxicating with desire. His hands traveled with a deliberate slowness, exploring the curves and contours of your body as though committing every inch to memory. You felt his fingers skim over the bare skin of your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The sensation was electric, sending delightful tingles coursing through your veins.

As he deepened the kiss, a low groan rumbled in his throat, vibrating through your body and sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. Your hands found their way to his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin as you pulled him closer, craving the warmth and weight of him against you.

His lips moved with a languid, teasing rhythm, exploring the delicate skin of your neck with gentle, open-mouthed kisses that sent your heart racing. You tilted your head back, granting him better access as a soft sigh escaped your lips, filling the room with a quiet sound of pleasure.

Spencer’s kisses trailed lower, his breath hot against your skin as he made his way down your collarbone. The sensation was intoxicating, a delicious mix of tenderness and urgency that left you breathless. You felt his hands slide up your sides, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ribcage before coming to rest on your waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with desire.

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers threading through his hair as you arched into his touch. “Get to the point, Doctor.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and enticing, as he shifted his weight to hover above you, his eyes dark with longing. The air between you crackled with intensity, a potent mix of suspense and need that seemed to draw you even closer together.

Your breathing grew ragged, each inhale a shuddering gasp as you surrendered to the pleasure building inside you. Spencer’s touch was like a drug, addictive and all-consuming, leaving you dizzy with longing.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours, a silent question lingering between you. You nodded, giving him the permission he sought, and he smiled—a small, intimate curve of his lips that made your heart skip a beat.

Spencer hands deftly working to remove the last barriers between you. The sensation of the cool air against your skin was a delicious contrast to the heat radiating from his touch, sending shivers of need cascading through your body.

The room was filled with a symphony of soft sounds: the rustle of fabric as Spencer undressed you, the quiet hum of the city outside, and the rapid, excited beat of your own heart. The smell of your mingled scents—his cologne, a hint of your perfume, and the unmistakable musk of arousal—filled the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that heightened every sensation.

As Spencer’s hands continued their journey, his lips followed, pressing soft, heated kisses to every inch of exposed skin. The feel of his mouth against your body was electric, each kiss a spark that ignited a fire deep within you. You could hear the quiet, appreciative noises he made as he explored, a low hum of approval that vibrated through you, making your skin tingle with fever.

His mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, and he lingered there, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin and his teeth scraping behind. The sensation was exquisite, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You moaned softly, your fingers threading through his hair, holding him close as he continued his ministrations.

His mouth continued its journey, trailing kisses down the length of your torso, his breath hot and humid against your skin. Each touch of his lips was a promise, a hint of the pleasures yet to come. You could feel the gentle scrape of his stubble against your skin, a delightful roughness that added to the sensory overload.

Spencer’s hands found their way to your thighs, his fingers curling around the soft flesh as he gently parted them, creating space for himself between your legs. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a sweet ache that thrummed through your veins as you waited for his next move.

He paused for a moment, his breath warm and heavy against your inner thigh as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. The look in his eyes sent a jolt of electricity through your body, a silent communication of his intentions that left you breathless.

When he finally moved, it was with a purpose and a tenderness that took your breath away. His mouth found its mark, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the most intimate part of you. The sensation was overwhelming, a rush of pleasure that left you gasping and trembling beneath him.

Spencer's tongue traced a path of fire, the wet heat of his mouth a stark contrast to the cool air around you. The feeling of his tongue against you was indescribable, a perfect blend of softness and pressure that had you writhing with need. You could hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of his movements, a deliciously sinful symphony that filled the room and drove you wild with desire.

The taste of you seemed to spur him on, his movements growing more insistent, more confident as he explored every inch of you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as he lavished attention on you, each stroke of his tongue sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

You could feel the tension building, a tight coil of desire that wound tighter and tighter with each passing second. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your hands clutching at the sheets as you tried to hold on, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations Spencer was creating.

And then, with a final, masterful stroke of his tongue, the coil snapped, sending you spiraling into a blinding wave of ecstasy. Your body arched off the bed, a cry of pure pleasure escaping your lips as you surrendered to the intense release. Every nerve ending seemed to ignite, the pleasure radiating out from your core in waves that left you trembling and gasping for breath.

Spencer didn't stop, his movements gentling but never ceasing as he guided you through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were spent and boneless beneath him. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the quiet hum of the city outside, and the beating of your heart.

As the world slowly came back into focus, you felt Spencer's weight shift, his body sliding up to join you on the bed. He gathered you into his arms, his touch gentle and soothing as he held you close. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your cheek, the warmth of his skin a comforting presence that grounded you.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. "I may have misread you…" you murmured, your voice still breathless from the intensity of the experience.

Spencer looked at you, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he tried to read your expression. "How so?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent another wave of heat through you.

“I thought you were some nerdy dork who wouldn’t know what to do,” you confessed with a teasing grin, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “You proved me so wrong.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm like honey, his eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. The touch was tender and sweet, a stark contrast to the intense passion you'd just shared.

As the warmth of his kiss lingered on your skin, a flicker of awareness crept into your mind, reminding you of the vulnerability of your current position. Spencer was undeniably pretty, fun, and, as you had just discovered, incredibly talented with his mouth. But letting him get too close, emotionally, was a different matter—a potential disaster waiting to happen.

You felt a pang of uncertainty, a reminder that you'd let yourself get carried away in the heat of everything today. The thought of letting him see more of you, of exposing the parts of yourself you kept hidden, was both thrilling and terrifying.

Gently, you scooted away, creating a small space between you on the bed. Spencer watched you with a slight frown, his brow furrowing in concern as he noticed the shift in your demeanor.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to touch your arm. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… taking a breather.”

He nodded, understanding but still curious. The moment hung between you, a delicate balance of intimacy and distance that you both navigated carefully.

Wanting to redirect the focus and return the favor, you shifted onto your knees, your movements deliberate and confident. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he watched you, questioning flickering in his gaze.

You leaned forward, letting your hands glide over the planes of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. The sensation was intoxicating, each touch sending a spark of desire through your body as you explored the contours of his torso.

“Now, Doctor,” you said, your voice low and teasing, “I think it’s my turn to show you what I can do.”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he watched you with rapt attention. “I’m not going to stop you,” he replied, a playful edge to his voice as he leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows to give you full access.

You grinned, pleased by his response as you moved lower, your hands trailing down the length of his body. The texture of his skin was smooth and warm under your touch, each muscle firm and defined as you explored every inch with a deliberate slowness that made his breath catch.

The room was filled with the quiet rustle of sheets, the soft sounds of your movements as you shifted to straddle his legs, your body settling comfortably between his thighs. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a charged energy that seemed to crackle with each passing second.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your lips. The sensation was exhilarating, a rush of power and intimacy that left you wanting more.

Spencer let out a quiet groan, his head falling back against the pillows as he surrendered to the sensations you were creating. The sound sent a thrill through you, a confirmation of the effect you had on him, and it spurred you on, encouraging you to continue your exploration.

You let your hands wander lower, tracing the line of his waistband before slipping beneath the fabric, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. Spencer’s breath hitched again, a soft, needy sound that made your heart race.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice a teasing whisper as you glanced up at him, enjoying the way his eyes were half-lidded with desire, his lips parted in want.

Spencer nodded, his voice a breathless murmur. “Mhm.”

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him so open and vulnerable beneath you. It was a heady feeling, one that made you want to give him everything you had, to explore every inch of him and discover all the ways you could make him come undone.

With a gentle touch, you eased his pants lower, revealing more of the skin you so desperately wanted to explore. The cool air kissed his skin, sending a shiver through him as you continued your ministrations, your hands and lips moving with a purposeful intent that left him gasping.

The texture of his skin under your fingers was smooth and warm, a contrast to the slightly rough fabric of his pants as they slid down his legs. You could feel the faint, steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. The cool air seemed to heighten every sensation, sharpening the feeling of your touch against his bare skin.

As you explored lower, you could hear the soft, almost involuntary sounds Spencer made in response to your touch—a quiet gasp, a low moan, the sharp intake of breath when you grazed a particularly sensitive spot. Each sound proving the effect you were having on him, encouraging you to continue your exploration with renewed confidence.

You leaned in, your lips brushing over the expanse of skin just above his waistband, savoring the slightly salty taste of him. The feel of your mouth against his skin drew another low groan from Spencer, a needy sound that reverberated through your body and filled the room.

The slight roughness of his sparse hair beneath your lips was a contrast to the smooth skin of his abdomen, and you reveled in the differences, your fingers dancing over every inch as you memorized the planes and angles of his body. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, drawing you closer, urging you to explore further.

With every touch and kiss, you could feel the tension coiling tighter within him, a palpable energy that seemed to thrumming in the air around you. His muscles tensed under your hands, responding to your every movement with a sensitivity that only served to heighten your own arousal.

His hips shifted slightly, an involuntary movement that brought him closer to you, seeking more of the sensations you were creating. The friction of your touch against him was a delicious torment, each caress, each brush of your lips a promise of the release he so desperately craved.

You continued down, your mouth trailing lower with a deliberate slowness that was as much for your pleasure as it was for his. The taste of his skin lingered on your lips, a reminder of the connection you shared, the chemistry that burned brightly between you.

Spencer’s hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided you closer to his bulge that you had been neglecting, his touch both gentle and insistent. The slight tug at your scalp sent a shiver through you, a thrill of eagerness that urged you to continue your exploration with even more fervor.

Your lips traveled lower, past where he wanted you, tracing a path along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh with your lips and tongue, where you could feel the taut muscle beneath. The sensation of his skin against your lips, the warmth of his body, the subtle tremor that ran through him as you pressed a lingering kiss to his hip—all of it combined to create a heady mix of sensations that left you breathless.

The soft rustle of the sheets beneath you was the only sound in the room aside from the quiet, rhythmic hum of Spencer’s breathing and the occasional low moan that slipped past his lips. You could feel the way his body responded to your touch with an eagerness that mirrored your own. It was a dance of give and take, a perfect harmony of movements and sensations that left you both on the edge of control.

Spencer’s hands tightened in your hair, a gentle reminder of his presence, his need, and you responded by drawing him deeper into the sensations, your touch sure and steady as you worked to bring him closer to the edge.

Finally, putting the poor man out of his misery, you hooked your fingers in his waistband and pulled his briefs down. Exposing him to the cool air, causing him to shiver. Then, because you’re not a monster, you licked a slow stripe up the side of his red, hard cock, causing a very loud groan to fall from between Spencer's lips.

The moment stretched out, filled with a tension that was both electric and tangible. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your shared breaths, a quiet rhythm that underscored the intense moment.

Your fingers brushed against his skin, tracing a delicate path along the line of his hip bone. You could feel the subtle tremor that ran through him. The warmth of his skin was intoxicating, drawing you closer, urging you to continue your exploration with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperate.

Spencer’s body was a study in contrasts—the hard lines of muscle beneath the softness of skin, the way he shivered under your touch even as he leaned into it, seeking more of the sensations you were creating.

The cool air caressed his exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of your touch. You watched as goosebumps erupted along his flesh, a physical manifestation of his heightened arousal. The sight sent a thrill of satisfaction through you, a reminder of the power you held in this moment.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his cock as you placed a soft, lingering kiss along the tip. The taste of him was addictive, a heady mix of salt and musk that left you wanting more. The feeling of his skin beneath your lips was electric, sending shivers of excitement through your body.

Spencer let out a quiet groan, a low, primal sound that reverberated through the room and sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. His hands found their way, deeper somehow, in your hair, his grip firm and steady as he urged you closer, his need evident in the way he moved you.

His cock twitched in response to your touch, the sensation was dizzying, a heady mix of power and vulnerability that left you breathless. You allowed your fingers to explore further, tracing a slow, deliberate path along the length of his shaft. The texture was smooth and warm, a perfect contrast to the cool air that surrounded you. You could feel the faint tremor in his muscles, a testament to his struggle to maintain control in the face of such intense sensation.

“Please, please do something,” Spencer nearly whined, his voice tinged with desperation as he watched you with wide eyes, his body trembling with need.

As you finally leaned in, allowing your mouth to join the dance of sensation and touch, you heard Spencer’s breath hitch in his throat, a quiet sound of desire that filled the room. The taste of him on your tongue was intoxicating, a rich, heady mix of salt and musk that left you craving more.

The moment your lips made contact, Spencer released a shuddering exhale, his body responding to the heat of your mouth with a visceral intensity that took your breath away. His hips shifted involuntarily, each movement sending ripples of sensation through your body as well.

The sound of your mouth against his skin was almost hypnotic, a rhythmic whisper that echoed through the room, mingling with Spencer's soft moans and the quiet rustle of the sheets beneath him. You felt the gentle rise and fall of his abdomen as he tried to steady his breathing, the quiet hitch in his breath every time you shifted, adjusted your grip, or took him deeper.

