#gods my mental state is a mess

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Not me rereading the last chapter I wrote and finding so many mistakes, it just makes me want to bury myself.

[housewifebuck]

Is anyone else feeling so fucking burnt out lately they’re about ready to end it all fr

[green-mountain-goose]

.

[shawtuzi]

can’t stop thinking about nanami putting you in a full nelson omg :(( (not proofread btw sorry <//3)

the first time he brought it up to you you were very intrigued, until you did a quick google search and saw wrestling images??? after he helped you find the correct images your interest peaked once more—i mean how could it not???!!the mental image of his big n beefy arms manhandling you in a such a position had the cogs in your brain turning and your pussy dripping with excitement.

“cmon let’s do it now now now!” you squealed tossing your phone to the side. you jumped into nanami’s buff arms, peppering his jaw and neck in glossy kisses. kento chuckled lowly, giving your plush ass a rough squeeze. such an eager little thing you were.

“now hang on baby i think you should stretch yourself out a little bit before we get started, don’t want my sweet thing to get a cramp hm?” he pet your hair softly, looking directly into your eyes to make sure you understood him. you let out a dramatic sigh and nodded, making kento smile at your obedience.

within minutes nanami had you strip down to your panties, knees digging into the plushness of the bed while your hands laid folded in your lap. “don’t look so serious little dove, we can have a little fun while we do it,” he chuckled, running his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling the digit away when he saw you tried to suckle on it.

nanami pecked you on the lips three times before slowly pushing you back, slipping your panties off once your back was to the mattress. he took this opportunity to admire your body in its most vulnerable state. he looked at every curve, every scar, every stretch mark with so much love in his eyes it made your eyes glassy. “you’re so beautiful….most beautiful woman i ever laid eyes on. god could strike me down right now and i’d be happy with this being the last thing i see,” he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, running his surprisingly soft hands up your thick thighs.

he slowly trailed his hands to the back of your knees, pushing them up to your chest. “fuck would you look at that….already soaking for me,” kento pushed his thumb between your soaked folds, covering the digit in your essence before bringing it to his watering mouth.

“alright m’gonna push your legs back a little more okay?” he waited until you verbally answered him before pushing your knees back until they were practically touching your ears. in all honesty nanami knew this shit was light work for you and he could manhandle you into any position he wanted with ease—he just wanted an excuse to eat your pussy hehe.

nanami couched down, spreading your pussy lips with his thumbs before spitting on your swollen clit. you gasped, clenching around nothing as he spit on your pussy once more. “how you doin’ up there gorgeous?” nanami spoke softly, chuckling lowly at the way you tried bucking your pussy into his face.

“s’easy babe! i can handle it just please do somethingggg!” you whined, kicking your feet in the most precious way possible. without a word nanami wrapped his lips around your clit, humming at the sweet yet tangy taste that is you. “oh! f-fuck kento,” you mewled, bringing your hand down to mess up his perfectly styled blonde locks. nanami slapped your hand away, grunting against your pussy as a way to tell you to keep your hands to yourself.

that’s how you both stayed—nanami on his knees devouring your drooling pussy while you held your legs back with shaky hands. “d-do it side to side again…yeah like th-that! oh my—!” you were cut off by kento swiping his tongue side to side with vigor, your legs beginning to shake, signaling your nearing orgasm.

“so fuckin’ sweet,” nanami growled, gripping onto the soft flesh of your ass cheeks before maneuvering your body up and down on his tongue. for such a prim and polished man he sure was a messy fucking eater.

the slurping noises coming from below you would’ve disgusted anyone but you personally?? oh it was your favorite. the only time nanami really lost himself was when his head was between your thighs, so you made sure to cherish every sloppy lick, slurp, and glob of spit he gave to your soaked pussy.

“i-i’m cumminggg,” you threw your head back in pure bliss as your orgasm washed over you, wave after wave of cumming hitting kento’s awaiting tongue. nanami lapped at your pussy a few more times, giving your clit a cheeky little suck before letting go with a pop!

nanami cleared his throat and stood up, loosening the tie on his neck. “you ready for me?” he asked, squeezing his achingly hard dick through his slacks. if you looked close enough you could see the tiniest wet patch where his tip was.

you made quick work to sit up and undo his belt, your mouth watering at the thought of sucking him off before he ravaged you. “slow down honey s’no rush yeah?” he cooed down at you, taking your face in his hands. you nodded slowly, tossing his belt to the side and undoing the zipper. “lemme….lemme suck you off a little please? need it kento,” you pouted, nuzzling your face into his toned stomach. nanami smiled down at you and brought his hand to your face, smushing your cheeks together before giving you a very sloppy kiss.

“later darling i can’t wait to be inside you another minute,” he gave your lips another kiss, smoothening the furrow in your brows with his thumb.

a few minutes later….

“ready for me my love?” nanami grunted, slapping the tip of his cock against your pussy. your back was snugly pressed against him while his strong arms held the backs of your knees up. “y-yes kento m’ready for you,” nanami wasted no time lifting your body until his tip was poking at your entrance, hissing at just how fucking wet you were. you both moaned in unison as he slowly sunk you down on his cock.

“f-fuck sweetheart you gotta ease up. cmon ease that pretty pussy up for me,” he took advantage of your exposed neck and began to kiss and suck on the most sensitive parts making you whine. he encouragement worked like a charm and soon he was almost entirely inside you. “yeah…yeah there we go,” you squeaked when nanami slammed body down, finally filling you to the brim. fuck you felt so warm and tight around him there was no way he’d last long.

“d-don’t go slow ken, fuck me till i pass out pleaseeee i need it,” you cried, clenching around him. nanami hissed and without another word began a brutal pace, the sheer roughness taking you aback. “yessss f-fuck kenny!” you squealed, your head falling back on his shoulder. in this position the tip of his cock repeatedly hit that spongy spot inside you that had you seeing stars. your wetness already began to soak both of your guys’ thighs, a sharp slapping sound echoing throughout the room from it.

“oh i know baby i know. feels good yeah? tight little pussy is fucking soaking us, you hear that?” he breathlessly chuckled, referring to the slapping noises your thighs were making. “uh huh! uh huh! i hear it kenny,” you whimpered, trying your absolute hardest not to start drooling.

kento securely held both of your legs in one of his arms while the other gripped your chin, forcing you took look at him. you stuck out your tongue the tiniest bit making him chuckle, “gimme a kiss baby.” he sucked your tongue into his mouth making your eyes roll back. you loved when he did that. nanami’s sloppy, tongue filled kisses were your personal drug of choice. the way he made you feel every ounce of love and want in just a single kiss made your head spin and your pussy throb.

“s’good ken you’re so strong. so. fucking. stronggg.” ken thrusted up a tad rougher towards the end of your sentence, his head inflated beyond belief. your praise was making his head spin, he had to give you the most earth shattering orgasm you’ve ever had—he had to.

he adjusted your position to where both of your legs were hanging over his arms once more, both of his hands now clasped behind your head. “ready pretty baby?” he huffed out, chuckling when the only noise you let out was a loud moan.

you didn’t know it was possible to be fucked completely braindead yet here you were, eyes rolled back and not a thought in your mind as kento brutally thrusted up into you. he could only imagine how full your pussy must’ve looked, god the thought had his balls tightening.

“ken! ken! ken! kenny!” you chanted his name like a prayer, your pussy now squelching each time his fucked up into you. nanami tightened his hands around your head (not too tight though ofc) and forced your head to look down, giving you a delicious view of his soaked cock spearing into your puffy pussy. “we *hiccup* look so pretty together kenny, wish you could *hiccup* see,” you sighed dreamily, because it truly was a beautiful sight.

“don’t worry baby i will later, s-see that—fuck! see my phone? hm?” he slowed his pace, and loosened his grip on your head allowing you to look up and see that his phone was indeed propped up recording the entire thing. you smiled and bit your lip, now excited for when you both watch the video together which will probably lead to him having you like this again hehe.

“rub your clit my love, cmon make yourself cum on your husbands cock—yeahhhh that’s it honey there you fucking go,” nanami growled in pleasure as your pussy squeezed him like a vice. his dick was getting wetter either each thrust inside you until he accidentally slipped out making you whine very loudly. “i got it baby i got it,” he huffed and slammed you right back down on his cock, making your eyes cross. “yes yes y-yes fuck, so good kenny please cum in me,” you cried, digging your nails into his toned thighs.

nanami growled removing his hands from your head to spread thighs as wide as possible, one hand toying sloppily with your clit while the other found purchase on your neck. “i’m gonna cum baby—right inside this tight little pussy, and you’re gonna take all of it like my good little wife aren’t you?” his hand began to slap your clit, making a broken moan slip past your swollen lips. “yesss kenny m’gonna take it all i promise!” you cried, aching to feel the warmth of his cum inside you.

“fuck fuck fuck goddammit,” kento let out a guttural moan right in your ear, his cock throbbing as he pumped his cum into you. there was so much. so much it began to slip down his cock and onto the bed. he was about to pull out but you quickly stopped him, wanting to stay like this for just a little while longer. “can i at least turn you around so i can look at you?” he hummed , giving your shoulder a gentle kiss.

you nodded and nanami slowly pulled out making you whimper before turning your body so you were facing him. he pulled you tightly against his chest mumbling praises on top of praises in your ear while he carefully pushed himself back inside you, moaning softly.

“so how’d you like it my love,” he grinned nudging your nose with his. you lifted your head up and cradled his face in your hands, pressing your foreheads together. “that was so. fucking. good. rest up while you can because you’re gonna fuck me like that again tonight!” you giggled, purposely clenching around his now soft cock. kento hissed, squeezing his eyes shut in sensitivity.

he’s probably created an even bigger monster in you but shit he wasn’t complaining!!!

btw peaches and coconut!eren fic coming soon!! i just wanted to get this out of my drafts *kiss kiss*

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 2

Part 1 2 3

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, smut (piv, loss of virginity, fingering, semi-public sex, Daemon talking you through it), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation/murder, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i am surprised I got as many comments as I did on chapter 1 🥺🫶 it's not that I think my writing is bad... Well... Idk it felt aimless when I started so I am grateful for the positive reinforcement. 👉👈 I am once again asking for more pls comment n reblog I would love u forever if u did | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

Daemon heads to your chambers, eager to shake you awake and ruin your morning once more. When he arrives to the room, he stops in his tracks, disappointed to see you were risen. That is, until he realizes the state you were in.

You roused long before the sun had and could not find sleep no matter how badly you searched. You decided to draw yourself a warm bath in hopes of finding sleep in the tub; you only find more restlessness and simply accept your fate.

You hear Daemon's entrance and turn to him from the vanity you were wallowing. You were half dressed. Your corset was undone and you had given up on braiding the sides of your head. You smile weakly at him, "good morrow."

Nothing about your tired, sullen eyes agreed with that, and it irritates him to know that you're one of those people. Pretenders.

"Well, finish up then," Daemon furrows his brows, "get dressed. We have yet to accomplish our task."

You mimic his expression, brushing your dark hair back, "task?"

He rolls his eyes, "I do not believe yesterday counts as an introduction."

Upon realizing he meant the introduction to Caraxes, your body tenses. You look sick. You stand to try and convince him out of it, but Daemon reaches you before you can get on your feet. He places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Your heart thunders when he brushes your hair to one shoulder. He secures your dress from behind, and your breath grows heavy as you watch him from the mirror.

"It is not so bad, riding a dragon," the prince says to plant a false sense of trust in you, "who knows? You might enjoy it."

There is an unnatural warmth that spills across your form when your husband then completes your braids. He weaves in a manner far gentler than Gwayne ever has. It makes your lips part.

He brings you to your feet. Daemon takes in your expression, lips curling slightly, "there you are, wife."

Your brows knit.

He knew his artificial gentleness has you off-guard. There is no better moment to have you do his bidding than now.

One might be surprised to know that Caraxes actually enjoyed having you on his back, as did Daemon, not because they suddenly liked you— gods no, but because the sound of your screams were oh-so satisfying.

You could do little else but release cries of terror as you clung to your husband from behind. Daemon made it a point to do flips and all sorts of unnecessarily moves whilst flying, hoping your hold would falter. The time you spent in the air felt like eternity. It seemed your husband was set on touring the entire 7 realms.

You never thought you would be so ever happy to see the pit. The pit could not say the same about you however. You spill your guts out to the floor exactly like the first time you were here.

Daemon makes a face. He turns to the keepers and orders them to clean your mess up, lest it get on Caraxes' claw.

Woe is you who is forced to repeat the exact thing the next morning. You could not even plead your case, for your throat was sore. The sound of your screams this time were not as entertaining to Daemon, as your voice is hoarse. At some point, the terror is too great, you cannot scream. Because of this, he cuts the flight short in boredom, excited instead at the promise of watching you suffer through another retch. But, oh, by the gods, were you an inconveniencing woman.

Instead of remaining consistent, you just had to make a show and faint into him, did you?

He could not care less for you, which is why he chucks you off into the arms of a dragon keeper, but the damned old man could no longer carry such a weight, and so he was begrudgingly forced to throw you over his shoulder and bring you to a maester himself.

In truth, he'd all forgotten about his wife fainting until the next morning, when he came to the maester's quarters to ask for something to soothe his hammering head from his heavy drinking the night before. He was, in fact, offended, when the maester insinuated that he had come to check up on his bride.

Before he could give the greying maester a piece of his mind, he hears a terrible voice barking from the ward. Its grating timbre made it clear to Daemon that Lord Hand Cunttower was off on a yapping session again.

He walks deeper into the room. Weeping sounds become audible.

"—no, you do not understand," Otto snaps, hunched over at the side of your bed.

Ah, twas you who was being terrorized.

You dare not turn to your father, for you knew your throat would only tighten more that it already has. You force yourself to take deep breaths, but it's easier said than done. You remain still on the bed you laid on.

"You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die," the man says.

But you were dying anyway.

"The process will not be pleasant."

Nothing is pleasant.

"It will hurt-"

Everything hurts.

"-but it is a better fate than-"

"Enough!" you snap, glaring at him with angry, red eyes. You repeat, though your voice is weaker, "enough, enough, eno-"

Otto gravely speaks your name. Your body recognized the danger, but having realized upon waking up to the face of a maester, it mattered little where or who it came from, you were destined to hurt- to die.

"Do not fall complacent be-"

"You are no longer my lord," you quip. Sweat forms on your nape. This is the first time you've ever interrupted your father.

He is gobsmacked. He is bewildered. His back straightens, "what?"

You feel yourself descend into heavy fraught. Your saliva tries to choke you.

"What," he presses, "did you say, girl?"

"You are my father," your voice falters, "but not my lord."

Otto's face warps.

Your breath grows shorter and shorter, "my liege lord is my-" pant "-husband, and what he-" pant "-desires, I will-" pant "-do."

Daemon's ears and brows perk at your misplaced loyalty. Part of him wants to laugh out loud and make himself known, but then he sees, even from where he stood, how it got Otto twisted. He chuckles to himself instead.

Your father enunciates as though he means to stab you with them, "you stupid fucking whore."

You crumble like chalk. You fall into another round of body arresting tremors. Your chest is tight and you screw your eyes painfully shut. It becomes apparent to Daemon, as it would anyone who'd witness, where your condition sourced. Otto grabs your shoulders, "you know nothing of-" but then recoils.

Daemon shoves him away, glaring as he says, "unhand her."

Otto manages to balance himself, but he looks as though the veins on his temples were about to pop. He clenches his jaw, "I am speaking to my daughter."

"You mean at her," his silver hair slips over his shoulder as he turns to you, "she does not look like she can hold conversation."

"This is personal matter," Otto steps forward.

"Mmm," Daemon turns back to him, "I do say, I am glad to have interrupted," he shifts on his leg, linking his fingers together, "a dutiful husband should know all personal matters of his wife. Don't you agree?"

Though you were still wrestling with yourself, you heard every word. You knew if you did not interject, they will fight each other for your carcass. You feel lightheaded, but you force yourself to open your eyes and speak.

Of course, the only sound you manage to make is a strangled and pained one.

Otto averts his attention to you, and tries to come to your side.

Daemon steps in front of him and tilts his head back, "oh... I would adore it if you give me a reason to kill you."

You choke out, "Daemon."

Your father stiffens as he looks past the said man to inspect you, missing the way said man smirks. Otto turns back to Daemon, feeling bile spread in his mouth as the prince says, "see. She does not want you."

Otto's lips curl and his hands ball into fists.

Your husband waves a hand, "go away. You're clearly upsetting her."

Otto does the most to remain calm, "she is my da-"

"She is my wife," Daemon snaps, imposing upon him.

You gulp with difficulty as you catch the way your father's jaw clenches. You force yourself to sit up and open your mouth to speak, but everyone's attention is averted to the Kingsguard that walks into the room.

Daemon's forehead curls at the Cargyll knight, "my prince. Lord Hand."

"Which one are you?" asks the prince.

"Arryk, my prince."

"State your business, Arryk."

"I-"

"I requested a ward for the princess," Lord Hand answers instead.

Daemon makes a face at him and chuckles dryly under his breath.

Arryk looks between the two again then slowly continues, "I and my brother have been awarded the honor of serving ward to the Princess of Dragonstone. I take first watch today."

Daemon chuckles again, "a bit late, aren't you?"

The white cloak stiffens then bows, "I was just given word this hour."

"Hmm. Well, Arryk," he motions, "why don't you go escort the Lord Hand out of the room before someone dies."

He stiffens again, but turns to the said man nonetheless. He does not question it and merely does what was instructed.

Or at least tries to.

"I do not trust you with my daughter's well-being," Otto steps forward, pointing a finger to the ground, "you are the very reason she is in that bed."

Daemon gasps dramatically. At this point, you finally had enough wits about you to speak, "please-" but your voice is easily drowned out however.

"Do you not remember thanking my brother for the, what was it," the prince pretends to think, "joyous union? Or would you like to watch me stake my claim upon he—"

Otto's face twists in horror and repulsion, but that is not why Daemon's words are cut short. It is because of the cold, clammy, trembling hand that takes his own that he looks down. He watches as you sigh out, "leave us, father."

The said man turns to you in grave offence. In your fear, you do not notice the betrayal that is mixed with it. His anger flares and he scoffs. He gives you one last look, and you knew exactly it was just that. This would be last time he would ever look upon you. When he storms away, you feel it in your chest: this is the last time you will ever call him father. You were forsaken, truly forsaken.

Otto is seen out by Arryk.

Your hand slips from Daemon's, as you no longer had the strength. You muster all your remaining energy to reach the drink propped on your bedside table. It was a futile attempt though, as instead of grasping it, you knock it over, which only leads you into another fit of tears.

Daemon curses and shakes his foot that's gotten soaked. He did mean to snap at you for it, but you were already clearly suffering. Your breathing is short and it seemed like you were mumbling something.

He hunches over in an attempt to hear you, "what?"

It takes a myriad of repetitions for him to realize you were apologizing.

His face contorts, "gods," what pathetic creature had he been given to?

Daemon's upper lip curls and he can no longer bear the sound of your whining any further. He calls for the maester, asking for another cup of water because you had knocked over your own. Just as the maester goes off to get you another drink, he remembers he came here for his own affliction because his head begins to hammer again. He rubs his temples and sits on the vacant bed besides yours.

"Here, my prince," the maester says upon arrival, "milk of the poppy enough for the both of you."

Daemon squints as the man places a tray on your bedside table. Daemon is handed a cup first, but does not drink it until after he watches you be helped to drink your own fill. After, the maester promptly leaves with a curt nod. The drink does not take effect on you until after Daemon finishes his own

Your voice shakes, "t-thank you."

Daemon puts his cup down.

"You did not have to come," you say softly.

"Do not flatter yourself," he scoffs, "I did not come for you. I came for my headache."

"Yet it remains," you turn to him, face tight and gleaming from all the tears you've shed, "you did not have to come."

