#god i feel so bad for still feeling bad though

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods X

series masterlist - part nine

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: You start to let yourself settle in with the emperors - but don’t get too comfy

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, unhealthy relationships, controlling behavior, period typical sexism, obsessive/possessive/ relationships, talk of pregnancy, dirty talk, breeding kink, historical inaccuracies, manipulative behavior, jealousy, mentions of slaves/slavery, threesome, male masturbation, fingering, attempted murder (again), induced vomiting

Word Count: 3.5k

Sticky, bruised. Satiated. You dragged your strigil along your oily skin, cleaning off evidence of your time with Geta. Steam rose and brushed against your cheeks, forcing your mind back to the feeling of Geta's fingers on you, in you.

Distracted, you placed the strigil back down and began to lazily trail your fingers through the oil water. Your hand went lower, deeper under the water, dipping into your folds. You could still feel the texture of Geta's seed lingering inside you.

What would Alba think? Geta had dismissed her, potentially destroying her life, and you had gone and fucked him as though it were nothing. Some naive part of you had thought that you could change the emperors, inspire kindness in them. It seemed they were changing you instead.

Even now you felt desire smouldering in your chest. You tilted your head back, sighed.

You knew that the things they had done were not right, that their impulsiveness and insecurity had threatened the very foundations of Rome in the past. And yet. . .

You heaved yourself from the bath, sending droplets of water scattering across the stone. Hastily you dried yourself off, slipping on a fresh tunic before heading to the door.

The material was soft against your skin. You could see tiny embroideries on the edges, golden thread that brushed against the tops of your feet with every step. The texture made you shiver. The emperors were not subtle. They intended to pry every remnant of your old life from your hands and stuff them full with - well, them.

And you had held open your hands and welcomed them.

Wincing, you thought again of Alba. That could have easily been you. A dark part of your mind whispered, but it wasn't. And that meant something.

Praetorians escorted you back to Geta's rooms. On the way, you passed several slaves. They eyed you with the usual intrigue - and perhaps something like thankfulness. It was not entirely lost on you; keeping the emperors occupied meant that others did not suffer under their forceful gaze.

It was not like it was some awful task, though. You were kept clothed, fed, entertained. Fucked. Your life had benefited under the attention of the emperors whilst others would have suffered. In return, all you had had to give up was your freedom.

And is that truly so bad, that voice whispered.

The Praetorians held the door open for you. You ducked under their arms with a quiet thank you. You could hear talking from within the next room and you padded in, clearing your throat to alert the emperors to your presence.

Caracalla was standing almost chest-to-chest with his brother, sneering up at him. Once he saw you he shouldered past Geta, coming to wind himself around your body like a familiar piece of clothing. He dragged you down to the carpet, nuzzling at your neck from behind.

"You were supposed to be for me," he huffed. "Geta is a thief."

"We discussed this," Geta dismissed, pouring himself a healthy cup of wine. "Ours. She is ours."

Caracalla ignored him, hands coming to cup your tender breasts. "Tell me," he urged, "who felt best - "  

"Brother," Geta interrupted, firm. "Enough."

"Caracalla," you said softly, hand reaching up to encircle his wrist. "Where is Dondus? I have missed her."

Eyes bright, Caracalla was quick to jump up and go to the door. You heard him bark out an order, the sound ringing throughout Geta's rooms. Geta set his wine down and offered you a hand up from the floor.

You took it and let yourself be pulled up and against his chest. He hummed a soft sound, nosing along your jawline.

"I preferred you dirty," he nipped at the lobe of your ear.

A smile flirted along the edges of your lips. Geta's eyes fixed on the small movement of your mouth, his own beginning to mimic it.

"Enchantress," he whispered.

You squealed as Dondus came scampering up your tunic, small hands pinching and tickling. She settled herself upon your shoulder, burying her hands in your still-damp hair.

"Sweet girl," you laughed, rubbing your fingers beneath her fuzzy chin.

Geta stepped back, returning to his wine. Caracalla took his place, cooing at Dondus whilst occasionally stopping to stare at your face.

"She seems to have fallen in love with you," he rasped, blinking heavily.

"And I, her," you smiled.

Caracalla continued feeding her bits and pieces of food. When he leaned in to press a kiss against your lips, it felt natural. He bit you a little, pulling back to reveal the tiniest smear of red on his grinning lips. Without thinking, you smiled back.

"There has been no updates on the man who tried to kill you," Geta suddenly said, serious.

Your stomach turned the memory. The dead men on the floor, the blood, the awful fight for your life. Moving past it seemed impossible, no matter how much you tried.

The man had to have been sent by someone inside the palace. The thought flashed across your mind, strong and urgent. How else would they have known the emperors were preoccupied, leaving you alone? You thought about the Praetorian escort and how he had allowed you to go the long way round. Had he been a part of it too?

You let Dondus climb from your shoulder before approaching Geta. You hesitated before reaching out, resting your hand on his elbow. His skin was cool despite the heat of the evening. The need to comfort him was irritating, itching the back of your mind.

"They will reveal themselves," you insisted. "They have tried twice now, to no affect. They will be back."

Geta ran his tongue over his lips. "You will remain here until they do."

"Here?" your hand fell from his elbow. "In your rooms?"

"Until they are caught," he stressed the words, reaching down to grab your dropped hand. He squeezed your hand between his. "You have become important. To him. He is better around you, healthier. I cannot risk throwing that all away."

"Important to him?" you echoed, lashes fluttering.

Geta's fingers twitched around yours. "To us."

Caracalla had been quietly creeping up behind you and now he used his body to press against your back, sandwiching you between them. Caracalla's hand slid around your front, coming to rest on your breast, above your thumping heart.

"If this was to stop," he breathed in your ear, "those responsible would wish that they had never been born."

"And of course," Geta added, his own hand coming to rest upon your stomach. "There is the matter of a potential heir."

"Heir?" you choked out, "What rights would any child of mine have?"

Caracalla snickered, pulling away. "Do not concern yourself with such things."

You wanted to ask more questions but both brothers turned from you, busying themselves with other things. Your hands twitched at your side, wanting to come to rest on your stomach. You shook your head. There was no telling whether you were already with child and the idea would only bring you more stress.

You spent the rest of the evening entwined on the bed with Caracalla, lazily twirling a curl of his hair around one of your fingers. He had practically melted into your touch, blinking up at you with hazy blue eyes whilst gently patting at your skin, drunk of the scent of you.

Geta left and came back several times. You could see him becoming increasingly frustrated, face becoming whiter as his lips got thinner, angrier.

"Fucking useless," he swore, sweeping a stack of paper to the ground.

"The Praetorians?" you asked, hand still buried in Caracalla's hair.

Geta turned to face you and seemed to relax a little at the sight of you wrapped up with his brother. He nodded, wordlessly coming to sit down beside you. He scent was one of sweat, of panic.

You reached up to cup his cheek. Beneath your fingers you could feel the barest hint of stubble and you let your fingers wander, exploring his face. Geta stared down at you like you were something miraculous. A pang of sympathy had you furrowing your brows.

Caracalla shifted beside you, dragging your eyes back to him. His cheeks were pink, lips parted as he let out little puffs of air. You could smell the sweetness of wine on his breath as his eyes scanned your face. He tilted his hips, the tiniest of movements, and you became excruciatingly aware of his length pressing into your thigh.

"Oh," you gasped, eyes darting back to Geta.

Geta cupped your hand in his, stroking his fingers down your arm, dark eyes searing into you and pinning you in place. Through out it all, your left hand continued swirling in Caracalla's hair.

"It is okay," Geta said, "he only wants relief."

"It is okay," you nodded, dazed. You were not entirely sure that it was normal to feel such levels of arousal. Your own desire suffocated you, made you weak willed and pliable. It was easy to surrender yourself to it.

Your hand fell from Caracalla's hair as he got to his knees and began to shed his clothes until he was only wearing nothing. Unbidden, your hand rose once more to tangle in the reddish brown hairs of his chest. You tugged a little, going dizzy at the frantic way Caracalla looked down at you.

Geta began to adjust your clothes, raising your tunic until it rested at your neck, baring your body. He reached down and tweaked your nipple, craning his neck down to soothe the pain with his tongue. Embarrassment was mercifully absent, allowing you to arch into his mouth.

"So good for us," Caracalla purred.

You almost passed out when Caracalla's hand fisted around his own cock and began to stroke. His knees trembled next to you on the bed as he reached down to palm at your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipple against his skin.

Your hips began to undulate against the bed. Without thinking, you let your knees fall apart. Already you could feel the stickiness of yourself on your inner thighs. Geta sat up to admire you, hands pulling your legs further apart.

"I want to see how much you need us," he murmured.

Caracalla let out a strangled moan, hands working furiously on his flushed cock. It almost looked painful. Your mouth watered, tongue swiping at your lips, eager to soothe him. You were vaguely confused - that was one thing you had never done before. So how was it possible for you to want it so desperately?

Geta did not let you sit up. You could feel his hand on your inner thigh, keeping you spread, and there was no words for how badly you wanted that hand to touch your cunt.

"Why aren't you touching me?" you whined, twisting your hips, searching for some level of gratification.

"Sometimes the waiting makes it all the more sweet," Geta admitted. "Though Caracalla is not one for patience."

Caracalla finally took a measure of pity on you, swiping his hand through the slick mess of your cunt before securing it back on his own cock. Your clit throbbed at the brief touch.

"He proves my point," Geta quietly laughed, sliding his hand further in until finally his fingers were pressing against your swollen clit.

You almost shouted from the ripple of pleasure it sent up your spine. Geta did not stop. He began to rub tight, hot circles against your wet flesh until you were writhing, begging incoherently. Geta could not tear his eyes from your cunt and he inhaled deeply, relishing the heady scent of your skin.

"Geta, please," you moaned, rocking against his hand.

White, hot spurts of seed splashed across your stomach as Caracalla reached his end. Envious, you tried to clench your thighs around Geta's hand. Caracalla sagged into you, resting his face against your breast. The friction of your nipple against his cheek was enough to send your body splintering into pleasure.

It felt like insanity. They had wrung you dry, coaxing pleasure from you in ways that were unfamiliar to you. Climax sent any rational thoughts scattering from your brain until all you could think about was red hair and skilled fingers.

Just when you thought it was over, Geta tapped at your clit with his middle finger. Your thighs jerked at the contact and he laughed, biting playfully at the skin on your outer thigh. That felt good, too. Everything felt good with them.

"The stress does not feel so overwhelming now, I must admit," he said smugly, getting to his feet and adjusting his clothes.

The tent in his robes did not escape your attention. "What about you?" you asked.

Geta adjusted himself. "As I said, the waiting makes it sweeter."

You swallowed dryly, watching as he exited the room.

There was always a quiet buzz about the palace. A pleasant white noise that allowed you to sink into the lectus, fingers trailing the carved designs as you let your mind wander. As it got later you could hear it beginning to die down, the sound of people trailing off to bed and prepping for the next day slowly getting lower and lower until there was nothing.

Caracalla was surprisingly perky. He was flicking his way through several papers, expression floating somewhere between boredom and mild interest. Every now and then he would look up, as though to make sure you were observing him carrying out his duties, and then look back down. It was rather endearing, much to your chagrin.

Boredom was also beginning to take its toll on you. After careful deliberation, you went to make a request for wine. You made sure to say please and thank you; these people had once been your peers, after all. Every time you could not help but think that they might refuse you. They never did.

A young woman brought it to you, nervous and twitchy. You dismissed her with what you hoped was a warm smile, glancing down into the jug as you carried it to the table. You could smell the thick aroma of fermented grapes and inhaled, thirsty.

"Wine, Caracalla?"

"Mmm," he looked up, finally giving up all pretense of work and dropping his pen.

His face was open, earnest. You paused for a moment, offering him a tentative smile which he returned. Something warm flooded your chest as you bit your lip and turned to pour yourself and Caracalla a cup.

You set it on the desk, taking care not to spill any. Caracalla picked up the cup, swishing the wine around for a moment as he watched you. Under his gaze you felt warm, but it was not an unpleasant feeling.

You raised the glass to your lips, swallowing several mouthfuls without thinking. For a moment it tasted pleasant, similar to the wine you had enjoyed previously. Then it hit your esophagus your eyes bulged, hands flying out the slap Caracalla's cup away from his lips.

"Something isn't right," you choked, scratching at your throat, "something isn't right!"

Your knees buckled, forehead inches from the edge of the desk as you collapsed. There was a faint tingling in your tongue as you gagged hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. Red-tinged bile spilt from your lips as you coughed and hacked. Your throat burned from the path the tainted wine had taken.

The noise of the palace was increasing once more.

Caracalla was suddenly kneeling in front of you, deathly pale and screaming. He gripped your jaw with one hand and forced his fingers down your throat, hard. It did the trick. You threw up, a disgusting mixture of food and wine. It burned just as much coming up as it did going down, agitating the tender patch caused by Caracalla's fingers.

You wanted to reach inside your own throat and pull it out, shake the poison from your body before it reached your stomach. You knew nothing about poison but your mind still raced, searching for any tidbit of information that might save your life. It was coming up disturbingly blank.

"How much did she drink?" Geta somewhere behind you, pulling back your hair. "Charcoal. Now!"

You heard the metallic slam of metal as the cup was launched across the room, glass shattering in it's wake. Panic consumed you, shoved you back into the light of reality with a harshness you had not been prepared for.

Even as Caracalla was shoving activated charcoal into your mouth, a distant part of your brain told you this should not have been possible. There were protocols, precautions.

"Poison tester?" you enquired, voice hoarse.

"Do not speak," Caracalla said, "where is the poison tester?"

It took an hour for you to stop throwing up. Even when all that was left was stringy bile, the charcoal was determined to make sure your stomach was entirely emptied. You could not be sure whether your shakiness, burning throat and pounding headache were a result of the induced vomiting or the poison.

Poison. Someone had tried to poison the emperors - poison you. It was you who had made the request for wine. It seemed the villain had struck again, boldly, desperately.