His taste lingered on your tongue as you bobbed your head along his shaft. The feeling of his smooth, taught skin between your lips only caused the mess between your thighs to grow. You were soaking wet at the sight of the man who so confidently took you apart, writhing at the feeling of your mouth on him.

Spencer's hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he tried to hold onto the last ounce of his control. His touch was gentle but insistent, a silent plea for you to continue, to explore every inch of him until he was lost in the overwhelming pleasure that you were so skillfully creating.

As you continued your ministrations, you couldn't help but revel in the power you held over him, the way you could make his body respond to your every touch, your every movement. It was intoxicating, the thrill of being the one to unravel him, to bring him to the edge and watch as he teetered there, a breathless, trembling mess beneath you.

The quiet, involuntary sounds that slipped past his lips were music to your ears, a symphony of pleasure and need that urged you on, pushing you to explore further, to discover every hidden reaction, every secret spot that made him gasp and moan.

Spencer's breathing grew more ragged, his chest heaving with each breath as you brought him closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension coiling tighter within him, a living thing that pulsed and throbbed in your mouth, begging for release.

With each pass of your mouth, each flick of your tongue, you felt him draw nearer to the brink, the pleasure building to a fever pitch that left you both trembling with need. You pulled up to his tip, sucking harshly and greedily taking down the precum you were rewarded.

“Fuck, fuck, Y/N. You have to pull off, I’m gonna—”

Finally, as you felt him begin to unravel beneath you, his grip on your hair tightening, you knew he was on the verge of release. The realization sent a thrill of satisfaction through you, a sense of accomplishment at having brought him to this point, this state of utter abandon.

But, you pulled off, just as he asked.

His eyes fluttered open, glazed with desire, and a mixture of relief and frustration washed over his features. The air between you was charged with electricity, thick as you gazed up at him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

“Thank you,” he breathed, his voice a low, rough whisper filled with gratitude and a hint of desperation. His hands remained in your hair, holding you there as if afraid you might disappear, the heat of his skin still pulsing beneath your touch.

You sat back on your heels, his hands falling, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you surveyed the man before you. Spencer lay sprawled across the bed, a beautiful mess of tousled hair, flushed skin, and a very hard cock leaning on his tummy.

“Didn’t want to spoil the fun too soon?” you teased, your voice sultry and full of promise.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement and unabashed desire. “I didn’t expect you to be so... good at this,” he admitted, his voice still tinged with awe as he watched you with a newfound appreciation.

“Surprised?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached out to trail your fingers lazily along his thigh, feeling the residual tremor of his muscles beneath your touch.

“Pleasantly,” he replied, his voice rich with honesty as he met your gaze, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

“Well, the night’s not over yet,” you said, your tone full of suggestion as you shifted your position, moving with a deliberate slowness that kept Spencer’s gaze locked onto you. The dim lighting cast a warm, intimate glow over your skin, highlighting every curve and angle as you made your intentions clear.

Spencer watched you, his eyes darkening as he realized what you were doing. You were presenting yourself to him, offering yourself. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat through his already overwrought senses.

Your movements were slow and deliberate, a sensual dance that had Spencer transfixed, his breath catching in his throat as he watched you. You turned slightly, your back arching gracefully, presenting your body to him in a way that left no doubt about what you wanted. The smoothness of your skin and the glistening of your core caught the light, every curve accentuated by the shadows, and Spencer couldn't help but let his gaze travel over you, taking in every detail, every nuance.

“You like what you see, Doctor?” you teased with a shake of your hips, your voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine.

His response was a low, almost guttural sound that spoke volumes, a wordless expression of the desire that burned so brightly within him. He shifted slightly, his body tense as his hands reached out as if drawn to you by an invisible force.

“I like it very much,” he murmured, his voice a husky blend of awe and hunger as he drank in the sight of you. The way you held yourself, the confidence in your gaze, the promise of what was to come—it was all intoxicating, drawing him in and leaving him utterly captivated.

Spencer moved closer, the soft rustle of the sheets beneath him a quiet accompaniment to the sounds and sensations of desire that filled the room. Your skin was warm under Spencer’s touch as his hands found their way to your hips, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin, exploring every inch with a deliberate slowness that left you both breathless.

The feeling of his hands on you was electric, a perfect blend of tenderness and urgency that made your heart race and your senses sing. Every touch, every caress, sent shivers of pleasure racing through your body, leaving you aching for more, your skin hypersensitive to every nuance of his touch.

Spencer’s hands traveled with a gentle insistence, mapping the contours of your body with a touch that was both reverent and possessive. You could feel the subtle tremor in his fingers, the heat of his palms as they pressed against your ass.

His breath was warm against your ear, his voice a low murmur as he whispered, “You’re so sexy.” The words sent a thrill through you, a spark that ignited a fire in your belly and left you yearning for more of his touch, more of the sensations that seemed to flood your senses with every passing moment.

You turned your head slightly, your lips finding his in a kiss that was equal parts tenderness and demand. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of warmth and spice that made your heart race and your senses reel.

Spencer pulled away, and you felt the bed shift as he repositioned himself behind you. The room was filled with a quiet hum of anticipation, the air thick with the charged tension between you. You could feel his gaze on you, a tangible heat that seemed to sear into your skin.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice a low, rumbling purr that sent a shiver down your spine. There was an earnestness in his question, a genuine desire to ensure that you were comfortable and ready.

“Positive, Doctor,” you replied, the words laced with playful confidence as you glanced over your shoulder to meet his gaze. The term of endearment had become a safeguard to you, not wanting to get too used to saying his name.

Spencer’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm and relief, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. “Do you have a condom?” he asked, his tone laced with a hint of embarrassment as he admitted his unpreparedness.

“You don’t?” you teased, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. It was a playful jab, meant to lighten the mood and add a touch of humor to the charged atmosphere.

“I didn’t expect this to happen…” Spencer admitted, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson as he chuckled awkwardly.

“That’s really sweet, actually,” you replied, your voice softening as you took in the sight of him. The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat, a reminder of why you had been drawn to him in the first place. “Yes, I do,” you confirmed, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Let me up real quick.”

Spencer playfully groaned, a sound filled with exaggerated reluctance as he shifted to give you space. But before you could move, he leaned down, leaving a small, teasing bite on your asscheek—a cheeky gesture that sent a spark of pleasure through you.

“Down, boy!” you teased, your voice a mock admonishment as you slipped out of his grasp, your feet finding the floor with a soft thud. You cast a playful glance back at him, enjoying the sight of him sprawled on the bed, watching you while he pulled on his own cock.

As you turned back to the bed, condom in hand, you found Spencer watching you with an intensity that made your heart race. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—was both thrilling and humbling.

“Got it,” you announced, your voice a playful sing-song as you waved the packet in the air. Spencer’s eyes lit up with amusement, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he watched you return to the bed.

You climbed back onto the mattress, feeling the familiar give of the sheets beneath your knees as you settled in beside him. The warmth of his body was a comforting presence, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room that brushed against your skin.

Spencer reached for you, his touch gentle and insistent as he guided you back into position. His hands were warm against your skin, the chemistry seemed to crackle between you.

Spencer tore open the foil packet, the soft crinkle of the wrapper a prelude to the main event. You could smell the faint scent of latex from the condom, mingling with the lingering aroma of his cologne—a spicy, woodsy scent that was undeniably masculine and entirely Spencer.

Spencer moved with a practiced ease, his fingers deft and sure as he prepared himself, rolling the condom down with a kind of confident precision that spoke of experience. The sight of him handling himself with such ease sent a thrill racing through you, your breath catching at the implication. It was a heady rush of desire that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

As he finished, Spencer's eyes locked onto yours, a smoldering intensity burning within them that made your pulse quicken. The weight of his gaze was almost tangible, a touch that was as intimate as any caress. You could feel the desire radiating off of him.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. His tone was full of promise, a dark velvet sound that wrapped around you like a warm embrace, holding you captive in its depths.

“Yes,” you breathed, the word barely a whisper as it slipped from your lips, heavy with need. Your body ached for his touch, every fiber of your being attuned to the promise of pleasure that awaited you.

Spencer leaned forward, his hands finding your hips with a surety that left you breathless. His touch was firm and possessive, a silent promise of the pleasure he intended to deliver. You could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, a delicious contrast to the cool air that still lingered around you.

His lips brushed against your ear, a featherlight touch that sent a thrill racing through you, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I bet you feel as good as you taste,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. The confession was both intimate and incendiary, stoking the flames of your arousal until you were burning for him.

“Shit,” you whispered back, a high pitched sound that left your lips before you could think better of it. Spencer responded with a quiet, breathy chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. His hands tightened on your hips, the pressure of his fingers was grounding.

He positioned himself at your entrance, the sensation sending a jolt through your body. The tip of him brushed against your core, a featherlight touch that made your breath catch and your heart race.

Slowly, carefully, he began to push forward, the pressure building with each inch as he entered you. The feeling was exquisite, a slow, delicious burn that stretched you around him, filling you completely. The friction was intoxicating, a perfect balance of pleasure and pressure that had you gasping for breath.

Spencer let out a low, shuddering moan as he sank into you, his fingers digging into your hips with a possessive urgency that left you breathless. The sound was raw and primal, a testament to the pleasure that coursed through him, mirrored in the sensations that raced through your own body.

The room was filled with the sounds of your shared breaths, a quiet combination of gasps and moans that mingled with the rustle of the sheets beneath you. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, a heady mix making you hyper aware of every touch, every sensation.

As he began to move, Spencer set a steady, deliberate pace that left you reeling with sensation. Each thrust was a measured blend of power and precision, a rhythm that built slowly, methodically, until it had you teetering on the edge of control.

“You feel so fucking good,” Spencer breathed, his voice a low, gravelly growl that sent a thrill racing through you.

“So big,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to find words in the midst of the overwhelming sensations that flooded your senses. The feel of him moving inside you, the way he filled you completely, was a pleasure that bordered on overwhelming, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

Spencer’s hands moved with a purpose, tracing the curves of your body as he drove you higher, his touch both grounding and incendiary. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, the way his muscles flexed with each movement, feeling the strength and control he wielded.

His lips found your neck, trailing a line of heated kisses along the sensitive skin that sent shivers down your spine. The feel of his mouth against your skin was electric, a tantalizing mix of heat and teeth that left you gasping for breath, your body arching into his touch.

The sensation of his body moving against yours, the delicious friction as he drove deeper, harder, was a pleasure that threatened to unravel you completely. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy radiating through you.

“Spencer,” you gasped, the word slipping past your lips as a breathless plea, a desperate cry for more.

His response was immediate, his pace quickening as he drove into you, each movement a perfect blend of power and precision that left you on the brink of release. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip firm and possessive as he pulled you back to meet each of his thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious friction that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You could feel the strength in his fingers, the way they dug into your flesh with each powerful motion, grounding you even as you felt yourself being pushed closer and closer to the edge. The heat of his hands against your skin was a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, adding another layer of sensation to the already heady mix.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of wet, rhythmic slaps and breathless gasps that only heightened your arousal. Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure rippling through you, building in intensity with every movement until you were teetering on the edge of control.

Spencer’s breath was hot against your ear, each exhale a ragged sigh that sent shivers down your spine. “How are you still so tight?” he groaned, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that resonated through your entire body. The words were a potent mix of praise and desire, pushing you even closer to the brink.

Your own breath came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale a struggle as you fought to hold on to your control. “Spencer,” you moaned, your body aching for release.

His response was a deep, primal growl that vibrated through his chest and into your back, his hips snapping forward with a renewed intensity that left you breathless. His hands guided your movements, pulling you back to meet each thrust with a force that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

The pressure within you built to a fever pitch, a tight coil that wound tighter and tighter with each powerful thrust. Your senses were overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensations, the feel of him driving into you, the sound of his voice in your ear, the taste of salt on your lips as you bit down, trying to hold on just a little longer.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his voice a rough, desperate sound that sent a thrill racing through you. “I’m so close.”

The admission was your undoing. The coil within you snapped, sending a wave of blinding ecstasy crashing over you. Your body tensed, every muscle tightening as you cried out, the sound raw and unrestrained as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

Spencer continued to move, driving you through the waves of your release with a steady, relentless rhythm that left you trembling and gasping for breath. The feeling of him moving inside you, filling you completely, was a pleasure that bordered on overwhelming, each thrust sending new ripples of sensation through your already oversensitive body.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, Spencer’s pace grew more erratic, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. You could feel the strain in his muscles, the way his fingers dug into your hips with a new urgency.

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice a soft, breathless plea as you turned your head to catch his gaze. The look in his eyes was a perfect reflection of the intensity you felt, raw desire and desperate need that sent another wave of heat through you.

With a final, powerful thrust, Spencer buried himself deep inside you, his body tensing as he reached his own release. The sound of his pleasure—a low, guttural groan—sent a shiver of satisfaction through you.