He stares at you for a moment. You looked so frail, so devoid of hope. Truly, death would be mercy to you at this point.

Just then, ser Arryk returns. He finally sees you and gives you a deep bow, "princess."

Being addressed as such makes you feel sad... and lonely.

"I am ser Arryk Cargyll. I will be your ward, along with my twin brother, Erryk, who you will meet after my shift." The kingsguard straightens up, "I will do all that I can to ensure your health does not falter and that you are always seen to."

You think of your own twin as you take in the man's features. The idea that your father purposefully chose twin brothers as your ward made you feel sad and sick, but it was hardly Arryk's fault Otto liked mocking you, so you smile at him, "I have a twin."

The man nods, offering you a smile far more genuine than yours, "aye. Ser Gwayne Hightower. He is deft with the short sword."

You turn to your hands, recalling just a few days ago when you had watched him train. Your lips curl upwards, "though, not as good as I."

Daemon pulls his head back, face contorting. He is taken aback when Arryk's sniggers. The latter nods, "perhaps you will show me your tricks, my lady."

There is a twinkle in your eye as you turn back to him, "perhaps."

Daemon raises a brow at the interaction and decides to stand, "come," he reaches a hand to you, "some fresh air would do you good."

Fresh air? Your jaw slacks and you turn to Daemon with a fallen expression. Be as it was, you were no fool. You did not believe your husband had your best interest in mind, and yet, it was not like you had much of a choice. Against yourself, you to take his hand.

He pulls you up and Arryk comes to your side to assist you. He helps you to your feet, hand on your arm and shoulder.

Daemon is annoyed by his fussing. "Yes. Very good, Cargyll. I can manage to bring her to the dragon pit myself."

You close your eyes and sigh. Just as your dreaded.

"Dragon pit?" Arryk repeats.

"Yes. She needs fresh air." The prince narrows his eyes, "do you contest me?"

Arryk releases you and shakes his head, "I would not."

"Good," he motions with nod, "out of the way then."

You see, after being scorched by the fire of your maker— your father, the sight of Caraxes emerging from the depths did not strike as much fear into you as it did before. In fact, the promise of malice from the beast felt... cathartic, and for once, you welcomed Daemon's insistence on being brought to its maw.

You stumbled against Caraxes' scaly cheek. Having done nothing but lay in the maester's chambers, your hair was not tied or braided in any way. As the wind blew, it tickled against the dragon's face. Caraxes did not seem to enjoy the sensation, and so he growled and snapped his teeth.

Daemon was quick to chastise his mount, and for that, he did not realize your lack of self-preservation. Oh, but Caraxes did; he even growled again, only to be met once more by your unflinching demeanor.

Daemon would only realize your change after taking flight and landing on a beach. Upon dismounting, Caraxes takes it upon himself to screech as you hover. The prince doesn't know who is more bewildered, him or his dragon, when you screech back.

Your neck veins pop and spit comes out of your mouth at the intensity of it all. A harsh wind blows your hair and your skirt. You heave after releasing such a harsh noise.

In truth, perhaps Caraxes is more perturbed as, unlike Daemon's who presses forward, the beast pulls back and shakes his head. He bleats as he watches his rider grab your arm.

The prince means to berate you for your insanity, but then, gods, you rather conveniently succumb to another arrest to your heart and lungs. He does not know why he catches you when your legs give in but he knows exactly why he suggests: "get in the water."

You look up at him, your glassy eyes meeting his violet ones.

He lets you crumble to the ground and bends down to undo your dress, "a swim would do you wonders."

"N-no- you will regret-" you sputter.

But Daemon ignores you, not that it took much effort, for you were incoherent soon enough.

He pulls you out of your dress until you're in nothing but your slip. You sob, and he hushes you, assuring he will be by your side. He removes his tunic. Soon, he is dragging you down deeper and deeper, and you are choking and spitting saltwater.

Daemon decides to simply release you and wait until your body floats lifeless. With how you were gasping, it would not take long. He turns his head when his face is splashed by your flailing arms. When he looks back, the water is calm and your body is nowhere to be seen.

... well, that was rather quick.

He waits for a moment, watching bubbles float up. After a while, he purses his lips and decides to go back ashore. He should have done this sooner.

He freezes when you emerge in front of him, pushing your brown hair off your face. He is perturbed by the serenity across your features; it was as though you were reborn.

You sigh, "I told you you would regret it."

Daemon blankly stares at you.

"There is a great river in Oldtown," you wade around, "the water there is not nearly as pleasant or warm as this, but still... swimming was one of the only ways I could calm myself."

His jaw clenches. He does not even try to hide his disappointment.

You lick your lips at it and turn to Caraxes, who was happily soaking in the sun from the sandy shore, "take heart. Your dragon might entertain himself by eating me yet," you turn to him, "or perhaps my Lord Hand will kill me himself."

His face twists, "what?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

He pulls his head back, offended and confused by your sudden nerve.

You allow your body to float up in the water, "you need not pretend. I know you long to kill me."

Daemon is insulted by your brashness. He grabs your floating hip and pushes you down until you're once again face to face. Not a semblance of fear is on your features. It only angers him further.

He snaps, "I could have your tongue for that."

He cannot deny the way his stomach rolls when you place your hands by the base of his neck. The complete change in your temperament puts him on edge. Have you been playing him all along?

"Would it not be simpler to have my head?" you speak plainly, as though you were genuinely curious of his response.

His nostrils flare.

Before he can act, you are swimming off. You emerge from the water, dripping wet. Your clothing is sheer and hugs every part of your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could not help but look, but then he was sorely insulted all over when you pet Caraxes head and he lets you.

It was a twisted hallucination. He is suddenly reminded of the milk of the poppy he'd drank; you've probably poisoned him and planned all of this with your cunt father like the conniving whore you really were.

You do not hear him emerge, but only know he did because he is upon you. He forces you around through a severe squeeze on your arms, "what is your game, Hightower cunt?!"

Your body seizes, but you do not succumb to the thundering of your heart, as you had just been relaxed.

He shakes you, making you gasp, "SPEAK!"

"There is no game!" you whimper.

He chuckles dryly, shaking you harshly once more "perhaps it should be said that need I no assistance from my dragon to kill you."

A shiver runs down your spine, "please-"

"Then tell me th-"

"-just do it."

The sound of Caraxes huffing brings Daemon back to reality. And yet it takes you speaking, "just kill me," for him to realize you meant exactly what he thought.

He stills where you descend into further torment. He knows then that it is true. There was no plot, or at least not one where this creature of agony could ever oversee. You were calmed by the water, but not cured. Very truly, he thinks again death would be mercy, convenient for him as well. Yet, in his nature, Daemon does opposite of what he is told and pries his hands off. He mutters under his breath, "ao mūdas run," you terrible thing.

You sob, as if you understood him.

You shed tears unlike the others he's witnessed; there is no panic or fear, only pain.

"Surely you agree it is better than living this way."

The clarity of your voice takes him aback. He turns away, uncomfortable of your sudden agency.

"I have been this way since I can remember," you confess, "and they've all have counted my days for just as long."

"Why must I bloody my hands for you?" he squints, "if you despise living so much, do it yourself."

Your laugh is haunting. You shake your head and wipe your face, "I am not as brave as you. I could not even kill the fishes Gwayne caught for me, though I ate them."

Daemon is unmoved, twice so at the mention of your brother.

"And Gwayne..." you sigh, "he would blame himself." You turn to your feet, warmed by the sand beneath it, "I would not do that to him." You shake your head again, "but again, take heart," you smile, "it will happen soon enough."

His forehead curls.

"I can feel it in my gut," you rub your belly, "it is putrid and festering... whatever it is."

He tilts his head, "then do me a favor and wallow in silence—" he walks off, sparing one last glance, "and try scheming with your cunt father somewhere you will not be caught."

You manically laugh and rip at your hair, "he is my illness, if it is not plain to you."

He stops and turns back to you.

"I am the way that I am because I-" you poke your chest, "am he, had he been born a woman." You rub your sternum, "he loathes me because he is I. I am his hair, his nose, his temper, his... weakness, only amplified because I did not inherit his cock.

"When I pray..." you sniffle, "sometimes I think the gods keep me alive for I am his reckoning— that I must torment him for all the years he has tormented others... tormented me."

Daemon watches the salt from your eyes join the salt on your slip. He stares at your pert nipples then watches you chew your lower lip. He licks his own, "did you mean what you told him?"

You watch as he inches closer, "what?"

"That he is no longer your liege lord," he reaches for your arm, "that I am."

"I-"

Daemon pushes the shoulder of your slip dress down.

Your hand darts to his chest, "i-it is the truth."

He hums and tilts his head. You gasp when he kisses your neck. He licks the saltwater off your skin, enjoying the sound you make when his teeth graze you, "very well then."

Goosebumps form when he pulls your skirt up your thighs.

"It would be beneath a prince to withhold aid for such a tormented spirit."

You do not speak for soon his mouth is claiming yours. It is not as horrid as you imagined it would be. You did not think someone who's shown nothing but aggression could behold you so tenderly. You shiver when he continues to rid you of your sopping clothes. When you break away for air, you manage to mutter, "someone c-could see."

Daemon's expression is changed as stares at you and pushes you to the ground. You gasp as you find yourself atop the garbs he already managed to remove. He undoes his breeches, "who? My dragon?"

You do not know if he means Caraxes.

"You are my wife," he drops to his knees, grabbing yours, "the sin lies with the looker," he pushes your legs apart, "not us."

You bite your lips, feeling the the need to repel him, but decide against it. You simply close your eyes and dig your fingers into the sand.

His loins burn at the sound of your sigh. He sinks into you and relishes your submission. He wraps your legs around him and rocks his hips into yours. You mewl and dig into his back. He bites your lobe before whispering, "you belong to me."

You scratch your nails up his back as his rocking hips send bolts of pleasure in your body.

"Say it."

"I-I-" you heave, "belong to you."

He squeezes your thighs, "you are to do what I so desire."

Your gasp softly when he grabs your jaw, making you turn to him.

"-especially if it is against your father, yes?"

You gulp, unable to speak. You simply nod.

Daemon's eyes become hooded. He releases your jaw, claiming your thigh again, "good."

You both remain this way, kissing and rubbing, but then you begin to grow impatient. You bring your mouth to his to catch his attention but do not kiss him. He is taken aback by your unintentional tease and digs his fingers into your flesh. This is why you whimper as you speak, "you- can... enter."

He is broken from his trance, "what?"

"I," you scratch his skin gently, as if to encourage him, "know you are ready. You do not have to hold back. I am accustomed to pain."

He knits his brows, then tilts his head, "how could a virgin know such things?"

He watches bashfulness claim you. You shake your head, "I read it."

"Did your book not tell you it need not be painful?"

"I-" you let out a loud noise when you feel his fingers touch your womanhood, "Daemon-"

He purrs at the sound of his name, "I will show you how good it can feel so that you can tell your father all about it."

The horrifying thought does not even register as he makes you feel things you did not know possible. You begin to shiver and whine, but it is entirely opposite to what your body is accustomed to. Your breath begins to shorten and you instinctively begin to panic, but Daemon's voice keeps you grounded.

"Breathe," he licks your pulse, "it feels good, does it not? Breathe and think of how good I'm making you feel."

You are entirely subservient to him, to his baritone, to his fingers, to his hips. There is nothing but sand and Daemon. You whine when you feel a hard intrusion. The sensation is foreign, and it causes your belly to tense.

He kisses the line that forms between your brows, "relax, my wife. Now is not the time for pain," he hooks his hands behind your knees, "it's a time for pleasure."

It's all a blurry haze after this. Daemon moves into you in a way that makes you wonder how this could ever hurt. Every thrust sends ripples of bliss down your spine. Every hit draws out the lewdest of sounds from your throat. You understand then why they call it love making; you love every moment of it. Your bliss is heightened when he touches something inside you, and again, and again-

For once in your life, as your breath grows heavy, you do not feel like you're about to die.

Daemon alternates tempos, but ultimately resigns to fast and hard. He does not cease until your rigid body goes limp beneath him. The pressure in your stomach breaks into a million burning pieces, and just as it becomes all too much, he pulls out, propping himself up on one arm. You gasp at the heat the spills on your thigh as he strokes himself. Soon, his arm gives out and he collapses beside you.

You behold the mess of red and white between your legs, but find no shame, only arousal, which you did not expect. You turn to your husband, watching his chest heave, his temples sweat, and his tongue lick his lips.

He's... he's beautiful.

[mingisaddctn]

mind over matter | s.mg

Pairing: best friend!mingi x reader Genre: [+18] smut w/o plot Warnings: jussss smut, enjoy a/n: first fic on this blog yay

the two things you can be sure in life is that 1. you will die and 2. you've never wanted to suck a dick so bad.

I mean, you always knew that your best friend was hot — you had eyes, for god's sake! — but holy shit.

it started when you ran out of cat food. you were an attentive cat owner, don't get me wrong, but at the same time, you had the worst week for your mental state. exams after exams, studying 'till the library basically had to kick you out and group projects with lazy people... so that's how it ended up with your cat screaming at the top of their lungs and waking you up from your power nap.

mingi happened to be around because, guess what, you also forgot about your plans to watch that new anime that he rambled all about for the past month, and truly, you wanted to be able to enjoy some quality time with him, but you fell asleep as quick as his cursor pressed play on the screen, the warmth that irradiated from both inside his hoodie that you were wearing to where your head laid on his shoulder was too cozy.

so when you got up to feed the cat, your heart dropped, and you saw the grocery list accumulating dust on top of the counter, the 'cat food' underlined three times. you looked outside the windows of your small apartment and saw that the simple drizzle from before now turned into a full on storm, and all you could do was lean onto the counter and bawl your eyes out.

mingi was startled but tried to comfort you somehow, not really sure of what he could do to help, and as you tried to tell him between hiccups and tears, he quickly grabbed his jacket and told you that he would be right back.

twenty minutes later, a full-on drenched mingi stood on the doorstep, chest heaving as he took off his shoes and the same jacket, now in a darker tone from the wetness. you stared back from your couch, as you were curled into the throw blankets, eyes widened.

you almost forgot about the cat food.

in your defense, it should be illegal the way his white tee clung to his abs so sinfully highlighting each of his muscles. and when he rose his arms to take off his cap and ran his fingers between wet strands of hair that framed his cheekbones, your eyes fixated on the way his sweats clung onto dear life to his v-line.

holy fuck. jesus christ. oh my god. whatever divinity that was out there.

"you okay?" he asked, as if he was expecting your answer and you shook your head, trying to escape the trance you found yourself in.

"what? why?"

"i asked if i could use your shower" he placed the single bag with the cat food on the counter as he tried not to wet your floor.

you can use me, for sure; you thought to yourself.

"yeah, yeah, go ahead" you nodded and he took his shirt off on the way to the bathroom.

you quickly jumped from the couch to feed the cat — since that was the prime reason for all the ruckus. as you put the blocks of minced meat on the food bowl, you caught yourself fantasizing about it again.

how good he should be looking, as droplets of rain still lingered on his skin as he took of the sweatpants slowly, leaving only the boxers that perfectly held his firm thighs and secured his—

meow, you looked down, to find that a block of meat fell beside the bowl and you took a deep breath. control yourself.

you blamed the ovulation. or maybe the fact that you haven't been sexually active in a while. or that movie that had hot scenes with your favorite actor... gosh you were a horny mess.

but your life has basically been all about your studies lately, and the stress was clouding your reasoning, making you feel like impulsive decisions were now worth a lot, and that's how you found yourself standing outside your bathroom door, idly looking at it with your hand raised, on the way to give it a knock.

the thing is, the moment you found the courage to do it, the door opened from the inside, and only mingi's torso popped out, in the middle of calling your name, but now confused that you were on the other side.

all that led to the both of you sitting on the edge of your bed, with him only wearing a towel around his hips, not staring at each other as the silence overcame the storm from outside.

"so... you want to suck my dick...?" he simply repeated your words from minutes ago.

it would be comical if it wasn't so tragic.

"yes."

"are you feeling okay?" he asked.

"yes."

"'then... how should we do it?"

you took another sharp breath, your lungs almost failing you as your mind tried to disassociate from your body. leaving the bed to kneel in front of him, you kept your eyes focused on his face, his lips parted as his eyes were half-lidded. from all the years you'd known him, you knew that he was probably overthinking it and trying to figure out what was happening. but neither you could tell.

your fingers slid to the towel and as you were going to take it off, his hand flew to yours, holding it softly. he pulled you towards him in a swift movement and placed his palm on your cheek, nose now brushing against yours. soon after, you felt the plumpness of his lips onto yours.

"wait" he leaned back cautiously, as though any minor movement would startle you like a scared kitten. his eyes overthinking each and every detail. "I want to kiss you first."

and as if you were waiting for that to snap, you grabbed his neck and pulled his face lower so you could slide your tongue into his mouth. his big hands fell to your hips and grabbed firmly, decided not to let you run away.

you kinda wondered before how good of a kisser mingi was, your friends joked around saying that it must be good since he has fat lips, but you usually kept those thoughts at bay, not really wanting to dive into your hidden desires. it wasn't like you, to explore and try new things. you became friends a long time ago, and when he earned that title, you felt like it would be too messy to see him as anything else.

but you weren't dumb, of course you'd noticed how a blush crept to his cheeks whenever you grabbed one of his hoodies, or how he would stutter when others teased him about you. he wasn't good at hiding things, and you weren't good at ignoring them.

one of his hands snuck to your neck and the pulled you closer, his breathing growing heavier to the point that you could hear a faint groan from his throat.

shit, you moaned.

he let go of your face and you leaned back, a little ashamed of the noise that escaped you, but mingi didn't seem to mind, in fact, his cheeks could be mistaken to a tomato. he shifted in his place and you noticed the tent in his pants. oh.

placing a final kiss on his cheek, you maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself to your knees, hands falling to his covered member, feeling the warmth through the towel and earning a sharp gasp from him. licking your lips, you only broke the intense stare to undo the lousy knot, uncovering his lower body.

oh. OH.

how did he hide that monstrous thing all along?

"uh... pants, I guess..." he said almost in a whisper, and then you realized that you were thinking out loud.

"shit, I mean, it's not a bad thing" you placed your hand at the base of his cock, wrapping your palm around it and the boy hissed. "I just... didn't expect that."

"so you thought about it before?" touché. you deflected by giving him a slow tug.

before he could say anything else, you lowered your head and wrapped your lips around him.

"fffuck-" he let out, throwing his head back.

you started bobbing your head at a slower pace, quickening each time he groaned, and listened to his raspy moans as if they were songs hidden in heaven. his hand ran through your hair, pulling at the strands just light enough to make you whine, the vibrations helping into the pleasure.

"please—" he pled, eyes fixated on you and wet hair sticking to his face. he couldn't look any better, you noted.

mingi stared right into your soul with deep, dark eyes. his nose was flaring up and trying to keep up with the sharp breaths that left his parted mouth. it was as if he belonged in that position, and you wished that you had midas touch to keep him like that forever.

"so pretty" you said more to yourself than to him, and one of your fingers snuck into his mouth, and he wrapped those plump lips around it to suck.

feeling his tongue under your skin made shivers run down your spine, and even though you tried to take in more, he pulled you towards him once more, now landing you onto his lap. mind you, his naked lap. your pajama shorts did nothing to the mixture of pre-cum and saliva that rubbed under fabric. you hoped he couldn't feel the wetness that was forming between your legs.

kissing you again, you wondered how your teeth were not clashing at all from the desperation that exuded from both parts. you wanted him as much as he ever had wanted you, and it didn't seem like a real experience. the euphoria that overtook you made you feel almost dizzy from all the exchange in pheromones and fluids, holy fuck, you wanted to stay like that forever.

while he kissed you, mingi's hand went to the bottom of your shorts, holding you so you wouldn't fall as he took them off, leaving you in his hoodie and panties. you didn't remember what kind of underwear you wore, but you hoped to whatever god that was out there that it was something without a hole or anything.

without taking the panties off, he slid them to the side and ran both his middle and ring fingers along your folds, the new feeling making you jump a little, and he giggled. the motherfucker giggled.