At some point, someone had kindly slid a bucket in front of you and a pillow underneath your knees. You looked up from the bucket, meeting Geta's anxious eyes. He was kneeling in front of you, pale and trembling. Caracalla was almost glued to your back, his legs on either side of you. You could see his hands, smeared with the black mark of charcoal. Your mouth automatically began to water and you gagged again.

"What happened?" you croaked.

"The poison tester has been beaten," he said, "badly, almost to the point of death. Someone must have put something into the wine after they were to have tasted it and had it sent up."

"Who?"

Geta's bottom lip shook. "The tester believes it was Macrinus. I do not believe he intended for him to live, but the gods are on our side."

Macrinus. A memory arose of that night in the entertainment hall, the way he had slithered up to you and asked you those questions. The way it seemed like he had already known the answers. He had made you afraid then, only at the time you could not comprehend why.

The master of gladiators. A man who had access to the emperors - who had been in a meeting with them, that day when you were attacked. It made your head swim. It made you doubt all others. Caracalla's paranoia began to make sense as you thought about the countless people surrounding the emperors, how easy it might have been for any one of them to do the same thing as Macrinus.

"Is he dead?"

His was a death you would be grateful for. A death you would feel no guilt over.

"The tester? No. Macrinus? He will be."

Geta reached out, laying a hand against your forehead. Until you felt the coolness of his rings you had not been able to tell how badly you were burning up.

"They do not yet know what poison was used," his admitted, "but they said that vomiting is a good sign."

"Where is Macrinus now?" you asked, shifting to ease the pressure on your knees. Uneasy, your eyes scanned the room as though you expected him to come leaping from the shadows, brandishing a dagger.

"He has likely been taken into custody. It is as you said; he could not resist another attempt. He became careless and decided to carry out the act himself," Geta nodded as he spoke, mostly to himself.

"Go," you insisted, squeezing his fingers. "Perhaps you can find out what he used."

It scared you to send Geta out into the palace in a way you had not expected. The only thing that eased your fear was that Macrinus had been caught . It had been him this whole time, you were sure of it.

Geta's nostrils flared as he debated, eyes darting from Caracalla to you. Caracalla shifted closer and said something over your shoulder that you did not catch. Whatever it was seemed to reassure Geta and he got to his feet, resolute.

The scene was grim. There was vomit splashed across the floor and carpet. You could see the wine you had knocked from Caracalla's hands too, tiny specks of it all over his clothing. Was it possible that the gods had taken mercy on you once more?

Lightheaded, you brought your hand down to rest on your stomach. What if you had been with child? Would this have destroyed the babe? Killed it in your womb before it could even take it's first breath? Perhaps, in saving you, the gods were trying to tell you something.

This was no place for a child.

Authors Note - the villain is finally revealed. An Anon sent me an ask suspecting it was Macrinus but I didn’t post just in case there was anyone who wasn’t sure! Not that it was super subtle

These murder attempts are beginning to take a toll on poor Reader. I wonder what she will do in response🤔 hopefully not anything super reckless and crazy!

Please make sure to like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed! Interaction is everything!

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[eggzeroni]

I love answering questions 1. You truly are a young prodigy. (I refuse to elaborate.) 2. Sherlock's 3. It's all going on in my head lmao- I kind of love it but I'm still waiting for my AO3 account to be made, I'm very excited. 4. Johnlock 5. John gaped at him. "You just solved a case, a murder, for God's sake, and you're bored?!" 6. Sherlock (not including names, my most used word is 'room'.) 7. Still exploring. STILL. 8. YP (Young Prodigy) 9. Slightly unclear, but the latest dates I have are 24th August 2024 - 2nd February 2025 10. Like... 4 weeks? I think? 11. My Enola Holmes Oneshots- 12. Younger sibling x sibling's best friend (by that I mean platonically and also I don't even know if that exists or if I just made it up lmao) 13. Sherlock (ofc :3)/ HL 14. I get inspiration from other writers cause there are so many amazing ones :3 15. STORMY! 16. My bed :') 17. I usually write a bit, edit a bit, repeat. Which I know is really bad but I can't help it. 18. I don't have the exact sentence but once I made a character speak when they were dead AND PUBLISHED IT- I had to make it so that the character was speaking in someone's mind because I was too lazy to go back and rewrite it- 19. If guns were a thing in the 1800s. Lead me down a rabbit hole. That era is actually really interesting. 20. 2024 :') I did write beforehand I just didn't know where I could publish. 21. isn't this question nine? 2024 though <3 22. I write for myself to look back on, so no, but then again I've never gotten a comment that wasn't from a loved one, so how can I be scared :') 23. Old, poetry, progressive 24. I just take breaks, look at other people's writing and get ideas. 25. I like drawing, reading, painting, digital art, poetry, history, philosophy and if I carried on it would be the length of an entire fic (lmao) 26. I can't concentrate with other people around, I have to kick them out my room. But I can write with music. Funny thing is I can't go back and edit it with music, so where's the sense there? 27. That climax point where your fingers just fly across the keyboard and even you can feel the adrenaline from the scene- 28. editing and planning. Currently the stage I'm at now with my ACTUAL book with my original characters. Bro I wanna write :') 29. Very easy. It takes me a few seconds. 30. here :3

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[moonstruckme]

hi Mae could do a reader with Spencer (or any boy u want!) where she's feeling super nauseous and throwing up a lot and trying to hide it from him like may be it's early on and she feels embarassed? I went out to brunch with a friend and idk what happened but I think I got food poisoning I've already thrown up twice and still feel so so sick

Ugh food poisoning is the worst, but I hope you're over it now lovely! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: vomitting, nausea

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Part of you thinks you should cancel. You’re not a very good time right now, nauseated and shaking a little from the exertion of walking from your car to the host’s stand. Spencer deserves a date that doesn’t have to scope out bathrooms like escape routes the moment she enters the restaurant. But oh, he’d been so sweet in asking you. All soft eyes and gentle voice, and he’d sent you the menu to make sure you found something you liked before he made the reservation. You know it can’t have been easy to get, at a nice place like this on a Saturday night. Really, at the end of the day, there is simply no world where you cancel on Spencer. 

You paste on a smile for the hostess, wondering if she’d find it odd if you leaned on her stand for support just for a moment. “Hi,” you say. “Um, I’m meeting someone, I think he’s already…” 

A touch at your elbow prompts you to turn. 

“Hi,” Spencer says. 

You go a bit breathless at the sight of him. Spencer in a suit. His hair still messy as if he ran his hands through it after leaving home, the top button of his shirt open like he had it done up all the way and then felt too constricted. He looks handsome and endearing and nice. Your sundress and half sweated-through makeup feel suddenly, hopelessly inadequate. 

“Hi,” you say back. “Sorry, I thought you’d already be sitting down.” 

“I wanted to wait for you,” he replies simply. He turns to the hostess. “For Reid?” 

As she walks you to your table, it dawns on you what an idiot you are. Possibly the only thing you could do to Spencer that would be worse than cancelling on him would be to show up as you are now. Listless and unprepared for conversation. You’re going to have to order either the smallest thing on the menu or nothing at all, and he’s going to think you don’t want to be here with him. And for yourself, you want to experience this—a first date, with Spencer, and quite possibly your only date—with all the appropriate butterflies and nervousness. Instead, you just feel…tired. And sick. 

“This is really nice,” you say as you sit down. 

“Yeah?” Spencer reaches for the carafe in the center of the table, pouring water into your glass and then his own. “I’m glad you think so. I’ve only been here once, but I thought it was good then, so. I hope you like the food.” 

He spills a little bit of water on the tablecloth, missing his glass. Winces as sharply as if he’d shattered it. Oh god; he’s nervous. You’re going to so disappoint him. 

“Sorry I was late.” You take your water, the cool glass against your hand a relief. “I was…” Well, you were vomiting in your bathroom. “I got a bit tied up on my way out.” 

“That’s okay,” he says easily. “You look really beautiful.” 

You wish you could tell yourself he was only a good liar. You feel clammy, and disgusting, and entirely undeserving of sitting across from him, but it’s all earnestness in Spencer’s puppy brown eyes. 

“Thank you.” Your voice has gone soft with sincerity. “You look very handsome, too. I’ve never…I don’t think I’ve seen you in a suit.”

Spencer smiles, bashful. “I should probably wear them more for work. Most of my team does.” 

“I like what you wear,” you say. “It suits you. Very professor-y.” 

Drinking water was a bad idea. You’ve been too greedy for the cool feel of it going down your torn-up throat; your glass is nearly empty already, and already it wants back up. 

“It would probably be more professional if I dressed like the others, though.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. Adorable. “I am a professor, but I’m also a profiler, so…” Spencer’s smile slips when you swallow against the nausea tightening your throat. “Are you okay?” 

You press your lips into a smile. “Yeah, sorry. I don’t think there’s anything unprofessional about your regular clothes. I like your cardigans.” 

“They’re not…they’re not unprofessional, I guess, but I…” You can see Spencer’s brain working, his eyes moving over your face as you struggle to appear attentive. “Sorry, are you sure you’re okay? You look uncomfortable.” 

You could almost laugh, if you weren’t feeling so awful. Trust Spencer to tell it like it is. 

“I’m okay,” you say. “Sorry, I’m not feeling great, but I’m fine.” 

“You’re not?” Spencer looks troubled. Sad, puppy brown eyes. 

Oh, and there are the nerves you’d been missing. Malicious, evil butterflies turning your stomach into an inhospitable environment. 

You stand, your chair squeaking against the floor. “I’m so sorry,” you say in a rush. “I’ll be right back.” 

You are not, unfortunately, able to keep that promise. You spend the next twenty minutes kneeling in a bathroom stall, trying to convince yourself they probably keep the floors very clean in a nice restaurant like this while your body rejects the water you had and then several phantom meals it suspects you might’ve had while it wasn’t paying attention. When you finally emerge, Spencer is waiting outside the bathroom with a glass of water. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking it from him. You’re wary of repeating your mistakes, but you take a small sip to appease him before simply giving in and pressing the cool glass to your temple. 

Spencer assesses you with his gaze. You resign to it, knowing he’ll have you figured out by now whether you make it easy for him or not. 

“How long have you been sick for?” he asks softly. 

“It’s not contagious,” you want him to know. “It’s food poisoning, I’m pretty sure.” 

“That’s not…what I’m worried about.” Spencer sounds almost hurt, but his touch is gentle as he brings his knuckles to your forehead. “You didn’t have to come if you weren’t feeling well.” 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. You’re too exhausted to pretend at being anything else anymore. “It was stupid. I didn’t want to bail on you, but instead I’m ruining it.” 

“You’re not ruining it.” His first knuckle moves almost imperceptibly, a tiny caress. “This isn’t your fault. We can do this another time. Did you drive here?” 

“Yeah,” you say meekly. 

Spencer frowns. “Can I take you home? You’re too hot to be driving yourself.” 

He flushes instantly, though you weren’t going to say anything. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know.” 

“Here.” He guides you to a bench, his hand ever so gentle on your waist. “Wait here, okay? I’ll grab our stuff.” 

You’ve fully given into wretchedness. You have no shame about resting the side of your head against the wall, closing your eyes until Spencer returns with a touch to your shoulder. He’s carrying his jacket and your bag, and the sympathetic look the hostess shoots you says that he’s conveyed you’ll be abandoning your reservation. 

“You don’t have to drive me,” you say as Spencer leads you outside, one hand at your back like he’s afraid you’ll keel over. “I can get home alright. I don’t want to throw up on your nice suit.” 

“I thought you liked my cardigans best.” If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was teasing you. “Anyway, the idea that you could be sick again this soon isn’t consistent with the idea that you could get home alright.”

It’s so him, the way he reasons this out, like he’s outlining an argument you’d never honestly expect to win. It reminds you that you’re on a date with Spencer Reid, and that makes you feel worse. 

You let him shepherd you to his car and sit you in the passenger seat. He buckles his seatbelt, looks over to see that yours is on, and his hand twitches as if it’s going to reach for yours before rerouting to the ignition. 

“Spence…” 

“Hm?” 

“Just, thank you. And I’m sorry, for making us leave.” 

“It’s okay.” He says it so easily, like a given. He does reach for your hand now, his fingers closing over yours to give the gentlest of squeezes. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t ask to be sick.” 

“I’m really sorry I ate that sketchy pasta last night.” 

Spencer laughs. It’s a lovely sound, lovely enough to make you smile despite the roiling of your stomach. 

You say, in a softer voice, “I think it would have been a really nice date.” 

“We’ll find out,” he says surely. “Maybe next week, if you’re not doing anything. We could come back here, or go somewhere if seeing that bathroom again will make you uncomfortable. I know that for some people nausea can be a Pavlovian response. You spent…a long time in there.” 

You stifle a groan, leaning your head against the window and turning your face in humiliation. Spencer’s thumb stroking down the side of your hand makes it all worth it.