The room was filled with the quiet sounds of your mingled breaths, a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the fading echoes of your shared passion. Spencer’s grip on your hips softened, his touch becoming a gentle caress as he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to the nape of your neck.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice a soft, reverent murmur that sent a final shiver of pleasure through you.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, a satisfied smile playing on your lips as you caught your breath. “So are you, Doctor.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with affection and lingering desire as he gently helped you shift to a more comfortable position. The warmth of his body against yours was soothing, a perfect counterpoint to the lingering heat of your shared passion. You nestled into his embrace, feeling a sense of peace and contentment settle over you as you allowed yourself to relax in his arms.

The steady rhythm of his breathing, the comforting weight of his presence, lulled you into a state of drowsy contentment. You felt safe and secure in his arms, the events of the night playing through your mind in a haze of satisfaction and warmth.

Slowly, the pull of sleep became too strong to resist, and you allowed yourself to drift off, cocooned in the comforting embrace of the man who had brought you such intense pleasure. The last thing you remembered before slipping into the depths of slumber was the gentle press of Spencer's lips against your forehead, a tender kiss that spoke volumes.

—

Morning came all too soon, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains and casting a gentle glow over the room. You woke slowly, the memories of the night before still vivid in your mind as you lay in the warmth of Spencer's embrace. For a moment, you allowed yourself to savor the feeling, the sense of belonging that came from being wrapped in his arms.

But reality soon intruded, and you knew that you couldn't stay. With a quiet sigh, you carefully extricated yourself from his embrace, moving with practiced ease to avoid waking him. Spencer's face was peaceful in sleep, a small smile playing on his lips that made your heart ache with affection and regret.

You knew he’d be confused when he woke up in your apartment alone. The realization that you had made a mistake by bringing him here weighed heavily on you. You quickly dressed, the rustle of your clothes sounding loud in the otherwise silent room. Every movement felt like a betrayal, a departure from the intimacy you had shared just hours before.

Grabbing a sticky note pad and a pen from your desk, your mind raced as you tried to think of what to write. The pen felt heavy in your hand, the blank surface of the note a stark reminder of the conversation you couldn't have face to face.

Spencer, you wrote, your handwriting shaky and rushed, Thank you for last night. There’s a key under the mat, please lock the door on your way out. Take care.

You placed the note where he would see it, the yellow square stark against the dark wood of your dresser. You stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of him one last time, memorizing the peaceful curve of his lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead.

With a heavy heart, you turned and quietly left the room. You headed for a friend's house, your thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. You needed to stay busy, to distract yourself until you were sure Spencer had left your apartment. As you knocked on the door, you resolved to cherish the memory of the night you had shared with Spencer, even as you moved forward with your life.

—

It had been a month since Spencer's encounter with you. At first, he was extremely confused and hurt, thinking there was a real spark between the two of you. Upon leaving your apartment that morning, he realized he never got your last name or your phone number. He didn't even know your address properly. Technically, he could figure it out quite easily, but he knew if you wanted him to talk to you again, you would have stayed.

For about two weeks, he thought about you every day and night, replaying the moments you shared and trying to understand what went wrong. Initially, he was sad, then worried something might have happened, and finally, he became livid at the thought that you might have used him. But now, it had been a month, and he had resigned himself to forget you and move on with his life.

Back to regular life, Spencer walked into the bullpen, immediately sensing something unusual. Everyone was not-so-subtly glancing toward Hotch’s office, their expressions twisted with curiosity and surprise.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

“There’s a woman in Hotch’s office,” Emily replied, her eyes flicking toward the closed door.

“Okay?” Spencer prompted, waiting for more context.

“She knew my name, man,” Derek added, sounding both impressed and slightly confused.

“Uh oh, did you forget one of your many lovers?” Spencer joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Not cool, kid. I’d remember a pretty face like hers,” Derek said, shaking his head.

“How else would she know you?” Emily asked, her curiosity mirroring Spencer’s.

Just then, the door to Hotch’s office opened, and you stepped out, accompanied by Aaron. “Guys, this is Agent Y/N Y/L,” Hotch said, introducing you to the team. “She will be joining us while JJ is on maternity leave.”

Spencer’s heart stopped as he saw you. He felt all the blood drain from his face, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. There you were, the woman who had loved him and then left him without a trace, now standing in front of him in the bullpen.

You seemed calm and composed, completely unaware of the storm raging inside Spencer. You gave a polite smile and nodded at the team, your eyes briefly locking with Spencer’s before moving on, not recognizing him immediately, or not caring.

“Nice to meet you all,” you said, your voice steady and professional. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

The rest of the team greeted you warmly, exchanging pleasantries, while Spencer remained rooted to his spot, his mind racing. Finally, your eyes fell on him and really looked.

“Hi, Doctor,” you said calmly, your voice steady and composed.

“Y/N,” he replied, his tone clipped and strained.

“Hold up, do you two know each other?” Derek asked, his curiosity piqued.

“I remember you!” Penelope cut in, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “You were at the Doctor Who convention! Madame de Pompadour! You looked beautiful.”

“Thank you!” you responded with a warm smile. “I don’t recall meeting you, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, we didn’t meet, sweetie,” Penelope giggled kindly. “I saw you talking to Reid here.”

“Ah,” you said, a hint of realization dawning in your eyes as you glanced back at Spencer.

The strain between you and Spencer was tangible, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Spencer’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to process the fact that you were now standing in front of him, a part of his professional life.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Emily asked, her eyes darting between the two of you.

“We… met at the convention,” Spencer said, his voice strained as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

“Yes, we did,” you confirmed, keeping your tone neutral. “It was a brief encounter.”

Spencer's jaw tightened at your choice of words, the hurt and confusion from a month ago resurfacing with a vengeance. He knew he had to keep it together, at least for now, but the unresolved feelings were making it difficult.

“Small world, huh?” Derek said with a chuckle, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension.

“Indeed,” you replied, your eyes flicking back to Spencer. “I’m looking forward to working with all of you.”

Spencer nodded stiffly, his mind still racing with questions and emotions. He knew he needed to talk to you, to get some answers, but now wasn’t the time. He would have to wait for a more private moment to confront you about what had happened.

For now, he had to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside his personal turmoil to maintain his professionalism. But as he watched you interact with the rest of the team, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

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tanoraqui · 11 months ago

Text

obviously the Historical Figure Episode(TM) of Doctor Who that I’d write would of the Noted Author subset endemic to the RTD Era; it’d be called “Spiders in the Trenches” and be set in the middle of World War One ft. one Lt. John Tolkien.

idk if the main aliens are spiders or if they're just using giant robotic spiders as soldier-minions. Either way, Tolkien is a little too defensive when he says he's not afraid of spiders.

The alien invaders want some sort of shiny mcguffin, maybe as a power source for their ship? Or for a mega-weapon? We do not want them to get it, at any rate. Race to find the Shiny Power Jewel-Thing which has been lost somewhere in this like 20-mile radius of the Western Front.

When our heroes narrowly beat the spiders to the SPJT, Tolkien realizes that the spiders only ever attack at night because light hurts them somehow, so he holds the SPJT up as it flares and shouts, "Get back, foul creatures! Back into the shadows from whence you came!"

(They're from the dark side of a tidally locked planet, and made for extremely low-light conditions? The SPJT flares because it's controlled telepathically and it connected to Tolkien's mind when he touched it?)

Ideally Tolkien's first encounter with the Doctor is that he wakes up in the trench one day (after losing some men to a mysterious monster in the darkness a couple nights ago?), and there's 2 random strangers in weird clothes idly singing and playing an instrument which they stole from someone a couple bedrolls down. (This works well with Fifteen & Ruby's established inclination to music!)

We do need an Eowyn Moment, because that's iconic, but I'd split it: for dialogue, at one point the head boss evil alien boasts, "No human can defeat the Tenebrarachnid Empire!" and the Doctor replies, "Good thing they've got me, then."...

[I don't know if this is a Fifteen line yet. I know it's a very Eleven line]

...and there's a soldier in Tolkien's unit who is revealed to be secretly a woman! Who disguised herself as a man in order to enlist for ??? reasons, and who dramatically pulls off her hat to reveal her long hair.

The third notable local character is the sort who inspired Sam Gamgee, "...the English soldier, [like] the privates and batmen I knew in the 1914 war, and recognized as so far superior to myself.”

^those two can have a romantic subplot if it fits (comrades-in-arms is also extremely good). Tolkien, however, at some point shows Ruby the picture of his wife Edith which he carries at all times, she of the black hair and bright grey eyes, and is obviously ready to monologue about how wonderful she is.

In the same scene(?), Tolkien looks up at the stars and says their brightness shining afar, clear of all the horrors on the ground, is always a source of hope and strength to him.

Maybe also in the same scene? Tolkien is shown to make up stories for fun, or to read them in his little spare time - fairy tales and mythological epics. Maybe he tells them to the men around the fire, maybe he keeps a little notebook, maybe he just admits to daydreaming... When asked why, he paraphrases his quote from later life, " Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisoned by the enemy, don't we consider it his duty to escape?"

At some point (Star-watching scene? when the Doctor inevitably has to explain that aliens exist? when they're all saying goodbye in the end?) there's a line drawing attention to the Doctor's parallels with Eärendil - eternally wandering figure of hope, sailing the stars in a ship with a light on top, not quite mortal...

Tolkien DEFINITELY tries to figure out the alien language, in writing or speech.

Something the aliens are doing is making people sick. Maybe the attacking robo-spiders are venomous, maybe there's a toxic byproduct of the alien ship, maybe it's a deliberate first assault of the planned invasion... By the end of the episode, Tolkien is very ill. The Doctor has figured out an antidote and given it, but Tolkien says goodbye to him and Ruby only to stumble to a medical outpost - from where, the Doctor explains to Ruby, he'll be sent home with this bad case of what's assumed to be trench fever. Between the fever and the brief psychic entanglement, and unentanglement, with the SPJT, he won't even remember most of this, and what he does remember, he'll put down to fever dreams amidst the horrors of war.

But he'll remember some things! He'll remember an eternal wanderer of the stars, unaging and undying and ever-hopeful, heralded by light (and a vworrrp vrorrrp noise).

#doctor who #JRR Tolkien #ficlet #my fic

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howthebestwaslost-blog · 5 months ago

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Has anyone else noticed the difference in how the Doctor speaks about the TARDIS to strangers in ep. 5 compared to ep. 6?

1.5 Dot and Bubble

The Doctor: I have a ship. It's called the TARDIS. That blue box. It harnesses technology that makes it bigger on the inside than on the outside. I could take you all.

“Like, you have a magic box? Seriously?”

“Bigger on the inside?”

“Excuse me, sir, that's voodoo.”

1.6 Rogue

“Shed? That’s my ship!”

“You travel in a shed?”

“Love the shed!”

I don’t know, I just feel like the Doctor would rather have this stranger think he’s travelling in a literal shed than try to tell him too soon how amazing she is and have her insulted like the last time. It makes me love Rogue’s reaction even more (and the Doctor is so, so pleased). Not only does he fall head over heels for her, doing some little zoomies of his own, he immediately understands and admires her transdimensional nature. And he looks so alarmed by her tummy grumbles. Iconic trio, I need more of this 😭

#he’s so protective I can’t #bet the TARDIS loves Rogue back #he’s worthy #Dot And Bubble #Rogue #The Doctor’s Wife #doctor who rogue #doctor who #bbc doctor who #fifteenth doctor #TARDIS #x

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thepunkmuppet · 8 months ago

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costumes / looks I desperately need gerard way to wear on stage (add your own in reblogs!!)

greek statue, he’s fully painted white including his hair with a white toga with a golden wreath thing on his head. I just think that would look sick

police uniform covered in blood

straight up zombie with full on green decaying gory make up

one of the heathers from heathers

either the blue cheerleader outfit from the i’m not okay mv or the iconic red ones from teenagers. then we’d have a little trio!

ghostface. possibly cunty ghostface as a treat

vanya from umbrella academy - young version with the school girl fit and black mask OR the all white comic version of course

also number five from umbrella academy (classic school boy fit)

this sounds weird but I think this would be really cool and meta for wwwy - a stereotypical mcr fan / emo. as in with that one black parade t shirt, heavy eyeliner, black nails, side swept emo fringe, studded bracelets and belts, skinny black jeans, vans or converse. again a very meta concept, after their old person looks in 2022 I can really see them doing this as a whole band this year and I would loooove to finally see gerard in the fashion style that’s so associated with him and his music

howl from howl’s moving castle

possibly also sophie from howl’s moving castle

slenderman

literally just satan. like the most stereotypical devil, give them fully painted red skin, horns, fangs, yellow or black eyes, maybe even goat legs. probably with a majestic black suit or something, or for a succubus vibe a black flowy dress with a slit down the leg. now that I think about it, this would be a SICK wwwy look to shock us all, esp if ray mikey and frank all dressed as other demons or the souls of the damned or some shit.

peni parker - he made her!!

question mark jumper from doctor who

also missy from doctor who omg

jane doe from ride the cyclone, possibly with added marionette or cracked porcelain makeup like in some renditions

classic majestic white-robed angel, with enormous fake wings and maybe even sparkly gold makeup and a big gold halo. also would be cool in all black, or all white but covered in blood (red, gold, or black, all would look cool)

buffy summers in prophecy girl, except he also has blood all over his neck from where the master bit her. I hope he’s watched btvs I think he would very much enjoy it this look would fit with their vampire vibe sooooo well

classic frankenstein’s monster

mothman. not only is he a heartthrob but he’s also a hunched goblin cryptid to me. the duality of man (he/theys)

jane prentiss from the magnus archives. if you don’t know she is a living flesh hive of sentient worms, she’s decaying and full of holes. again with all the nasty decaying rotting prosthetic makeup plus THE RED DRESS!!!

mr darcy vibes, sopping wet regency man with a big puffy white t shirt

opposite side of that, fuck it give him a full on ballroom gown

henry creel from stranger things (pre-vecna, nurse outfit)

any disney princess

crowley from good omens. my man looks GOOD in those anthony janthony aah sunglasses he has

cute flowy summer dress with like a flowery pattern. either go cottagecore with it and have flowers in his hair, or go full white soccer mum and put him in huge cunty sunglasses a massive straw sun hat with a ribbon on it

all-black cowboy!!!! the fact I’ve never seen him in a cowboy hat is actual sacrilege. also would very much appreciate an all-pink sequin studded cowboy

any alice in wonderland character, especially alice herself, the classic disney movie look with the blue dress and the bow in the hair. he would also do a great chesire cat (spooky big grin makeup paired with his weird ass dramatic facial expressions?? inspired) or a super extravagant queen / king / knave of hearts. also 100000% the mad hatter omfg, he was BORN to do a jefferson from once upon a time look!!