"jeez... can't wait to be inside you" he said against your lips, hissing as you gave him an experimental roll of your hips.

holding your panties to the side, he grabbed his cock and aligned himself to your folds, placing the tip inside and a loud whimper fell from your mouth. you knew that it would take more effort to get him inside, he was the biggest you've ever been with, and mingi also seemed to notice that, so he touched you as if you were made of glass.

the warmth of his hot member now sheathing inside your pussy felt like too much, and the room felt foggy, just as your breaths. he kissed the side of your neck, licking up to your ear and groaning ever so slightly, as if he had noticed how much you reacted to those sounds, using them now against you.

the moment you reached the bottom, you felt as if your internal organs would combust. his dick felt like too much and too good, you drank from the sensations and the tingles that your body left each time he moved an inch, clenching around him. you reached your hands to the hem of the hoodie you were wearing, but his hand left your lower back to stop yours.

"leave it on" he looked up at your face with puppy eyes. "I want to fuck you in my clothes."

OH. FUCK.

you moaned into his mouth and slowly started to move your hips. you could've cum just from his words, but you tried your best to concentrate in making him feel good.

"you feel so good around me" he whined, a short moan leaving his lips to meet yours again.

you didn't know how you looked at that moment, probably a mess. from taking in all the sensations, his huge cock and the way he looked like a whiny mess under you... you felt powerful, and he was letting you use him to your wishes.

"please, please" he whined even more, probably taking notes that you got off from that.

"what is it, big boy?" as soon as the words fell from your mouth, you questioned yourself. is this really me?

"let me fuck you right" his hips shot up, taking you by surprise with a gasp and he bit your collarbone. "I wanna be good for you- wanna make you feel good."

"use me however you want" you said in a desperate tone. not even minding how it looked to him, you truly wanted everything from him.

with one arm sneaking around your back and the other on your neck, he moved you further into the bed, now on top of you. he didn't say anything else, only left a small kiss on the corner of your mouth and gave you a slow thrust.

the most high pitched moan fell from your lips, and you didn't care to be embarrassed. not when he was pleading for you, having your body wrapped so deliciously around him, the same as his.

you could write paragraphs and paragraphs about the way he looked; the occasional lightnings shining against his wet skin, highlighting each of his curves and muscles while his hair fell above his forehead, now a mess from the way you rushed your fingers between strands.

mingi kept rolling his hips against yours, and words kept falling randomly from your mouth, meddling with moans and sobs, you felt so cockdrunk that even the slightest stimulation coming from him could make you shed tears. felt so fucking good that got you questioning every life choice you've ever made to this point, as if everything was a part of god's plan for you to end up right under your best friend, as his touches made love to your limbs.

"hm-ugh- feels so fucking- oh my god" you kept going on and on, not even sure yourself what you were saying, but mingi wasn't falling behind.

the knot had already taken place on your lower body, each of his thrusts feeling more intense than the other. you could tell he was getting closer from the way his teeth were nipping on your neck and his thrust were growing sloppier.

"please-ah!-please, let me cum inside you" he left your neck to look at you, and you felt the knot tightening and your legs starting to tremble. "let me fill you nice and full- please"

"yes, I want all of you" you almost screamed when he took that as confirmation to grab your back and glue his chest to yours, sharpening his thrusts.

it finally snapped and you felt like you couldn't breathe anymore. he held you so close as if he could melt into your skin and become one, and with a final thrust, he whined and groaned and screamed and did everything so involuntarily, almost animalistic, and your mind was too dazed to even comprehend anything else besides the way that your pussy gripped him so tight, keeping his hot seed inside you. you didn't want to let it go.

you were still spasming from your orgasm when he let go of your body and snapped your legs apart, taking place in between them, nuzzling his nose onto your pubic bone and feasting. his tongue lapped each of yours and his juices without mind, sucking, kissing, moaning, grunting, only to prolong the way your climax came down; you screamed so hard that your lungs burned.

falling limp on the bed covers, he let go, going back on top of you with the support of his arms and knees, face leveled to yours when he placed an innocent kiss on the tip of your nose and another one to your forehead.

"did it help you de-stress?" he joked and you placed one of your arms onto your eyes.

scoffing, you shook your head. "holy shit, I'm in love with you."

he gave you a slight push and rolled to his side, still staring at you with a darker flush across his chest and neck.

"well, I'm yours" he said and you licked your lips, sneaking a glance from under your arm.

"yeah, you better be."

[celuere]

Hard day.

pairing: Arlecchino x fem!reader

context: after coming home from a hard day at work you just need to destress a little. Luckily your husband knows just the perfect method <3

cw: fingering, praising, fluffy through and through, comforting, arle being devoted to her wife and I mean DEVOTED., worshipping

NSFW utc, MDNI!

Kicking off your shoes into the nearest corner after shutting the door behind you felt like arriving at heavens gate tonight.

Everything hurt. Your feet from walking too much. Your back from either standing or sitting too much. Your hands from writing too much. And most importantly your head from thinking too much. Everything was just hurting. Everything was just a little bit too much today for your nerves.

You noticed the pair of stilettos neatly placed right next to the doorway before you heard her footsteps from upstairs. It‘s rare for you to get off of work after her. Almost so rare that you’re debating wether you should write it down in your calendar or not.

„Dearest… Isn’t it rather late for you?“, the wood of the stairs slightly cracked underneath her weight as she made her way down to you, already noticing your tired eyes, the way your hair was an absolute mess, even your crinkled clothes as you hung up your coat didn’t go unnoticed by her.

„I‘m sorry… I just got hit with so much work load today… and then Pantalone insisted on me attending his meeting… and ended up assigning me to some research which he insisted had to be done by tomorrow… I just-”, you sighed. Goodness, you were exhausted. Mentally and physically and it pained your husband to see her beloved in such a state.

„I’m sorry, Per… I‘m just… not fit for anything else other than existing right now…“, her hands gently reached up to your face, the gentle touch of her hands against your cheeks a warm welcome as you leaned into them, finally allowing yourself a break.

„Say no more, my love… I will definitely have a… talk with Regrator tomorrow.”, worry was etched into her oh so pretty face but the love she held in her eyes for you… It was boundless and completely made you overhear the threat she just spoke out against her fellow Harbinger Colleague.

You closed your eyes and leaned into her as she presses a soft kiss to your forehead before effortlessly picking you up to carry you upstairs to your shared bedroom. Wrapping your arms around her and leaning your face into her neck you breathed in her comforting scent as a wave of relaxation washed over you. It felt like balsam to your soul, like something lovingly caressing your heart and healing whatever was going on inside of you. She just had that much effect on you.

„Just head straight for our bed… I’ll brush my teeth tomorrow morning…“, you mumbled into her neck as your hand automatically found her hair which she already freed from her low ponytail. God you loved your husbands open hair.

„Whatever my lady wishes for…“, she placed a kiss on your head as the both of you entered the comforting warmth of your shared bedroom where you carefully got let back down on the floor .

„Raise up your arms for me, doll… let’s get you changed…“, her voice was as sweet as honey that you wanted to just bathe in its frequencies and just lifted up your arms without muttering - word, your energy was pretty much spent to the last drop.

„Mhm that’s it… good girl.“, she slowly started stripping you layer for layer until you felt her hand reaching around your back, followed by the sudden relief on your chest as you bra slid of your shoulders. A slight pause from her side.

Arlecchino couldn’t help but admire her wife’s bare form in front of her, drinking in every curve, beauty mark, scar that’s grazing your soft skin. The sight simply never gets old to her. But alas she didn’t want to make you want to wait any longer.

„See something you like?“, you chuckled sleepily as you watched her pick up the silken nightdress from your side of the bed, very well aware of how deeply your husband just drank in the sight of you.

„You already know that your beauty will never fail to get the better of me, ma Cherie…“, with a soft kiss pressed to your forehead, she also helped you with putting on your clothing for the night.

She‘d never admit it out loud but the fourth Fatui Harbinger would start a war if it meant seeing you in silk dress that barely went below your butt for the last time.

„And you‘re staring again. Not very subtle of you, Lady Arlecchino…“, the seriousness in your voice was of course faked but you couldn’t help it for the love of Celestia. You loved it whenever your Husband would take in the sight of you as if it’s her last.

„My apologies, I just can’t seem to get over how lucky I truly got with my wife…“, Arle swiftly took your chin between her fingers before gently placing her lips onto yours. Tasting you, feeling you. A soft sigh from your side was swallowed up by the intimate touch between the two of you. Goodness, this felt so refreshing compared to how dreadful the last hours were for you.

Slowly you lost track of time by the time your lips parted again, Arlecchino already made sure to gently lay you down on your mattress, a slight string saliva connecting both of your lips. And right now you were thankful for how she placed you on the bed already. Because your knees would’ve surely given up on you by the way her eyes wer pining you to the bed.

„My dear… If you‘d allow me, I’d like to take this awful day out of your pretty head…“, her fingers slightly fidgeting with the smooth fabric as she waited patiently for your consent. Never making you feel pressured or rushed. Of course it was common sense but its always nice to know that you could decline right now without your partner starting to sulk in a corner.

„Then… show me whatever idea you had in mind… I’m sure I’ll take a liking to it, love…“, nodding at her to continue further, blackened hands shoved your dress up to your chest as she drank in the sight once again.

This is all she’ll ever need to survive.

„You are so utterly beautiful… a canvas in the midst of a thousands unfinished sketches… If Celestia were to give me a chance for another lifetime… I would choose this one over and over. It is simply impossible for me to exist if it is not in the same moment as you. You’re existence is as crucial for my survival as a drop of water for a dying forest.“, peppering gentle kisses over your neck as she spoke, her words stirred up more than just a few butterflies in your stomach. You felt like you were burning from the inside.

Too flustered for an answer, all you could do was to lift your hips for her when she hooked her finger underneath the part of your panties that’s covering your private parts. But not before she took off her own wedding ring and added it to your own hand for the sake of keeping the beautiful thing clean.

Her fingers were quick to coat them in the slickness that was already leaking out of you, „Is all that for me, sweetness? My… I really have to watch it before it gets to my head…“, she had this sultry edge in her voice which only added to the heat growing between your legs. You were practically aching for her to finally take care of you.

„Arle… please…“, you grabbed onto her shoulder, hips trying to grind over her fingers which she of course only slightly retreated in response.

„What is it that you yearn for, my pretty girl? Hm…? Come on now, you always have such big words me, my love, what happened to them?“, Arlecchino didn’t even try to hide the smile that her lips were forming, she loved you to bits like this. So desperate for her touch with these soft little gasps and whimpers leaving your mouth as she applied light pressure to the sensitive bud between your legs.

„Don’t… N-No teasing tonight… please…“, with pleading eyes you looked up at your husband, who in return only pressed her lips to your cheek, fingers now moving down from your clit to your needy entrance.

„How could I ever decline my adoring wife this wish if she is asking me so nicely…“, slowly inserting her index- and middle finger, she pressed another kiss to your lips but this time she let it linger. Let her lips devour the soft moans you were creating as her finger slipped deeper and deeper inside until she was buried knuckles-deep inside of your cunt.

She let her fingers rest for a while before skillfully curling them in one, smooth motion, without pumping them in and out of you. Just a few seconds of curling and uncurling them, digits gently brushing over that gummy spot she loved ravaging so dearly but this time she wanted to take her time with you. Massaging your weak spot, carefully spreading your walls from the inside and drawing out the most beautiful melodies from your lips. She could drown herself in moments such as these where she had you all to herself with no one to interrupt.

„You are taking me so well, doll… Look at you… Moaning like this over my fingers… This must feel like a huge reward after such a hard and exhausting day. Am I right, love?“, besides a whimpered „yes“, you weren’t able to give a better answer. Your mind was already too cloudy, too busy focusing on how she rubbed your insides to mush.

„There, there… Just focus on me. Focus on me and how good I am making you feel, pretty girl…“, finally she started to pump her fingers in and out of you, making you spread your legs a bit wider for her so she’d have deeper access.

„Good girl… making things so much easier for me…“, she cooed and lord you loved it whenever she talked to you like this, earning her a moan right into her handsome face.

You were practically showered in soft kisses from your forehead, to your cheeks and mouth, down to your jawline and neck before Arlecchino repeated her little route with her lips, fingertips still taking good care of your weak spot and working you closer and closer to your release. Your hands were clutching her nightshirt for dear life as her name started falling from your mouth like a desperate prayer to the gods because right now she very much was your god.

But not for her. For Peruere you where the ultimate object of her desires at all given times, not just when you were laying underneath her while she makes you see the light on the other end of the tunnel. There wasn’t a single waking hour in her life when she didn’t yearn for the feel of your touch, the sound of your voice, the sight of your gorgeous face or the taste of your lips.

She was utterly besotted with you to the point it might very well be the end of her cursed life one day. It consumed her. Slowly ate away at her bit by bit. A life without you? It caused her ribcage to tighten around her lungs, made her heart swell and suddenly feel to big for her chest- the thought was simply unbearable.

And right now this fear got suddenly a hold of her again for whatever reason, causing her to plunge her lips back onto yours, tongue diving into your mouth, sucking on your tongue as if in an attempt to suck your very soul right out of you.

With your moans now muffled by this earth-shattering kiss your back arched into her as her fingers hit your G-Spot for the hundredth time now. Hands finding their way into her hair, hips riding out your orgasm as her movements inside of you slowly came to a stop. This is was exactly what you needed.

„Good girl… Such a good girl covering my fingers in her liquor… Oh my, you must feel so good right now, sweetheart… Don’t you?“, her voice was reduced to a soft purr as she let you calm down from your high before carefully retreating her fingers from your sensitive pussy. Oh that soft whimper leaving your lips when she did so might’ve been her undoing.

But today she refrained from licking up your juice from her fingers, grabbing a napkin from her nightstand and wiping it clean instead.

„You did great today, my love. You should be proud of yourself“, a black hand gently lifted your hand up to her face, bringing it up to her mouth to press a soft kiss to your knuckles.

„I think you have something that belongs to me.“, sliding the her wedding ring off of your finger, you could only smile at her.

„Aw… I was actually planning on keeping it…“, you chuckled softly as your husband slid the ring back into its place on her right hand before pulling you back into her arms.

„If you want a replica of mine, just say so. Or… we could swap rings from time to time.“, he suggestion drew a soft laugh out of the both of you, making you cuddle back into her neck.

„I love you, Peruere…“

„I love you too, starlight… more than you can fathom.“

„You always have to be extra with your replies, don’t you?“

„Only when it’s you.“

You sighed but still… that’s why you loved her with your whole heart and beyond. Your love could rattle the stars if it ever came down to it and if fate someday decides to try and separate your intertwined paths… it better comes prepared.

This is how I had to write this fic btw. His whiskers were tickling me to death.

[velvette-creations]

Bite the bullet and run

The Boys: Billy Butcher x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI) 

WC: 1.9 k 

Prompt: Held at Gunpoint for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: spoilers for season 4, injury/blood, oral (f receiving), fingering, c*m eating, overstimulation, a bit of angst, alcohol consumption, anger, hallucinations 

Summary: Billy Butcher is living on borrowed time

Billy is staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, and he knows it. The trigger is cocked, bullet warm in the chamber, just itching to fire into his brain. Karmic retribution; he’s done his fair share of lousy shit under the guise of being a hero, and now it’s catching up to him. Took the V and paid the price. He’s living on borrowed time as the tumor destroys his brain, bringing him closer and closer to death. He knows it, but he can’t admit it. Even as the hallucinations of Rebecca and Kessler make it painfully honest.

He wonders how long he can keep spinning out of control, keep blacking out, and keep pushing reality down; god knows it’s already wreaked havoc on his mental state. It’s not like he can escape it; eventually, the cold, hard reality will come knocking on his front door. His mind flickers briefly to the thought of you and the citrus smell of your perfume, of leaving you behind to handle the mess. You’re a cold-hearted bastard, Bucher; just admit, it will do you good, Kessler sneers. But he’s not; Billy Butcher is flesh and blood, human, and he’s not ready to bite the bullet just yet.

He downs the shot, the whiskey burning his throat and dulling his senses. The liquor won’t change anything but allows him a moment's sweet respite from reality. He can hear Kessler’s sardonic laughter from the stool next to him, the outline of him in Billy’s peripheral vision. He’s not fucking real, the cunt ain’t there, Billy seethes in his head.

That’s where you’re wrong, Billy Boy. I’m a part of you now; better get used to it—the devil on his shoulder.

Billy orders another shot, nearly jumping out of his skin when your hand presses against his shoulder. He’s ready to throw an enraged punch to your face until he realizes it’s you.

“What has you so pissed off that you were ready to knock me through a wall?” you ask dryly as you slip into the stool beside him, Kessler’s form dissipating. You turn toward the bartender and order two shots: one for him and one for you.

“A bit of this, a bit of that, love. This Neuman business has got us all on edge, don’t it?” he grumbled, wrapping his blunt fingers around the shot glass. You want to slap him right across the face. You know it’s more than that.

You hmmm softly before downing your shot, then tap your fingers against the sticky bar counter.

“Sorry, but I’m not buying that bullshit. You’ve been off for weeks. You’re hiding something.” You don’t mean to sound so accusatory, but you’re tired of dancing around the issue. It pisses you off that he’s withholding, and you’re tired of letting him crawl between your legs so he can avoid reality.

“Ain’t none of your business, love,” he snorts, and you slam your hands against the bar.

“Fuck you, Billy! It is my fucking business! If I’m gonna wake up to you dead next to me in bed one morning, I deserve to fucking know,” you growl, making heads turn in your direction.

Tell her, Billy. You don’t have to be alone. I don’t want you to be alone. Sweet, sweet Rebecca, the angel on his other shoulder.

He glares up at you, anger dancing in his dark eyes, but you can see the pain pushing through. You’re ready for the explosion; you welcome it. Anything to prove that he still has a fight inside of him, that he isn’t giving in so willingly. Glass shatters as he slams it against the bar, tiny pieces embedding in his skin and blood oozing from the shallow cuts. You hold your hand out as the bartender storms over.

“We’re going,” you assure him, leaving enough cash to cover the shots and a generous tip to compensate for the disturbance and broken glass. You grab Billy’s upper arm and tug him towards the door.

The bartender was kind enough to lend you a clean rag to wrap around Billy’s injured hand, and you guide him toward your apartment, which is a couple blocks away. The silence is deafening as you both sit hunched over in your small bathroom (the light is better there) as you remove the glass from Billy’s cuts with tweezers. Once you’re assured you’ve gotten them all out, you wash and disinfect his hand before wrapping it in a clean bandage. How many nights have you spent cleaning blood and stitching up wounds, avoiding the hospital if able? How many nights have you spent with his mouth hot on your cunt as his tongue brings you to the edge of sweet oblivion? Intimate in so many ways, yet the art of communication is lost.

“I ain’t trying to lie to you, love. I just don’t wanna say it,” he murmurs, his gaze cast to the floor, counting the white tiles to glisten in the bright light.

Tell her, Billy

You gently grasp his uninjured hand, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles. “Are you sick?”

He nods.

“Are you living on limited time?”

He nods again. He’s told you all you need to know without saying a word.

“Will you let me be there for you?”

There is a hesitation before he nods a third time. He can see Rebecca smiling at him from over her shoulder.

“Thank you. I won’t say anything to the rest of the team,” you assure him. Secrets are for him to share, not you. You won’t betray his trust in that way.

“Thanks, love.”

“Come on, you can crash with me tonight.”

You find a show to watch that isn’t under the Vought umbrella and share Chinese takeout with Billy, squished together on your small couch, the space he’ll be sleeping on tonight. You made it painfully evident with the extra pillow and blankets sitting on the small coffee table in front of the TV. The truth may have been revealed, but you’re not ready to completely mend fences.