[hoshifighting]

Hii so like could you either each member reaction or a drabble with woozi (whatever you're more comfortable writing) being sub and you riding them/him and making them cum over and over until they are milked up dry and cannot physically cum anymore

riding seventeen until they cant physically cum anymore (getting milked dry)

WARNINGS: smut, strong overstimulation, cock riding, sensitive content, may not be comfortable to some audiences, you're warned.

seungcheol: starts giggling. not in a “haha that tickles” way but in an “i am so fucked out of my mind i don’t even know what’s happening anymore” way. GETS IN DENIAL TOO!!. like, he’s still gripping your hips, trying to thrust up into you even though his dick is not responding. “no, i can—i can go again, baby, just—just gimme a sec—” except it’s been five minutes, and all he’s done is twitch pathetically underneath you. when you tell him he’s done, he gets all pouty, brows furrowed, whispering, “fuck… you really drained me dry?” like he just realized he isn’t the tank he thought he was.

jeonghan: not even moving anymore. fully limp, sprawled out, arms above his head, legs twitching, eyes hazy as he blinks at the ceiling. broken. defeated. ruined. you squeeze him and there’s nothing—just a weak, pitiful little tremor. “honey, i think you killed me,” he mutters, voice raspy as hell, before exhaling real deep, like he just finished a marathon. gives up completely, just lays there, blinking at you like you just rewired his entire system.

joshua: on the verge of tears. whimpering. shaking. clinging. you try to grind down on him again, but his hips jolt so hard, you swear he’s about to short-circuit. “baby—oh my god—i cant—icanticanticanticanicant” and it’s the most broken, high-pitched plea you’ve ever heard. his hands weakly push at your thighs, but they have no strength.

junhui: prob laughing in disbelief. giggling, eyes red and watery, his head lolled to the side, looking at you with this dazed-ass grin. “oh my god, i’m so done,” he breathes, chest heaving, abs clenching, still twitching with aftershocks. you grind down just a little, just to test, and his whole body spasms, a wrecked whimper escaping him before he laughs even harder, shaking his head like, “nah, babe, you actually ended me. oh? i cant feel my legs? ”

hoshi: BRO IS CLINGING FOR LIFE. good luck with the bruises, because he is full-on latching onto you, fingers digging into your skin, forehead pressed to your shoulder, legs raising in desperate spasms all the time, entire body trembling. “baby, baby, i—i can’t—oh my god—i swear~~~” his voice sooooo broken, and every time his dick twitches uselessly, he lets out the softest little sob, hiding his face in your neck like he’s so embarrassed that you just milked him out of existence.

wonwoo: completely unresponsive. eyes glazed over. mouth open. chest barely rising. looks like he just got hit by a bus. his arms are flopped uselessly at his sides, and when you move, his thighs twitch involuntarily. you squeeze around him and nothing happens—no pulse, no twitch, just nothing. “holy fuck,” he mutters like he just got his soul snatched straight out of his body.

woozi: shaking like a fucking leaf. wrists trembling, legs trembling, hands trembling, chin trembling, abs trembling, breath completely uneven, looking up at you like you just broke him beyond repair. “b-baby, i—i don’t have anything left—” and his voice cracks so hard, you actually feel a little bad. he tries to lift his hips, tries to respond to you, but his body refuses, and when you tell him it’s over, he just collapses back against the sheets. he's not a biiiig fan of aftercare, but that night, he will accept everything you can to repair his pieces together.

minghao: fully dissociating. bro is just staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, hands twitching, looking like he just had an out-of-body experience. you say his name and it takes him five full seconds to even register it. you squeeze around him, testing, and his head instantly tilts back, a wrecked groan falling from his lips, but there’s nothing left. “nah, that’s it, babe,” he breathes, completely spent, just laying there in absolute surrender.

mingyu: whimpering so much, you actually think he might start crying. clinging onto you, lips trembling, eyes wet, entire body twitching. “i—i can’t cum anymore—...?” and his voice breaks mid-sentence, you don't even know if its an affirmation or a quesiton bc he literally can’t. when you try to grind down one more time, his hips buck so hard, he yells, then collapses back, panting, eyes rolling back into his head.

seokmin: fully overstimulated beyond belief. whimpering, shaking, eyes glassy, hands weakly grabbing at your hips like he’s trying to slow you down but has no strength left. “b-baby, please—!!!” when you finally stop, he physically melts into the bed, body slack, chest heaving, just laying there shaking and completely ruined.

seungkwan: full-body twitching. thighs shaking, abs twitching, arms weakly draped over his face, hiding his wrecked expression. “fuck, baby, i’m—i’m done—” he gasps, his voice hoarse as hell, sounding like he just ran up a mountain. when you finally let him go, he just lets out the deepest, shakiest sigh, body going completely slack.

vernon: completely unresponsive part 2. bro is just laying there, eyes blank, mouth slightly open, looking like he just got his entire EXISTENCE reset. you say his name, and nothing. you touch his thigh, and nothing. when he finally blinks, he just tilts his head towards you, chest still rising and falling rapidly “you actually fucked me dry.”

chan: thought he could handle it but by the fourth orgasm, he was whimpering, “no more, no more—”, so now, he is completely silent. doesn’t even try to talk, just stares at you, mouth slightly open, eyes red form crying. he just lays there, staring at you like you just fried his last brain cell.

[euphoria-looney]

Idk if you’ve seen Nosferatu but I think a situation like that could totally apply to (Name).

Brief overview:

In Nosferatu, the main character Ellen grows up feeling lonely and isolated. She pleads for a supernatural being to arrive and comfort her and she wakes up ‘Nosferatu’ who makes her pledge herself to him fully. There’s loads of other stuff as well but I think this main idea would be interesting. Nosferatu in the movie is really, really old and ugly, but I think (Name) deserves a fit, hot vampire boyfriend/husband. But essentially he’s like a Vampire Count, aka Dracula.

How it’s play out:

(Name),as a young child, calls out for ‘Nosferatu’ (or whatever name the vampire will have) and he wakes up. He makes them pledge their complete loyalty to him for all eternally, essentially making them his ‘bride’. (Name) is comforted by him, but this connection fades as they grow older.

Then, when they turn 18, Nosferatu calls out for them in their dreams and travels to Gotham, keeping them in his manor. He’s basically a yandere in the movie anyway, so (Name) is kept quite weak and docile due to his mind control, spending most of their time doting on him or sleeping.

Now, I think it’d be interesting for the Batfam to react because the thing about Nosferatu is that the oath to him MUST be consensual, give or take MAJOR manipulation, but still, (Name) has to willingly go with him. So the Batfam have to come to terms with the fact that (Name) literally chose an obsessive, undead (but fit) vampire husband over them.

And ‘Nosferatu’ is NOT going to play fair if they try and take his bride. Literally no Dracula variant does.

I Asked For a Friend, But Got a Husband?

"I sense her in my mind, she's my collar" She's My Collar (feat. Kali Uchis)

So Much More. (Should I name this something new? Since it's a different AU?)

Special (?)

Divider Creds: @anitalenia and @qqmariztwsse

Being young, barely seen or heard, I could only busy myself with books. Even then how many books could I read before feeling that loneliness knaw on me?

Okay, dramatic I knew but who knew this one feeling would lead me to immediately get married by the age of eighteen?

I know how bad that sounds, trust me, I was the one who experienced it.

"What are you thinking about right now, honey?" I felt arms wrap around me.

Meet Elzire.

(Cred to this art and oc: @♱⋆༒︎Ren༒︎ ⋆♱/lcttuve)

"Nothing much," I replied looking through our mail.

How we met, well I believe it because of this, but don't take my word for it, I might just be delusional.

I had gone to the library and saw [D/D] she ecstatically waved to me before Damian pulled her away giving me a sneer. I waved that off and looked around before spotting a book that I’d never seen before. 

It had a blood red cover and the title ‘Forever’, curious, I opened it. It seemed like a child's story as they had short sentences and photos. It starts with a girl who, one day after being tired of being lonely prays to the gods of her world she doesn’t care who or what they sent no matter what they looked like or how they acted as long as they were her friends, and nice to her at least, she would be happy.

Then it happened, a boy her age descended to her and every day they would play before growing old together.

The end.

I put the book back before returning to what I was originally doing, studying for my next exam.

— 

It had been a good week since I read that fantasy child’s book, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I went to the library at night when everyone was either on a mission or asleep and to my surprise the book was gone.

Someone must’ve thrown it out, there’s no reason to keep it here anyone.

I let out a sigh before heading back to my room and though I accepted the book was gone I couldn’t help but wonder, could I do that?

No, that’d be silly.

But…

It never hurts anyone to try.

“Please, whoever is out there, please accompany me and become the pillar I can lean on.” 

.

..

…

Welp I tried, back to sleep I have a piano recital tomorrow no time for these goofy beliefs.

3RD POV

 A figure descended into [name]’s room their black hair fluttered from the wind and their red eyes and fangs glistened in the dark of night, their hands like claws before stepping into the light a little more revealing a tall yet built man he looked angelic despite being a vampire that was friends with a demon, specially Barbatos.

He creeps a little closer to [name]’s room crouching to caress their faces. Making them blink open their eyes.

“... Am I still dreaming?” They question themself. Making the vampire chuckle holding their hands in his and asking.

“Do you mind becoming mine forever?”

“Woah, my wish worked… sure, why not.” He smiled happily placing one of their hands on his cheeks and relished in the warmth that their hand brought to his freezing complexion.

Before they had passed out.

He caught them before they could slam back onto their bed and gently laid them down.

“Don’t miss me too much.”

—

Holy crap what was that dream? 

Maybe I shouldn’t mind it. 

For the next few years, nothing changed except my dreams. Then I turned eighteen and it was out of pure luck that I met him, his name was Elzire.

We got married that same year after a few months of dating which I was totally against but then he convinced me and it hasn’t been like our marriage has been going great. I don’t like that he wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife.

Don’t get me wrong I appreciate him wanting this for me because he doesn’t want any workload on me but I just feel that it’s unfair for him.

Too bad the only payment he wants from me is to do simple household things but even that he just hires some housecleaning or helpers instead of letting me do it and when he comes home to get his pillow, it’s nice to play with his hair, might be better than mine.

Today again though I’m stuck at home and there’s nothing to do as I finished everything, it’s not hard when only two people are living in this house.

I went to look through the mail before finding a letter addressed to me.

It’s from Alfred, but I had never told him where I moved… It’s fine, this is Alfred we’re talking about.

“Dear young master, [name], 

How have you been? It's been 7 years since we last saw you or contacted you, I managed to get a glimpse of you and was able to deliver this to you.

Your family has long awaited meeting you again, if you could give them the chance to see you that would be lovely.

Sincerely, 

Alfred Pennyworth.”

I looked over my shoulder to Elzire before responding.

“I got a letter from my old butler Alfred, saying that my family would like to meet with me again.”

“So suddenly, darling?” He raised his eyebrow at that. Seems he was as lost as I was. I told him everything like he was my therapist so he knew too well himself why this wouldn’t make sense.

-

Despite my hesitance, I decided to go.

"Really Sweetie, you don't have to this isn't something that I would waste my time on, so neither should you." One hand on the steering wheel and the other holding my hand.

"Come on, El, I'm curious, 23 years of my life and only now do they care to see me. Wouldn't you also wonder why?"

"Wonder, not meet. but because I love you and I care for you we'll still go." He squeezed my hand a bit before softening his grip again.

We pulled up on the driveway and saw Alfred come out of the manor.

Elzire got out of the car first before opening the door for me, helping me get out.

I approached Alfred before bringing him into an embrace.

"Alfie, it's been so long." I pulled away before directing his attention to Elzire.

"This is Elzire."

"Pleasure to meet you, young sir." Alfred did his bow before leading us to the living room where the whole family was.

"[name]" [M/D] whispered, tears welling up in her eye, standing up and starting to approach me.

I smiled but didn't reciprocate the hug she was trying to give me.

"[name], we realized our mistake. it's time to come home." Bruce told me.

"Well, as much as I'm... grateful for that offer, I've already moved on and had a life, where you guys no longer matter or are related to me anymore."

"What are you-"

"This is my husband, Elzire. And I don't plan to leave him, for this."

Guys I quit on this if you couldn't notice the ending was rushed so badly, I'm so sorry to the one who sent the request I know this isn't what you would like but I kind of had a mind exploration, and now I have no idea what or how to write this request.

Maybe I'll rewrite this in the future but for now, this is the main result. If you were looking for a confrontation. It's kind of the situation of this Special.

Genuinely y'all could make your own or imagine this scenario. I have no idea what I'm doing anyway, thank you so much for reading this I don't think I'm tagging anybody on this and supporting other batfam authors, especially with all the hate that I've been seeing Luckily I haven't received anything.

Bye-bye, if anything is too unclear and grammatically wrong inform me!

Elzire:

(Cred to this art and oc: @♱⋆༒︎Ren༒︎ ⋆♱/lcttuve)

-ILoveeeMoney

[impish-baby]

Did you get enough love, my little dove? - platonic yandere! Captor x reader - 🤍🩹 (cw: threats, injured reader)

"The fuck do you mean!?" Wren can tell Elijah is ready to pull his hair out if this deal doesn't go through, he's been pacing since the call started. "We already showed you the pictures of them all busted up, we're serious about killing the little shit!"

He feels bad. Normally he can will it away, convince himself that the rich families they exploit deserve it, but from the start you've said over and over and over again that your father wouldn't give them anything, that he didn't care. It seems like you weren't lying.

"Bastard-" the phone smashes against the wall, sending shards of glass and plastic scattering across the floor. "Dammit! What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

Wren doesn't get a chance to say anything before a gun is aimed at their latest victim's head.

They look so scared. He can feel his heart constricting in his chest when they start to sob again, God they're young.

"Elijah, wait a minute-" He doesn't know why, but he can't just let this kid die. "We can figure out a new plan, right? Don't do something without thinking it through."

"Like what?" Elijah scoffs, he's so pissed his hands are shaking, he can't even keep the gun straight. "You know what we should do? Send their corpse wrapped in a pretty bow to that asshole."

"The boss should have a say," Wren smiles nervously, desperation seizing his heart. "Yeah? Give it until he's back before we do decide." It's his best bet and it works, the other man storms out of the basement with a slam of the door.

"God.." He sighs, slumping against the wall before glancing over at them. They're still crying, he's going to have to get them to drink something. Wren can do that, a glass of water and some kind of snack.

"I- I'll be right back.." They don't acknowledge his departure, not that he expects them to.

Elijah must have gone off to smoke, the older man isn't around when he comes up the stairs. A good thing, Wren really doesn't really want to explain what he's doing.

The kid doesn't look up when he returns, nor when he kneels down in front of them. "Hey, sweetheart.." he feels so awkward, "I'm gonna untie you for a bit, ok? Don't try to get up though."

Their wrists have been rubbed completely raw, probably rope burn. He's seen much, much worse but he still winces. "Ow, kiddo..I'll get you patched in just a minute, you need to get something in your system first."

He delicately places his hands over theirs when they try to hold the cup, partly because he isn't just going to give them a potential weapon and partly because their hands shake so bad he's scared they'll drop it. "There you go, try for a few drinks, you can do it.." Wren has never thought about being a father, but he has the inexplicable urge to be gentle with them. "Good job, baby. Can you try to eat a little for me?"