#he can just pull anything off #and so many things are just his VIBE like jane prentiss’s whole look and concept is SUCH a swarm tour gerard look like are you kidding me??#gerard way #gee way #my chem #my chemical romance #my chemical fucking romance #mcr #swarm tour #dear god I have too much free time on my hands I think about this more than is necessary or maybe even possible

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saintsenara · 9 months ago

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you said “the eleven-year-old riddle, for example, is written in a way which suggests he has an accent and uses words and expression which would be understood as working class”. Can you elaborate on what you mean? I love your meta btw. You are brilliant

thank you for two tmr-related follow-up questions to the slughorn/snape bonanza meta, anons!

[and thank you for calling me "brilliant", anon no. 1. picture me kicking my little feet in the air and chirping like a cat which has just seen a bird outside.]

how is the eleven-year-old riddle shown to be common as muck?

besides the fact he lives in an orphanage.

it's things like this:

“You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course — well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

while none of this is in a demonstrably non-standard dialect of british english [i.e. riddle doesn't use contractions like "ain't" or "innit", or say "i never did nothing to little amy benson..."] it's definitely a way of phrasing his speech - especially when coupled with the fact that this quote reads like he's speaking really quickly, and he's described as looking "furious" - which would be considered uncouth, especially in the 1930s. [not big fans of emotional volatility, the posh].

his refusal to speak deferentially to dumbledore - and the fact that when he's eventually induced to call him sir he is described as being "unrecognisably polite" - is a similar indication that he doesn't exist as a child in the sort of context where he's forced to perform more refined manners in order to get what he wants.

[the sixteen-year-old riddle is considerably more obsequious, because he recognises that the way to get things out of e.g. slughorn is to comport himself like his upper-class peers.]

and he also - which is iconic of him - calls mrs cole a bitch here. "cat" is a slang term for a gossipy or meddling woman - and while it doesn't quite have the full heft of "bitch" [you find it used with impunity by middle-class women in pretty much every piece of literature written pre-1950...], it's incredibly rude for a child to say it to a stranger who he assumes is a doctor.

riddle does also use non-standard english - for example, when he says of dumbledore's wand:

“Where can I get one of them?”

[the correct form would be "one of those".]

it's this which really hammers home - beyond the ways in which it can be inferred from the context of the setting and the scansion of his [and mrs cole's, they speak fairly similarly] speech - that he has a london accent which would be understood, especially when combined with his second-hand possessions and his general rowdiness, as working-class by the sort of people who otherwise seem to end up in slytherin.

exactly what accent this would be depends on where we think the orphanage is. the closest we come to locating it in canon is that riddle buys [or, let's be real, steals] his diary from a shop on "vauxhall road". this isn't a real place, but vauxhall is an area of south london.

but most people - including me - usually place it in east london [i like, as i've said elsewhere, to put it on dorset street in spitalfields, which is the site of one of jack the ripper's most brutal murders]. this would have him born within the sound of bow bells, meaning he'd have every right to call himself a cockney and would undoubtedly speak with a cockney accent.

the south london and east london accents are recognisably distinct from one another [and from north and west london accents], but they would both be understood as common in the time period, when both anyone born into an upper-class or upper-middle-class background and anyone who aspired to be thought of as having done so would speak with [something as close as they could to] received pronunciation.

why do i think slughorn remains chill until after riddle refuses his job offers?

riddle's conversation with slughorn about horcruxes happens at some point in his sixth year - the academic year 1943-1944. we know this because he's a prefect - but not yet head boy, because he's killed his father [his second victim - the riddles are killed in the summer of 1943, after myrtle is killed at the end of the 1942-1943 school year], and because it just makes sense from a narrative standpoint for this pivotal moment in his life to take place at the same time harry's own life is transforming.

my presumption is that the chat happens during the first term, and that riddle doesn't actually create the diary horcrux until afterwards - so let's say the conversation happens c. november 1943 [when riddle would still be sixteen - the age the diary tells us he is]. slughorn then spends a full eighteen months continuing to support and favour him - advocating for him to be head boy, attempting to set him up in prestigious jobs, presumably being willing to support his application to teach defence against the dark arts - after he's aware that he's not opposed to a bit of splitting the soul.

i don't imagine for a second slughorn would ever have turned him in - he is, after all, fundamentally a coward, and he's clearly worried that he'd get in trouble himself for discussing horcruxes with a pupil - but if he were properly troubled by the discussion i think his behaviour would resemble how he treats harry while he's trying to collect the memory: unfailingly polite and unflappably jolly, but still mysteriously unable to be cornered alone.

and - actually - i think this is the specific source of slughorn's shame over the incident, and it's why i really don't like the memory acquisition scene - "you have no idea how frightening he was" - in the half-blood prince film. slughorn is clearly rattled by the conversation, but he then seems to manage to convince himself that everything's fine and riddle was just being a teen show-off with a morbid streak.

[and the adult voldemort - for his part - evidently has no suspicion at all that slughorn took the conversation seriously enough to waver in his cowardice and admit what he'd told him.]

but riddle refusing to accept his help in securing a job - and, therefore, refusing to enter into the sort of patron-client relationship slughorn canonically establishes with pupils from non-elite backgrounds - is riddle indicating that he refuses to be restrained by the norms of wizarding society.

it's a big "fuck you" to slughorn from the perspective of social convention notwithstanding the other context - a presumed-to-be-muggleborn orphan asserting that he can make it in the world on his own terms without tugging his forelock to the pureblood elite - but it's also evidence that he has no intention of finding himself in a situation where slughorn can control him personally.

it means that slughorn finds himself in a position in which he can't dangle the threat of reporting him to the aurors for [conspiracy to commit] murder/taking an interest in dark magic we can presume is illegal unless riddle does something he wants. and it makes it impossible for slughorn to continue convincing himself their conversation was purely macabre curiosity.

slughorn can convince himself that the eighteen-year-old riddle - the polite and brilliant head boy who undoubtedly continued to attend slug club meetings without incident in the period 1943-1945 [since him being barred from such occasions would have tipped him off that slughorn was worried] - can still be treated in a way which has served him well since he started teaching, and can have his... odder aspects constrained by the pressure of wizarding social convention.

the twenty-year-old riddle - on his own in his knockturn alley shop, with its dark reputation, and apparently uninterested in settling down nicely under the thumb of a respectable patron - cannot be.

and slughorn is terrified of this - and the repercussions it has the potential to bring upon him - but he's also going to be offended by it -and i think it's really interesting to skewer his canonical dislike of being associated with death eaters a little by playing with that offence: i.e. that he's not only unimpressed because lucius malfoy's in azkaban, but because of the whole bending-and-scraping-and-saying-my-lord act.

#asks answered #asenora meta #tom riddle #lord voldemort #surprise! it's the class system!

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artist-issues · 3 months ago

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you're fun to talk to about media so I've got something to ask.

what do you think of this trope where a lie or misconception becomes commonly accepted as truth by the characters in story? especially as a resolution.

example: in the finale of "Kubo and the two strings", the Moon King(main villain) loses his memory, so when he asks who he is, the townspeople lie to him and say he was a kind member of the community, rather than the dictator he really was.

I don't like it. I see a falsehood being widely accepted as a tragedy, and I'm just left imagining what happens if/when the characters find out the truth. I can't really take something as a happy ending when it's.. y'know, fake. I imagine you feel similarly.

but hey, I could have totally missed the point of the ending of KATTS, if you watched it, you might have seen something I didn't.

I haven’t seen Kubo in a really long time; I don’t think I was thinking critically about it the first time I watched it, so my opinion now is an afterthought. I’d have to see it again to be fair!

…But I do seem to remember that the villain is defeated with some importance placed on memory. And the identity of the monkey and that beetle warrior also have to do with the sacredness of memories. So, if that’s the case, then yeah, taking his memory away as a “good resolution” can kind of hamstring the whole theme of the movie. Unless you tilt your head and squint and go, “no, see, if all you have is bad memories, then it’s just as powerful to take those away—the point is, memories have power either way!” But even that feels a little half-baked, gymnastics-brainy.

Basically, I agree with you. A story that resolves with a character, or characters, accepting a lie as truth is always going to be a fumble of the whole story…unless it’s intended to be a tragedy, a cautionary tale. I can think of three where that’s super evident.

1 ) A Streetcar Named Desire

In this movie the main character, Blanche, is lying about who she is, for the whole story. She even has this great symbolism thing with light—she hates bright light, on the surface because she’s vain and doesn’t want anyone to see signs that she’s aging. But under the surface, the character is really an immoral, lust-filled, broken person who knows she can be cruel and isn’t deserving of love. She doesn’t want anyone to know that side of her. She hides it all under vainglory and pride. So she pretends to her sister, Stella, that she’s upright and moral and has simply fallen on hard times. But her sister’s brute of an abusive husband, Stanley, who is always 100% his authentic, awful self, sees through Blanche when she comes to stay with them. In the end, Stanley rapes Blanche and then carelessly shrugs her accusations off.

The main point of this example is that Stella, the wife of the rapist Stanley, has been portrayed the whole movie as sometimes-leaving her abusive husband…but only as far as the apartment above their own, literally right above him, so that she can easily go back to him. And at the end of the movie, when Blanche is being taken to a mental institution because she’s broken-down after being found-out as a fraud, then raped, Stella lets them take her away. And then Stella goes up to the apartment above, where she always “pretends” to leave Stanley. It’s such a halfhearted, lazy way to end a movie that’s all about desire-versus-truth. Because what it implies is that Stella is leaving Stanley for now, like she might believe that he raped her sister…but she’ll eventually go back to him. And in the meantime, Blanche goes off to the mental hospital, with this iconic line “I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers.” By which she means, “strangers don’t know what a two-faced monster I really am, so I can con them into thinking I’m a morally-upright woman fallen on hard times, and they’ll take pity on me—so sure, I’ll go with you, strange doctor I’ve never met.”

The central point of the movie is “as long as nobody looks the truth in the face, everyone can go on getting what they desire.”

Of course, that’s true. But the other truth is that, if Stella accepted what her sister and her husband really are—her sister is broken and her husband is a monster—then she could choose to rise above “animal desire.” She could choose to take care of Blanche, and Blanche would see that “someone seeing who I really am” doesn’t always have to lead to ruin and damnation. Stella could then, also, choose to really leave Stanley, for good, and be at peace, while Stanley’s “desire” would be rewarded with ruin.

But instead the opposite is what happens. Blanche goes away believing, in her broken mind, that her womanly wiles and faking will protect her from further injury, even though they never have—Stanley ends the movie exactly where he began it, screaming for Stella to come back and knowing that she will—and Stella, too, ends the movie going away from Stanley…just for a little while, until animal desire convinces her to just pretend Stanley isn’t really a monster, Blanche must be crazy, except this time, when she goes back, she’ll be carrying a child into that abusive lie.

All characters wholeheartedly embracing hurtful lies so they can keep riding their desires. I hate that movie. You could see it as a cautionary tale. Most don’t. Most see it as a movie with “hot Marlon Brando” who “really loves Stella—all the characters ‘really love each other,’ they just don’t know how to express it healthily!” 🙄

I think the worst part is that the movie behaves as if it is true that every time Blanche reveals her own brokenness or is vulnerable, the world STOMPS on her for it, nobody loves her despite her brokenness. That’s the real mistake this movie makes. It has an opportunity to show unconditional love and it leaves the audience thinking Blanche was right, and there’s no such THING as “unconditional” love, instead.