“Night, Billy,” you whisper, brushing your lips over his warm cheek, feeling the soft stubble of his beard scrape against your skin.

“Night, love,” he sighs, and you disappear into your bedroom.

Eventually, you’re finally caught in the hazy space of sleep and the waking world when you feel the mattress dip. Billy’s warm body settles against your back, and his bandaged hand rests on your hip.

“I’ll go if you want me to, love, but I’ve missed you,” he whispers in your ear before his lips ghost along the curve of your neck. Need palpitates in your belly. You don’t want him to go. Maybe you’re more forgiving than you thought.

“Don’t…don’t go, Billy,” you beg, your words holding a heavier meaning as tears sting your eyes.

“I’m right here, love, I’m right here,” he assuages, pulling you closer with his other hand before it slips under your tank top to cup one of your breasts. His thumb circles around your nipple until it hardens. His cock presses against the swell of your ass. Your citrus perfume tickles his nose.

You rut against him, grabbing his hand and moving it down your belly. He plunges into your shorts, his warm palm finding your damp cunt immediately. His rough fingers stroke your folds, gathering up your arousal.

“Billy,” you whine. His bare chest radiates warmth, and you yearn to curl into it.

“I’m right here, love,” he breathes as two fingers slip inside you. You clench around him, rocking your hips as needy mewls spill from your lips. It never takes much for him to make you come completely undone. You try to push away the thought that he’s living on borrowed time, which could be one of the last moments you share with him. Might as well make the most of it.

Your eyes roll back as his fingers pump steadily in and out of your pussy, making your toes curl before you spill into orgasm. Animalistic lust surges through you as Billy removes his fingers and tugs your shorts down your legs. You roll over, tugging off your tank and his boxers before lowering your mouth to suck on the tip of his cock. Once he’s coated in your salvia, you mount him, sinking deep onto his cock.

“Bloody hell,” he groans, his good hand gripping your hip tightly before slipping up your belly to take a handful of your tits.

You bounce on his cock, working your muscles and riding him like it might be his last night. You try to push away the thought that it very well might be. You reach down to cup his face as sweat pools down your back.

“Billy, fuck, Billy,” you moan, tracing your thumb around his plush lips.

“Love the way you scream my name, darlin’,” he grins, all cocksure. There he is. There’s your Billy.

“Don’t I know it,” you purred, squeezing around his cock as his hips thrust beneath you. A chill sets in the outside air, but inside is all heat. His flesh is sweaty and salty, and you can’t get enough of it.

Billy finds his fire and his strength, remaining buried inside you as he changes positions, placing you on your back underneath him so he can pound you. Your legs tighten around his waist as he leans down to capture you in a fiery kiss, one where you can taste his passion and the salt of his skin. Your nails skim down his back as flesh smacks together. Wet sounds fill the air, intermingling with his grunts and your pants. You tremble beneath him as you reach your peak, and he spills inside you, making you milk him for all he’s worth. He stays pressed against you as your fingers drag lazily through his damp, dark hair.

Billy gazes into your eyes, thinking it was well spent if this was his last night on earth. Better to go out with a bang and in between the thighs of a woman he loves. Not that he’s ever uttered those words out loud. Almost feels as if he’s betraying Rebecca, but fucking hell, how long can he hold onto ghosts? He gently slips out of you, leaving kisses along your neck, over the swells of your breasts and your belly, before he reaches your soaked, swollen cunt. He can’t help but swipe his tongue over the mess of himself mixed with you.

“Billy,’ you gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair as you squirm against his mouth.

“Indulge a dying man, would you, love? Don’t deny me my favorite last meal,” he murmurs against your damp thighs.

“Oh, you’re an asshole,” you laughed, giving his hair a sharp tag.

“Don’t I know it?” His tongue swirls against your core, dipping inside you.

You’re oversensitive from earlier, and it doesn’t take long for you to cum against his mouth, feeling absolutely spent by the time he’s finished. You’re coated in sweat, and a shower sounds so good, but you can’t be fucked to move. You barely muster up the strength to drape yourself over Billy’s naked chest, holding tightly to him. His bandaged hand rests lightly against your lower back. You snuggle your face against the crook of his neck, committing his scent and flesh to your memory.

Billy Butcher is staring down the barrel of a gun, but for now, he only cares about the feeling of you in his arms. He’ll bite the fucking bullet another fucking day.

[massiveladycat]

i will never get over people laughing at octavian's death personally,,, he was SHOT INTO THE AIR!!! thats so painful. all the burns and the impact, plus being flung from a cannon and probably slamming into gaia (literal earth goddess) plus festus (gigantic metal dragon, i bet that HURT) and leo (pretty sure leo was burning)

he was a kid and he was annoying to some people and he was usually antagonized but he didnt deserve to die OR go out in that way. the gods are a thousand times worse than octavian, and apollo told him that he'd be a savior of new rome, but people still justify them. not to mind there are much worse people in the PJO universe (gabe, LUKE)

octavian ily they could never make me hate you EVER. idc what you say he could have been redeemed. did he do bad things? yes. but he was so deeply influenced and the day meeting with leo and the others, in which i remind you octavian literally was watching new rome get blown up (no wonder he was livid, his home was on FIRE).

like come on. octavian is a complex character and people aren't willing to admit that he could've been better and he was just a literal teenager in the sake of hating him because everyone else/pjo characters hate him.

he is such a tragic character imo because he grew up in new rome and all he wanted to do was protect it (and he was highly ambitious and aiming for praetor, i won't deny the fact that he was selfish but that is a quality that can be REDEEMED) and sure the way he went about it was messed up but most of his actions (except killing that one centurion) were justifiable

btw im not saying octavian's like an angel or anything im pretty sure i remember him "killing" a 5th cohort centurion once but then she was revived which . . . what was the point of that?? was it just to like make us hate him more?? huh??? and then was it even ever talked about again?? also yeah he blackmailed hazel thats not good also judging from the wikipedia it only said frank suspected octavian because.. he didn't have his spear?? what?? reminder that there is proof that a lot of pjo characters are unreliable narrators and for all we know octavian could've screwed up somehow and left his spear somewhere (just saying i'd do that too ngl)

also "I am the savior of Rome! I was promised!" i didnt know why but that quote DESTROYED me but now i know that it was because he genuinely believed he was doing the best for new rome and he'd finally have someone's praise and they'd praise him like they praised percy and reyna. pretty sure his mental state was not very good in that scene either and nico and will just let him shoot himself out of an onager on accident. also are we just going to gloss over the fact apollo told him that and encouraged him he was doing the right thing?? of COURSE octavian trusted apollo on that and believed it was the truth; apollo was his ancestor and someone he worshipped as an augur and trusted in for omens and prophecies and allat

yeah. octavian's an asshole. but he was a kid and he couldve been redeemed. then again i am a huge octavian apologist and im not saying you have to have the same opinions as i do also i will not be responding to any asks in my inbox im 2 tired to deal with that!! anyways dont go and insult people or me if you think the opposite thats fine !! i was just bored and found this in my drafts so whats the harm of posting it because im not going to get sent threats over this right,,, right??????

[vatelixx]

On the concept of ‘want’, (part 2):

Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader (written with early-ish seasons Spencer in mind)

Part one here.

—> SMUT!!! and copious amounts of yearning and fluff, and like maybe some angst??? I wasn’t originally going to do a part 2 because it worked pretty well as a one shot, but I really liked their dynamic (and hyper fixated on it for HOURS), so here we are— it details the build up to their relationship, and then provides an epilogue to the end of part 1.

Warnings: sub spencer, corruption kink still present (but Spencer plays into it this time, what? who keeps writing that??? they need help???), greek mythology references and endless space facts (nerds), autistic Spencer (the way it should be), mean reader always (except she still for the life of her can’t be mean to Spencer, it’s those fucking brown eyes), begging, crying (pussy remains that good), praise kink, degrading names (slut, whore, because hello??? Spencer Reid breathes and he’s a slut to me), them being total losers for each other, they’re both still geniuses and they’re both still too domestic for my sanity, alcohol but no inebriated sex (a lot happens OKAY??), aftercare always!!

— brief brief mentions of rape in correlation to Greek Mythology (male Gods are disgusting)

w.c: 8k (im not mentally okay)

a/n: i wrote the smut and then had to take a cold shower (i cry for my digital footprint). i wanted to put this out on Spencer’s birthday, but I got distracted— i think he would be happy I dedicated all of my shots to him (and then had to explain that no he’s not actually a real person but rather a fictional character)

───────────────

Prequel, the build up, (pre ‘part I’):

Spencer is barely conscious, drifting in that half-way state, all tousled hair and messy clothes. He’s dishevelled, at best, cradling a coffee (too much sugar, limited caffeine). Early start, the sun has only begun to burn by the time he reaches his desk. Torture, it’s torture the way you linger, it makes his brain distort, fracture into a tangled mess of nothing. How is it scientifically possible that one’s presence alone can reduce his mind to static? He’s not sure whether he loves or hates the abrupt decline in his IQ.

7AM. There’s bags pooling beneath his eyes, crimson distressed shadows, insufficient sleep can hinder the brains ability to regulate emotion, attention. It’s fine. He’s fine.

To put it simply, you’re terrifying. A carefully crafted figment of intelligence. He wonders if you’ve ever pressed a knife to someone’s skin before, it’s more intimate than a bullet. Hands on. It’s not a morbid thought, he doesn’t consider himself that hedonistic. Jobs in the BAU are coveted, and yet, in despite of your age, you were offered to join. No strings attached, no extensive training— nearly a year of working alongside you has proven that you’re more qualified for this than anyone could’ve anticipated. Is it cruel to say you were made to analyse, to deceive and coerce the most callous minds?

It’s demeaning, sure. But there is nothing more to you than the job. You clock in, and your personality becomes bound, restrained, kept away from him.

He’s trying. They’re all trying; to accommodate you, to ease you into the team. Drinks after hours, even intoxicated, you’re meticulous at keeping yourself away from anything inherently personal.

But right now, you’re here, and you’re so pretty. “Early,” he groans, letting his face drop to the desk. He likes that you’re shifting closer to him, that out of everyone, the rare, celestial phenomenon, moments of vulnerability are reserved for him. They’re brief, and admittedly a little sharp around the edges, but Spencer is selfish in admitting that he wants them all to himself. To hoard them and gloat, because no one has ever chosen him first before.

And you, you justify this ‘friendship’ because you’re indisputably human, because you do need someone (even if you’re too proud to ever accept that), and of course it would be Spencer. You’re both too young to be here, skipping a multitude of stages in the rise to an FBI agent, trauma bonding over the weight of your scathed experiences. Plus, you share an element of difference; your brains are abnormal, wired in unique, distinctive ways in contrast to the average human. It makes sense. It’s logical.

“Too early.” you agree, shifting to lean against his desk. “Did you read that article I sent you? The one about astrophysics and how it can shape human experiences?”

“Of course I read it,” He looks up, bleary-eyed behind his glasses, half-lidded gaze flickering across you. Maybe there should be an element of competition to your dynamic; you’re both geniuses, working alongside each other in close close (oh— close) proximity, but there’s not. For all of your sharpness, you’ve never once seen him as anything but your equal.

He turns his head, hair falling, obstructing his sight, a mess of brown, tousled and out of place. His brain is already working overtime, absorbing every detail about your appearance: your heavy, maddening eyes, your shirt (wrinkled, untucked), your watch (gold), the pen stuck behind your ear. Analytical, analytical, analytical.

“Don’t ask me about it.” he continues, “I’m halfway through an essay on my thoughts about it, expect a message tonight.”

That’s a new progression. Whenever he can’t sleep, whenever his thoughts are fervid and incessant, his mind caught on obscure facts, he’ll text you. Let you wake to paragraphs upon paragraphs of information on miscellaneous subjects. He’s never really understood ‘texting etiquette’, abbreviations and short responses.

“Can’t wait.” you hum. Oh, and you mean it.

“Can’t wait? First time i’ve heard that one,” he laughs.

He glances down at your shoes— combat boots, of course. Practical, sturdy, thick leather worn down with use. He can’t look at your face right now, not when you’re soul-crushingly beautiful, and you’re taking an interest in his quirks. But, oh your face— using the golden ratio as a foundation, you’re… well, perfect. Sure, the dark shadows pooling beneath your eyes reduce points, but he likes them, it’s a subtle, yet impaling, reminder that you’re real, that despite everything, you’re undeniably human.

It’s a mess, he’s aware that it’s an unnecessarily disjointed mess; the universe decided to torture him (painfully so), by placing the personification of perfection in front of him. Reachable distance, and yet, you still feel light years away. So far, because god he loves you— he loves you in ways he can’t even speak about. But what is love, and how does he comprehend it when he’s never been in its orbit? Not until now.

“And yeah,” he continues, adjusting his glasses. “I’m drafting a response, of course I am. You think I’d not send you an in-depth message? That would be a disservice to your knowledge.”

────────────

Detroit, 8hr flight, mid-morning, coffee and case files, an endless haze of intentions, behavioural patterns regarding the most recent unsub. Spencer always chooses to sit beside you, it’s non-negotiable, assigned. He spends half of his time curled up in the corner, catching a few minimal hours of sleep, and the other half rambling. At this point, you know a lot about him. Months and months of knowledge, some he’s told you, some you’ve profiled: he always carries a satchel (dog-eared novels and notebooks consisting of half-finished thoughts), his favourite season is halloween (when he first came to your apartment and saw various autumnal decor, despite it being mid-July, he smiled so much you thought you were going to die), and he’s afraid of the dark. Trivial pieces of information. Unnecessary, and yet you still store them for safe keeping.

“So,” he mumbles after briefing, “It’s nearly Halloween…”

Those words. The simple declaration of a date that you were already aware of sentences your fate. Of course you’ve noticed the rest of the team deftly turning down his invites at any occasion possible, but to receive one? You’ve never been a people pleaser, in fact, if anything you’re the polar opposite. Blunt like a knife, intransigent, unwilling to spare feelings for the sake of etiquette.

But you do agree when he offers to make plans.

────────────

Pumpkin patches, seasonal harvest. The leaves beneath your heavy platforms are ochre. It’s late- afternoon when you get to the festival, even later when you manage to coerce Spencer into humouring one of the ghost-walks.

But, you got distracted, tangled up in some tangent about Roman philosophy, Plato’s symposium, different accounts of eros. Socrates and his belief in stoicism, unwavering to the pretence of beauty, turning down Alcibiades— the most desirable.

You can only laugh. You laugh, and no, you’ve never laughed like that before. It shuts down Spencer’s body, renders him incapable for a good few moments. And now, suddenly he’s gone dumb, because he wants to get lost every weekend, just to hear it over and over again until it’s firmly imprinted into his brain for good. You breathe, and he’s brain-dead.

“This isn’t funny—“ he tries.

“No you’re right. It’s not funny at all.” you lie. Straight. Through. Your. Teeth. All things considered, you’ve had fun today— which is admittedly a feat in itself.

“Don’t worry,” you continue, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll protect you.“

“You do that enough anyways,” he states; it’s true, you’re a little too assertive on the field, unwilling to let him stumble inadvertently into danger. Maybe it’s just because you’re now acquainted with the knowledge of his previous missteps. Or maybe it’s because you care — not in the way he cares about you, obviously. But he’s willing to take what he can get. Anything, as long as it from you.

Spencer hates the dark (it’s common knowledge, the absence of light is unsettling) and with his flashlight wavering, stuttering in and out of use, he’s forced to stray close to you, to share your working one. It feels like the start of some budgeted horror movie he’d possibly take you to see, speaking through the entirety, pointing out the obvious scientific flaws.

“Why do you have so many layers on?” He asks, watching your face. The flashlight in your hand illuminates the small clearing around them, casting your face in a starker light. Every contour, every blemish, every freckle is more pronounced in the cold.

“You look like a burrito,” he adds, unable to stop himself.

You scoff, “I run cold.”

Pine-oak and cold, the air is sharp, plainly glacial at this time of night. It’s an amusing way to spend halloween; even though you’re currently missing out on the tour you paid for. “And, I don’t look like a burrito, thank you. Very astute evaluation, Reid. Your words are clearly so intellectual.”

“Yes, well— I am a doctor, remember? Astute observation skills are a priority on the requirements list. And actually,—“ you huff out a breath, and his forthcoming tangent dissolves before it can escape his lips. Usually, you humour the onslaught, the mess of facts— but, considering they’re directly aimed at you tonight, it’s clear that circumstances are in fact different.

He tucks his hands into his pockets, knuckles blemished red from the cold, rose shadows that match the flush to his face. “I’m glad you said yes, to this. Most of the team,” he laughs awkwardly, “Well, they usually ignore my invites. So yeah, it’s nice not to be alone for halloween.“

He’s quick to move on, to shift shift the subject. “And— as for the,” he continues, glancing down at your attire. “The excessive layers— I just meant that you look comfortable. If you’re running cold, then you need all those layers. It’s not a critique.” Another huff, and he glances awkwardly around the clearing.

“I’m just rambling.” He murmurs, “As per usual. I need to, uh— to stop doing that.” A pause. Silence.

You’re not really digesting his words anymore, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts— it’s a few moments before you speak again. You turn your gaze towards him, observing the sight of him in the perpetual darkness, profile only illuminated by faint trances of your flash-light. Swollen lips, half-bitten, brown eyes blown out of proportion, irises wide and unabated.

You know a lot about him, that’s already been established. Albeit, there’s still fragments you haven’t quite discovered yet. And sure, you shouldn’t want to find out, to unravel him completely. You shouldn’t— because that’s a direct transgression to the rules you’ve always set for yourself. But you do.

“Are you..” your face softens, “Uh, are you alone a lot?”

You’ve never been the type to ask about personal life, about the complexities behind closed doors. Sure, you can deduce his home-life through months of experience and mannerisms, but you’ve never asked specifically about his own relationships. The question catches him off-guard.

He blinks, a few too many times, and then finds his eyes are very very interested in staring at his shoes.

“Yeah.” he finally answers, “But it’s okay! I’m used to it. I don’t mind,”

“I have lots of time for my own pursuits,” he adds. “Reading and-— um, chess and stuff. And the team, of course. But— they’re not- they don’t want to, like, hang out. Outside, I mean. They have their own lives, partners. Families, so it makes sense.”

It’s not okay, and you’re uncertain why it pains you so much. Maybe because he makes the effort to arrange plans, to connect, and it goes undervalued, wasted. In contrast, you’re content in loneliness. People are overbearing, insufferable at best. You’ve never had much of an interest in an abundant social life, you’re content in your small, reserved circle. But he has no one.

And yet he has the audacity to pretend it’s okay?

“Well, if you want to like, be lonely together sometime. That would be fine with me.” you say after a moment of strained silence.

His whole life he’s struggled to fit in, to meet, to conform to the expected societal norms. Acceptance, community, humans are wired to want integration, and yet he’s always fallen short. It’s why he throws himself into facts, into research, into studies and books.

His shoulders have slackened. For a slender frame he’s remarkably tense, like he’s waiting for an eventual downfall. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I’d uh, also be fine with that. More than fine actually..”

No one has ever wanted him, they’ve just needed him and he wonders if there’s really even a difference.

────────────

That’s how it starts. Inevitable, in the grand scheme of life and work and you. Spencer watches as you soften, slowly unfold protected layers over countless evenings of chess and movies, and suddenly you’re not so untouchable, so beyond conventional existence, and yeah, berate him for loving you even more because of it.

You’re restless, completely. A night in his apartment is always fated to end with you tugging him through cobbled streets, desperate to catch some air. Tonight, it’s raining. Protected beneath a ledge of a closed shop, you’re approximately 12 minutes away from his place. Spencer should hate you for bulldozing his routine, he really really should. But it’s never that simple, not when it comes to the intricacies of you, and the exhausting effect you prove to have on his sanity.