The answer is no apparently. They get one tiny nibble of an apple slice before they look like they're about to puke, all the fear and adrenaline is probably making their stomach upset. A few sips of water is good enough for now, he'll try them again with some crackers later.

"Alright, alright, I'm going to bandage your wrists up now. I'll be careful, I promise." They've been shaking the entire time, but it hurts a little when they tremble more as he holds their arm delicately. "I know, I'm scary, huh? It'll be quick, just so you don't get a yucky infection or something." Their tearstained face is pitiful, Wren wants to wipe the dried lines of tears away and tell them it'll be ok. He doesn't want to be a liar, though.

(a/n: sorry for lack of posts!!! This week has been kicking my ass qwq I'll be back to posting regularly soon!!)

[intersexwiki]

Rest of post for archival purposes

WHAT THE BOOK DOESN’T HANDLE WELL

The body descriptions. As Dmitri put it: “ Like "his butt jiggled and it reminded  me of women" ew. It was intentional but I had to put the book down. It reminded me of transvestigators and how they take pictures of people in public.” 🤮

Not pushing Genly to reflect on how weird he is about other people’s bodies. We all had issues with how Genly is constantly scrutinizing the bodies of other humans to assess their gender(s) and it’s pretty gross.

vic asked: “how much of this is her reproducing violence without her knowing it? A thing I didn't like was how he always judging and analyzing people's bodies and realizing others treat him that way. And I wish there was more of his discomfort about this, that it made him feel icky.”

Dimitri added: “I really wanted him to have a moment of this too, for him to realize how much it sucks to be treated this way. As a trans person it's so uncomfortable. What are you doing going around doing this to people?”

Using male pronouns as default/ungendered pronouns. Élaina asked why Genly thinks a male pronoun is more appropriate for a transcendent God and pointed out there’s a lot to unpack there.

OTHER POSITIVES ABOUT THE BOOK

Genly’s journey towards respecting women, that he still had a ways to go by the end of the book. vic pointed out how “LeGuin was straight, and she loves men, and is kinda giving them the side-eye [in this book]. Her writing about how Genly is childish makes me really happy. It’s kind of hilarious to watch him bang his head against the wall because he’s so rigid.” 

To which Dmitri added: “I agree with the bit on forgiving men for stuff. I don't know how she [LeGuin] does it but she really lays it all out. She gives you a platter of how men are bad at things, how they make mistakes that are pretty specific to them. She has prepared a buffet of it.”

Autistic Estraven! As Michelle put it: “autistic queer feels about Estraven speaking literally and plainly and Genly not getting it”

The truck chapter. Hits like a pile of bricks. We talked about it as a metaphor for the current pandemic.

The Genly x Estraven slowburn queerplatonic relationship

The conlang! Less is more in how it gets used

MIXED REACTIONS

The Foretelling. For some it felt unnecessary and a bit fetishy. For others it was fun paranormal times.

Pacing. Some liked how the book really forces you to really contemplate as you go. Others struggled with a pace that feels very slow to 2023 readers.

WORKS WE COMPARED THE BOOK TO

Star Trek (the original series) - we wondered if LHOD and Genly Ai were progressive by 1960s standards, and TOS came up as a comparison point. We were all of the impression that TOS was progressive for its time but all of us find it pretty misogynist by our standards. The interest in extra-sensory perception (ESP) is something that was a staple of TOS that feels very strange to contemporary viewers and also cropped up in LHOD

Ancillary Justice - for being a book where characters’ genders are all ambiguous but the POV character is actually normal about how they describe other characters’ bodies.

The Deep - for being another book in a situation where being able to reproduce as male and female is the norm. The Deep was written by an actually intersex author, and doesn’t have the cisperisex gaze of scrutinizing every body for sex. But oddly LHOD actually winds up feeling more like a book about intersex people, because it features a character who is the odd one out in a gonosynic society. In contrast, nobody is intersex in the Deep - everybody matches the norms for their species, which makes the intersex themes in the work much more subtle.

Overall, as vic put it, “there's something to be said about an honest depiction that's not great, especially when there's no alternatives”. For a long time there weren’t many other games in town when it came to this sort of book, and even though some things now feel dated, it’s still a valuable read. We’d love to see more intersex reviews & analyses of the book!

Discussion summary: Left Hand of Darkness

Published in 1969, The Left Hand of Darkness is a classic in science fiction that explores issues of sex/gender in an alien-yet-human society where the aliens are just like us except in how they reproduce. These aliens, the Gethenians, can reproduce as either male or female. They spend most of their lives sexually undifferentiated. Once a month, they go into heat (“kemmer”) and their sexual organs activate as either male or female (it’s essentially random).

Here's a summary of the discussions we had on 2023-08-25 and 2023-09-01 about the book:

HIGH LEVEL REACTONS

Michelle (@scifimagpie): even though it was written by a cis straight perisex woman there is a queerness to the writing that feels true and that she nailed. There is a queerness to the soul of this book that still holds up, that's true and good, and I cannot but love and respect that.

Elizabeth (@ipso-faculty): this book is such a commentary on 1960s misogyny. Genly is a raging misogynist. It takes a whole prison break and crossing the arctic for Genly to realize a woman or androgyne can be competent 👀

Dimitri: [Having read just the first half of the book] I wonder if it keeps happening, if Genly keeps going "woaaaah" [to the Gethenians’ androgyny] or if he ever acclimates. It's been half the novel my guy

vic: yeah a book where a guy is destroyed by seeing a breast makes me want queer theory

vic: [it also] makes me feel good to see how much has changed [since the 1960s]

THE INTERSEX STUFF

A thing we appreciated about the book was how being intersex is contextual. The main character of the book, Genly Ai, is a human from a planet like Earth, who visits Gethen to open trade and diplomatic relations.

On his home planet, and to Earth sensibilities, Genly is perisex - he is able to reproduce at any time of the month and is consistently male.

But on Gethen, Genly becomes intersex. On Gethen, the norm is that you only manifest (and can reproduce as) a given sex during the monthly kemmer (heat/oestrus) period. 

The Gethenians understand Genly as living in “permanent kemmer”, which is described as a common (intersex) condition, and these people are hyper-sexualized and referred to as Perverts.

At this point it’s worth noting that depiction is not the same as endorsement. Michelle pointed out the book is very empathetic to those in permanent kemmer. LeGuin does not appear to be endorsing the social stigma faced by these people, merely depicting it, and putting a mirror to how our own society treats intersex people.

Throughout the book, Genly is treated as an oddity by the Gethenians. He is hyper sexualized. He undergoes a genital inspection to prove he is who he says he is. 

When Genly is sent to a prison camp and forcibly given HRT, he does not respond “normally” to the hormones, the effects are way worse for him, and the prison camp staff don’t care, and keep administering them even if it’ll kill him. 

Two of us have had the experience of having hyperandrogenism and being forced onto birth control as teenager, and relating to the sluggishness of the drugs that Genly experienced, as well as the sense that gender/sex conformity was more important to authority figures (parents, doctors) than actual health and well-being.

Another scene we discussed the one where Genly is in a prison van en route to the gulag, and a Gethenian enters kemmer and wants to mate with him and he declines. He is given multiple opportunities over the course of the book to try having sex with a Gethenian, and declines every time, and we wondered if he avoided it out of trauma of being hyper-sexualized & hyper-medicalized & having had his genitals inspected.

We discussed the way he described his genital inspection through a trauma lens, and how it interacts with toxic masculinity - in vic’s terms, Genly being "I am a manly man and I have don't trauma"

Those of us who read the short story, Coming of Age in Karhide, noted that once the world was narrated from a Gethenian POV, the people in permanent kemmer were treated far more neutrally, which gave us the impression that Genly as an unreliable narrator was injecting some intersexism along with his misogyny

WHY IT MATTERS TO READ THIS BOOK THROUGH AN INTERSEX LENS

Elizabeth: I’ve encountered critiques of this book from perisex trans folks because to them the book is committing biological essentialism, and dismissing the book as a result. I think they’re missing that this book is as much about (inter)sex as it is about gender. I think they’re too quick to dismiss the book as being outdated or having backwards ideas because they’re not appreciating the intersex themes. 

Elizabeth: The intersex themes aren’t exactly subtle, so it kind of stings that I haven’t seen any intersex analyses of this book, but there are dozens (hundreds?) of perisex trans analyses that all miss the huge intersex elephants in the room.

Also Elizabeth: I’ve seen this book show up in lists of intersex books/characters made by perisex people, and I’ve seen Estraven listed as intersex character, and it gets me upset because Estraven isn’t intersex! Estraven is perisex in the society in which he lives. Genly is the intersex character in this story and people who misunderstand intersex as being able to reproduce as male & female (or having quirky genitals smh) are completely missing that being intersex is socially constructed and based on what is considered typical for a given species.

WHAT THE BOOK DOESN’T HANDLE WELL

The body descriptions. As Dmitri put it: “ Like "his butt jiggled and it reminded  me of women" ew. It was intentional but I had to put the book down. It reminded me of transvestigators and how they take pictures of people in public.” 🤮

Not pushing Genly to reflect on how weird he is about other people’s bodies. We all had issues with how Genly is constantly scrutinizing the bodies of other humans to assess their gender(s) and it’s pretty gross.

vic asked: “how much of this is her reproducing violence without her knowing it? A thing I didn't like was how he always judging and analyzing people's bodies and realizing others treat him that way. And I wish there was more of his discomfort about this, that it made him feel icky.”

Dimitri added: “I really wanted him to have a moment of this too, for him to realize how much it sucks to be treated this way. As a trans person it's so uncomfortable. What are you doing going around doing this to people?”

Using male pronouns as default/ungendered pronouns. Élaina asked why Genly thinks a male pronoun is more appropriate for a transcendent God and pointed out there’s a lot to unpack there.

OTHER POSITIVES ABOUT THE BOOK

Genly’s journey towards respecting women, that he still had a ways to go by the end of the book. vic pointed out how “LeGuin was straight, and she loves men, and is kinda giving them the side-eye [in this book]. Her writing about how Genly is childish makes me really happy. It’s kind of hilarious to watch him bang his head against the wall because he’s so rigid.” 

To which Dmitri added: “I agree with the bit on forgiving men for stuff. I don't know how she [LeGuin] does it but she really lays it all out. She gives you a platter of how men are bad at things, how they make mistakes that are pretty specific to them. She has prepared a buffet of it.”

Autistic Estraven! As Michelle put it: “autistic queer feels about Estraven speaking literally and plainly and Genly not getting it”

The truck chapter. Hits like a pile of bricks. We talked about it as a metaphor for the current pandemic.

The Genly x Estraven slowburn queerplatonic relationship

The conlang! Less is more in how it gets used

MIXED REACTIONS

The Foretelling. For some it felt unnecessary and a bit fetishy. For others it was fun paranormal times.

Pacing. Some liked how the book really forces you to really contemplate as you go. Others struggled with a pace that feels very slow to 2023 readers.

WORKS WE COMPARED THE BOOK TO

Star Trek (the original series) - we wondered if LHOD and Genly Ai were progressive by 1960s standards, and TOS came up as a comparison point. We were all of the impression that TOS was progressive for its time but all of us find it pretty misogynist by our standards. The interest in extra-sensory perception (ESP) is something that was a staple of TOS that feels very strange to contemporary viewers and also cropped up in LHOD

Ancillary Justice - for being a book where characters’ genders are all ambiguous but the POV character is actually normal about how they describe other characters’ bodies.

The Deep - for being another book in a situation where being able to reproduce as male and female is the norm. The Deep was written by an actually intersex author, and doesn’t have the cisperisex gaze of scrutinizing every body for sex. But oddly LHOD actually winds up feeling more like a book about intersex people, because it features a character who is the odd one out in a gonosynic society. In contrast, nobody is intersex in the Deep - everybody matches the norms for their species, which makes the intersex themes in the work much more subtle.

Overall, as vic put it, “there's something to be said about an honest depiction that's not great, especially when there's no alternatives”. For a long time there weren’t many other games in town when it came to this sort of book, and even though some things now feel dated, it’s still a valuable read. We’d love to see more intersex reviews & analyses of the book!

[hotchnersangel]

OUR PAST, PRESENT AND FOREVER

Aaron Hotchner

cw: fem!reader, wedding, crying, emotional hotch.

a/n- this one is super cute, surprise at the end but you can pretend it isn’t there if you don’t like it.

Meeting Aaron Hotchner for the very first time was like breathing fresh country air after being stuck in the city for your whole life. Though your life was arguably more chaotic after knowing him, you never doubted any part of your relationship, neither the good or the bad. You had disagreements but Aaron has never shouted at you and he never will, nor have you at him. Around each other maybe you have, but never to each other. Maybe that’s because of his understanding of your past but also due to the immense respect and love he will always have for you. He never wants to be the reason you cry. Yet, today he was the exact reason you were crying.

Your wedding day, a day you have been dreaming about since you were a little girl. You always wanted the traditional wedding dress, the big but intimate ceremony, the hundreds of thousands of flowers, the awkward and laughable dancing. You wanted and dreamt about it all.

When you met Aaron, you knew you wanted these dreams by his side. You wanted them to turn from your dreams to your shared memories, which is exactly what the day had been.

The ceremony had been indescribable, the feeling of walking down the aisle and Rossi handing you to your soon- to-be husband was overwhelming in the best way. Though, the moment those doors opened, Aaron took one glance at you and your emotions flood from your eyes and you didn’t bother wiping them, just let them fall. His smile was like no one but you had ever witnessed. Full of utter love and affection. Your vows illicited more tears from you, but Aaron was yet to cry. Close, very close he had come, but he had not shown a droplet until you stand up during the after party.

Everyone was sat round their tables and you go to make your speech following the maid of honour and groomsmen’s talks.

“If I could have your attention for a moment,” you say, everyone now looking over you, whose hand was still entwined with Aaron. “Since before Aaron and I were together, I made something hoping this day would one day come and I could finally be able to show him.” You start with a bright smile, looking down at him softly as everyone waits in anticipation.