Anyway.

2) X-Men Origins: The Wolverine

This one is less thematic. But it’s just dumb because the whole movie the main character, Logan, Wolverine, is being taught that “Giving in to Bloodlust Makes You an Animal—Compassion For Those Weaker Than Yourself Makes You Human.”

So in that context, the whole narrative is centered around the exploration of “Who is Logan/Wolverine?”

…Which makes it really stupid that the movie ends with him losing his memory. So…the movie asks “Who Are You?” and right after the character figures it out, he forgets and ends it with the answer: “I don’t know who I am.”

That’s just a waste. That’s silly. It allows you to take the character to real, hearty, coming-of-age, hero-forged-in-fire, a man-born-of-tragedy places…and then just shrug all that stuff off at the end. “Never mind. But it was a fun ride, wasn’t it?”

Especially because they built it all around the dichotomy between Logan and his brother, who’s little more than an animal—and Logan and his wife, who could be an animal, but chooses compassion instead, and reminds him of his choice, too. —and then she dies, and it’s implied that maybe his brother does too, but who cares, cuz he forgets. Who cares? Not Logan. So why should the audience?

I get that they “needed” to do this so that the end of this movie sets up the beginning of the X-Men Movies, which already established that Logan can’t remember “his past.” But like…then don’t make the point of the movie “Who Am I?” just to end on “…Okay, So WHO AM I?”

It’s a fine movie up until that point.

They should’ve made the movie center around “Can’t Change What You’ve Done; But You Can Be Redeemed.” And then show his memory loss around a moment of self-sacrifice. So that it’s still tragic, but at least when he wakes up from the self-sacrificial act, he’s “a new man.” Then later, in the third X-Men movie, when Logan chooses that mutant kid over “learning the secrets of his past,” it all comes full circle, because his “self-sacrifice moment” can stay where the Old Logan died.

Anyway. You didn’t ask me to re-tell X-Men Origins: The Wolverine. But it’s the same basic premise—a movie ends with a character losing their memory, or believing a lie—whatever.

You know, actually, this one isn’t so much “believing a lie” as it is “going back to considering the lie (that he’s an animal) because all the work done to convince him of the truth has been stupidly erased”

3) The Dark Knight

Saved this for last because nobody would read all that if they saw me scratching up the beloved Christopher Nolan Masterpiece.

But The Dark Knight is a perfect example of what you’re actually talking about.

The movie is awesome until the end.

It’s not hard to guess what I’m going to say. Harvey Dent is supposed to be a shining example of a good guy, and the goodness, that Gotham is capable of. The Goodness that will ultimately defeat Evil. And Evil is represented as Chaos.

Bruce sees that and that’s why he’s willing to give everything to make Harvey succeed as the hero Gotham needs. Because if Gotham sees that evil can be conquered by doing things the right way, the orderly way, that will get Gotham out of it’s “Justice is Broken, Vengeance is The Only Form of Justice” cycle.

Then there’s the Joker. He doesn’t believe there’s any such thing as Good—it’s all just Chaos (which is evil.) And his big mission is to prove it. It’s ironic that he twists Harvey’s sense of “justice” around to this viewpoint—where Harvey uses “chance” as just another form of “retribution.”

Anyway. All of that’s interesting.

But the movie both perpetuates a lie and does so by having the characters end believing a lie.

The lie it perpetuates is “The Joker is right, there’s no such thing as Justice or Good—it’s all just chaos, but pretending it’s not can get you through the day.”

That’s the lie it perpetuates!

And how does it do that?

By having the “city of Gotham,” and Bruce himself, believe a lie.

They believe Harvey Dent really was a good guy who died a hero. Bruce believes Rachel died still waiting for him, which symbolized her supposed belief in the good of Bruce and capability of Bruce to let it all go.

And why was it important that they believe those lies? Because the supposed truth is too harsh—that there’s no Good, it’s all Chaos. And if they believe that supposed truth, they’ll all turn out like Harvey or Joker. If Bruce believes Rachel chose Harvey, he’ll supposedly give up on something important in himself.

Okay but the problem with that is you have characters believing a lie because of a truth—that isn’t the truth. It’s the same problem with Streetcar.

The people of Gotham, the worst people of Gotham, aren’t always going to choose evil. There is such a thing as justice and good. And Harvey turning into Two-Face doesn’t change that. The movie could’ve shown that. It started to, with the prisoners on the second boat choosing not to kill the civilians to save themselves.

But it chose not to make that the point of the movie. It chose to make “The Joker was Right, Good is a Comforting Lie, & the Closest You’ll Ever Get to Justice is Vengeance & Chaos” the point of the movie. By having Batman convince the whole city to believe the comforting lie, what you’re saying is, Bruce believes that the truth won’t set Gotham free, only wrap it in chains.

That’s the problem with these movies.

And that’s why I think Captain America: The Winter Soldier licks The Dark Knight hollow every time, and is all-in-all a better movie, hands down. In this continued essay—

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writing-whump · 10 months ago

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Sick and hurt

Part 2 of this fic

Hector hated two things most in the world. One, to ask anybody for help. Ever. Two, to ask anything of Isaiah, because he fucking never knew how to talk to him and usually tried to pretend they had nothing to talk about.

He felt rejected by Isaiah in so many ways, that it didn't matter how his eldest brother sounded or what peace offerings he made these days.

Right now, his other brother was asking him to do both, to call bloody Isaiah for help. And couldn't say no, cause as it was, Hector was completely useless.

And he hated that even more.

Every breath hurt. Every movement hurt. While Hector wasn't a stranger to pain, though maybe a bit less used to it than a human would be, he could handle this just fine.

When he was comfy and unmoving on the couch. Not when he was running around Arnie, who was all but delusional from the fever.

Crouching down hurt. Bending at all hurt. Getting up hurt. It was only the adrenaline to keep him doing both, and he didn't know how long he could do it. The bandages that felt firm and steadying a few hours ago felt suffocating, cutting into his bruised ribs. His chest and sides were on fire, flaring up depending on how he turned or held his neck.

Hector googled symptoms, then called their pack's private doctor for advice. Tepid bath, he said. Yeah, that would be great, if Hector could freaking carry Arnie out the bed and help him into it. As he normally could. As he was supposed to.

Arnie's suggestion didn't let him wallow in his failure for long though. It was 3.40 in the morning. Why would Isaiah even pick up?

Hector took Arnie's phone, unlocked it with the password and found Isaiah's number in the last three calls. He tapped at the phone icon with a sigh.

"Arnie? What is it?" Isaiah didn't pick up on the first ring, but on the second and somehow didn't sound tired at all.

"No, it's me," Hector grunted, not sure if that was very informative.

"Something is wrong," Isaiah said it as a statement and Hector could hear the ruffling of blankets as he got up from the bed.

"Arnie is sick. His fever if off the roof and I don't know what else to do." Hector clenched his jaw. "He has been asking for you."

"I'll be there in 15. Take his temperature before I come." The line ended.

Hector blinked at the speed. No explanations, no questions, no awkwardness.

As if it was that simple.

Hector called, so Isaiah was coming.

……….

"I can come with you," Seline offered, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"It's okay. Hector is even more difficult, when he is worried. Especially about Arnie. Besides, you didn't catch my flu by a miracle, but let's not push our luck."

Seline leaned against the dining table, watching Isaiah pack his backpack with a yawn. "Take Vitamin D too. 20.000 units. Maybe it will keep Hector off the hook," she instructed.

Isaiah nodded, adding the package to his supplies, before throwing the bag over his shoulder and putting on his shoes.

"Go back to sleep, babe."

Seline ducked her head with a tiny blush, waving her hand. "Keep me updated."

………

The rain didn't help with the visibility as Isaiah drove through the darkness, roads glistening, the aggressive patting of raindrops against the windows.

Isaiah tapped his fingers on the wheel, impatient at the red lights.

He was a light sleeper since childhood and Arnie's name in the middle of the night had him wide awake, heart plummeting painfully. Hector's rough reluctant voice in the phone didn't help with the unease.

He still had the address saved from when he saw their apartment the first time, a few weeks ago, when Hector was sick. The only time he was allowed to visit.

He parked the car and sprinted as dignified as he could down the street and into the apartment.

Hector didn't exactly live around his other packmates, not on the same floor, but on the same street, some in the same building. It would be suspicious for him to run into any of them. He was the Wolfson traitor, not someone his brothers should associate with. The only good thing about this happening at night was the low probability of it happening.

The world rushed out of focus until Isaiah got to the right floor, knocking at the door, only to find Hector's head in the doorway.

One would think Hector was the one sick, with the pained expression and his naturally wild hair sticking out in every direction. He opened the door all the way wordlessly, watching Isaiah like he expected a slap to the face.

"Temperature?"

Hector turned away, leaning against the closed door, hand balled into a fist. "40.1. I can't lower it. Water or pills won't stay down-"

"Hector-"

"I filled the bath with water, you know the medium temperature, not too cold? I called the pack doc, and that's what he said-" Hector punched the door next to him, eyes burning with frustration with a desperate edge.

"Wait, calm dow-"

"-I would take him to a hospital, it's not like I would let him die-"

Christ, he was more freaked out than Isaiah thought.

Isaiah cringed internally, throwing logic out the window and following instinct instead.

He stepped closer, taking Hector's face in both of his hands. "Hey. Look at me. Nobody's dying. You did everything right. He is going to be fine. It's okay."

It was from that close that Isaiah realized Hector was holding himself up all weird, posture all skewed like a badly hung picture on the wall. His breathing was off, which could be just from distress, but his upper lip was covered in sweat and his eyes had a feverish gleam, though he didn't feel warm. "What's wrong with you?"

Hector murmmed something, gaze dropping to the floor.

Isaiah narrowed his eyes. Yeah, this wasn't normal. "You look ready to fall over..."

Hector said nothing, a muscle in his jaw visibly spasming.

"Go get some rest. I got this," Isaiah suggested softly.

Hector frowned, head shooting up immediately with a snarl. "I'm not going-"

"You will sit down." Isaiah let go of his face, giving him a stern look, voice cold. If his shadow was out in the open, it would loom over him and the walls threateningly. "Cause I said so. I'll go see Arnie. End of discussion."

Isaiah hated doing that, he hated using his Executioner voice. But Hector stopped protesting, bowing his head the way wolves did when allowing precedence to someone else. It was the tone Isaiah used to get around teenage Hector that would say 'no' in every sentence.

Hector retreated a step, leaning back against the wall, eyes shimmering, face flushed. His right hand pressed against his ribs and he took a shallow breath through his teeth.

Isaiah was starting to put the puzzle together, but turned around to get to Arnie's room.

His youngest brother was in bed, a dark blotch of sweat on the front of his shirt, hair plastered to his face.

Isaiah dropped to one knee beside the bed, pushing the hair out of his forehead to feel the heat for himself. Yep, alarming heat indeed. "You up, champ?"

Arnie didn't open his eyes, but gulped, chapped lips moving in a ghost of a smile. "Hi, Zaya."

"There is a bath there going for you. We'll get that annoying fever down, dose you up with some good anti-nausea meds and you will be up and kicking in a few days, okay?" Isaiah stood up, hands sliding under Arnie's back and his knees as he talked, hoisting him up.

Arnie's head lolled limply towards him, the side of his face pressed against Isaiah's chest.

Isaiah carried him to the bathroom, where the bathtub was filled with water as promised.

He helped Arnie strip down from the clothes and then gently put him inside, slowing as Arnie's hands shot up at the first contact with the water.

"Easy, easy. This will help a lot, I swear." Isaiah let Arnie brace against him as he eased him down to lean against the back of the tub.

Arnie's lips quivered from the cold, though Isaiah found the water mild and pleasant temperature. "Don't fall asleep. I'm gonna stay right here and watch you."

Arnie turned towards him, eyes glassy, the emerald green in contrast with how pasty his face went. "I-I c-could r-really u-use a s-s-sauna after this."

Isaiah smiled, sitting more comfortably on the carpet, though in a good position to quickly stand up if Arnie tipped to the side too much. "A nice spa sounds like a good idea. Just hot tub."

"A-and b–b-bubbles."

"Yeah. And the different kinds of sauna. Did you know it's recommended to get into cold water or snow after sauna and then go back again? The way it will make your veins contract is supposedly very healthy."

"S-so I'm skipping the sauna n-now? N-not fair." Arnie tried to smile in Isaiah's direction, eyes focusing slightly too much to the right to land on his face.

Isaiah wanted to keep the conversation going, to keep Arnie lucid, but that's when Arnie suddenly lurched forward with a heave.