He leans back against the soaked brick, watching the rain pour over the road, greyed streets, washed out by water. Just passing 10PM, like most nights, his mind seems to be insistent on you you you. And sure, he’s longing (if that even encapsulates his want), longing for something, to connect the invisible line between you two.

“Why am I not surprised,” he mutters, “Always a disaster with you.”

The cold will undoubtedly lead to you being sick, but the sight of you under the glow of streetlights, water-stricken and frustrated— he can’t bring himself to complain. For a moment, he simply stares. At your profile, the sharpness of your features, the exasperation in your blinding gaze. You’re beautiful, in ways he can’t comprehend.

“Hey,” he backtracks, “Not in a bad way, but like, in a you-cause-so-much-unexpected-stuff-to-happen kind of way. You’re always bringing me into messy situations.”

The space between you is so minimal, but so stretching. There’s an invisible wall, one that he won’t ever tear down, can’t ever tear down, in case he loses you. He wants to reach out, to grasp at your hand, your wrist, or even your shoulder. Anything, to feel the barest touch of your skin. Something.

Touch. To feel. He’s never allowed himself to sink into the warmth of someone else before, he’s never been able to. But for all your terror, he knows you’d hold him. Or maybe that’s just what he hopes for. Maybe it’s a delusional hypothetical.

When you do return to his apartment, you’re laughing. A common sight these days, as mind-bending as that might seem. The journey back was discombobulated, rushed movements, jackets spilling over heads, drenched thoroughly, attempting to outrun the inevitable storm that now seems to consume the area.

There’s not a part of you that regrets your offer to be ‘lonely together’ because whilst you despise most humans, Spencer doesn’t seem to be on that list. No, you could spend hours doing nothing with him, and still find it more gratifying than the best laid plans.

Plus, these days he seems happier. You both do.

“You look like a wet dog,” you say as you attempt to sort your way through his soaked hair. You’re sitting on the floor of his kitchen, cold skin pressed against tile.

He grins. You’re both laughing, and it’s so good. “Thanks for the compliment. You know, you’re not much better—“

He finds himself subconsciously, instinctively, leaning into the touch, as if his body has been searching for this, as if his skin is merely wired to only ever respond to your hands. Head tilted backwards, allowing access to the tangled strands, his neck arched slightly so he can still see your face, every expression that passes by.

He has a brief internal war with himself, wondering which part of the situation exactly he’s freaking out over. Maybe it’s the cold, which will undoubtedly leave him sick for the next week? Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve initiated a touch of some variety, your hands in his hair, a moment of human connection. Whatever it is, he can’t help but sit in silence, staring at you like you’ve just hung the stars.

────────────

Both of you are incontrovertibly devoted to work, married in some key aspects. You stay late, ceaseless over-time, covering offices with evidence and reports, rehashing cases until you’re too exhausted to function. So naturally, it’s no surprise that you’re coerced into taking time off, mandatory leave— if only to appease the rest of the team, and their wilting sanity.

Road trip. That’s the ‘logical’ solution, considering you’d both end up exasperated at your respective apartments, overthinking the cases you’ve been shut out of. The Appalachian trail. Neither of you have any interest in the hike, albeit the skyline yurt, overlooking the area, endless planes of landscape, certainly seems like a selling point. If only to keep you countless miles away from work.

November. The days are hazy, mostly due to your shared fatigue, interminable exhaustion. Spencer has abandoned his glasses now, and you try not to mourn the loss.

The drive felt eternal. Hours stuck listening to the radio, only interrupted by Spencer’s endless rambling and your sporadic requests for coffee. There’s something intimate to travelling together. Being trapped in a car, in close proximity, sharing a space.

Now, the two of you are situated in the middle of nowhere, nature, something he’s never really sought out in his life. He’s an intellectual not a lover of the outdoors. Sure, the science of it fascinates him, the endless cycle of life and death, but actually being here — in the midst of it all, amongst the trees and fog — is a foreign concept.

You’re standing beside him, eyes observing the landscape, sharp gaze tracing the outline of the horizon. He wonders if you’re thinking of the city, of work, of anything else besides the freezing air. He just wants to get inside, to feel warm, to stop shivering.

But no, you’re too busy looking at the stars.

“That’s Cetus,” he says, pointing out a constellation, “Sometimes referred to as ‘The Whale’. Cetus, uh.. he was a sea monster in Greek Mythology, sent by Neptune to devour Andromeda. Perseus saved her by turning him to stone using the head of Medusa. Medusa, who he beheaded using a mirrored shield whilst she slept.”

You hum, “It also represents the whale that swallowed Jonah when he disobeyed the Christian’s God.”

“Yeah! Yeah, because Jonah went to Nineveh instead of Tarshish.” he looks back at you, “You know, Cetus covers over 1200 square degrees of sky. But personally, personally, my favourite is Ursa Major.”

“The great bear? Cmon, that’s so basic.”

“No it’s not! What? Don’t judge my taste,” he protests, “It’s named after Arcas. Zeus fell in love with Andromeda—“

“Mhm, and Hera, his wife, turned Callisto into a bear. Zeus raped her, the Gods were fucked up.”

“The Gods were fucked up, yeah.” he agrees, before knocking his shoulder into yours. “But Ares wasn’t, you know he counts as a pseudo god for feminism.”

“Shame he was brutal in every other aspect.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, “You’re paying more attention to the stars than me.”

Later, much later, you end up on the floor. Laying back against cold wood, you both stare at the domed ceiling. Distorted vision, clouded by alcohol; there’s not much to do around here, and you had incautiously thought a bottle of whiskey would be a good idea— no, actually, you just wanted to see Spencer intoxicated. Beyond messy nights at the bar in D.C, when the team was desperate for a break from work, he’s never really been in this state before.

The area is vast, too big, but you were hardly going to plummet yourself into the middle of nowhere without a few prominent luxuries— you’ve always been devoted to the city, the endless drama, sleepless nights and constant futile noise.

This is… different.

Alcohol has made everything more intense, magnified, in every aspect. The yurt is dark now, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning, slicing through the sky and illuminating the area in fragmented beats. The room is cold, but he’s over-warm. Not accustomed to the alcohol, to the buzz it leaves him feeling, the pleasant numbness in his limbs. As if nothing matters.

He’s laying next to you, mid-tangent about space. “Did you know that Jupiter has 95 moons. That’s more moons than the average solar system. And that most of them are named after Greek or Roman mythology. There’s— there’s Ganymede, that’s the largest natural satellite in the solar system. It’s nearly the size of Mars..”

He turns on his side to face you, watching as you mirror his movements, “And, and,” his words fail him, “You are so pretty, — you have amazing, amazing eyes, you know that? And this laugh….” that makes me burn, “You should laugh more. I’m going to make you laugh more.”

He’s staring at you, half-lidded gaze following every line, contour, every feature. He wants to trace his hand along the curve of your cheek, your jaw, down your throat, your shoulder. He wants to touch, to feel you. He can’t tell if you’re aware of his suffering. The torment that comes with being this close to you, yet not able to touch you. How painful it is. To love you.

“Spence..” you mutter, and oh, you’ve never called him that before.

“Mhm, yeah,” he says, bringing himself back to the point; the topic of space. Ignorant to his words. “The planet Jupiter, it’s a gas giant. You knew that, right? It’s got the shortest day of any planet. And on top of all that, it has a redspot! Like, this huge, massive vortex, bigger than the Earth, and it’s just roaming the atmosphere.”

A loud peal of thunder interrupts his speech, followed by the incessant, incessant rain, pounding against the walls. “I love when you listen to me. No one’s ever really listened to me before.”

It’s not fair, not fair that you’re about to plunge yourself into the centre of the storm. That Spencer Reid laying next to you, in the middle of nowhere, would be your fatal flaw. Hamartia. The downfall of the walls you’ve kept resolute for so long. You could blame the alcohol, curse yourself for encouraging this when you’ve both always balanced on a thin, trembling line.

But perhaps it was always inexorable.

You cup his face, running your hand over his pretty profile. Pupils blown out of proportion, so beautiful it scalds. You can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, from pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against his lips.

“I’ll always listen to you.” you promise. Because if no one else has the decency to acknowledge him in full capacity, you will.

And Spencer? Oh, he’s frozen, caught in some location of suspended space. Every thought, every coherent piece of logic in his head has come to an abrupt hilt, silenced by your mere touch.

Your words sink into his skin, seeping into his bones like fire. He’s burning, burning hot and feverous under your hands. The kiss is brief, and he whines involuntarily when you pull away. “Don’t stop. Please— not yet.”

You want him, repeats like a mantra. In all universes, in the grand scheme of time, he never considered this alternative.

Suddenly he’s glad he resides in this reality.

So you kiss him again. You’re aware that you’re both a tangled mess on the floor, limbs interwoven, lips pressed against lips. You’re aware that you’re both drunk beyond comprehension, and that you’ve used alcohol to cheat, to skip time, to fast-forward to the good. Because if you were sober right now, you’d be too calculated, too rational to allow this.

And it hurts— kissing him. Because he touches you like he’s never felt anything before, like he’s been impossibly starved for the entirety of his life. Neglected, in so many ways. You’ve never been interested in caring for someone before, but somewhere along the way, he buried his way into your chest, and now, you’re hopeless to the consequences.

Right now, that doesn’t even feel half as terrifying as it truly is.

His hands are everywhere, everywhere they can reach, grasping at anything they can find, trying to bring you closer, closer, to keep the heat burning against his skin. He needs it, needs the feeling of your lips. He’s overwhelmed, overwhelmed as his tongue slides against your own, as his hands press at the curve of your waist, tracing over skin he’s only been dreaming of touching. He feels alive, incandescent with pure bliss.

“I’ve wanted this,” he mumbles against your skin, between breaths. Between the fire. “For so long, so long,” he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours when you both become reacquainted with the concept of oxygen. “Don’t regret this tomorrow, please?”

“I won’t.” you say, drawing his lips back to your own.

And you do stay true to your word.

────────────

Epilogue (—post ‘part I’):

You’re not entirely sure how to approach the situation of sex, considering you’ve just defiled Spencer Reid on various surfaces of his apartment. So, naturally, you untangle yourself from his body, and take him to see some mundane documentary on sealife. Mostly because you know he’ll enjoy it (and you’ll certainly enjoy him leaning over your seat to comment on omitted pieces of information and technical inaccuracies). Then, when it’s over, you muffle his protests on crime as you coerce him into sneaking into another screen.

Now you’re not the most inconspicuous pair, sitting in the back row, practically hidden by shadows. He has one arm wrapped around your shoulder, thumb tracing over the bone there, lost to your proximity, the warmth of your leg, thighs pressed together.

“You are so pretty,” you mutter, transfixed by the sight of him, illuminated by flashing lights. Some excessive slasher playing in the background, discarded.

“Shh,” he sighs, “Be quiet, there’s— you’re distracting me.”

You’re difficult, you know; your head is leant against his shoulder, lips dragging along his jaw, then his neck, just under his ear. He can’t focus on the screen, the movie barely registers, not when all he can feel is you, your lips against skin, leaving remnants of heat wherever they touch.

You’re aware that you’re a few meticulous touches away from giving him a heart attack, albeit it’s not like you have any interest in stifling your attraction. Not when he’s sitting right next to you.

“What was that? Oh? You want me to be quiet. Maybe you should do something about it then, because personally I have no interest in—“

His lips are quick to silence you. Ruinous, you kiss like you talk, with a sense of assertiveness, all encompassing and dizzying. He’s leaning forward to deepen the contact, to chase chase chase your mouth with little regard for etiquette.

“It’s—“ he mutters, stumbling into his apartment when you predictably get kicked out of the cinema. “All your—“ his hands are tangled deep in your hair as he silences your protests with his lips. “Fault.”

He’s lovesick, pressing his thumb against your bottom lip to stifle the contact. He feels light, like everything will be okay, all of the ache will dismantle, disintegrate if he keeps kissing you. But comfortability breeds defiance, so when you try to close the distance again, he’s laughing breathlessly.

“There’s paperwork we need to do—“ he says, and you blink. “It’s stacking up, and uh.. it’s very very important.”

You both stare at each other for a moment. Then, he’s grinning, leaning forward to press an apologetic kiss against your lips. “Sorry, sorry. Had to.”

“You’re a dick.” you confirm, hands slipping beneath his sweater to trace warm flesh. His reaction is scarring, body clattering back against the wall, torso arched forward as every part of him follows your touch mindlessly. He’s not sure if he’ll ever grow tolerant to you, or if it will forever feel this devastating— his swollen lips are parted and a soft oh escapes.

“But a pretty one, so maybe it cancels itself out.” you laugh, adorning his neck in soft kisses that trail, growing sharper, more biting as they begin to puncture skin, leaving behind mauve blemishes. The process is delirious, and you’re coaxing the most destroyed, whiney noises from him now.

Spencer sighs, “I don’t think that’s how it works—“ his sentence is destroyed by a whimper, something pained, when you run your tongue along a forming mark, when you deepen the burn. “I’m uh— yeah.”

You laugh at his mindless sentence, “I thought we needed to do paperwork, hm?”

“What’s paperwork?” Spencer responds, gripping your hips, guiding you back, back, back until you both meet his couch. “I’ve never heard of that— stop making things up.”

“Are you going to behave?” you ask, straddling his hips, pressing against his clothed dick, working in slow movements to intensify the stifled stimulation between you.

“No.” he answers simply, plainly. As if the answer is self-evident. Which, considering the state of him, debauched beyond reason is. His needs are conspicuous, from the scattered bruising that lines his neck to the indecent noises spilling from his throat. He grips your hips, whines when you refuse to push harder against him.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that you can reduce him to this state, diminished to nothing but want the moment your touching becomes calculated.

And god, he wants— he wants to trace every part of you. The shape of your collarbone, the dip of your throat. He wants to mark himself on every part of you. The curve of your wrist, the inside of your hip. Every part available. He feels like an open wound, vulnerable in ways he never anticipated he could be, desperate for you to thread the skin back together, to ease him from this repetitive cycle of desperation.

“Going to punish me?” he teases, watching the myriad of emotions that cross your features. The way you’re so intently focused on him, on his skin, the need he emanates. Fuck— he loves it, he loves how he’s the object of your attention, every thought, every sense devoted to him. No one else, just him.

He knows he’s begging, that he’s all but pleading with you to fix him, to make him whole again, because for some reason, he can’t remember what he was like before you.

“Maybe,” you answer, moving off his lap to destroy the friction, and he wants to protest, but before he can even cohesively think of words, he’s clattering off the couch to sink to his knees.

He’s looking at you now with this distinctive gaze, big, innocent eyes, pupils dilated beyond necessary reason, and you’re disorientated, undone just by the sight of him. It’s fervent, this thing that burns between you, and neither of you are sure when you got so tangled in each others orbit, but you’re not complaining, not when you’ve got him sitting pretty on his knees for you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you state, drawing your hand across his jaw, tilting his head up so he can meet your gaze entirely. You let out an exasperated breath of air, “Don’t look at me like you’re innocent here,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…” he says, and of course he’s playing naive, utilising his lack of experience in this moment, exploiting it to spite you.

Your palm meets his cheek, and he’s gone, just staring up at you, too distracted to formulate a coherent response. He never considered himself to be a particularly ‘dirty’ person until you kissed him, and then he crumbled, evanescence of logic, sanity.

He pushes his thighs together, moaning whorishly at the friction.

And oh, that has you gripping his hair hard, earning an assortment of obscene sounds. With your thighs parted, you hike your skirt up further, allowing him to slot himself in place. He’s quick, needy with his actions, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, trailing them up up up until he meets your panties. Wet, soaked through, a prominent indication that you’re feeling this as much as he is.

He drags them down your legs with little regard, fabric discarded, forgotten about for greater priorities. His tongue, tentative at first, runs along your clit, and you’re responding, hips canting against his face– yeah, suffocate him. He could die very happily right here in this demeaning position.

Tug, he buries his face entirely into you, moaning at the taste, at the sheer concept that he’s being throughly used. It’s messy (in more ways than one), but he knows that it’s good based on your reaction, the way your thighs are wrapped around his head, digging into his shoulder, the way your hand is threaded through his hair, controlling, instructing until he’s just a mindless instrument to your desires.

“Oh— fuck, Spence, that’s it— that’s it. So good, so good f’me.”

“Taste so good, needed this so bad.” he all but whines, pussy-drunk, a little too gone for anyone’s good. He’s straining against his pants, creating damp spots that he really can’t justify, and it hurts. He pushes his thighs harder together, trying to relieve the ache with some pressure, even if he’d love nothing more than to shamelessly grind against your leg right now, to rut in the most indecent way possible. He’s squirming, and don’t come untouched don’t come untouched, focus.

You’re tight, and when the first finger slips inside of you, there’s a visceral reaction from both of you. His hands are deft, slender and long, and with a subtle curve to his movements, he finds that spot before he’s even added a second digit. He would be fairly content with staying here forever, at service to you, watching as you fuck yourself against his face, body bucking and squirming, and yeah– there you go, that’s it. Right there. When you tense, he looks up to meet your debauched gaze, noises spilling from your swollen mouth as you fall apart. Clenching to unclench, perfect.

He’s still dizzy when he comes up, tongue and fingers and mouth and chin all obscenely coated in the aftermath. Oh god, he can’t even stand it, he looks way too satisfied with himself, and he is. He is. He is. He is.

You say how amazing it was (which is sweet, very very sweet) and then you say you’ve used him like a whore. And um. Yeah. Okay. That’s good— great even. He loves being useful!

There’s his bruised knees and then there’s the couch. Stumbling movements, the way he collapses, the way you follow after, shifting to straddle his body.

“Need you. Just you— please. I’ve waited for this, want it so bad.” he mutters.

He’s painfully hard, and he’s been so good, which means he’s prone to acting out now. As you work on staining his neck with remnants of this night, he slips his hand into his pants, and yeah, much better. He could cum just like this, with his palm wrapped around his dick and your lips all over his neck, polluting skin. He should be patient, he knows but he’s so hard and the need is too overwhelming. And oh oh oh. He squirms, releases a pitiful noise that has you reacting, noticing.

After that, his hands get bound behind his back.

He probably deserves that.

He can only watch the depraved actions, the formulated process of you removing his trousers, then his ruined boxers. By the time, he’s bare, undone to your eyes, he’s a disjointed mess. Every time you touch him, the sensory nerves that formulate inside his body burn, agonisingly so, to the point where he can only melt, capitulate to you alone. You, only ever you. He’s fairly certain he was created for you exclusively.

You roll your thumb across his tip, watching as he squirms, grasping your hip, and your free hand, discernibly breaking orders to keep them tethered behind his back. You just lace your fingers together, press a soft kiss against his knuckles, before you return to the simple task of tearing him to pieces.

No. Big. Deal.

“You like that, hm?” you ask, letting out a dissatisfied hum when Spencer only nods, flushed and breathless, debasing little whimpers escaping his mouth with every stroke. “Use your words, — use them or i’ll stop. You don’t want that, do you? Because I don’t think you want that at all.”

“No—no, please, god please don’t stop. I like it— I like it a little too much. Feels, oh.. feels so good.”

Your hand is wrapped entirely around him now, and he can only shift closer, bury his face into the crook of your neck, shelter his gaze from your sight because if he looks at your pretty eyes again, he’ll finish immediately.

God, he’s loud, he’s so loud, a litany of whimpers escaping him with every cataclysmic stroke. It gets to a point where you have to untangle your hands, push your thumb into his mouth, and thankyou, something to do with himself— he just moans around the digit.

“That’s it— taking it so well.”

“I’m trying! Oh, oh… m’trying. Just wanna be good for you— please, please it’s so much.”

He’s so sensitive, too sensitive, it’s good and bad, and it’s a complete onslaught to his deprived body. He’s not sure he’ll ever comprehend how you touch him, the way every movement seems to be perfect in derailing his mind until he’s too blissed out to know anything beyond you.