“So here it is, the day we officially become one, this is my present to you honey.” You smile and wipe your eyes from the falling tears. “This is The Story of The Hotchner’s”

You look at Aaron who watches you place the scrapbook in front of him and he gets teary eyed, his lip wobbling as he looks up at you. He knew he chose the right one. His thoughtful, breathtaking, ethereal piece of art. His wife. The love of his life.

He stands up and pulls you into him, holding you in the tightest embrace you thought you were going to be squished. “Baby, oh my god.” He says, looking deeply into your eyes.

“I haven’t even gone through it yet.” You grin, kissing his cheek and wiping a stray tear from his eye before continuing through the book.

‘To my beloved husband, let’s us never forget our past, our present or our forever.’ Was inscribed into the first page, you’re sat down now, watching as Aaron flips to the first page.

It showed an image of you awkwardly standing behind Hotch from around three months into working at the bau, pointing at his back which was firmly behind you as you pulled a funny face to the camera. It was taken by Penelope, you remember it so vividly, she had been the one to take a lot of these photos, along with JJ. Stuck closely on that page is another image of the same few months where he was staring at you with a straight face but you were grinning at him.

Aaron looked up at you and raises an eyebrow. “Did I always look so miserable around you?” He chuckles softly.

“You did, but I knew you never disliked me. No matter how hard you tried to conceal it, I always knew.” You grin back at him and he kisses your nose. “Now carry on.”

The next page brought a photo of Aaron slightly smirking at something you said but trying to conceal it behind his mug, it was a perfect candid photo. The next was an image of you two conversing on the first press conference with the two of you. Professional and hot.

The memories continued as you slowly see a change in the dynamic of your relationship, at first it’s like you’re both there but just simply there, then you see how Aaron opens up to you slowly and starts to lose his cold front with you. Over time it’s obvious that the distance between the two of you disappears and your smiles grow ten times larger. Then, it gets to recent photos and you stop him before he can flip the page again.

“There is so much space to add more photos of our journey together but I thought today was the perfect day to share this with you.” You grin at him, fully beaming as tears kiss your cheeks. As you look at Aaron, he pulls you to sit on his lap and he looks directly at you. You notice that tears were streaming out of his glassy eyes with very little shame. You laugh at the sight and it makes the emotions bubble more in your chest and he pulls you closer to him by your waist, hugging you so tightly. He kisses your head.

“I’m so beyond in love with you. Thank you. Thank you for having the most thoughtful, generous, beautiful soul both inside and out.” He says letting tears stream down as he doesn’t bother wiping them. Not even considering hiding or getting rid of the evidence of his complete and utter devotion and appreciation of you.

“There’s one more page.” You whisper to him and he looks back at the book, you both flip the page together and it reveals a photo of a baby scan. He freezes from under you and looks at the photo, bringing the book closer to him and looking back to you. Switching his gaze between the photo and you like a tennis rally.

“Is this…”

You nod and laugh, tears falling from your eyes as he pulls you into the biggest hug ever, his hand at the back of your head as it against his chest.

“Our family.”

[nomie-11]

Dear Ellie

masterlist!

synopsis: after you pass away from an illness, ellie finds letters you had hidden away while you were still alive, and learns to live again

pairings: ellie williams x reader

Dear Ellie, 

If your hand is in this jacket pocket, it means it’s getting cold out, and you need to grab your winter coat from the closet and clean this one. It’s nasty not to wash your summer coat. 

——————————

A part of her didn’t want to put away her summer coat. 

Putting away her summer coat would be allowing the last season you had been alive to pass her by. She didn’t like winter, didn’t like the cold bite in her cheeks. She wanted to stay in the warmth forever, swim in the freezing creeks and lay in the grass. 

She clutched the jacket tighter around her, fingers curling into the fabric as if holding it close would keep you closer. The scent of summer was nearly gone, faded under the crisp chill of autumn leaves and approaching winter, but she swore she could still catch a trace of you—the faint scent of strawberries, like a whisper she couldn’t quite make out. 

Ellie sat on the edge of her bed, the dim glow of the lamp casting long shadows against the walls. The note, your note, rested in her lap, the edges slightly crumpled from how many times she’d unfolded and remolded it. She traced the letters with a fingertip, your handwriting so familiar, so you. 

Her throat tightened. She should put the coat away. Should clean it just like you told her to. But if she did that, if she packed it up in the closet, it would mean the last season you had held her in would have passed without any attempts of her holding back. 

Despite her best attempts at clawing against time, to stay in the warm days of August and remember the feel of your hand in hers, she had been unsuccessful against the cooling of the air and the falling of the leaves. Ellie folded the note carefully, tucking it back into the pocket where it belonged. The coat stayed wrapped around her body. 

Winter could wait. She wasn’t ready yet. 

——————

Dear Ellie, 

If it’s really winter now, you should be wearing those gloves I made you. The ones with the weird stitching because I messed up halfway through. You promised me you’d wear them. 

I swear on my own grave, I’ll find a way to haunt you if you manage to get hypothermia. 

————————

She found them buried at the bottom of her drawer, shoved beneath old scarves and mismatched socks. 

The stitching was just as bad as she remembered. 

Ellie turned them over in her hands, running her thumbs over the uneven thread. You’d cursed the whole time while making them, frustrated with every mistake, but you’d still given them to her with a proud little smile. She had laughed, told you they were the ugliest thing she’d ever seen, and you’d punched her in the arm for that. 

Her vision blurred. 

With a sharp inhale, she pulled the gloves on. They were too warm, too tight around her fingers, but she clenched her fists and kept them on anyway. 

————————

Dear Ellie, 

If the snow is melting, it means spring is coming! You always liked spring more than winter, even though you pretended not to care. I remember the way you looked at the first green buds on the trees, the way your shoulders relaxed when the sun started lingering a little longer in the sky. 

I hope you’re letting yourself enjoy it. 

Go outside, Els. Feel the mud under your boots. Breathe it in. And eat something fresh, for god’s sake. You live in a town with a greenhouse. Use it. 

————————

The first signs of spring came slow—just hints at first, little glimpses of warmth breaking through the cold. The ice cracked, the snow thinned, and Ellie found herself standing outside, watching the way the world woke back up. 

She hadn’t noticed how tense her shoulders had been all winter until she felt them ease. 

For the first time in months, she let the sun sit on her face, let herself close her eyes and breathe in the damp, earthy scent of thawing ground. 

It was strange how grief shifted with the seasons. Winter had been heavy, cold, a weight pressing down on her chest. But spring… spring was different. It still ached, still lingered in the quiet moments, but it wasn’t as sharp. It was softer, something almost gentle, like the calming kiss of a morning breeze. 

She wandered to the greenhouse, hands stuffed in her pockets, and lingered by the rows of plants. You would have scolded her for not coming sooner. 

So she picked a handful of strawberries. 

She had never really liked them before—always found them when they weren’t ripe, too bitter and too sour—but when she bit into one now, it wasn’t like she remembered. 

It was sweet. 

——————————

Dear Ellie, 

I bet the creek is freezing. But that never stopped me! You always called me crazy, but I think you liked it at heart—how alive it made me feel. You only ever stuck your feet in, but you should go all the way in now. 

Go swimming for me. Scream when the cold hits you. Laugh when you resurface. Let yourself feel it all. 

You’re still here, Els. Don’t just exist. 

————————

Dina and Jesse’s had to drag her there. 

Ellie resisted at first, muttering excuses, shoving her hands deeper into her jacket. But when they reached the creek, something pulled at her, something deep in her chest that she couldn’t quite name. 

The water was crisp and fast, but the surface was smooth, catching the soft gold light of late spring. It was just as freezing as she remembered—just as sharp, just as breath-stealing. 

Dina jumped first, her laughter echoing through the trees, and Jessie followed with a loud whoop. 

Ellie hesitated at the edge, heart hammering. 

Then she thought of you. 

She thought of your grin, the way you used to look over your shoulder before you flipped off the higher rock into the cool rush of the river. 

So she jumped. 

The cold stole the breath from her lungs, but when she resurfaced, gasping, all she could do was laugh. 

——————————

Dear Ellie, 

It’s summer now, isn’t it?

I hope you’re not hiding inside like you do when it gets too hot. You never liked it, but summer was my favorite so you put up with it. I hope you’re still putting up with it. 

I hope you go outside, feeling the grass under your feet, hiking up in the mountains, sneaking ice from Joel’s fancy freezer. I hope you’re letting yourself have all of it. 

And I hope you’re not alone. 

—————————

Joel was older now. 

Ellie had always known that, had seen it in the way he over, the way he rubbed at his knees after a long day, the way he sighed when he sat down. 

But lately, she really saw it. 

She saw the gray in his hair, the lines that had deepened around his eyes. She saw the way his hands, once so steady, still so strong, sometimes trembled when he thought no one was looking. 

She had spent so long being angry. Holding onto it like armor, like proof of something she couldn’t quite name. 

But now? 

Now, she just saw her dad getting older. 

So she started spending more time with him. Small things at first—helping him with repairs, eating meals together, sitting on the porch on a dry summer night when the heat of the day finally faded. 

One day, she found an old guitar string and fixed up the guitar he had given her years ago. 

When she played, he closed his eyes and listened. 

They didn’t talk about it, about the time they had lost, about the things that had stood between them for so long. 

They didn’t have to. 

—————————

Dear my love, 

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe because you wrote to me first to make sure I didn’t go insane. Maybe because I’m afraid that if I stop talking to you, I’ll forget the sound of your voice. 

I guess I just… I wanted to tell you that I did it. 

I swam in the freezing creek. I screamed like a fucking idiot when I hut the water, and Dina laughed so hard she started crying. Jesse splashed me in the face, and for a second, it was like nothing had even changed. 

I ate the strawberries from the greenhouse. And you were right—they totally aren’t bitter. I don’t think they ever were, I was just too much of an idiot to wait and get ready for them to ripen. You’d get a kick out of me trading anything for strawberries. 

Joel and I… we’re okay now. I sit with him on his porch some nights, and we don’t really say much, but it’s enough. I think he’s happy I’m around more. I was an ass for ignoring him for so long. 

It still hurts. I still miss you. Some nights, it hits me out of nowhere, and it’s like I can’t breathe. But then I think about what you’d say. I think about the way you’d roll your eyes at me, but then help me get back on my feet, go outside, live. 

So I’m trying. 

I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing you. But I’m learning that missing you doesn’t mean I have to stop living. 

I’m carrying you with me, Y/n. Every season. Every letter. Every strawberry. 

With all my love forever, 

Ellie

What i think would happen if Ellie had an opportunity to actually grieve someone’s death

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[w0rmss]

Can you do like Jason Todd x reader whos like Constantine’s kid, like Reader went through a lot of stuff that they got powers (any magic type) and Constantine takes them in. Jason meets them in battle is is kinda mesmerized by their powers and fighting.

Absolutely I did my best so I hope you like it. Thank you so much for the request I really appreciate hope you enjoy

Across the way

tw: fighting guns blood injury kissing and a minor minor talk of living on the street.

Jason knew it was bad when Bruce called for backup. And when he called for magic back up, it was so much worse. Gun blared blood splatter swords clashed. It was a mess. Then, a flash of light came from across the way. He turned and was met by the most magnificent sight. You. You were knocking people out with blast of light and fire, and gods only know what else, and Jason loved it.

Your dad had called you. Well, you say dad, he's more like a random wizard man with a British accent and a smoking problem who plucked you off the street and thought you magic. But at the end of the day, john constantine was your dad, to the best of his ability. When Conservative had called, he'd informed you the batman needed help for and he was busy. The usual father child magic duo things. That's how you found yourself setting fire to goons and looking good doing it.

Jason watched you entrenched like you were a God in need of worship. He didn't even notice the goon or the gun till he felt a searing pain in his left shoulder, and the other guys pants were on fire. You grab Jason's good arm and pull him away from the fight. "Geez, man, you good." You ask as you start to assess the wound. Jason winces as he feels you put pressure on the bullets entryway. "Fine." He grits his teeth as you glare at him. "Sure... I can help... delt with enough if these to know how." Jason winces again but nods.

He watches you work ignoring the raging fight still happening just beyond. You look even more perfect close up. Your eyes your face your skin all perfect. And Jason though he might die again looking at your lips. "You may have a helmet on but I can still feel you gawking at me."  You look up at him finishing up with his shoulder. Jason laughs sheepishly. He reaches up and pulls of his red hood helmet thankfully wearing a domino under it. "Thanks for the help." He mumbles eyes still glued to your lips.

Before you can react, with the fight still raging behind you, Jason leans down amd captures your lips in his. Caught of guard it takes you a moment to reach and jason goes to pull back, but before he can your lips pull him back in and your hands find his hair. You kiss each other like the world isn't ending behind you.

Thank you so much hope you enjoyed. If you’d like me to write anything else feel free to request my dos and donts are up so yep

have a lovely day night afternoon etc. Thank you.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Bro, I really need, please, Mustaine from Woodstock, tired, to make me give him a blowjob (roughly), please

A/n: I think I peaked with this fic

Warnings: Smut, oral (m receiving), size kink, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You loved your boyfriend, not just because he was hot but because he was genuinely the sweetest man; he'd help you make food, he'd cook when you were sick, he'd help clean the house, he loved you so purely. However, he was still really fucking hot.

You sat at the sidelines of the stage, eyeing him closely in his plain white tank and light grey sweats. You loved every inch of him, and there were a lot of inches.

Dave was taller than you by quite a bit, he'd always use you as an arm rest. If he had to squeeze past you in the kitchen he'd grab your hips and move you himself, if you had trouble reaching something he'd more often than not just lift you up instead of getting it himself.

He knew how much you loved his muscles, and he went out of his way to remind you of them.

His long hair was frizzy, having not washed it in a few days, tours were always like this. It didn't matter to you much, he still looked gorgeous in your eyes, the light glinting off his plush lips. God blessed this white man a full set, and not just referring to his lips.

The tank was tight, stretching over his chest, perky nipples making small shadows. His broad shoulders and firm muscles had your gaze for a while, but nothing compared to his sweats.