Isaiah straightened on his knees that instant, planting his hand on Arnie's shoulder and arm as the blond heaved and heaved over the water, but only a couple of burps and a string of bile came up.

"Okay. Shhhhh, easy. You are okay." Isaiah rubbed his back, hand dipping all the way into the water, following the outline of Arnie's spine.

Arnie's heaves slowly died down, though his body sometimes jerked forward. "Bleeeh. That felt awful."

Isaiah helped him lean back again, noticing the tears, spit and the snot on Arnie's face sticking to his chin. "I bet." He took a roll of toilet paper and tore a bunch to dry Arnie's face. "You are holding up really well, kiddo."

Arnie closed his eyes, his breathing still fast from the heaving. "I'm sorry. You will catch it, if you stay with me like this."

Isaiah chuckled. "I already had the flu, don't worry. It's a nasty one, with high fever and nausea."

Arnie opened his eyes at that, squinting at Isaiah. "You were sick?"

"Yes," Isaiah leaned his elbow on the edge of the bathtub with a chuckle. "Three days of fever and I couldn't even smell food. Got around without vomiting though."

Arnie seemed fascinated by the idea, eyebrows meeting together. "You with the flu...."

"Yep- hey, don't fall asleep!" Isaiah jumped up to pat Arnie's cheek, when his head fell to the left all of a sudden as his voice trailed off. He kept patting it until he got him to open his eyes again. "Stay with me, kiddo, come on. Just a bit longer."

"Ughhhmmm. I understand why sleep deprivation is used as torture," Arnie mumbled.

Isaiah looked at his watch, counting down the minutes for Arnie to have something to focus on. When the time was up, he lifted him all the way from the water, getting half-soaked himself and bundled him up in a giant towel.

Dried off and with a much milder heat coming off Arnie, Isaiah pushed him into a fluffy bathrobe and carried him back into the bed.

Arnie curled up protectively around his stomach, but he wasn't shivering as much, which Isaiah counted as a win.

"I got these pills from Sel. They should calm things down there a little and they have an anti-emetic effect too, so the nausea should stop. If you keep them down, I will give you something for the fever too."

Arnie hummed in response, hand around his middle, eyes open to slits. Isaiah helped him swallow the two small white pills with the tiniest sip possible, then sat down on the floor again.

After 15 minutes of relative calm, Isaiah dared to try the paralen too, nervously shifting his weight as they waited.

It took another half an hour before Isaiah let himself relax, for Arnie's squirming calmed, though he still didn't close his eyes.

Isaiah combed his fingers through Arnie's hair, curling them around his fingers and smoothing them back and forth gently.

Arnie nuzzled his head against the pillow, muffling a slight burp, but sighed contentedly at Isaiah's ministrations.

"Zaya? Can I ask you something?" Arnie stumbled over his words a little, so Isaiah leaned closer.

"Anything."

"Check on Hex for me? His ribs are hurting..."

"Yeah, I'll check on him," Isaiah said, voice hoarse in the face of Arnie's concern. "Don't worry about it right now. Just sleep. I'll be here, when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Arnie finally let his eyelids close. Isaiah kissed the top of his head, smoothing the covers over him.

…….

"Who did this to you?"

Hector lifted his head at Isaiah's question in alarm. He sat on the edge of his bed, bowed, face in his hands and Isaiah could see the bandages peeking out from under his shirt. "What?"

"Who did you get those from? If you are anything like you were as a teen, you wouldn't lose a fight easily. If you are getting hurt, it's serious."

"And you are going to do what, exactly?" Hector's eyes were wide, voice stunned. "They are my fights and I can handle them, thanks."

"Just tell me the damn name and I'll solve this," Isaiah said menacingly.

Hector huffed. "Stop ordering me around. In my own house, no less.”

“You don’t listen to me otherwise!”

“I don’t listen to anyone. You are not special,” Hector said, throwing back Isaiah’s words from the conversation, when Isaiah helped him with the broken leg. "Besides,” Hector dropped his gaze again, just like he did in the hall earlier, "this was my own fault."

Isaiah watched him quietly for a long minute, stunned by the admission. "Show me."

Hector snarled. "Can't you just-"

"Arnie asked me to."

That shut Hector up. Even more effective than orders.

Isaiah sat down next to him. Hector reluctantly rolled up his loose black shirt. Isaiah inspected the wrappings with a critical eye. "This is too tight. It will only hurt more."

Hector wheezed a little from pain at having to hold his shirt up with his hands pulling at his chest. Isaiah reached for it, helping it pull it over his head so he could have full access to the bandages, unwrapping them with experienced cold hands.

Hector flinched at the touch of Isaiah's fingers, but as the wrappings loosened, his breathing came easier, more relieved.

Isaiah worked quietly. He had many questions, but he didn't trust himself not to bark orders. Hector saying no to him one more time that evening would break him. Arnie's authority to intervene felt borrowed, like something he shouldn't be doing.

Hector held himself stiffly, breathing through his clenched teeth. "Arnie?"

"Asleep. His temp is lower and he kept the meds in. The worst part is over." Isaiah finished unwrapping the bandages, wrapping them around his hand into a roll to dispose of. He almost whistled at the amount of bruises covering Hector's torse.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh, why don't you." Hector held his hands to his sides defensively.

"This is no laughing matter."

Hector winced at Isaiah's stern tone. "I know. My mistake, okay? I went overboard. I never thought that-" he broke off with a pained breath. "I'm going to be more careful. I'm never going to be too weak to help him next time."

Isaiah regarded him thoughtfully, then sighed, the sternness falling off at the declaration. "Hey, I'm not saying anything. You are doing a good job with him. You were basically in charge of him since he was 12? And he survived just fine."

Hector's head went back a little at the praise.

"Part of being an adult is also realizing, when you can't do something," Isaiah said tentatively. "You know I don't mind helping. You don't have to be alone with this anymore."

Hector grunted something, glaring at his shirt.

Isaiah sighed, taking it and pulling it over Hector's head and helping him slide his arms in. Hector made an annoyed noise, but didn't stop him, pulling his feet up so he could lean against the bed's headboard, softened by pillows.

"I won all the fights, you know."

Isaiah chuckled. "Yes."

"More than that friend of yours. Your useless second."

Isaiah raised a quizzical eyebrow. What did that have to do with anything?

Hector leaned his head back, hands folded underneath him. "What exactly does he have that I don't?"

Isaiah frowned. "Oh." They sat in silence as Isaiah thought about the implications of that sentence. "Hex, come on. You don't have to win to deserve-."

"I never won enough of them," Hector growled. "Not enough for you to let me train with you. Or with Father. You kept me out of everything. What did I do wrong?" He looked up at Isaiah, seemingly younger in an unguarded way, his amber brown eyes wide and open.

Isaiah stiffened. "You did nothing wrong. It was never about winning or deserving things." He stood up, all the calm replaced by nervousness as the guilt settled over him like a second coat.

"Then what was it about?"

Isaiah stood with his back to Hector, breathing very very carefully so his voice wouldn't catch, so he wouldn't show how deeply upsetting that question was. He could see how Hector came up with that wrong assumption now, but he didn't have the words to dispose of it.

Because I didn't want you to go through Father's training. Because he promised me he wouldn't touch you, if I did what he wanted. Because keeping you out was the only way I came up with.

"Right. You are so eager to come, but you shut me out. Again." Hector's voice went rough and bitter at the end, picking up his anger just as quickly as he dropped it.

Isaiah smoothed out his expression, but it was he who couldn't meet Hector's eyes this time. His tongue was frozen, his heart clenching anxiously.

He didn't know if it would be right to tell Hector about the pack's biggest secret. He didn't know if Hector could take losing the image of his perfect father, no matter how skewed it was.

And even if Isaiah knew if he should tell, he wasn't sure he could.

“I’ll get you some painkillers,” Isaiah said into the heavy silence.

As if that could fix anything.

@bellysoupset

#sickfic #emeto #fever #hurt/comfort #whump writing #whump #my writing #brothers #werewolf wip #fuuuh these two #can't do anything simply can't they #Arnie #Hector

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persephoneflouwers · 11 months ago

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Hey! I’m wondering if you have any more favourite Larry fanfics? I read every single one you’ve recommended and they’re amazing! Also highly suggest you read My Saddle’s Waiting by RealityBetterThanFiction on AO3 if you haven’t already. It’s one of a kind! Another thing I made a tumblr so I can reach you lol. Thank you for posting the fanfiction, you’re doing gods work!

Read recently(in no specific order):

Wings to break your fall (102K) by karamelised: classic, iconic, the blueprint of a genre. I read it like 10 times lmao this author is probably my favourite ever. I read everything from them. They wrote another all time favourite for me <3 anyway. This is THE stripper AU. THE Angel Harry with wings. I love love love love it’s such a cute fic omfg

It’s you or no one else (20K) by softfonds ( @softfonds , actually one of my favourite authors here): a cute little ABO fic that revolves around a qui pro quo. Omega Harry and Alpha Louis meet on a cruise while they’re pretending to be respectively Mrs Zayn Payne and a stranger, definitely not a private detective hired by Mr Liam Payne to follow his husband on a unrealistic secret love affair. Very light, very fun! TAGS: Historical fic - 1940s, Fluff, detective Louis, club singer Harry, mentions of pregnancy, false identity

Rise up like the sun (41K) by Star_Henderson ( @tommosgun ) : Louis is a doctor on his way to UCLA for an interview. Harry is an actor who Louis vaguely recognises. He attempts to take a sneaky photo, to send to his friend to help identify him but leaves the flash on. They bond over stupid mistakes, french toast and motorbike rides to the ocean.

Eyes on the horizon (12K) by yeah_alright ( @uhoh-but-yeah-alright ): This was such a fun read. This author never disappoints. I want to quote a line of the fic that got me hooked: «This frankly devastating man with a scruff-dusted face that had Harry’s thoughts drifting to impure places faster than they ever had and a bright, raspy voice that could convince the angel on his shoulder to fall in line with the devil on his other in less than a sentence.» TAGS: age difference, older Harry (he’s forty), younger Louis (he’s in his 20s), bisexual Harry, so much humor in the writing I had so much fun!

All I want for Christmas is (not) you! By unbrxokenhabits (12K): Harry and Louis kind of hate each other. Harry is definitely not happy when Louis barges in on his holiday trip with his family. TAGS: no smut, childhood friends, friends to enemies to lovers, oh there’s only one bed

Everybody wants a taste (2K) by shiptattou : this was soooo cool. TAGS: girl direction, established relationship, public sex

Let me add my two fics here, just because I can <3

Tuca Tuca (IlikeyouIlikeyouIlikeyou) by persephoneflouwers (4.9K): the San Francisco getaway AU where Harry is needy and Louis has a flight in a few hours. TAGS: canon compliant, established relationship, smut and fluff, harry dances in the kitchen and louis plays a guitar

De amore ex tempore (101K) by persephoneflouwers: the middle ages AU / Time travel AU with Philosopher Harry and Painter Louis. Feature Zayn as Maestro Verrocchio, Liam as Lorenzo de’ Medici and Niall… well Niall as a Father. TAGS: historical fiction, period related homophobia, Florence - Italy, louis has long hair at some point, horseback riding, murder attempts, philosophical talks, some sex in front of the fireplace, with almond oil as lube, under a sky full of stars in a brook.

#larry fic recs #felt like sharing this because today I would be on FIRE with opinions om how poorly certain things have been handled lately #but I don’t want any drama on myself #so let’s enjoy fics and let’s soread some love to the authors shall we?#angie’s reader’ corner #january readings

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theroyalthrones · 9 months ago

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Orillian Queens, Almost Queens, and Consorts of the 20th Century

Queen Consort Morosina De'Cremonesi-Grimani circa 1861-1932 Born as the second daughter of the Viscount of Trieste, Lady Morosina was considered plain in looks and thought. This characterization was paid no mind to a certain prince, who overlooked her beauty to instead gaze upon the immense riches of her father. Married to a man two decades her senior, she was famously unhappy. Many considered her a prude, drab, and a woman who didn't deserve the fortune of marrying into the coveted De Cremonesi House. Queen Vittoria De'Cremonesi circa 1890-1943 The only Queen of the 20th century, Vittoria made a name for herself in all the ways that didn't matter. She spent her days living lavishly under the jewels and lights of the Jazz Age. Her parties were known far and wide. The most notorious names of the time graced her halls. Anyone of any birthright, class, talent, or profession could gain an invitation. Famously, when asked about the very topic she replied, "Let them sip champagne and dance; to a beggar, even a fortune is worth only these crumbs." This being said during a time of need. Queen Consort Georgiana Della Rovere circa 1935-1982 Everyone knew Georgiana Della Rovere was born a star, and so she made herself such. Born in the Cagliari province to a doctor and nurse, she fought to break out of the expectations of her parents. And make a name for herself. She became a model, a variety show hostess, and finally a leading star. She was an influential idol of the 50s and 60s. Georgiana had a very colorful life, she was married four times – Twice to the same man – and for the last time, she married a prince. Lady Madelaena Sforza circa 1960-2023 "The Queen who would never be," is a title she earned with her infamous divorce to then, Prince Milano De'Cremonesi. A Sforza from birth, betrothed to a prince since her sixth year, she was no stranger to the complexities of her "high society". How to act, what to say, how to treat and be treated. It came as no surprise when she walked in on her husband and her lady-in-waiting. "This is what they do, the men," everyone told her. But unlike the women in her station before her, she wouldn't stay silent. Some may agree that she may have milked the affair far too long, but none would deny reputations destroyed and the scandal that came with the campaign: A book, interviews, confessions of infidelity, and the iconic revenge dress. Queen Consort Fernanda De'Cremonesi-Adragna circa 1965-2049 Lady Fernanda Adragna was disgraced from a very young age. If you asked her the reason at 6 she'd repeat, "An Adragna is never fortunate," if you asked at 18 she'd cry, "parent's divorced, father imprisoned, embezzlement a sin," and if, years later, you ever found the chance to ask again. She might mention a prince, an affair, a baby, and a wedding. With a past like hers, no one could blame her for her reputation. Her husband loathed her, her children tolerated her, and people whispered.