He’s really trying to form words with your finger in his mouth, but it’s just a mess of saliva and he wants to tell you that he’s a germaphobe, that hands carry so much bacteria, but he’s more than willing to trade germs with you anyway, to offer himself up on a sliver platter, lamb to the slaughter. Sacrifice, he can’t even articulate how much he would renounce for you.

You push your thumb deeper into his mouth, watching as it hits the back of his throat, as he gags around it. There’s blind, unwavering obedience to his actions now, taking it all willingly, passive in a way that counteracts his previous behaviour.

So naturally, you ask if he feels like a slut right now, and yup yup yup. But, as morbid as it may appear, he has no qualms in being your slut, because it’s just you, and the thought that you’re here, that you’re with him, taking care of him in ways he was never convinced he would receive, is intoxicating. Dismantling. Self-destruction, he supposes.

You draw your thumb from his mouth, push it into your own to show him that yeah, sharing germs is not an issue. “Such a good boy for me, Spence. So proud of you.”

“Oh..” now he’s just crying. It’s formidable.

“That’s it— you’re safe. I’ve got you, gonna make a pretty mess for me, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Mhm. Wanna cum so bad, need it— pleasepleaseplease.”

You hum, “Just a little longer for me. You can do it. Be a good boy and hold it.”

“Cant—“

“Spencer.” you say, actively silencing his protests, and he can only nod, following your command mindlessly.

It’s a form of art, he believes, the way you dismantle him piece by piece, the way you destroy his cognitive function, strip him raw until he’s just a tangible mess of everything he was always deprived of. Until it’s just him, just him who you still stare at starry-eyed.

When you finally grant him permission, the bliss has him unable to form anything beyond stuttered oh oh oh’s, his back arching, his nerves ignited, and maybe he’s falling, falling fast because it’s all just a labyrinth of transient pleasure that his body struggles to keep up with.

But afterward, when he’s satiated, you’re still there, and you’re still so painfully warm and real.

There’s something gratifying about the sight of you, taking unprecedented care to clean his skin, to coax him out of his stupor when you’re supposed to be the incarnation of sharpness. It’s a hard concept to grasp, that the blade will never penetrate him, that he’s always going to be your exception.

When you’re tangled in sheets, foreheads pressed together, when it’s just the two of you, and nothing else matters, he does consider luck again. And how so much sacrifice was worthy of enduring, if only for a fleeting second of this.

“I love you,” he mutters, “I have for a long time.”

And you sigh, cup his face, it feels like a solar eclipse, like something astral. “I’m not sure when it happened, but yeah. I love you too, Spence. Love you enough to deal with the insane amount of paperwork HR are going to give us for this shit.”

“Worth it.” he mutters, kisses trailing along your jaw, dipping to meet your neck. “So so worth it.”

[qqueenofhades]

"Radiant" is a perfect word to describe her. Gosh she's just fantastic.

I just.... am still FULLY in shock. At the start of July we were deep in the sordid depths of BidenDebateGate and the media feeding frenzy was fully underway and things looked bad. In the middle of July we had the Trump assassination attempt and the RNC and backstabbing Democrat stories every two minutes and things looked very, VERY bad. My mental health that week was a mess. I was terrified and could barely function and was seriously contemplating having to plan for the worst-case scenario.

And then. July 21. Biden drops out. 24 hours of terror, anger, and confusion, and then? AND THEN???

At the start of August (after the 6543 weeks of July) we were riding insanely high with the Kamalamentum, on August 6 she picked Walz and immediately launched a gangbusters battleground-state tour, here we are after a basically flawless convention that ran as if she was intended to be the nominee all along, and I just... wow. Thank absolute fuck that Biden decided not to listen to all the people who wanted the nightmare of an "open convention mini primary" and immediately endorsed Kamala. Thank fuck that everyone came in line right away. Thank fuck she picked Walz and the whole rollout has been beyond incredible. AND NOW???

After the soul-crushing trauma of 2016 and what looked like another generation of old white male Democratic presidential candidates before they would ever dare to try again, we have a brilliant and experienced woman of color as our presidential nominee. We could experience the absolute god tier karma of said woman of color both making incredible history and ending Donald Trump's entire career all at once. We just witnessed the four-day convention that was riveting and unmissable television. We are raising absolutely stupid insane amounts of money and volunteers and effort and... I just don't understand how this can happen in the Bad Timeline we have been living in, except to hope that if it is, we have somehow finally left it, or can leave it. God. Wouldn't that be nice.

People keep saying that we can't get complacent and we still have to vote, because we are all as noted still traumatized from 2016, but... quite honestly, I don't think that's the issue this time. People are raring at the fucking BIT to vote, in a way that I, who have spent 10+ largely bitter and thankless years on here telling people to vote, can't entirely believe. People want to do this. The younger among you have asked if this is what Obama felt like in 2008, and: Yes, but this is even more unbelievable. At least we could see him coming and had some context for it and watched him gain steam through the primaries, etc. But there was still considerable rancor and uncertainty around whether THIS GUY was going to be the nominee, and plenty of Democrats were pretty skeptical. They warmed up a bit as it went on, but things were still fairly neck and neck with McCain until the great economic crash. After that, Obama began to pull away and finally won in a crushing landslide.

By contrast, 2024 with Kamala is now the most united and excited I have seen the Democrats, EVER, and I have been voting for Democrats and paying attention to politics for almost 20 years. It's literally indescribable. Wow. That is all I can say. Wow, and of course, LET US FUCKING DO THIS. LET'S FUCKING GO. MADAM PRESIDENT. IT'S TIME.

[rayraelleaizawa]

There better be a part 2 of "they say something hurtful in an argument" where they realized they fucked up. I swear on God's name I will not stop crying if you don't.

P.s: very good writing keep it up! ❤️

Side Note: I didnt think that there would be so many requests on part 2, so thank you all for the requests and the support! It helps staying motivated to keep writing :) I hope you'll like this!

Making up after an argument

Part 1: They say something hurtful in an argument

Tags: hurt/comfort, slight angst, making up

Characters: Shanks, Benn Beckman, Dracule Mihawk

Shanks

He feels bad about what he said right after he saw that flash of hurt on your face, the sadness in your eyes and your quiet apology. Shanks immediately wanted to go after you when you left the room, but he was so wrung up in his blanket that he first had to untangle himself before he could go after you. He didnt care how he looked like, his shirt was all the way open, his pants were pulled up above his knee on one leg and on the other it hung down normally and his hair was a mess too. His shoes were completly forgotten somewhere in the room.

When he opened the door from his cabin with a rush and walked outside into the hallway, you were long gone. He instantly went looking for you, starting on deck and working all the way down.

His crewmembers, especially his closest friends, gave him weird looks and concerned stares, but he ignored all of their questions and just ran around looking for you. When he finally finds you, crying on the floor in a dark storage room, he felt a pang go through his heart.

He slowly came closer to you, not wanting to startle you, and started talking quietly.

"Hey, sweet cheeks" he said, sitting down next to you. "Is it alright if i touch you?" he said as he carefully laid his hand on your ellbow.

Seeing you in this state made him want to just wrap his arms around you, pull you close and kiss you all over and apologize to you a thousand times, but he held himself back. This wasnt what you needed right now.

When you didnt react to his touch, he laid his other hand on your shoulder. Shanks tried to catch your eyes, but your face was burried in your legs and your hands were shielding your head from him.

"Darling please look at me" he pleaded, and slowly you raised your head. He laid his other hand on your cheek and his warmth immediately comforted you, but you didnt want to give into his warmth. When Shanks saw your tear struck face and this unbearable sadness in your eyes, he mentally cursed himself for saying those reckless words.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I had no right to let my hangover frustration out on you. Please, forgive me. I love you, my sweet little dove" he tried to apologize.

"Am I really the reason?" you quietly asked, hiccuping from all the crying.

"What?" Shanks looked at you confused.

"Am I the reason why you keep drinking so much? Am I that insufferable?" you cried out, your body shaking at the thought.

"No, no! That wasnt what I meant, please, listen to me! You are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I cant lose you. What I said was mean and a lie. Please believe me when I say I never wanted to hurt you. Please believe me that I didnt mean those words."

Shanks was on the verge of crying himself. The thought that he made his partner feel so bad made him hate himself, swearing to never get this drunk again that he would hurt his lover. He was scared you'd leave him. He wanted to make you feel better, but that was a difficult task when he himself was the reason why you were crying and shaking on the floor. He carefully put his arms around you and placed you on his lap and pressed a small kiss to your forehead.

"It's okay, cry how much you want. Be angry at me, hit me, let all your feelings out on me, I deserve it. But please" he swallowed hard "please dont be sad. Please dont leave me. Not because of my stupid mouth."

You looked up at him when he said that. You noticed his pained face and the fear in his eyes. A fear that he messed up for good. You still felt hurt, but you knew Shanks would never toy with your feelings like that. He was serious about this apology.

You pressed your head in his chest and your tears started to dry out. After a time of silence and him gently stroking your back, you murmered a "I love you, you drunk idiot" into his chest. Shanks felt a stone fall from his heart as he chuckled a bit, leaned down and kissed you on the head. "I love you too, so much pumpkin. I'll never hurt you again. I'll stop drinking so much. Pirate promise"

Benn Beckman

Beckman sighed for the seemingly hundreth time. He still stood on deck, leaning against the railing as he thought about what he had said. He didnt meant to hurt you, but he knew giving you a bit space for now was the right thing. When you calmed down he planned on talking to you, but right now he also needed to sort his own thoughts.

He regretted his words instantly after they left his mouth but the damage was done. He sighed again. Usually he would have smoked at least half a package of cigarettes by now, but he just couldnt bring himself to touch one. Those stupid things were the reason why he made his partner sad. No, bullshit. He couldnt blame anyone else than himself for this. He fucked up.

With one last sigh he left his place at the railing and went underdeck to find you. He had a guess where you were and what you'd be doing, so he went straight to your cabin. He calmed himself with a deep breath in and breath out before he knocked on your door and then slowly opened it.

He wasnt suprised at what he saw. You were at your desk, working away on whatever was laying on your table. Benn carefully stepped into your room and closed the door. You didnt give him any sign that you acknowledged his presence. He walked over to you and waited if you'd say something.

Benn wasnt sure how to approach, so he looked at the papers on your desk. When he saw how shaky your handwriting was and how the ink mixed with waterdrops at some places he sighed again, feeling helpess as he made his own partner cry.

"Hey, I'm sorry about what I said. It wasnt right of me. I let out my stress on you eventho you were only worried about me. I'm deeply sorry."

Benn apologized, but you didnt respond nor did you look at him. He got restless, the uneasy feeling in him became stronger with every second you didnt say anything. You were just writing away on your papers.

"Buttercup, please. I am really sorry. I didnt want to hurt your feelings. You know I love you deeply."

There was a begging undertone in Benns voice by now.

"You dont smell like smoke" was the only answere he got, and hearing your voice immediately eased his anxious feelings a bit.

"I just...couldnt bring myself to touch them" he admitted.

You turned to look at him.

"Maybe i should be upset because of you more often then?"

He breathed out as he sensed that you werent that upset at him anymore. There was a joking undertone in your words, but it was clear that you still were hurt. He laid his hand on yours and leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Please no. I cant handle this. I cant handle seeing you upset. I'm sorry, princess, i'll really try my best to smoke less. Please, I want to make things right again, I-"

He stopped when you laid your hand on his cheek, softly caressing it.

"I know that you're sincer when you start rambling, Benn Beckman."

Dracule Mihawk

Mihawk knew he fucked up big time when he wanted to go look for you but couldnt find you. He noticed your belongings were gone, and then saw footprints leaving away from the castle. Your footprints.

It was starting to become night so he immediately ran after you, following your steps through the woods. He prayed the whole time that you were safe, that nothing happened to you, that you didnt get injured because of his inability to deal with his emotions the right way.

It started raining and it got darker and darker. He hoped he'll find you in time. The nights are cold and the animals in the woods can be even more dangerous at night. Mihawk ran even faster as raindrops hit him more frequently, and soon it was pouring down. His clothes were complety soaked, but he couldnt care less. All he could think of was to find you and bring you back to safety.

While Mihawk dashed throught the woods with experience, you on the other hand stumbled around without orientation. Now that the darkness started to rise, you couldnt see anything anymore. The trees were so close to each other that you couldnt orientate yourself on the stars, and barely any moonlight came through either.

You couldnt count anymore how often you tripped or fell down a slope. Your arms, legs and face were covered in small scratches as you continued to push trough. You werent even entirely sure where you were going, but all you knew was that you wanted to put as much distance in between you and Hawkeye as possible.

Tears still welled up at the thought of him. Those soft moments between you two all seemed like a lie. You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts and carried on. You kept on walking, but a root stood out of the ground and made you trip again. You fell and slithered down another small slope and just as you cursed to yourself you heard a noise.

You stayed quietly on the ground as you listened, not sure if you misheared. No, there were definetely steps. But they were too heavy to be from a human. And Mihawk wouldnt come either. So what was that?

Then you heard a sniffing sound and a roar. And that's when you also got your answer. It was a bear. You tried to stay as calm as possible, but soon you realized why the bear roared so much. You fell in between the bear and it's cup. Which was the worst thing you could do - get in between a mother bear and her child.

You slowly started to crawl backwards, but the mother bear roared again and you heard her coming closer. You tried to hold your breath as you saw her shadowy figure infront of you, and the moment the bear roared almost into your face, you tried to stand up and run away, but of course that didnt work with a bear in front of you. You fell on your butt and tried to ready yourself for the heavy impact with the bears paw which she had raised, when a tall figure was infront of you suddenly, holding a big sword you'd recognise everyhwere. Mihawk. He wielded his sword and cut the ground, and the bear mother and her cup both ran away.

When he turned to face you, you couldnt decipher what his facial expression meant. You sat there, on the ground, cuts all over you and wet from the rain as he suddenly quickly walked up to you. You wanted to stand up, to talk with him, but before you could even say his name he was on the ground with you, kissing you feverishly.

You were confused about what was going on suddenly, but Mihawk pressed you against him in a way you couldnt escape. Not that you really wanted to, cause you felt so many emotions in this one kiss. Fear, anger, sadness, relieve... it seemed like all of those pent up emotions he couldnt let out came through in this kiss.

After what seemed like eternity did he break the kiss, panting as he looked at you.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I'm so glad you're alive. I- I love you."

Was all he said and you looked at him in shock. It was a rare treat to hear those words from him, and you didnt expect to ever hear them again. But here he was, saving you in the middle of the night, telling you his feelings.

"I-I know that you're always worried when I leave. I just didnt know how to break it to you when i had to leave for so long. I not only see the disappointment and worry in your face, I also see fear and sadness whenever i leave. I just...I didnt know how I should tell you that I had to leave for months, fighting some idiots without seeing you all sad about the fact that I might not come back? That's why i left without saying anything. I know i hurt you, my love. I know I said something cruel back in the castle. But this castle is not my home when you arent in it. I'm sorry for hurting you. I didnt know how to express myself. Please, forgive me. I'll work on it."

You only stared in shock as Mihawk talked about his feelings so much. But then a small smile broke out on your lips.

"You're an idiot. But you're my idiot."

He didnt respond, he only blushed which you didnt see in the dark nights, but then he picked you up and started carrying you back to your home.

[lovesuhng]

last night

w.c: 1.1k friends to lovers, a little suggestive, mention of drunk sex, mention of johnny being big

Mental note: never drink again.

You had definitely overdone it the previous night. You didn’t often go to parties, so you enjoyed last night a lot. You hoped you hadn't done anything stupid.

But that wasn’t the case.

You struggled to open your eyes, the sunlight disturbing her vision. Gradually, you recognized that this wasn’t your room. You also felt something holding you by the waist and quickly realized you were being hugged. Seeing that you were next to your best friend, you just snuggled closer to his chest and closed your eyes again.

But you felt something was wrong. You opened your eyes quickly and looked under the blanket you shared with your best friend. Your heart almost stopped when you realized you were both naked. Panic took over your body, making you scream and jump out of bed, waking Johnny, who screamed along with you.

“What’s going on? Why are you screaming like that? My head is going to explode,” said Johnny, putting his hands on his temples, trying to ease the pain.

“For God's sake, Johnny, tell me this didn’t happen.” You pointed at the two of you, trying to explain what “this” was.

“Well… if you want me to lie to calm you down: we didn’t have sex. But if you want the truth, we did.”

“AND HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT SO CALMLY?! This shouldn’t have happened! Look at the mess we made!” You paced back and forth, nervous, running the hands through your hair, gesticulating wildly. “Seriously, what’s going to happen to our friendship now? How are we going to explain this to everyone? How am I going to look at you? Johnny, are you listening to me?!” You stopped walking, putting your hands on your hips, looking at your friend who looked adorable with his sleepy face, messy hair and tattoos on display. You couldn’t deny, he was ridiculously handsome. He had a mischievous smile on his face, watching you (practically devouring you with his eyes). You were ready to say something else when you realized Johnny was looking at you like that because you were completely naked. Your face turned bright red with embarrassment and quickly pulled one of the sheets from the bed, making Johnny laugh, who then made a move to get up, making you scream “no” because you knew he was also naked.

“Can you stop screaming?”

“Wa-wait, I’ll change clothes and wait for you in the living room so we can talk.” If you can remember where they are. Seeing you looking around the room for your clothes, Johnny said:

“Your clothes are in the living room and you better wear one of my shirts.” Confused, you did what your friend said. Your mental question was answered when, upon reaching the living room and grabbing your shirt, you found it torn in half. Some flashes of what happened last night came to mind, but you couldn’t remember much.

After putting on your clothes (or what was left of them), you looked for some hangover medicine, since you knew that apartment better than anyone and Johnny was taking a while, probably taking a shower. After drinking some water, you felt a bit sore. That reminded you of how big your friend was. You felt embarrassed and started remembering moments from the night.

Upon entering Johnny’s apartment, you were laughing at something very silly, but given your state, it was the funniest thing that had happened. He had his hand on your shoulder and you were hugging his waist. It was comical to see Johnny, with his towering height, leaning on you, perhaps the reason you were laughing to the point of tears.

You knew you couldn’t support Johnny for long, given your condition, ended up stumbling and falling onto the sofa, taking Johnny down with you, causing another laughter crisis. But the laughter died down when you realized how close your faces were. The intense exchange of glances only ended because Johnny pressed his lips to yours. This peck became a hot, desperate kiss. Your hands tangled your friend's freshly cut hair, while one of his hands firmly gripped your thigh and the other held your nape, trying to bring you closer.

You needed to separate to catch your breath, but when Johnny saw your reddened, parted lips, he didn’t take long to kiss you again. The kiss was intense, making you give a slight moan when Johnny lightly bit your lower lip, which was enough to drive him crazy. He simply tore your shirt off, impatient. You were a little startled.

“John-”

“Sorry, my dear,” he said, kissing down your neck, making you close your eyes. “But I’m desperate for you.”

He separated from you, stood up on the sofa and gently pulled you up, starting another kiss. You felt his hands roam your body, passing by your butt, lightly squeezing, and moving to your thighs, giving two light taps in a silent request for you to jump up. With ease, he was carrying you to the bedroom without breaking the kiss. Gently, he laid you on the bed, only separating to take off his shirt. Johnny saw your desire-filled gaze roaming his sculpted body and smiled. He was ready to give you the best night of your life. Too bad you didn’t remember much of it.

“__”

You were startled, dropping the glass into the sink. Johnny approached and stood beside you, knowing you were very embarrassed.

“This was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t and you know it.”

“Johnny, stop it!” You turned to him, who was already looking at you. “We’re friends. FRIENDS. And friends don’t do this kind of thing. I don’t even remember much of what happened. We were drunk and that’s what pisses me off the most.” You tried to look away, but Johnny held your chin with his thumb and forefinger, making you look at him, then slid his hand to your cheek.