They were baggy, sure, but that didn't stop you from finding the little details. He wore them because they were comfortable, never having been one for fashion, and he was definitely comfortable.

You were at the perfect angle to see his cock swinging around in the loose fabric.Dave really didn't move about the stage much, but you caught it every time, every little shift it's where your eyes went first.

You loved watching Megadeth performing, not just for Dave, but watching Dave had your panties getting slick.

You didn't stay for the encore, rushing to his dressing room. You waited on the couch, hand moving eagerly as you waited but it wasn't enough. Thinking of Dave just made you want him more, you wanted him to fuck you so good and deep, you didn't want to walk for a month, you'd get on stage with him if it meant getting his dick faster.

All those eyes on you, watching how good he made you feel, watching you come undone while his fingers worked away on the six strings.

Finally the door opened and Dave smiled at you, letting out a heavy sigh as he sulked over and plopped down beside you. "Needy, darling?" He asked, though it was more of statement. You nodded nonetheless and leaned into him.

"Need it so bad, Davie." You mused, not hesitating to reach for his clothed cock. He let out a low groan as you palmed him, kissing your temple.

"Can you do it? The work, I mean... I'm tired." His words were mumbled but he could see how desperate you were, and who was he to deny you when you looked at him like that.

You nodded, biting your lip as you slipped off the couch onto your knees in front of him. Dave spread his legs and lifted his hips so you could get his sweats off. Of course he'd gone commando.

His half hard cock sprung free, kind of, it stood up but it was just as tired as the rest of him. Dave let out a heavy sigh as you stroked him, his head falling back onto the couch, his arms resting on the back cushions as well.

It was times like this when you felt the smallest, any time you were intimate really. You always knew you were smaller than him, but when he was hovering over you, trailing kisses down your body, when his fingers were buried deep, tickling inside you. Times when he made you see heaven and back, that's when you felt the smallest, and he was oh so big and protective. Just the thought had you clenching around nothing.

You eagerly took the girthy, blushing tip into your mouth, wrapping your lips around him. He'd worn down your gag reflex but you still usually started slow. Not tonight, you buried your nose in his ginger fluff at the hilt, inhaling deeply all the sweat that had gathered there.

You almost didn't want to move, happy to just cock warm him, but you wanted to watch his slit leaking with cum. You went fast, as fast as you could go without snapping your neck, not that you'd be apposed to going out this way. Your tongue swirling around him, tracing the veins along the underside.

God, you could do this all day just to hear his pretty little sounds. "Fuck, just-just like that." He purred, his head rolling back again when he tried to look down at you. His cheeks were flushed, pink leading down his neck.

You brought your hand up, fingers dipping under the hem of his shirt. You pushed it up, revealing his toned stomach, though he was relaxed and therefore just a little pudgy. Your fingers found his chest, cupping it just like he did with your tits, and just like he did with your tits, you started toying with his nipple, finally getting what you'd been wanting since he got on stage.

The lights weren't on him anymore, this was as real as he could be; eyes lidded, lips parted slightly as soft moans filtered past them. Dave's breathing was heavy, you did nothing to slow your pace.

Dave brought his own hand up to his chest, pinching and rolling his other nipple with his calloused fingers. It was enough to make you cum, if only. It definitely had an affect on him, his moans getting higher and his hips rolled up, pushing his cock further down your throat.

He couldn't stop, so close to cumming and everything was feeling so good, your lips wrapped around his girth, tongue moving on him, fingers on his chest. He was pulsing down your throat, so close.

Dave used his free hand to tug on your hair, forcefully pulling you away. His hand took over the role of your mouth, moving faster than you could. You heard the soft, whiny little breaths he let out, tears welling in his eyes as his hips bucked helplessly into his hand, aching for release.

His breath caught in his throat and cum shot from his pre-leaking slit, landing on your face or the floor. His eyes fluttered and his jaw dropped in ecstasy.

His hand fell from his now limp dick and he fell back onto the couch, his breathing heavy and his body spent. You stood up, crawling onto the couch and straddling his lap.

"You made a mess~" You purred, kissing him tenderly.

He moaned into the kiss, hands finding your hips and resting there. "Guess it's time for a shower, huh?" He mumbled against you, barely pulling away from the kiss.

"Finally." You teased, he gave your ass a gentle pat.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: No summary, rather tame, but this like a warning of how far Blasius can go. However, I didn’t include everything as to not spoil his story.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k.

TW // Smut, Tentacles, Things Where It Shouldn’t Be, Crossing Humane Boundaries.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| {Set Validity}

You’re not quite sure how you got an appendage stuck down your throat with your hands grasping up at Blasius like your life depended on it. You were just trying to move about your own house in the kitchen. Trying to find something to make, swaying your hips then bam! You're suddenly laid back on your own counter with your legs spread open for a certain, bulky marine to take place like he does fit. His armor body completely leaning over yours as the openings in his armor give a squelching sound. The ceramite pieces moving up and down in a breathing-like pattern, telling you that he is not what he seems like from very up close.

“Blasius.” You breathe and talk when you can. Without feeling his tentacles go beyond the humane boundaries of the back of your mouth and down your throat. Feeling like he was searching for something inside of you; trying to push himself further down (without hurting you of course). You were grateful when… throatfucking? With Blasius as you’ve practically trained yourself not to gag at his peculiar actions. His actions that were claimed to be more brutal than what you have read in the books and seen in a couple of movies…

In all honesty? You didn’t think it was too bad. To be… tentacle fucked by the Death Guard. To feel how he could reach places no other sexually active man could, but like a… a doctor could… It was strange, but not bad at all. Pleasurable really. There really wasn’t a time you felt like shit in the morning or at nights or the next… day? Or was it weeks? Either way, you felt too numb and tingly inside to even feel and think about the possible pain he could bring you. If you think he did, you’re pretty sure he would succumb to a lowly puddle as his goal was not to make you feel bad at all. He wants you happy with possible kin growing inside of you.

He creates this… slime around his mass? When he goes to town with you, lathering you with it. It’s nothing harmful sexually or even normally. More like it was just a type of… saliva lobs? Acts like a lubricant and scent marker more or so, but he only produces it when he thinks he’s going to get hot and heavy with you like right now. The joint's of his armor is starting to get slick and drip down onto your clothing. More tentacles coming out to rub the strange slime into your clothing and wrap himself around you the more he can stick and shove his tentacles inside of you, very eager to stuff you with everything he can.

He rumbles down at you, saying the only thing he knows how to speak. “Nest Mother, Nest Mother, Nest Mother.” His words only increasing repetitions when he can smell and feel you weaking beneath him; slowly submitting to his ways of trying to mate with you. He knows immediately what makes you tick. What makes you scream and squirm, and he absolutely loves it. Loves to make you feel overstimulated and at his mercy. He is just doing so well! Isn’t he? Oh, he is! Look at your tearful eyes! Your body is restricting around him too! Let him take care of you like this every day, yes? Yet, he knows you like your independency…

Though, that doesn’t stop him from trying to put a baby inside of you. From anywhere he can: stomach (god damn Xenomorph,) womb, ovary’s, urethra(male.) He will have his damn dream of filling up a nest with his own, blooded kin one way or another. Even at the cost of talking to a Thousand Son to somehow up his chances. Perhaps, he can learn a thing or two from them too.

However, right now he’s just focused on the tight heat of your mouth. How your muscles still pulse with warmth when he’s so far down, nearly going past your diaphragm. His tentacle a bit curled and constricting as he makes sure you can still breathe out of your nose so he can continuously explore the anatomy of a female human. He had too many calls where you have passed out on him, and he gets really sad, and whimpers about it. Believing that he immediately becomes a bad mate towards you for his instinctual actions.

You can feel how everything curls inside of you though. It doesn’t hurt, just… strange. It feels evasive, but it’s gentle. It confuses your brain just a bit. Should it push; throw up this foreign thing out of you? Should it not? You seem to like this thing down you a lot… You’re still taking his tentacles either way. He won’t mind the acid in your stomach. Hell, he eats people. You're the most delicious thing he will tenticalfuck. Anything that tastes of you is better compared to what the grandfathers' brews.

You groan as a squelch sounds out between your saliva coated lips. The tentacles deep in your throat showing no mercy, testing your own limits. Your hands patting Blasius armor that was- is practically curled around you: your hands patting him 3 times. Your senses a bit overwhelmed whenever he tries to push the limits of humanoid you.

He rumbles lowly in response, but ever slowly and purposefully drags his own tentacle out of your throat, mouth then back into his mass with swirly motions. A rather excessive amount of your own saliva and his slime still connecting to two of you by the bottom of your lips and his moving mass beneath his armor. It truthfully should have felt disgusting, sinful, but something in your mind just… blocks those thoughts. You find nothing wrong, nothing dirty about taking in this very much inhumane creature before you with the lower half of his armor trying to rut up into you between your legs.

“Oh, Blasius.” You sigh his name, leaning your back down a bit on the cold counter. A shiver going through your body as your legs try to move around his mass and hook around him, and you do, in a way. Your legs ending up under his armor and squeezing slightly at his mass. The slime of him, and the internal heat of him more sensible there while you can feel his armor cover your legs as well. His gauntlets, full of gleaming tentacles exploring the side of you for a second before he seems to get impatient at your show of submission. What he perceives as submission: lowered forms, rears up and even just laying down. His gauntlets squeezing at your hips, trying to pull you as close as possible. Trying to engulf you with only him.

He rumbles again at you, his shifting helmet looking you up and down like he was asking you off something. He may be impatient, but at least he was asking for permission now rather than before, taking you as he likes. Taking you every time you were already pleasing yourself. Your mind in a blissed state to let him take you then. Yet, over time he has learned to take well, sometimes take foreplay and permission into consideration. Mostly when you seem frustrated; possibly angry at him.

His tentacles swarm around you, spreading that slime all over you. Some appendages slowly slipping up the arm holes of your shirt, bottom of your shirt, the legs holes of your pants, zipper, and waistline. Leaving nothing untouched by him. A low coo coming from him when he finds your heat between your legs. His tentacle automatically dipping between your folds, slowly going up and down, testing you. Feeling how ready you are for him. How wet you are for him.

He can hear you sigh contentedly at him. Feeling how you gently roll your hips back into him, accepting of his actions of mating with you. A sweet, quiet purr leaving him as he moves the tentacle against your entrance to push and curl inside of your pulsing walls. Loving how you mewl out and arch your back for him. His tentacles in your shirt taking immediate attention to wrap around you, trailing down your spine before coming back around to settle on the underside of your breasts, pulling your upper body up a bit closer to his curling form. He was just practically holding you just by himself rather the kitchen counter he placed you on.

He, however, is not much for pleasure himself. Don’t get him wrong, he’ll breed you and keep you warm on his tentacles for weeks if he was in his season, and out of it. He just likes to swim in your pleasure. He can smell your arousal after all, feel it too when he curls his tentacle inside of you just right. Another mewl and a bit of a ramble leaving your lips he violated just moments ago. Your sweet sounds practically praising him as a good mate the more he explores deeper inside of you. The tip of his appendage gently licking at your cervix, preparing you for him just to go a bit deeper than no human man could.

Tilting his helmet, he gently nuzzles against your slime covered collarbone to try and calm you as he felt your body shutter at the sudden touch to your cervix. Again, to you, it didn’t feel painful at all to you, just strange and definitely felt far better than going to the doctors when they have to check you down there with their metal, cold tools. He was a far better candidate to check you… That is if he wasn’t trying to breed you all the time.

He waits until you nuzzle into his helmet, your own little sounds of whimpering coos escaping you, and he finds it absolutely adorable. His appendage inside of you gently squirming against your cervix, trying to get through to your womb when he would have the most success in trying to fertilize you. His tentacle giving a few more wiggles and pops through. Your body shuttering and going limp violently around him, and he thrills at you. Nuzzling back into you, keeping you close while he holds still within you. Waiting just a bit to stuff your little womb full of him.

He may finish; breed you quickly, but not with you feeling like pure jello in the morning. Your body unable to walk for at least half the day, stuck with a very prideful Death Guard that has cleaned himself up quite nicely, but he left you covered in a layer of his slime. His helmet always cooing down at you while his gauntlets keep you down on the bed. Revoking you of your rights to be independent. Actually growling at you when you continue to ignore his clear demand of staying in bed. Not to take a shower that would wash off what keeps you fine and dandy, smelling like him. He figured that one quick…

[cybrasigilism]

Cockwarming w/ Squid Game 2 Men (500 Followers Special)

warning: smut, obviously | not proofread | lowercase intended | cockwarming | sub/dom! reader (depending on the character) | mommy kink | degradation | praise | these are my headcanons + interpretations of these characters, please be respectful even if my opinions on the characters differ from your own

characters: nam-gyu (player 124), thanos/choi su-bong (player 230), park min-su (player 125)

(red = sub!reader | blue = dom!reader)

A/N: HOLY MOLY!! thank you all so much for 500! i truly cannot fathom all the support and i am eternally grateful. i figured i should do something special to celebrate this milestone, so here you go! many fans will be pleased to see i am writing for several beloved squid game men from the second season! i hope you all enjoy, as always. and again thank you all SOOO MUCH!!!

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

➤ nam-gyu (player 124)

➛ if you thought you’d have any sort of say in moving while you cockwarm nam-gyu— think again. he’ll hold you in place himself if he senses you getting impatient, but he knows you’re not stupid enough to try to pull a fast one and start moving anyway.

➛ he’ll pretend that you have absolutely no effect on him like this. like it isn’t killing him just as much to keep you from bouncing on his dick the way you know he likes. it’s all apart of the process with him though, being mean and restraining any possible movement. oh and you can bet he will 100% be poking fun at how pathetic you look.

➛ “such a predictable little slut,” he scoffs, his grip on your thighs tighter than usual. “i know it’s killing you that you can’t fuck yourself on my dick, isn’t that right?” you nodded rapidly, earning a somewhat sadistic laugh from nam-gyu. he loved having you at his mercy like this

➛ he’ll be extra mean from time to time and move just an inch, playing it off as adjusting his seating. but you know damn well that it’s his own twisted way of trying to get under your skin, and oh god did it ever work.