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darlingsfandom · 1 year ago

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🌻 welcome to my corner 🌻

please call me Em, she/they, twenty seven years old (27), 1997, March Pisces, Pansexual/non-binary. Single. MDNI!! 18+ I can’t believe I have to say this, I’m old okay!

Icon is: Halsey

the tags on my page: needtoread! {fan fics that I need to read when I have the time to sit and read} emsmoods {mood boards I made} emsblurbs{all the little stories I write from requests}

fandoms/celebrities: Cillian Murphy, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Bill Skarsgård, Pedro Pascal ,The X Files, Criminal Minds, Stranger Things, Doctor Who, Good Omens and The Band Ghost!

Kinks I'll write : DDLG/MMLG, Somo, Golden Showers,Spankings, Breasts/Nipple play, Choking/Breath Play, BDSM, Exhibitionism, Impact Play, Edging, Breeding, CNC and humiliation!

Kinks I won't write: Scat, Vomit, food play, drugs/drug use, fataphobia, anything underage ! Anal play,feet play and furries!

Masterlist: Cillian Murphy Edition , Cillian Part 2, Stranger Things Edition , Doctor Who Edition , Good Omens

Moodboard masterlist: Cillian Murphy Edition

my inbox is open!

every one is welcome here ✨this is a safe space !

#pinned post #Spotify

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elusivecagedmockingbird · 9 months ago

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Not Warriors

[seokjin x reader] [1.4k+ lovers to strangers; breakup!au; angst, smut]

Now That We Don't Talk | Not In The Same Way | High

There's nothing left to miss Except the shots I take and phone calls from you

You have been glued to your bed, watching reruns of FRIENDS and overstuffing your face with low-fat soy ice cream. You were allowed to wallow, but you had a red carpet to attend in a couple of weeks.

You feel miserable, but you can't look it, so says your manager. She already had a fit when she saw the dark circles under your eyes—courtesy of losing sleep at night and crying like a river by day.

And so, you make amends by finally doing something active. Walking on the treadmill, your hand balances a pint of ice cream and the other finally turns on your phone.

It's been a week since you've turned off your phone, two since your bar brawl scandal blew up on social media, and three since you and Seokjin broke up.

The first thing you see is the bold 23 encircled in glaring red on the message bubble icon. Thinking nothing of it, probably spam messages, you open the app only to be greeted by messages from close friends and families—all with the same question, but in different tones: are you okay?

You almost burst into tears again.

You didn't think this would be you—a living cliché of a heartbroken woman in her late 20s, cutting people off all because of one guy.

But Seokjin isn't some guy.

For a time, you believed he was the one. Despite hiding from the spotlight and keeping your relationship on the down-low, the moments you shared together were genuine and wholly yours.

Until they weren't, of course.

Stardom had its price. One canceled dinner turned to two until it wasn't just dinner he was missing, but special shared occasions you once celebrated were forgotten, too.

As he gained attention, more people wanted his company. You were no longer a priority and you never dared to use that against him. Hard as it was, you understood that his time wasn't entirely yours. Hell, he missed lunch dates with his mother, too. But what broke your heart was finding out it wasn't just his time you shared with other people, but his devotion, too.

Your phone ringing breaks you out of your stupor. Blinking your tears away, you see Seokjin's name on your screen.

You freeze. And so do your legs that were walking on autopilot. The next thing you feel is your body hitting your gym floor—phone screen cracked and the pint of ice cream rolling beside you.

This is bad. Oh, so bad.

You'll surely get in trouble if your manager finds out where you are.

And who you are waiting for.

You were supposed to visit your doctor after falling ungracefully from the treadmill earlier, instead you rushed to buy a new phone and waited for Seokjin to ring again.

The familiarity makes you sad and laugh in pity. You waited for Seokjin a lot. You waited for the perfect time to reveal your relationship, waited for him to remember your anniversaries and dates and come home, and you waited for him as he lived out his celebrity life with the hope he would remember the life he has with you.

You had a reason to wait for him then. And here you are again. Waiting.

You hear a patterned knock—one that you know so well. It's something you and Seokjin came up with when one of you would sneakily visit the other.

A rush of nostalgia tugs at your heart. You wish you were meeting as lovers. Just like old times. But no, this isn't like before, is it?

You ponder on not opening the door. All it takes is a few steps back to the bed where you can sit yourself down and wait for him to leave. But before you could convince your feet to move, you heard your name called behind the door.

It sounded like a plea.

Seokjin was always compelling. You always, somehow, gravitated towards him. You think that was what lasted you to stay with him for a long time, despite the love and trust fading away with the years. You hesitantly open the door halfway, eyes downcast and you mumble his name, ready to make your own plea—please leave. If he truly loves you, he has to let you go. He already walked away from you countless times, now would be the one time you would be thankful if he does it again.

But he doesn't.

Seokjin pushes the door to fully open before he quickly enters the room. As soon as the lock clicks, Seokjin pulls you in for a kiss.

His lips invade yours—tongue dipping in the caverns of your mouth, teeth clashing and you eventually return his kisses. Lust clouds the room, eclipsing your rationality.

The hundreds of reasons you shouldn't be here with Jin aren't lost on you. Your friends and manager drilled those in your head and it made sense. But something about Seokjin and his hands pulling at your clothes was simultaneously tearing down those walls of reasons.

Seokjin's hard body collides with yours on the bed as soft as his lips that were now making its way down to your core. You grip his hair and push his head to rush him. The sound of him chuckling comes first, followed by a wet lick to your pussy.

You stutter out his name, back arching as your grip on him tightens. In return, he grabs your thighs and pulls your hips even closer to him. His head burrowed deep in you and his fluffy bangs tickle your pubic.

"M-missed you," his words came out garbled. His mouth busy sucking your clit as he works his tongue inside your pussy.

You missed him, too. Still do. Even though you've got your eyes on him, in the same room as him, and parts of your bodies are pressed so close, not even air could pass through, you still miss him.

But you doubt he misses you the same way.

"Ride m-my face," he commands, words escaping his mouth between hungry laps at your core.

Everything that follows is muscle memory. You gyrate your hips, smearing Seokjin with your spurting arousal and you feel the vibrations from his groans. Your legs remain locked in his arms. Your lover of the night sits up and tugs at his damp brief. You drool at the sight of his long hard thick cock springing free.

However this night ends, you would relish the feeling of having him inside you again.

Seokjin plunges his dick until his balls hit your ass. He was quick to silence your moans with his lips, hotel sheets cloaking the skin slapping against skin. The only thing giving you away was the loud thuds of the bedpost against the wall, going in the same rhythm as Seokjin thrusts his cock into your pussy.

You cry out his name and a series of love confessions follows, "I still love you, Jinnie," you cry out. He thrusts harder and faster with replies of ‘I know's’.

But does he really know, you wonder. You note the lack of alike sentiments—no, I love you too's, like he would respond before.

Stuck in the haze, you let the uncertainty linger. You take it as he fucks you like he still loves you too.

Your arms remain in a tight embrace and your lips glued to each other's necks, breathing each other in.

Like lovers do.

You're awakened with a tickling feeling on your cheeks—perhaps a morning kiss, much like the smooches Seokjin showers you with in the morning.

With eyes still closed, you blissfully hum as your arm stretches across the bed. Your hands are expecting to reach a warm body but they hang in the air as you open your eyes to peek. Your limbs drop as quickly as your heart does.

A dejected sigh is all you could let out. You think you've been dried out from the past few weeks of crying.

This is pathetic, really. You feel pathetic and start to pity yourself even more. You don't know why you could still believe he called to get back together. If there was one thing you learned from the recent months you and Seokjin spent—those months leading to your fallout—you'd know he's no longer the person you fell in love with.

Your friends were right. By the end of it, you turned into just another body who warmed his bed. Or in this case, wet his dick.

And so you make a decision. You're not sure if you're strong enough to follow through with this.

But all you know is this—right now, as a start—you push yourself to remember Seokjin as the man who shattered your dreams and left you alone to dust the smithereens.

The next time your phone rings and Seokjin's caller ID pops on your screen, you deliberately miss his call.

#bts #jin #bts jin #jin x reader #bangtanwritershq #seokjin x reader #seokjin #wwh jin #wwh #bts fic #bts fanfic #angst #angst fanfic #bts angst #bts smut #bts imagines

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 2 years ago

Text

New Year’s Eve

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader ft. The Avengers, Doctor Strange, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes (all platonic)

Warnings: None.

Description: It’s December 31. You’ve just returned from a mission. Tony wants to throw a New Years Eve party. And Steve just wants to speak to you for a few minutes.

A/n: Wishing each of you an early Happy New Year! I hope 2023 is filled with happiness and love. Here’s to another year of little stories and imagination running wild x

There was a lot of noise coming from below. You would have been bothered if you hadn’t already been up awake still jumpy from the mission in Wakanda.

The thumps and bumps drew your curiosity and you set off on a journey to see what was happening. Two floors down, you ran into a series of strangers in the tower wearing guest passes. As they walked by, you noticed your favourite spy-turned-Avenger leaning against the kitchen bench.

“What’s with the good looking people at 8am?” You asked.

Natasha was quietly watching Tony sign some documents out on the helipad and sipped on her favourite morning juice.

“Didn’t you hear? Tony wants to have a lavish New Years Eve party tonight.”

A few of the stronger workers were lifting crates marked with ‘warning: explosive’ according to Tony’s instruction.

“And here come the fireworks. Hold this,” Natasha passed you her drink. “I need to move the quinjet before that goes up in flames too.”

You had questions but she left your side before you could voice them. The fridge door closed and Thor walked over with a tub of yogurt in his hands.

“I never understand you mortals. You can court chaos and yet create such beautiful ‘sky fire’.” He said bumping your shoulder. “A party this evening is exciting, is it not?”

“It would be if he hadn’t sprung this out of nowhere.”

Thor looked away from the workers and frowned at you. “Nowhere? Did you not receive the message two days ago on the small voicebox?” The God of Thunder recognised your blank expression and explained himself. “The phone?”

You reached into your back pocket and pulled out your handheld device. Tapping a few button, you realised that the battery had fallen flat. “Crap. It must have run out while I was away.” You realised.

Thor leaned over and touched the screen, sending a small electric current into the device and bringing it back to life. As the screen loaded, you gave a grateful sigh. “You’re like a walking source of energy.”

There were several pings of missed texts and calls that floated to the top of the screen.

29 December 10:50am - 1 missed call from Hawkeye.

29 December 10:56am - (Hawkeye) Text over your room’s access code. I need to hide the Asgardian mead.

29 December 1:21pm - 1 missed call from Thaddeus Ross.

29 December 2:56pm - (Hawkeye) Don’t ignore me.

29 December 2:58pm - (Hawkeye) Your phone’s dead, isn’t it?

30 December 7:22am - 1 missed call from Pepper P.

30 December 10:53am - (Steve) I’ve moved your mission debrief to after the party. Hope you’re keeping safe.

30 December 12:36pm - 2 missed calls from The Raft.

Dismissing them for now, you tapped a few icons to replay the voicemail left by Tony.

“Avengers - it’s time to celebrate the end of the year with flair. I’m hosting a New Years Eve party in two nights at the tower. Food, friends and fireworks. Invitations are going out right now so come dressed to dazzle.”

“What do you suppose he means by ‘dress to dazzle’? Perhaps, Jane will know. I’ve invited her to join us if she’s not too busy. Barton mentioned a tradition of kissing someone at midnight. Hopefully Jane finds me worthy.” Thor hoped.

You groaned internally. The dreaded pressure of kissing someone at midnight was something you never enjoyed. It felt too dramatic for your taste.

“Will you be bringing someone?” The God of Thunder wondered.

Patting his arm, you stepped away. “I’m going for a walk so less people ask me that question.”