“Hey, look at me. I agree that having sex drunk wasn’t the best choice, but, please, don’t say it was a mistake.” You could feel the sincerity in his voice, especially since it was trembling, as if he might cry at any moment. “I’ve always wanted you, and the way we loved each other last night, I know you want me too.”

“Don’t play with me, John.”

“I would never do that because you mean everything to me.”

Unlike last night, this kiss was warm and full of love, as if trying to convey many things at once. When you separated, Johnny looked into your eyes and said:

“See? We complete each other. And if you want, I can give you a better night than last night so you can remember everything, Ouch!” He was interrupted by a slap you gave his arm.

“All in good time, you perverted!” You laughed at his expression of pain. “But, I agree, I’ve always wanted you and will always want you.”

[slut4sugu]

𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍- (spencer reid x fem!reader)

𐙚˚ including: toothrotting fluff, Spencer being a sweetheart as per usual, Spencer’s hands omfg, season!10 reid>>, a little suggestive towards the end . 𐙚˚ authors note: didn’t really proof read much, and kinda got lazy towards the end hope y’all like it tho!

Dr. Spencer Reid, Pretty Boy, Kid, boywonder.

But to you? A sweet heart, though Morgan was on the dollar with pretty boy. Puppy dog eyes, a mess of curls, and his hands- dear god Spencer’s hands. Before you two even started dating you would tease him alongside Morgan and prentiss on occasion. Calling him cute or sweet was the norm between you two, over time however those words began to have some underlying meaning to them. Anyone taking a glance at you two wouldn’t have suspected romantic feelings were starting to develop, however the way your voice would soften when you called him Spence was telling to say the least. You two also didn’t make it exactly secretive when you practically jumped into Reid’s arms after coming back from a few days off after a mentally taxing case.

Rossi and Hotch both picked up on you and Reid’s shared closeness first, Hotch occasionally asking about you to Spence in private. Who would answer generally though the unmistaken dilation of his pupils hen your name was mentioned was a dead give away.

It wasn’t until you both walked into the bau months later hand in hand when you made it official to the team. (Who lets be real already knew about your relationship.) Penelope was even more cheery than normal on this day, promising to find you two the cutest couple mugs and matching keychains, plushies, anything and everything. JJ and Morgan were messing with Spence about how he even managed to ask you out, though when you revealed to the team that you made the first move a look of “yeah that checks out.” Was shared among the team.

times like these spent at Spencer’s apartment always managed to make you feel safe and so so loved. Sitting in silence together as Spence would read his 5th book of the night whilst you giggled at whatever rom com was on that night. The feeling of Spence’s body heat was almost like a melatonin, making you want to melt into him. Occasional kisses to your head and cheek would make your heart flutter and a dumb smile tug at the corner of your lips. Nights like these made you fall inlove with him even more. Recently however one certain thing about your boyfriend cemented this fact for you, his hands. His pretty veiny slightly toned hands, the way his fingers scanned the passages of the book was unreasonably attractive.

After a few minutes the couple bickering on the tv no longer had your attention rather it was your pretty boyfriends distracting hands. You noticed his forearms were veiny as well, the silver watch that clinged in his wrist was just the cherry in top. “Do you want me to read to you love?” Reid asked with a witty chuckle, thinking you were actually intersected in the contents of his novel. You hummed in response, “mm you can baby, but I was just looking at your hands, yknow you really are a pretty boy. You say calmly, not even realizing the words that came out of your mouth until you heard his adorable laugh. “My hands?” He asked with a smile, taking a glance at his own hands with a slightly amused look.

Sitting up you mentally cursed at yourself, burying your face in his neck. Amused and curious, Spencer put his book down on his nearby wooden nightstand. Taking a mental not on the page he left off on before admiring at your flustered state with a grin on his face. “They look pretty t’me..” you mumbled. You really didn’t how adorable you could be, it’s almost like you would purposely tease him with that sweet voice or yours and your child like mannerisms. Everything about you drove the fbi against insane, your laugh, your hugs, your sweet goodbye kisses, the way you’d run your fingers through his hair. You were his Eden, his safe place, his sweetheart. He smiled down at you before asking, “Why are you hiding angel? I would like to see your beautiful face.” Spencer admitted softly, which then prompted you to pull back and look at him shyly after a moment, “There she is, hi sweet girl.”

The butterflies in your stomach fluttered at the look he gave you, his eyes so full of love and admiration. A hint of teasing? Sure, nonetheless it made you feel giddy. Even more so when he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “you like me hands huh?” He asked teasingly you could feel his breath on your cheek as his voice softened, yet the way his words fell past his lips made you feel hot. “Shut up, forget I ever said anything.” You mumbled once more before feeling Spencer shift next to you, now laying on his side as he pulled you back into his warmth. His arms wrapping you up in a gentle yet loving hug, “How could I ever? Every word you say is like a sacred poem only I get to hear. Also it’s actually quite normal to be attracted to your partners hands, studies shown that women tend to prefer or even solely be attracted to a man with more rough hands because of the apparent sex appeal-.” You let out a giggle, as you heard your boyfriend catch himself in the middle of his sentence. “You okay honey?” You loved messing with him, this was just too good. You could almost heard the connection he made into figuring out what was so fascinating about his hands. “My hands aren’t rough.”

You let out a laugh into his chest, Spence could really be unfairly cute and not even realize it “Pff- that’s what you take away from this?”

“No, we can address how you’re turned on by the apparent veins on my hands at a different time.”

“Unless you rather discuss that now-?”

“Sometimes I hate your hot little nerd brain.”

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

One Bloody Morning

Summary: Spencer has the first day off in months, and Reader wakes up to her period.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Comfort

Content warning: Descriptions of blood and menstruation, cramps, etc.

Word count: 1.3k

Spencer has been rummaging in the kitchen and bedroom for the past hour. He's prepared for your plans, taking advantage of every minute of his official day off. He discarded his phone in one of his coats last night and has yet to even look in the closet it's hanging in.

But none of that is the reason you're awake. You’re frozen in Spencer’s bed, your back facing him as he thinks you're in bliss. He doesn’t see how you’re in the most humiliating state. And you don’t know how to rush to the bathroom without being noticed. Without all of it being noticed. 

You understand, even if you make it out of bed and hobble to the other side of the room and jump into the shower, evidence will still be left behind. Evidence that you’re a woman who bleeds, and that's the last thing you want to remind Spencer of.

“Hey, sleepy —”

The scream you let out is piercing but quick. As you spring up from the blankets, Spencer jumps back. You keep the covers over your waist. Hiding.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” He takes a hand that came out of the blankets. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You tell him. It’s not. The scare pushed more out, and it’s long stained your nightgown. It'll seep into his white sheets with the mess. And although you’re well aware fresh blood comes out easy with a cold wash and an extra cycle, the tears start to cloud as your cramps pound at you like an angry neighbor at the door.

“Hey, hey,” Spencer cups your face and your tears fall as soon as his skin touches yours. “I should have been more careful. I genuinely thought you were still asleep and I wanted to wake you up myself."

“No.” Is all you can choke out. Your esophagus is thick with embarrassment. “No.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He crouches to meet your eyes. You can barely return the gesture. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No.” You remain present enough to catch a breath but try to keep others following so you can hopefully say something else in a convenient amount of time

Spencer, however, given his limited knowledge, does not know what to do except the thing he usually does when you’re in this state; he hugs you. Tight.

And that is, of course, the one thing that doesn’t help. The feeling of your organs pressed against his chest is torturous as he tries to show you love, to show you how upset he feels about his actions. Because, thanks to your extensive vocabulary, he thinks he is the reason you’re acting this way. What else is he supposed to think?

You can’t take it anymore, and it pains you to push him away as you say “Stop.” The relief is slight but the shame only grows as you pull your legs out to rest your feet on the floor. You mentally prepare to reveal it all as well as stand. The sharpness in your lower back feels like Spencer was trying to hug you with his hands balled into fists and not calming flat palms.

Spencer follows you as you gather the strength to stand. The palms of your hands rub tears and leftover sleep from your eyes. But you still can’t look at Spencer. Instead, you gaze at the lamp on the nightstand next to you. Nothing is impressive about it, and you remember that as you push the blankets back.

Spencer says nothing.

You cup your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry.” And a sob breaks through.

Spencer is still quiet. And even though he never jumps to anger, you’re still afraid to look at him.

Nevertheless, you do, as the silence only becomes more deafening with the passing minutes (or what feels like minutes).

Rather than anger, Spencer’s eyebrows turn down as he looks at you. His lips parted before he asked. “Are you okay?”

As if your heightened emotions hadn't exposed you enough at the moment. Standing alone adds even more pressure to your back, and the stickiness between your thighs is something you don’t even want to acknowledge.

“That’s a dumb question.”

“No, n —” You avoid repeating yourself for the fifth time. “It just… came. I usually feel it when it’s on its way but this time it —”

Spencer’s hands caress your arms. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’ll throw them in the wash while we’re gone, okay? I know you’ve prepared the picnic stuff."

“It’s 9:22 in the morning and 84 degrees today. We’ve got time.” His hands rub your arms gently, creating slight warmth as he moves. “Now, what do you need?”

“A shower.”

“Okay.” His hands leave your side and he steps back. “Go ahead. I’ll handle this.”

“I can —”

“Ah.” He holds his palm up, causing you to pause. "Shower now.”

Spencer isn’t the type to adopt an authoritative voice with you, but you can’t admit you don’t dislike it. You note it, for future use obviously.

But for now, you try to walk (for the love of God, do not waddle) to the bathroom. The sounds of the sheet corners springing back to the center are all you hear before closing the door. You shimmy out of your delicate gown and let it drop on the tile. You don’t look down at the carnage; focus on the faucet. You lean over the tub and let it pour out water and steam, blessing your skin already.

When you step in, the clear water hitting your skin already fades into a pink shade. Bits of dark tissue follow the flow to the drain. A drop doesn’t touch your hair because cleanliness is all you need. The heat, although pricking your skin, soothes your back, nearly wiping out your pained muscles. It doesn’t even matter when steam takes up more air than oxygen.

“Yeah.” You reply. A few seconds pass, and you remember you didn’t grab a towel before stepping in. Lucky for you, Spencer has a small bathroom, so you lean over just far enough to open the door.

Spencer knocks on the door, and you can barely hear it. "Hun, are you doing okay?”

And of course, he’s standing there, rolled towel in hand. He even holds it up like a serving tray with his signature dorky smile and raised eyebrows. “Fresh from the dryer," he said. He hands it to you to cover yourself. And he gives you the discretion of not looking at your nightgown discarded on the floor. Instead, as you step out, wrapped in more warmth, he sits on the tub lip.

“Thank you.” You tell him and grin.

He smiles back as you walk to the mirror, brushing the steam with one hand. He watches your every move, admiring you for all you are, even in pain.

“You okay?” you still ask. There’s something, something else.

Spencer bites his lips closed for a moment. “How long were you awake?”

You shrugged. You look at him only through the mirror. “Maybe 20 minutes.”

"Hm." He glances down, at the nightgown between you both. “I wish you had told me.”

“It’s never not embarrassing, Spencer, no matter how many times it happens. For most women I know, at least.”

“Well, I mean,” he swallows. “I am a doctor, so.”

“A psychological kind, though.”

“Who also deals with dead bodies, blood, and other bodily fluids, common and uncommon, daily."

You don’t say anything. The horror stories he tells with enthusiasm from a scientific perspective (his words) prove his point enough.

“Honey, there’s nothing your body can make that can disgust me.”

“Even a baby?” You joke.

And he chuckled. Thank God, he didn’t want kids either. Not in his line of work. “It’s clear your birth control is effective at least.” He gets up and walks toward you, bridging the gap. Before his hands meet your waist, he looks at you in the mirror and waits. You nod, and he gently wraps his arms around you, his head pressed against your damp shoulder. “You can tell me anything.” He kisses the skin. “When you want me to help, let me know. Okay?”

Despite the awkward angle, you kiss him with relief, winding strands of his hair in with your fingers. “Okay.”

[liveontelevision]

Redemption | Lucifer x Reader

This is mostly fluff and angst so far, but there's a chance i'll write a part 2 with some possibly smuttier stuff goin on 🥴

Heads up, Lucifer's a god damn mess in this one. Love to see my boy suffer, though.

♡♡♡

"Sure, whatever. You got the job." Lucifer let's out an exhausted sigh, pushing himself away from his desk and immediately pulling a stack of papers into his hands before beginning to walk off.

You lift up your finger as if to add something to this one-sided conversation, but nothing seems to come out. You shake your head and pull away from the same desk, where you were seated across from the king of Hell.

"O-Oh! Thank you, Your Highness! I'll be here first thing Monday morning!"

"Yeah, listen, I only hired someone because Lillith says I need to lighten my workload, but I can't trust some random sinner... and I got a whole system going, soo - " he responded to you as he took paperwork and filed it away, not at all engaged in conversation.

"Just be here and look busy at your desk. It's the cushiest job ever. If you're lucky, you'll get some calls and schedule some appointments." He waved his hand, silently dismissing you from his office.

"Ah.. well, i'll still be here if you ever need assistance, Sir! Right.. Monday, i'll be here! Thank you - " You stammered out some enthusiastic words before quickly walking towards the door and letting yourself out. Lucifer never stepped away from his work, letting you uncomfortably leave without a word.

The weekend goes quickly, and yet your first week working as Lucifer's assistant goes by slowly. He meant what he said. You simply sat at the desk right outside his office and managed to take one call the entire week. It was spam. You really couldn't complain much, though. You sat there and doodled, or read a book, or kept yourself busy with some other meaningless task and got paid well for it.

Very Well.

You thought that working at a job like this for even a single year would leave you with enough money to live comfortably in Hell, which was saying something. Lillith occasionally came by to ask how the king was, but you were given scripted answers by Lucifer for almost all her questions. You'd say things that made it sound like you were taking on as much work as possible, giving the Queen some sort of satisfaction with your employment.

Your relationship with Lucifer was distant for the first few years you knew him. But, about 5 years into this job, you actually felt well versed in your work. After he trusted you with at least filing things away, you became very familiar with his documents. So, when Lillith suddenly disappeared and Lucifer fell into a depression, you adjusted quickly to pick up anything he couldn't handle. He was frustrated that you were taking initiative but softened at the sight of how well you managed to get everything done.

As his mentality began to improve, he'd take on some paperwork that you would do, finally giving you a chance to breathe. No wonder Lillith insisted on getting him help. He had quite the workload.

After things were settled a bit more, it became easier to try and chat with him. You had brought him a pot of tea at some point, which quickly became a routine after you saw how much he appreciated it. Then as time went on, you'd bring two cups with you, sharing his free time.

You became closer during Lillith's absence, being the only person who saw him on the daily. You'd been there for his angry fits when something especially frustrating would occur. Or when work became too much, it led to a vulnerable display of misery that you had to be careful around.

On a certain day, you finally commented on Lucifer's depressed state. He was quick to open up to you, being too exhausted to consider the repercussions of sharing such intimate thoughts. That was the night you learned that Lillith had just disappeared. She left a note that instructed him to take care of Charlie, but there was no indication of her returning. He was such a kind soul, it twisted your heart seeing him suffer this much.

After that, things started to become more casual between the two of you. You'd handle his work with ease, and he appreciated you more than you'd ever know. Such a hard worker sticking by his side through all of it, it filled his head with a cluster of thoughts that he never had time to entertain. You were pleased to be able to call him a friend after all this time.

It's been 7 years since Lillith disappeared, and things had settled into a routine. You would do your work, ask him questions if needed, and spend your break time drinking tea and discussing personal projects or what your life was like. The few joyful stories you had would almost bring him to tears, considering he never was able to see what free will did for humans on Earth after all this time.

One morning, you heard him taking a phone call before a chipper Lucifer kicking open his office doors. You jumped, the wind blowing some papers away from in front of you.

"Damn it!" You huffed, quick to lean down to collect the mess he made.

"Clear my schedule for the rest of the day, sweatheart! My daughter wants to see me!" He spoke with pride, adjusting his bowtie and taking a deep breath to attempt to ease his nerves.

"Hey, that's great! I'll cancel your meetings. I'm glad to see that you two are finally getting in touch again." You smiled sincerely as you stood in front of him. You towered over him by just a few inches. You gave a quick swipe off his shoulders, clearinv some barely noticeable dust from his coat. He was quick to step away, not expecting the sudden touch. That was definitely something you picked up on; that he didn't really understand how to react to touch after Lillith left.

"Y-Yes, very good. I'll be getting ready if you need me." He stammered out, sending you awkward finger guns before making his way down the hall. You always loved seeing him flustered.

As you tried to get work done, you really couldn't keep your mind straight. You finally put some paperwork down after re-reading the same sentence over and over, realizing you weren't getting anywhere. You let out a huff and made your way to Lucifer's room.

He'd let you into his bedroom a handful of times over the years to pack his bags for trips that would take a few days or to bring him tea. There were a few times where you'd let yourself in, like taking care of him when he would get sick - no matter how much he insisted he didnt need the care - or if you felt he could benefit from talking something out.

You knocked lightly, but not getting a response for a while, you peaked your head inside carefully. He was pacing his room, multiple suits hanging in front of him on a rack and clothes piling up on the floors.

"Oh geez.. Lucifer, can I come in?" You asked out loud, your head already peaking in.

"Fuck! Ooh, sure! Yup! One.. Second..." You tried not to watch him portal away the mess, pushing random items inside before quickly snapping it away. He leaned on his desk, trying to seem unphased as you stepped inside. "Aaand what can i do for you, my dear?" He spoke as if he hadn't been a fumbling mess for the past half hour, but you could tell almost immediately.

"I just - I wanted to tell you how proud I am. I know you've had a rough couple of.. centuries... but I also know how much Charlie means to you, so I'm glad you're finally getting to see her work. I'm sure she looks up to you, no matter what you think of yourself." You looked away, shyly rubbing your arm for some sort of comfort, hoping that you weren't overstepping any boundaries. You weren't exactly looking in his direction when you spoke, so you didn't expect a sudden hand to take yours, running a thumb across your knuckles gently. You immediately perked up.

"Thank you.. You always know just what to say to calm me down, huh?" He sent you a sweet smile. It was clear that he was struggling to keep tears from welling in his eyes, the sentiment just too much for him to handle. He let out a quick sigh before giving your hand a small squeeze and letting it drop. Your eyes widened, and your face turned red. This was a big step. Even after all these years, he rarely made any physical contact with you.

"So! I guess now that you're here, I might need some help with - uh.. suits! W-What to wear.." He picked up on your flustered expression and was quick to change the topic. Snapping his fingers, he let the previous portal reappear. Clothes, accessories, and a full rack of suits fell out like a closet door that had burst open. You both stood in silence for a moment before you broke it with a snort, covering your smile immediately.

As soon as he returned, Lucifer immediately updated you on how the visit went. It was a long vent about some obnoxious red-headed demon, Charlie's clearly angelic girlfriend, and the sudden fear of having to contact Heaven and schedule the meeting.

"I've got it, sir. You know they seem to tolerate me more than you for some reason." You grin wickedly, flipping your hair to display confidence. He let out a soft chuckle and gave you a quick pat on the shoulder before heading back to his room.

It took all your strength not to follow him.

A few months had passed, and you had to pick up some more work than usual due to Lucifer being busy with the construction of the hotel that had been demolished. After it was completely done, you noticed that the building had an apple shaped tower. You confronted the king before he nervously admitted to moving into the hotel to be closer to Charlie.

"Oh! That's.. yeah, that's great, sir! I should be fine here, i've been handling it pretty well so far, right? I'll be fine." Your final statement was more for yourself than him.