═════════════

➤ thanos/choi su-bong (player 230)

➛ thanos suggested it at first, he saw it as a fun new way to tease you. little did he know, the tables would be completely turned

➛ he wasn’t expecting to be the one in agony. he wasn’t anticipating that he would be the one to be begging for any semblance of friction as you sat motionless on his dick. you clenched down at his little whines and whimpers, but you remained calm— unrelenting in your stillness.

➛ “please baby, i’ll do anything… just move please, fuck.” his pleading was almost pathetic, you’d not seen him in such a position before. his cocky, obnoxious demeanour was thrown to the wind the moment control was ripped from his grasp.

➛ you don’t know what came over you, but suddenly you felt smug enough to tease him. i mean, if he could dish it out— he should certainly be able to take it. “oh? is this not going how you pictured? how sad.” you pretended the noise that was drawn from his throat didn’t damn near make you reconsider this yourself, his hands quickly finding their place on your hips. “señorita, please just fuck me.”

═════════════

➤ park min-su (player 125)

➛ you almost felt bad. almost. in all fairness how could you not? the way min-su was squirming under you, searching for some sort of satisfaction all while you held him down as still as you could. the tragic little whimpers he would make could have almost changed your mind into giving him the release he so clearly craved. he was gripping onto you, and you could feel him tremble.

➛ “it’s okay.” you assured him, brushing his bangs out of his face as he looked up at you with those trademark puppy dog eyes of his. “you’re doing so good for me.” you could feel his hands squeeze down on your thighs at the praise, a strained exhale leaving his lips. you had to admit, there wasn’t a hotter sight than this— seeing min-su melt in your hands like this.

➛ “ngh, mommy.. i c-can’t do this f’ much longer..” his speech was slurred beyond comprehension from the pleasure, you could feel his cock twitch inside you; desperate for any sort of leverage. “oh but you can,” you cupped his cheek, bringing him in for a kiss. as you leaned into it, you could tell even this slight shift in position was driving him up the wall— as if the way he was now moaning into your mouth wasn’t a telltale sign of his anguish.

➛ if you want to continue to drive him mad, whisper little praises in his ear.

“that’s right, you’re doing so well for mommy.”

“fuck, you feel so good… i could stay on you forever.”

“you’re doing such a good job for me, sweet boy.”

═════════════

oh em GEEEEEE!!! thank you all a million bajillion times over for 500 followers! i’ve been having a bit of a hard time feeling confident in my writing lately, but it’s honestly so relieving to see how many people await my works 🩵 i’m so eternally thankful for all of your support and each of your comments continue to make me smile :’) i promise i’ll keep working hard to contribute my best to this fandom, and of course THANK YOU GUYS FOR GIVING ME AN OPPORTUNITY TO SHARE MY PASSION FOR A SHOW I ADORE

as always, any advice/constructive criticism on how to improve my writing is appreciated and requested :) have a spectacular day/night lovelies 💋💋💋

tags: @gongyoosgf @strangelife122 @kouzih @agorsnotworld @kvstjwonnie @pink-apples001 @fiicalapsiholoaga @luvlyfandoms @gabbystinks

[utilitycaster]

Wait. So CR3 ended with Liliana, Ludanis, technically Predathos (within Imogen or something?), and all the gods all still alive (though technically in mortal form)?

I understand that sometimes it's journey before destination and the story is more important than the finale of the story but....W-what was the point??? If the BBEG Cult Leader who kicked this whole thing off to kill the gods and the gods are both still alive what was the point??

So Liliana was alive, Ludinus was alive (having used Clone or similar), and Predathos ran away because the gods assumed mortal form and there was nothing to eat on Exandria.

Really, while again I have my many critiques, the actual only part of this end state I think is a genuine mistake is Ludinus.

I think that Imogen deciding to join with the Volition and assassinate Liliana would have been a compelling character moment for Imogen; when she didn't do that I felt that Liliana dying when she chose to defy Ludinus would have been a compelling character moment for Imogen. When that also did not happen, my general feeling was "I don't really care about her fate, but it doesn't matter at this point," so her ending is one of the many "yeah, that's fine I guess" ones this campaign delivered. I don't think she's a good person, but I also think that now that she's just a regular-ass sorcerer and her cult leader tried to horribly murder her and then disappeared she has no motivation to continue committing crimes so yeah wandering around figuring out who she is now makes sense. It's still not interesting; most of my criticism in the end is "this wasn't very interesting."

The gods becoming mortal was genuinely interesting and any critique I have is how poorly it was signaled, how irrelevant it made any of the excruciatingly dull circular discussions throughout the campaign (and how hypocritical and stupid it made the characters as a result, not that that wasn't a problem from the start), and how malformed the logic of what this means mechanically for clerics was. But that is an interesting change, to me, especially since the Divine Gate is now down. Idk I think it's possible for the cycle to genuinely begin again; I mean, wizards figured out the rites of ascension before. Will one of the gods-become-mortal undo their own bindings, or will some wizard studying this phenomenon hit on the formula? The party (and fandom) discussion of Who Gets Power was rendered completely pointless but like, the actual concept is great.

Ludinus, however; honestly it makes no sense either way because not only did he do nothing to narratively earn any kind of redemptive ending [if I say "earn" know it's narratively because he is a pretend guy and the people who act like fictional characters are real and should get capital punishment are Calvinist freaks]; I don't see why he'd just hang out making tea unless he somehow thinks the gods are genuinely gone, having missed out on the happenings after his form was killed. Like, look. I do not believe that you have to kill the bad guy to have a satisfying ending, but you do need to follow through with the implications and this doesn't seem to have done so. The only possible ways this fits with his character are either that he's biding his time to do some other bullshit (possible, and if he pops up in a one-shot or miniseries to do villainy and get murdered I'll grant this), if he somehow hasn't found out and thinks the gods are dead (less likely but admittedly pretty funny, and if he lives out the remainder of his life in an isolated cottage, blissfully ignorant, thinking he got his revenge when he never did, that is a boring option but see above, this campaign usually went with the boring option for character development so what else is new), or if we somehow managed to get an ending that is more unwilling to give someone any kind of follow-through in the end than Ted Lasso, which is embarrassing, and I liked Ted Lasso for what it was.

[haytan]

WILDFLOWER | G.A

inspired by billie eilish's wildflower. I think you can already predict that it's very angst. I cried writing this and I love it even more because of it.

𓍼 WORD COUNT: 3390

𓍼 SUMMARY: after listening to Two People on Good Riddance tour something invades you, like a fever.

𓍼 WARNINGS: angst, good ending...

good riddance had been out for a few months now, yet you still remembered the nights when gracie came home late from the studio. it might have seemed like a bad thing, but she always found a way to make it up to you—small surprises, late-night apologies that always ended with her between your legs—so, in the end, it was never really that bad.

one of the things you admired most about her was her honesty, especially when it came to her feelings. while working on the album, she never let you forget how much she loved you, how important your relationship was, and how those lyrics were nothing more than echoes of old wounds.

more than anyone, you understood what this album meant to her. it wasn’t just a way to express everything she had been through, but the first project that was truly hers, a piece of her heart laid bare. and you had been there for every part of it.

before love ever crossed your mind, you and gracie were just friends. and you had the luck—or maybe the curse—of knowing her ex-boyfriend, of watching them grow together and, eventually, fall apart.

it should have been easy to let time wash it all away, to accept that the past was nothing more than that. you had promised yourself it wouldn’t matter anymore. you had promised gracie, too.

but then two people started playing.

and when gracie sang that one specific line—

"and you know, you know every inch of my body"

that was when the tears started falling, before you could even think about stopping them. that was the night you started seeing him in the back of your mind again when you started feeling like you were burning alive.

but you knew she didn't mean to hurt you.

so you kept it to yourself.

…

the next morning, usually filled with kisses and silly conversations, is ruined by a tension that settles between you like something unspoken—thick and heavy. the air inside the apartment feels too still, as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for one of you to break the silence.

gracie leans against the sink, absentmindedly stirring her tea, though you’re not even sure if she actually intends to drink it. her fingers tap a slow rhythm against the ceramic mug, eyes fixed on some distant point.

you sit on a stool by the counter, arms crossed, so close yet so far away. the hum of the fridge, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall—everything sounds too loud in the midst of the silence between you.

"are you really not going to talk to me?" gracie finally says, her voice quieter than usual but heavy with frustration.

you exhale through your nose, hearing your own heartbeat echo inside your head. "i don’t know what you want me to say."

"i want you to say whatever it is that’s bothering you."

you shake your head, staring at a spot on the floor. "it’s nothing, gracie."

she laughs, but there’s no humor in it. "liar. you shut down the moment we got home. you barely looked at me all night. just tell me what’s going on!"

"i already told you—i’m fine."

"no, you’re not." she leans forward slightly, exasperated. "and i’m tired of pretending i don’t notice when you’re upset just because you refuse to talk to me."

your chest tightens. part of you knows she’s right. but another part—the one that’s been burning since last night, since that damn song and the way it made something ugly take root inside you—wants to resist.

you run your hands through your hair, a habit stolen from her. "maybe i just don’t want to talk about it, okay?"

gracie shakes her head. "god, why do you always do this? why do you always push me away when something’s wrong?"

"because i don’t want to fight with you!" you snap, your voice rising as your patience wears thin. "i don’t want to ruin the morning or… or make things weird before your show!"

gracie exhales sharply, setting her mug down on the counter harder than she intended. "and you think not talking makes everything better? because right now, it just feels like you’re shutting me out."

you press your fingers against your forehead, breathing heavily. "i just need time, okay?"

"time for what?" her voice wavers now, a trace of hurt seeping in. "for me to stop asking? for me to just sit here and pretend i don’t see that you’re upset?"

"for me to figure out how to talk without sounding like an idiot!"

that makes her pause. the tension between you crackles in the air, the silence stretching too long.

gracie swallows, the sound making you shiver.

"you know what? forget it," she says, turning back to the sink and picking up her tea.

you close your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. "gracie—"

"no, i get it." she cuts you off, taking a long sip. "you don’t want to talk. fine."

gracie turns back to you, searching your face for some sign of regret, but she finds nothing but confusion.

"in the end, i’m always the only one trying to fix things," she says before walking away, the sound of her heavy footsteps echoing as she climbs the stairs.

you stay there, sitting on the stool, staring at the empty space where gracie stood just seconds ago.

your fingers grip the edge of the counter, and you let out a shaky breath, frustration still pulsing beneath your skin. this wasn’t how you wanted the morning to go. this wasn’t how you wanted things to be before her show.

but now it’s done.

you rub your face, trying to clear your thoughts. but everything feels blurred, tangled—a mess of emotions you don’t know how to unravel.

the apartment suddenly feels too small. the air inside it, too heavy.

you need to get out.

standing up quickly, you grab a sweatshirt draped over a chair and shove your keys into your pocket. the soft click of the door unlocking echoes through the apartment, but there’s no sound from upstairs. no attempt to stop you from leaving.

a part of you wishes there was.

you walk down the stairs slowly, hands buried in your pockets, with no real destination in mind. you just keep moving.

the cold morning air hits you the moment you step outside, and an immediate urge to cry swells inside you. your nose starts to sting, your eyes well up, and before you know it, those words are replaying in your head again.

"and you know, you know every inch of my body."

you know she loves you. you should let this go, shouldn’t you? but he lingers, always there, in the back of your mind.

last night, when gracie wrapped her arms around you, kissed the nape of your neck, and told you she loved you, you wanted to turn around, hold her tighter, tell her you loved her more, and start a silly argument over it.

but every time she touched you, all you could think about was how he felt.

had gracie ever looked at you and seen him? in the dark of the bedroom, between kisses and whispered promises, had a part of him ever slipped into her mind?

and if, just for a moment, she had wished it was him instead of you?

you try to push the thought away, try to hold onto the certainties gracie gives you—the way she reaches for your hand without thinking, the way her eyes light up when she talks about you, the i love yous that sound so real.

but doubt creeps in, spreading like a loose thread unraveling everything.

what if they’re not?

what if, deep down, you’re only here because he’s not?

the thought tightens in your chest. you swallow hard and keep walking, unfamiliar streets closing in around you.

but nothing feels as endless or inescapable as the maze inside your own mind.

…

the lights dim, and the crowd erupts into cheers. the air is electric, pulsing with anticipation, and gracie feels it thrumming through her veins. she grips the microphone tightly, fingers trembling just slightly, but she forces herself to take a deep breath. this is her moment—her show. no matter what happened this morning, she needs to push through.

but she knows better than to think she can just shut it out.

as she steps onto the stage, her eyes scan the audience, moving quickly over the sea of faces. the adrenaline in her chest spikes as she catches sight of you.

standing near the back, hands buried in your pockets, shoulders drawn tight, looking at her like you’re not sure whether you want to be here or not.

the moment stretches between you, thick with words left unsaid.

gracie knows that for months she has been exposing you to these painful memories embedded in her own songs. but she also knows that they are past pains, without weight or meaning, and she expected you to know that too. if something was wrong, you would tell her. wouldn't you? but as she stands there, watching you from the stage, doubt grips her chest.

did i cross the line?

abrams swallows hard, forcing herself to keep moving, to wave at the fans screaming her name, to smile like she’s okay. but her mind is already somewhere else, stuck in the heaviness of this morning, the way you looked at her, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you as you left.

she drags in another breath, stepping up to the mic as the opening chords of the first song hum through the speakers. the setlist is the same as always, but tonight, everything feels different. she wonders if you can feel it too, if the weight pressing down on her is pressing down on you as well.

and then the next song starts.

the one that ruined everything last night.

the crowd sings along, voices blending with hers. her gaze, however, is locked on yours. she sings the line without hesitation, without breaking, watching the way your jaw clenches, your eyes darkening just slightly. she wonders if you can tell that she’s looking at you. if you can hear what she’s trying to say through the words that once meant something else.

i didn’t mean to hurt you.

it’s just a song. it’s just a song.

but that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?

the song ends, the moment passes, and yet, the weight lingers. the rest of the show blurs together—flashes of movement, chords, applause—but that moment stays lodged in her ribs, burning like something she doesn’t know how to name.

by the time the final song fades, the crowd’s cheers ring in her ears, and gracie barely remembers getting through it. sweat clings to her skin as she steps backstage, her heart still pounding too fast, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the performance or the way you looked at her.

she doesn’t have time to figure it out before she hears movement behind her.

turning slowly, she finds you standing there, just a few feet away.

you’re still wearing that same guarded expression, the one that makes something in her ache, but there’s something else beneath it now. something hesitant. something like regret.

she wants to say something, anything—but what is there to say?

where were you?

are you okay?

i’m sorry?

but before she can choose the perfect false words, you take the first step. "we should talk… at home."