Leaving him to watch the workers and enjoy his breakfast, you crossed the room to the elevator. You descended to the lobby where more people wandered about. While walking, you hadn’t noticed the foot of a marble statute poking out of place and accidentally kicked it.

Caught off guard, you cursed while hopping to nurse the temporary pain. Turning around, you found yourself nose-to-box when a hand grabbed yours, pulling you to the side.

“Whoa, easy there.” Steve laughed as he held your arm so you wouldn’t hit the stack of boxes.

“Sorry, I was just - why did we take the statue down?” You asked, looking back at the sculpture.

“Tony wants there to be more space for the crowd to mingle.” Steve replied.

“This party is just getting more elaborate by the second.” You sighed. “If I had known it was tonight, I might have stayed in Wakanda for a few more days.”

“Come on, you don’t mean that.”

You didn’t really wish to be away from home on New Years if you could help it.

“No, I don’t.” Placing your hands on your hips, you exhaled a thought. “I had hoped today would be a day of rest. Not party prepping.”

“Actually speaking of the party, if you’re not taking any-”

“Here he is! Just the man I was after.” Tony called out as he appeared from behind the super soldier having taken the stairs. He approached and patted Steve’s shoulder. “I need your help upstairs.” Tony then looked at you.

“And I need your help with the last remaining invitations. FRIDAY hit a small glitch during the send so I’ve texted you the names that were missed.”

Steve glanced at his friend. “Sure thing Tony but I was just-”

“You’ll have plenty of time later. Come on, Cap.”

With Steve on a task with Tony, you looked at your phone screen to read the message he left on your phone.

Stephen Strange, Wong, Peter and May, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes.

The latter two were easy to reach since you were always in touch. You could extend their invites on your way to Bleeker Street.

Wrapping up for the cold weather outside, you caught a cab to the Sanctum Sanctorum. As you were driven, you tried to give Sam a call but reached his voicemail.

“Hi, this is Sam Wilson. I’m not available but leave a message…”

“What are you doing?”

“Recording an outgoing voicemail so people leave a message when I can’t take their call.”

“That’s weird.”

The banter between Sam and Bucky was so enjoyable that you almost forgot to hang up when the tone beeped. You’d try again a little later in the day.

With the traffic being a little heavier, your ride was slow so you went through a few missed calls and called back the time sensitive ones. After the third, you slipped your phone back into your pocket when you noticed that the cab had slowed to a stop. Paying the driver, you stepped out and pulled your coat a little tighter before walking up the stairs.

Knocking twice, you paused on the third when you heard a crash behind the door. Then the wooden panel creaked open and you were pulled inside and landed on a platform that wasn’t part of the usual foyer.

“Y/n! It’s so nice you see you.” Wong welcomed from somewhere above where he stood on a large rock as he wrangled against a large beast.

You waved at him when suddenly the ground you were standing on trembled. At the end of it was a second beast set on fire.

What the hell had you walked into?

It charged towards you until a magical leash fastened around its neck and pulled it away before you were swallowed. Following the thread, you saw the man you were after.

“Is now a bad time?” You called out.

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Does anything about this seem normal to you?”

Looking around, it was hard to answer because the last few times you visited, there was another perilous disaster occurring within the walls.

“Actually, this is a bit of a habit.” You admitted. Stephen sighed and accepted the reply. “I came to invite you to the New Years Eve party tonight. At the tower, if you survive this.”

Stephen grappled with the reigns of his creature as it grew in strength. Wong leapt into the air, opened a portal beneath the feet of his own beast and let it fall through with a growl. He then made his way over to you.

“What time is the party?” He asked.

Stephen groaned. You ignored the sorcerer and addressed his friend. “At seven.”

Wong nodded, happy with the invitation. “I’ll be there.”

You looked up at Stephen. “And you?”

Doctor Strange sighed and cast a hand in your direction with a circling motion. “I think you still have a few more guests to invite.”

That’s when you realised that there was no floor beneath your feet and you fell through a hole only to land on a soft couch.

“Oh my god!” Aunt May cried out as a bowl of popcorn flew into the air.

Peter jumped out from the kitchen brandishing wooden spoons poised for attack. “What? What?”

You cleared out the stray kernels from your hair. “I really hate it when he does that. Oh, hi you two!”

Aunt May calmed her erratic heart and lowered the volume on the television. “Y/n, as much as I enjoy having you over, why don’t you try the door next time?”

You apologised for the suddenness and the mess as you gathered the bowl. Peter set the spoons down and walked over.

“Is something wrong? Does Mr Stark need my help?” He wondered quickly filled with so much hope.

Chuckling, you helped clean up the ruined movie snack from the floor. “Not quite. Actually we’re having a party at the tower tonight and would love for you both to be there if you’re free.”

“A party? With the Avengers?” Peter’s eyes widened, mouth grinning while trying to contain his excitement.

May cleared her throat. “Will Happy be there?”

Her interest in the body guard had not gone unnoticed particularly since Happy always asked you about her. “Oh he’ll be there.” You smirked.

May looked at Peter and then pretended that she wasn’t too excited. “We’ll let you know.”

Thanking them both and apologising once more for the earlier incident, you left their apartment.

Four down, two to go you thought to yourself. There was a buzz from your pocket so you fished out your phone. There was a text message from Clint. Opening it, you read:

Emergency. Pick up blueberries.

Frowning, you texted back while audibly speaking the message. “What happened to the batch I bought?”

Three dots graced the screen and then…

I ate them.

You glanced at the time and knew that the ingredients at the cocktail bar hadn’t been prepared yet. Tony always requested the caterers to do it an hour or so before the event. Luckily there was a good market close to the tower from which you could purchase the fresh produce.

As you walked to the subway and rounded a corner, you managed to get Sam on the line. It would be a great way to let him know of the event. The call was picked up with a familiar bright voice.

“Well if it isn’t my favourite Avenger.” Sam answered.

“Don’t let Cap hear you say that.” You laughed with a small head shake. “Are you home?”

“No, actually I’m visiting a family friend. What’s up?”

“That’s okay. I called for two reasons. Firstly, I found some intel on Zemo’s prison cell. Had to check in a few favours there. And second-”

“There’s a party happening at the Tower?” Sam guessed.

How did he know that? “Was it Steve?”

“You know I don’t reveal my sources.” He teased. “But to ease your mind, I’ll be there.”

“Could you try and get Bucky to come as well? I know Steve would appreciate having you both.”

Sam laughed. “That’s the third time you mentioned Mr Blue Eyes in this conversation and it’s not even 2’o clock. Why you’re not dating the guy is a mystery to me.”

You had made it down to the platform as a train pulled up. “Okay, I won’t mention him again.”

Sam loved to poke at you for fun and it was all done from a place of love. You caught up with the man for a little while longer until your stop and you bid him and the subway adieu. It was a short walk to the market where you collected enough blueberries to cover Clint’s thievery before anyone found out.

When you returned to the tower, you delivered the berries to the bar and let Clint know that the crisis was averted. The tower was getting busier and so you decided to head up to your room to get dressed.

Like any Tony Stark party, he delivered. It was magnificent with lots of familiar and new faces gracing the halls and levels of Avengers Tower. Everyone was dressed up and looked incredible. You caught a glimpse of Peter Parker in the crowd who was taking everything in. Wong managed to seek you out for a short conversation and gave you an apology on Stephen’s behalf for not making it.

After a round through the crowd, you settled at the bar to enjoy a drink with Pepper, Happy and Bruce. Steve was on his way to get some food when he heard your voice.

“I think the kissing tradition on New Years Eve is cute.” Bruce commented.

Happy shrugged. “I don’t know, I think it depends on the person you’re with.”

You set your glass down and pat Happy on the shoulder. “This. See, I think you should only kiss someone on New Years Eve if you’re in love with them or planning to pursue a relationship. What’s the point of kissing if it’s just for fun?”

Pepper laughed as she took a sip. “Don’t knock it until you try it Y/n. There are heaps of strangers here. Why don’t we set you up with one?”

Steve’s stomach flipped at the thought and he entered the conversation circle. “How is everyone doing over here?”

He leaned towards you to pull over a glass and pour himself a drink. You smiled as the rest of the group gave their replies and caught him up to speed on their last topic.

“What do you think Cap?” Happy asked.

“To kiss or not to kiss?” Bruce chimed in with a chuckle.

Steve paused for a few seconds as he thought up a response. “I like romance. I’d imagine each kiss to be special and tell a story.” Steve’s eyes landed on you. “Actually that’s why I wanted to speak to you. I-”

Suddenly, Tony interrupted the group with his presence and a holopad that was flashing red. “Oh boy, we have a major problem.” He said and showed them a newspaper article. “Vibranium was stolen in transit to Wakanda. We need a lock on their trail before it runs cold. Pun intended since the route was in Iceland.”

Happy sighed. “Wow, they picked a hell of a time to strike so close to midnight.”

Steve jumped into Captain America mode almost immediately, shoulders straightened and brow-furrowed. “I can be ready and take the quinjet in ten.”

Bruce set his glass down. “Want me to come with you?”

“Thanks Bruce. But if it’s a simple tailing job, I’ve got it covered. Besides, you should enjoy the night, you’ve earned it.”

Suddenly, the crowd began making their way to the terrace, Thor amidst them when he spotted his friends and called out from the sea of heads.

“Come, my friends. We are about to watch the sky fire!”

Tony unbuttoned his suit jacket with a flare, “It’s my time to shine.” He walked over to Pepper and stretched out his arm for her to take before striding out onto the balcony. Bruce found Natasha and followed her out while Happy caught a glimpse of Peter’s aunt in the crowd and also head in that direction.

You looked at Steve and he seemed a little disheartened. “I’ve been trying to catch you all day and now-”

You placed a hand over his arm and gave a kind rub. “Hey, it’s okay. If it’s not important, it can wait until you’re back. I’ll still be here.” Hearing your name being called outside, you stepped away from the man. “I should go. Can’t miss Tony’s wondrous display.”

Leaving Steve behind for his mission, you joined the Asgardian in the middle of the crowd. He was telling stories about how he and Loki would steal fireworks from each festival and light them up on the bifrost for the people of the lower towns. “...I think our Father knew.”

In the next few minutes, Jane Foster appeared at Thor’s side and exchanged pleasantries until the crowd began to hush and stir as they looked to the sky. Tony’s drones took to the sky in marvellous fashion before they shaped themselves into the countdown numbers.

…5, 4, 3, 2, 1!

The crowd cheered, some even coming from the streets as they watched the pyrotechnics come to life. As fireworks rose and lit up the sky, you felt a kind of magical buzz, lucky to be where you stood.

It was a beautiful sight and you looked at the surrounding crowd. Lips were locking all around and you felt your stomach twist as the feeling of being alone began to settle. It normally never bothered you but this environment felt different. While everyone was distracted, you snaked between the bodies to return inside.

As you crossed the seating arrangement with every intention to call it a night, you barrelled into a very combat-suited Steve. Shouldn’t he be halfway across the sea?

“What are you still doing here? I thought you left for Iceland.”

Steve’s eyes were fixed on you, the gentle twinkle of fireworks reflecting in his blue irises. It was like he was staring into the heart of a jewelled cave - completely mesmerised.

“It’s important.” He said closing the space between you. A hand setting against your waist, Steve leaned forward. His lips ghosting against yours as your eyes closed. “You’re important.”

It was though fireworks were being set off in your body when he pressed his lips against yours. All you could feel was magic, heat, love and you just wanted to melt against him. His warmth, his touch, if you were in a private space you were sure things would have heated up far quickly. Little did you know, Steve was feeling the exact same.

Pulling away reluctantly, Steve rest his head against yours and smiled. “A part of me wishes that I could stay.”

Closing your eyes, you took in a deep breath. “Me too.”

The door from the terrace opened. Tony had walked in to refill his glass and wandered about the bar for a suitable drink when he overheard. The rest of the team also came inside for a break from the party.

“Then why don’t you just go with him?” Tony suggested. “There’s no rule saying that you can’t.”

It was such a simple resolve but you remembered that Steve had turned down Bruce’s offer. You looked at the captain silently asking if he’d like the company.

He smiled. “It would be an honour.”

Tony stood to the side with a wine bottle in his hand as he poured another drink for himself and Pepper, quietly watching you and Steve walk away hand-in-hand towards the hanger bay. Clint grabbed himself some water and took a seat on a high chair.

“Don’t you think they’ll need some back up if vibranium is in play?” He wondered.

Tony nodded, closing the bottle and sipping his drink. “Of course, if the mission was real.”

Thor threw back the last of his Asgardian mead and set his cup on the table (he was learning that the Asgardian custom to break the instrument was frowned upon). “You mean to say that you fabricated a story to…”

“To stop our two closest friends from more pining? You bet I did. God it was giving me whiplash.” Tony confessed. Then he pointed to each member present. “And now you know the truth, you’re all accomplices to the crime.”

Masterlist here

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