"What? You're not joining me? I still have an office, and even if it's a bit smaller, i still expect you to come work for me. There's plenty of rooms, too, if you want to stay nearby. But, hey - if you'd rather stay here then - "

"No! I'll go to the hotel!" You quickly blurted out, seeing a sly grin across his face. Oh, he totally did that on purpose. You let out a groan and rolled your eyes, trying to conceal the light blush creeping across your face.

So, that was that. You were quick to settle into the hotel, meeting and bonding with the staff easily. Lucifer had told you so much about them that you could nearly recognize them through their appearance alone. Charlie was the easiest. She had plenty of pictures in the castle and looked just like her father. Once you had settled into your room that was just a few yards away from Lucifers office, you heard a quick knock. You opened the door to Charlie's bright face.

"Hi! I hope you're settling in okay! I don't know how much my dad's told you about my project, but.. if you're interested  - " She holds out a pamphlet, Redemption written across the top of it. " - you're totally welcome to join us!"

You take it with a smile before shutting your door again. You skimmed through it, getting the jist. It made you think of your parents. You hadn't seen them down here, luckily, so you wondered if they'd be in Heaven. You never had the best relationship, but they were family at the end of the day. Maybe it was something to consider.

The work environment was changing. Lucifer handled more hands on tasks, so you saw him less than before. You helped with anything Charlie or Lucifer needed, but still mainly stayed at your desk to finish some routine work. In your free time, you attended exercises and hung around with the other guests. You really only interacted with Lucifer for the past decade, so getting out and talking to others was a nice change.

Every so often, you'd get a chance to chat with Lucifer. When you entered the office in the morning and saw him working at his desk, you quickly whipped up some tea at the heated pad that was added to the office for this exact reason. You took any chance you could catch up with him. Placing the cups on his desk and filling them both, he almost jumped, clearly invested in this letter he was reading.

"Thank you.. how've you been doing? I know we don't get much tea time anymore - " he childishly clinks your cups together before taking a sip, " - but.. just been busy... Sorry." He said softly, his smile slightly drooping as he spoke.

You quickly swallow your tea to reassure him," Mm! Don't be sorry, I knew things would be different here, I don't mind! And besides, Charlie's been keeping me busy with the whole redemption thing. It's kinda fun, everyone here is really sweet." You spoke, going into detail about some of the exercises that went on and how they would play out. His smile never really picked up, he would simply nod and continued to sip his tea as you went on.

"Well - Glad you're having.. fun... I suppose." He glanced at a calendar sitting on his desk for just a moment, before letting out a shaky breath.

"Your highness? Is everything okay?" You immediately noticed his dismissive attitude, before placing your empty cup on his desk.

"It's Lucifer, remember? You've known me too long to keep calling me your highness." He cringed at the title, making quotation marks as he said it. He stood from his seat with a stretch. You had little room between the two of you when he stood up, making you stumble back a bit. He patted your shoulder, a gesture that became comforting throughout the recent months. His hand lingered a bit longer than usual. He stepped away, leaving the office to do some kind of task you weren't paying attention to.

"O-Okay..! I'll see you around then, Lucifer!" You nearly shouted his name, hoping he'd hear it even though he was down the hall at this point. He heard it. And boy, did he regret telling you to do that. He covered his red face as he turned the corner out of your view.

A few weeks had passed, and you really didnt see Lucifer around at all. Every time you went into the office, he seemed to just be heading out. Maybe it was just bad luck. But you went on with your routine, even without seeing him as much as you'd like.

With the stress of not seeing Lucifer and a particularly rough day, you struggled to walk to your room. Fumbling in your pocket for your room key, you caught a glimpse of the devil himself leaving his office.

"Lucifer!"

You called out, almost sounding relieved. He shot his eyes up to look at you, sending you a nervous smile and a little wave. You stumbled over yourself a bit to catch up to him, stopping him where he stands.

"How have things been going? You wouldn't happen to have time for some tea, would you? I'd love to get some updates!" Even with a drained social battery, you wanted nothing more than to be in his presence right now.

"O-Oh! U-Uh.. sure, i'll get it started, I have some time.." he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, turning back towards the office.

"Great! I'll be there in a second, okay?" You cheerfully went back to your room, not noticing his nervous expressions as he spoke to you.

You took a few minutes to change into some comfortable clothes. Sure, you looked great in business casual, but nothing could beat a cropped t-shirt and pair of sweat pants that bagged loosely around your hips. Lucifer's seen you this way a few times. sometimes, late night projects needed to be worked on and he would always insist that you work in something comfortable, knowing it would take a while to finish.

So you had no issue when you reentered the office, shutting the door behind you.

He desperately tried to keep his eyes away from your mid drift, looking back towards the boiling water on the heated pad in front of him. His vest was undone and his coat was hung up nearby. He had rolled his sleeves up, and stood at the counter with his hands placed on his hips. You took in his appearance, feeling a bit better that he wasnt completely put together either.

"So? How's.. how's your day been?" He asked in a hushed voice, keeping his face completely out of view.

"It's been kind of a rough day, actually.. Charlie needed some help with some new residents, so I had to give a few tours. Which i don't mind of course, but fuck does that take more energy than i have. And some of the demons were looking at me funny, so I had to get out of their fast. Angel hid me in the library for hours! It was fine, though. Besides, it was fun to hang out with him. Oh, and Charlie says i'm making good process, too! That was a good pick-me-up." You said your last sentence with pride, puffing out your chest a bit.

"Fuck!"

You quickly drop your eyes to see Lucifer hunched over, clutching his hand with a hiss. You see the tea pot boiling over and quickly rush over to unplug the heated pad.

"Lucifer, be careful, geez! Is this why i make tea all the time? Can't handle it?" You teased, taking a towel to clean up the small amount of hot water sitting on the counter. Finally seeing the damage, you see a burn forming along the palm of his hand. You look at him for a moment, hovering your hand just over his wrist. He nods to you then looks away, letting you take a soft grasp onto his wrist amd leading it over to the accompanying sink just a few feet away. You held his hand under the faucet, letting a slow stream of cold water run over his hand. He flinches at the sensation, but immediately relaxes once he realizes how much of a relief it was.

"Are you okay?" You asked softly, leaning against the counter with your head cocked to the side. "Maybe it's just because you've been so busy, but i feel like something.. happened. Do you wanna talk to me?" You offered your help, but made it clear that he didnt need to open up if he wasnt ready. It was one of the boundaries you respected that he appreciated so much.

"It's- yeah. I'm fine. Things are going well, right? We have residents, Charlie's getting some good progress apparently, and Heaven's finally keeping us updated on the redeemed souls.. so, it's all good! Just needs a little elbow grease to keep this ship running, right? Nothin' the king of hell can't handle." He spoke smugly.

"Sure! It's great that the hotel's doing well. But I asked how you're doing." You clarified for him, crossing your arms across your chest. He groaned, placing his weight on his elbow on the counter and leaning forward, his hand still shifting under the running water.

"I-I'm.. it's..." he stammered and struggled to piece together his thoughts." It's... been almost 15 years. Since I hired you. Did you know that? Even after Lillith left, you still stuck around and took care of me.. I'm such a mess, why do you still take care of me..?" He mumbled his words, as if he never really wanted you to hear them.

 "I guess it has been, huh? Best decision of my life, really. I mean you pay me way too much, but.. I also got to make a friend, too. I'll be here for you no matter what, Lucifer. You're not a mess, you're doing great." You smiled at him, shifting your position to place a hand on his shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath, leaning his head towards your hand. His cheek brushed against the top of your hand, in a sort of caressing motion. You pulled away, out of shock, your hands enclosed in front of your chest. He looked up to see your eyes wide open and your body suddenly tense. He opened his mouth, as if to apologize, but stops to think for a moment instead.

He keeps his eye contact, taking a hold of your hand again, and pressing a small kiss on your knuckles, before leaving it in front of his lips. You felt his breath against your hand as he finally gets the courage to speak.

"You'll be here no matter what, huh? So.. If i were to ask you to... stay - I mean you don't have to say yes, but.. hypothetically... if i asked..." he spoke slowly, like he was still searching for the words as he said them out loud.

You melted at his sudden affection, your knuckles tingling from the sensation of his lips and breath against your hand. It was only after he spoke, you pulled your hand away from him carefully.

"What..? You mean like... stay in Hell? I don't - Lucifer, i'm confused. I've been working with Charlie for almost six months, you know? What's going on?" You sounded almost frightened, and it sent a pang to Lucifer's heart. He turned the sink off, beginning to rub the water off his hand. He hissed, the friction just causing more irration. Your instinct to aid him took over. You took the towel in one hand and his burned hand in the other, lightly dabbing the towel against the tender skin.

"Well, i said it was hypothetical, didnt I? What.. what would you say? Would you stay?" You paused with your hand holding his wrist, looking dwon at the calmed burn.

"Hypothetically? I don't.. I don't know, Lucifer.. I know Charlie could always use extra hands, and... you'd have to hire someone else, which would be a hassle - " he cringed at the thought of hiring someone else once it was said outloud.

"Exactly! See? You get it! I - We need as much help as we can get for the hotel, so.. maybe try to stick around. You've been too useful to keep doing this silly exercises, don't you think?" He was panicking. You could hear him desperately trying to come up with any excuse under the sun, but it still caused you to tense up. Your body curled into itself and you stepped back a bit, looking at him with such a purplexed expression that even he didnt understand what he was saying.

"Lucifer, I know your work is important and I know how much you want to support Charlie, but.. she said i'm doing it. That I might have a chance to go up to Heaven! Isn't that the whole point of being here? Isn't that what you want?"

His eye twitched at your words and he was quick to change his temper.

"No! It's not! That's not why you're here..! You're here, because I need you - need you to keep working for me! You're here because I brought you here. You know, the last redeemed soul was only here for six months, too! You could disappear at any second!" His voice sounded stern, but it was clear his intentions dripped of desperation. It still hurt you nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, but what the fuck?? I'm doing all the activities and making friends here, I thought you'd be happy about that! I've supported you through so much and even though you're acting this way, i always will! I thought you'd do the same!" You began to pace the office, your breath hitching a bit as you spoke. You tried your hardest not to let the tears in your eyes well up. Not wanting to let Lucifer see you in this state, you began to leave the office, quickly opening the door.

"No! Wait! I can't - I-I don't know how to - " He still struggled to get a coherent sentence out as you turned to face him one last time.

"Sir - "

" I told you not to call me that..!" He clenched his fists at the term.

"No. I can't do this while you're acting like this. I'll give you some space, let you figure out.. whatever's going on with you, then... we can talk. But if you decide that this is all you have to say, then I'll be continuing my work with you and Charlie, as usual. Goodnight, Sir."

You couldn't help but let your voice crack as you spoke. The idea of just moving past this sudden outburst hurt, but you knew that sometimes he just needed that space. And you hated to admit that you could use the space as well. You were supposed to be the calm and collected assistant, right? You were his anchor for a lot of the struggles he'd seen throughout the years and he confided so much in you.

What the fuck was his problem?

---

A few hours had passed, it gave both of you time to calm down from the heated discussion. Lucifer found himself right in front of your room, still without the strength to knock on your door. He took a deep breath in and held it in his chest before finally reaching foward. Before he even got the chance, the door swung open, smacking the air from his lungs. You both make sudden eye contact with eachother before Lucifer was hunched over coughing out the wind that was just knocked out of him. You cover your smile with your hand, pulling away from the door to open it fully.

"I guess you really are a mess, Lucifer.. what do you need?" You couldn't help but giggle when he lost his composure like this, it lightened your mood for a moment.

"Ahha.. you know me so well. I-I want to talk to you, you deserve an apology.." His voice was quiet, but you knew it was sincere. You stepped to the side, allowing him to enter your room.

"Okay, just - let me get through this, alright?" He took in a deep breath and spoke quickly,

"I don't understand why you want to go to Heaven. I told you about it in the past, you know how awful they are.. the rules and the limitations, fuck! They've done nothing but hurt me and fuck up everything going on down here. You couldve died you know! If you werent working for me and were just wandering the streets, you couldve been killed in any of those exterminations! I can't lose you! I-I - " you immediately noticed him losing his train of thought, and take a soft grip on his wrist in an attempt to ground him.

"I think my parents are up there, sir- Lucifer.."

He stops where he's at and looks towards you, before walking backwards and plopping down at the bench in front of your vanity.

"I-I didn't know. I never thought about-"

" - why i'd want to be redeemed? This isn't about wanting to leave you, I just.. i didnt realize this was an option, you know? That i might get to see them, again.."

Just for your own comfort, you shifted your grasp from his wrist to his hand, running your thumb across his palm lightly. The motion made him shiver slightly, still a bit sensitive from the burn.

"I didn't know you'd want to see them, i'm sorry.. you don't really talk about them much, so i thought..."

"No, you're right I didn't really have a good relationship with them, but it'd be nice to know theyre happy still, right? That all that time they spent working to keep me in school was worth it.. don't i owe them that?" He took a moment to process your words, his fingers slowly curling around your hand.

"I mean, you don't owe them anything, really. I have to ask, when's the last time you did something.. for yourself? You've been working for me for years and even here, it sounds like you're.. Ah, I'm sorry, i don't know what i'm saying - ". He always struggled with reading emotions, but even he could tell that that his words struck a nerve.

He looked away, dreading the silence that followed. What he wasn't expecting was the small hic and sniffles that suddenly came from your direction. He almost panicked, his eyes darting around the room for anything that seemed like a solution. He quickly stood up and hesitantly reached towards your face, just lightly brushing the tears that had streaked down your reddened cheeks.

"I-I don't know... I don't need much and I'm happy doing whatever you need me to, usually, so - I'll just keep doing that, okay? I-I'll stay.."

He groans and cringes at your words, before lifting your head to meet his eyes, his hands softly cupping your cheeks as he continued to wipe the tears still falling from your eyes.

"If you want to go to Heaven, I can't stop you. I-I won't stop you. But I also want you to.. be happy. I'm sorry about earlier, I never wanted to make any of this harder for you. You've done so much for me, sweetheart, I was scared of losing.. you... But I can handle myself, I promise. I mean, i'm a 10,000 year old demon with more power than I know what to do with. I'll be okay." He spoke sweetly, finally managing to let out a coherent thought. You melted into his touch, placing your hands overtop of his. Your eyes fluttered shut, allowing the last few tears to drip down.

"I know. I mean, sometimes I don't - sometimes it feels good to be able to help you so much - but I know you'll be fine." Your voice had a hint of hesitation. It was a relief to get some sort of resolve out of this conversation, but deep down, it felt as if you were deemed worthless. After all these years, he's saying he'd he fine if you went on to pursue other things, but why does that hurt?

"You asked when.. when was the last time I did something for myself. Honestly, I feel selfish. I feel like I've spent all this time taking care of you, because I like... feeling needed. I like that you ask me what to wear when you're nervous, or that you let me handle some of your more obnoxious clients just so you don't have to, I- I love it, actually. I love - being with you." You didn't realize you let out a mild confession, until you looked back to Lucifer to see his incredibly nervous expression. He was holding his breath, eyes impossibly wide as he bites his lower lip to prevent a quiver. He finally gulped before looking away and rocking back and forth on his heels.

"W-Well then! Self care at its finest, am I right? Ahha.. that's great how selfish you are! Self-selfless! Very selfless actually, I.. I really appreciate that you enjoy being around - enjoy my company..!" You watch him whip his hands behind his back, defaulting to the nervous mess he usually became when racked with a stressful situation.

"Oh! Lucifer, I'm sorry, that was a lot, I don't want you to feel like you have to - " A red clawed finger quickly hits your lips, and you see him with a lovely flustered expression. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, finger still uncomfortably pressed to your mouth.

"Can I- would you let me just- Fuck.. can I do something?" He blurted out. He was always so easy to read, but you prayed you weren't misunderstanding when you took a hold of his hand and pressed a small kiss to the tip of his finger that had lingered over your lips until now. He let's out a nervous chuckle and you hear an audible gulp as he moves his hands back to your cheeks, pulling your face down slightly to be able to meet his gaze. You can feel his heavy breath against your lips, suddenly realizing how close he actually was. In a quick motion, you pressed another small kiss onto his lips. You felt his hands jump at the sudden interaction, and tried your hardest to keep a smile from creeping on your face.

He let out a quick breath before planting a shaky kiss onto your lips, lingering for a moment longer this time. It still wasn't a lengthy kiss, but it was more than he could manage before stepping away for a moment, overwhelmed by your presence. This finally gave you a good look at him, a bright pink flush covered his face, and a small sheen from the lipgloss you forgot you were wearing appeared on his lips.

"You're so pretty, Lucifer." You spoke boldly, a suddern surge of confidence hitting you, just seeing him in this state.

"Can we keep going..?" You asked softly, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. He pulls at his collar, attempting to let any cool air hit his heated skin to try and calm him down. It's been a long time for him, sure, but considering the previous discussion, hearing you say you loved being around him, was enough to give him the confidence to nod along and sit next to you. You took a hold of his cheek and turned his head to face yours.

"I'll only do what you're comfortable with okay? We can stop whenever you need to." Your voice was sweet, your thumb beginning to run across his bottom lip as you spoke. He struggled to keep his eyes open, melting into your touch, and propped his hand on your arm to keep himself upright. He nodded slowly, finally letting his eyes droop close as you bring him into another kiss. You were definitely more confident than he was in this moment, or maybe it was just repressed excitement for an opportunity like this to happen. With your thumb still holding his bottom lip slightly ajar, you kissed along the each corner of his mouth before leaving an open mouthed kiss right on his lips. You pulled your hand away to place it gently on his leg as you pull yourself closer.

Finally pulling away to catch your breath, you look at Lucifer, who's still holding his eyes tightly shut. Each move you made, made him jump.

"Lucifer, Hey, open up." You laugh as you speak, brushing a few strands of golden hair away from his eyes. "Are you okay? Do you need a break?" His eyes finally shot open hearing your words. The thought of stopping must have startled him. You feel his lips crash against yours, a stark contrast to the gentleness you were giving him moments ago. He shifts to sit on his knees on your bed, keeping himself close to you by propping his hands on either side of your legs. You let out a surprised yelp, quick to catch up with his sloppy kiss. It became more tender as time went on, plus taking the lead again made it a bit easier to control his nervous movements.

His hands moved up to sit on your thighs, mostly to make himself more comfortable at this mildly awkward position. But it still gave you butterflies to feel his hands on you.

You pulled away yet again, taking a moment to breathe and to simply look at his expression. His eyes were watery, possibly from the emotional stress of the past few days, possibly from his excitement alone. You pressed your hand against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath your palm. He tightened his grip on your thighs, as if you could disapear at any moment. And it scared him to consider that a possibility. Your mind finally caught up to the problem at hand, seeing him in this state and considering the heated conversation from before.

You pull him in one final time, a deep kiss that seemed to melt his nerves away. Then, you simply brought him into a tight embrace, your hands wrapping around his shoulders and gripping at his vest. For some reason, this startled him more than any of your previous interactions. He was hesitant at first, but still shifted to comfortably wrap his arms around your waist and pull you impossibly closer.

"This is a big decision, Lucifer. I have alot to think about, and it isnt really your fault, but this definitely doesn't make things easier.." you muffled your words into the crook of his neck letting out a shakey breath. He could feel your chest shake a bit due to your close proximity.

"I know, I'm sorry. I might have gotta a little carried away there." He responded. The position the two of you were in let his words pass dangerously close to your ear. You shutter slightly, unconciously leaning into the sensation.

"I'll make sure this is what I want, okay? I promise."

He nods, which you felt in the form of his hair brushing against the side of your face. Lucifer let his head fall down onto your shoulder, taking in the moment while it lasted.

Because, who knows how long this could last?

♡♡♡

FUCK this was angsty my bad. I had this prompt in my notes for days and I still honestly don't know how to properly end it, but i'll make a part 2 eventually.

Accidentally put a lot of personal insecurities in this one 🙃

Hope you enjoyed :)

P.S I have been getting your requests and i'll start them up soon! Just had to finish this one up first!