"yeah, definitely," she says almost automatically.

you hold each other’s gaze for a moment, both fidgeting with your hands—shared habits.

the ride home is silent. the radio plays some random melody, but neither of you really listens. gracie keeps her hands on her thighs, fingers restless, resisting the urge to reach out. she doesn’t know if it would be welcomed. if she still can.

on the other side, you stare out the window, your hand so close to hers. close enough that if one of you just…

but no one moves.

back home, the silence is just as heavy. gracie drops her bag on the counter but doesn’t step away, fingers gripping the marble as if she needs something solid to hold onto.

this time, there are no distractions. just the two of you and the space between you.

"can we talk now?" gracie asks, her voice low.

"yeah," you answer hesitant. but it takes a moment before you can actually speak.

gracie’s breath seems caught in her chest as she waits, and you hate it—hate how uncertainty spreads across her features, like she’s bracing for something bad. but the truth is, you don’t even know how to put what you’re feeling into words.

you run your tongue over your dry lips before finally saying:

"that song last night, two people… it really fucked me up."

gracie blinks a few times, surprised by the raw honesty in your voice. she swallows hard before responding.

"i didn’t…" she pauses, the words dying before they fully form. "i didn’t mean for it to hurt you."

"i know." you squeeze your fingers, letting out a heavy sigh. "but it did."

gracie nods slowly, eyes fixed on you, unsure of where to step. "you never said anything before. about the song, about…" she hesitates. "him."

"because i thought i was fine," you admit, your voice coming out rougher than you intended. "i thought i had let it go. but hearing it—hearing you sing it—just brought everything back, and i hated it. i hated that it still gets to me."

gracie stays silent for a moment, her gaze locked on you like she’s searching for the right thing to say. then, in a hesitant, almost resigned tone, she asks:

"do you want me to stop singing it?"

do you want that?

"because if you do, i will."

"of course not," you say, shaking your head. "that’s not the point, gracie."

"then what is the point?"

"i don’t fucking know!" tears start streaming down your face, and suddenly, you’ve never felt more exposed than now. "i’m sorry…" you bring your hands up to your face, as if trying to hide somehow.

gracie doesn’t think. she just moves.

before she can second-guess herself, she closes the space between you, wrapping her arms around your trembling frame. you tense at first, your body stiff against hers, but then, slowly, you sink into it.

your hands clutch the fabric of her jacket, desperate for something to hold onto, something solid in the middle of everything unraveling inside you.

gracie presses her face into your hair, eyes squeezing shut. "hey," she whispers, voice barely steady. "it’s okay. you don’t have to be sorry."

but you shake your head against her shoulder, fingers tightening. "i hate this," you choke out. "i hate feeling like this. like i’m stuck. like i—" your breath catches, breaking apart in your throat.

gracie pulls back just enough to look at you, cradling your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing the tears from your cheeks. her gaze is searching, pained, but steady. "then don’t do it alone." she almost whispers. "let me be here. let us figure this out together."

"look at me," she continues, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers.

your breath hitches. "gracie—"

"i love you."

you swallow hard, eyes flickering between hers. "i know that you love me."

"no." her grip tightens, not to hold you in place, but to make you feel her, to feel the weight of what she’s saying. she looks at you like she’s searching for something deeper, something that words alone can’t reach. "i don’t want you to just know. i need you to feel it. i need you to feel it in every vein in your body, how much i want you, how much i love you, y/n."

your chest tightens, throat burning with unshed tears.

"you’re my baby, my girl, my fucking adorable, sweet princess," she breathes, her forehead resting against yours. "i’d give you the whole damn universe if you asked me. and i’m sorry for not noticing how hard this has been for you."

"you don’t have to do anything," you shake your head. "it’s not your responsibility. it’s not your fault."

gracie lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with her thumb. "i’m your girlfriend, of course it’s my responsibility. but it’s not just that—i want to. i want to be here. i want to hold this with you."

you let out a shaky breath, your forehead still pressed against hers. the warmth of her hands, the closeness of her body, it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

gracie watches you, waiting, giving you space even as she holds you close. there’s no rush, no expectation. just her, just this moment, just the steady rhythm of her breathing mixing with yours.

"i don’t know how to stop feeling like this," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

"you don’t have to figure it out all at once. we’ll take it one step at a time. no pressure, no rush. just us."

you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself lean into her, feeling the warmth of her presence wrap around you like something safe, something solid.

then, after a beat, you whisper, "say it again."

gracie pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. "i love you."

you shake your head. "no. the whole thing."

her hands tighten around your face, eyes dark and unwavering as she speaks again, voice like a vow:

"i don’t want you to just know how much i love you. i need you to feel it. in every breath, every touch, every part of you. you’re my baby, my girl, my sweet, adorable princess. and i’d give you the universe if you asked me."

tears slip silently down your cheeks, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. it’s love, because of love.

gracie catches one with her thumb, her smile turning just a little teasing, a little mischievous. "and i’m never singing two people again unless you say it’s okay."

you let out a breathy, tearful laugh, shoving her shoulder lightly. "i never said that."

she grins, eyes crinkling, before she leans in and presses the softest, most deliberate kiss to your lips. like a promise. like a beginning.

gracie doesn’t pull away right away. she lingers her lips barely brushing yours, memorizing the shape of you, like she’s making sure you feel every ounce of her love in that kiss. when she finally does part from you, it’s only far enough to rest her forehead against yours again, her breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

"you okay?"

you nod, a little shy now, a little overwhelmed but in a way that doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

she smiles, thumbs still tracing light patterns on your cheeks before one hand slips down, lacing her fingers with yours. "come here," she says, giving your hand the gentlest tug.

abrams leads you to the couch, pulling you down with her, and before you can even think, she’s tucking you against her side, wrapping you up in warmth. it’s so easy, so effortless—the way your body finds its place against hers, the way her arm fits snugly around your waist, like you were always meant to be here.

"do you wanna talk more?" she asks after a moment, her voice soft. "or do you just wanna stay like this for a while?"

you don’t answer right away. instead, you shift, pressing your face into the curve of her neck, breathing her in. she smells like vanilla and something distinctly her, something comforting.

"this," you murmur against her skin. "just this."

gracie hums, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "okay, baby. just this."

and so you stay there, tangled together in the quiet, her fingers trailing lazy patterns along your back, your hands resting against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

it’s not perfect. there’s still a lot to talk about, a lot to work through. but for now, in this moment, in her arms, you feel safe.

and that’s enough.

guys…

thanks for reading <3

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[paingoes]

Crash Out - Love

(Content: fever, drug mention, bruises, discussions of past abuse, guilt)

He was in and out of sleep for a long time. He remained supervised. They didn’t trust him with as much rope as he could hang himself with. 

Vi had lied to him, essentially. Paris was a prisoner just as long as he was here. But, as she reminded him frequently, he could leave at any time. They’d give him his sword back at the door. They’d take it away at the next base they crashed into. 

Lorelai was in her element, though. She was one of them now, clear as day. There was a little medallion around her neck, the gold markings which he recognized as distinctly imperial.

“Did you scavenge that off a corpse?” he asked.

He had meant it as a joke.

He got the distinct sense that he had killed something beautiful. Like setting a butterfly on fire. Had she been changing all this time?

And yet she didn’t leave him. She changed all the time, but that didn’t. Over the border was still the goalpost. CTRL sheltered them at most stops. She’s their own now, of course she can stay. He offered what he could — intel when he had it, labor when he didn’t, when his body allowed him to. Sometimes he merely slept, looking sheepishly at the night guard for the time they were both wasting.

The border was a stone’s throw away and she wanted to make one last stop. 

He indulged her. He had to. And it was good for him too, to see the last stop before leaving Empire. Some kind of closure. One last goodbye.

It was a tundra. The frozen kind, though some stages were now in thaw. It was painfully beautiful. 

She had an eye for it more than he did. He’d have followed her up into the mountains and along the frozen stream, walked the whole length of tundra ten time over. Anything. Lorelai pulled winter weeds out from the ground to press into the journal she still carried. Small, living things dashed across the dead-land. Foxes and rabbits. Owls and swans. Living things, not so unlike them. Hot blood flowed through all of them, proof they still existed. Alive.

It was her idea to break into the cabin, which to him did not seem very altruistic, but he had no better ideas. Luckily enough, it was empty, seemingly abandoned for a time. They’d get better use of it.

Only in the middle of the night, when they were already tangled in between each other’s limbs, did he realize the fever was upon him.

A real one, this time. Not induced, not even dopesick. An honest to god fever.

Paris stood up blearily, feeling some of the heat recede when he’d detached from her body, but not much. It was still bright outside, something to do with the equinox. The sky was an odd, soft color. It was freezing out, which felt nice against his flushed skin. Lorelai groaned slightly from the bed. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself before she shuffled over to the door. At that point, he’d already stepped out.

Paris was on his knees in the snow. He pressed some of it to his face, still appreciating the contrast between the cold and the burning. It felt nice. It was strange, the things that felt nice to him now. As the last dregs of the drugs cycled out from his body, he found pleasures unmuted in their absence.

“You okay?” she called from the doorway. She was barefoot by the entrance, where the carpet was still warm.

He nodded, though he probably wasn’t. The fever was cooking his brain. 

The blanket hung off her bare shoulder. He hadn’t seen it as well in the dark, but the bruises marked her skin just as much as the love bites. She’d been busy. She’d been through a lot.

“I’m sorry for dragging you out here,” he blurted out. He’d been meaning to say it for a while. 

“What?” She blinked. “I wanted to come. This was my idea.”

“But you didn’t know what you were getting into. I didn’t tell you anything. It was taking advantage.”

“Did you know?”

He shook his head

“I knew it would be bad. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

“It’s my ship,” she said, the same way she ended all her arguments. “I could leave anytime I wanted. Why are you always trying to get rid of me?”

He desperately did not want to be rid of her. 

“I don’t understand you.” he said. He couldn’t fathom the thought of anyone staying with him by choice. If he could’ve left himself behind, he would’ve. He’d have done it in a heartbeat.

“What part don’t you get?” she asked. It tickled him how annoyed she sounded then. Like her clarity was being taken for granted. 

Then, as if reading his mind: “You give yourself way too much credit. I wanted this too.”

“This?” he laughed.

“Not all of it. I never wanted you to get hurt, Paris. I just wanted us to get out. I didn’t know how hard it would fight to keep you.”

A pause. She said:

“I had fun, though. Is that horrible to say? I had fun. I don’t regret it.”

He wondered if he regretted it. Really, he regretted everything.

When he didn’t answer for a while, she sat down on the wooden steps. The blanket shielded her from the cold contact. She lit up a cigarette, holding it delicately between her lips.

Another pause. He said:

“…You know I couldn’t have let him go, right?”

If she was surprised by the change in topic, she didn’t show it. He suspected she wasn’t shocked at all. Delta was on the cusp of his thoughts, all the time.  Everything lead back to him. Lorelai raised one eyebrow at the new proclamation.

“I couldn’t just let him go,” Paris said, because he had been thinking a lot about it. “He was too dangerous. Nobody would ever let that kind of power live in peace. He would have always be wanted, always somebody’s captive. He never could have had a happy life. It’s not his fault. He didn’t do anything to deserve it. But its true. There was never any hope for him. The kindest thing to do would have been to kill him.”

He didn’t mean to say that last part. Because he had killed Delta — and it had not felt kind. The ice felt colder beneath him as he went on.

“I know I didn’t have to treat him the way I did. I’m not saying anything about that. But yeah. I never could’ve let him go.”

Clearly.

“I don’t know. That’s beside the point, now.”

She barely reacted. He thought she might argue. Maybe he wanted her to. Maybe she saw another way out, some path that he didn’t. If he could do it all over, what would he change? Or would he always end up here — and Delta, dead on the ocean floor?

“Why did you treat him like that?” Lorelai asked, leaning forward slightly onto her knees. “…You didn’t have to.”

It felt like being stabbed. But it was a miracle he’d even avoided the question for this long. She’d been patient with him, endlessly. He could afford to be honest. The fever would make it so, regardless.

“I was so angry,” he admitted.

“All the time. At everything. I couldn’t stand it. I hated my life and I hated myself. I still hate myself. The only reason I had to live was to try to keep empire running — and I didn’t even want that. It felt like the whole place was fucking diseased. There was this rot at the center of the machine. He was just the worst of all of it, the worst thing it had ever created. It wasn’t his fault. I know that, it wasn’t his fault.”

“They told me I needed to. It’s his conditioning. He needed to feel powerless, all the time, or he would stop working. I was fucking terrified of what would happen if I lost control of him, if I lost the only edge I had. I was scared of him. And I needed him.”

“I hated needing. I hated feeling like I was losing control. And that’s all I was doing, the entire time. Just losing control, constantly. Over everything. Over myself.”

“It just became a habit, after a while. It started with just…punishment. Then it was just because he was there. Because I could.”

He was acutely aware of how cruel the word punishment sounded in his mouth. He was aware of how absurd it was, without any of the false authority he’d once put behind it. Who had he thought that he was? He’d never had the right.

He forced himself to look up at her, scared as he was of what he’d find. The scars of his body ached in the cold.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. For everything.

I wish I could take it back.”

~~~~~~~

this is effectively the final chapter of Crash Out

paris and lorelai will return in Destroyer

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@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen @sir-fenris