#i always wanted to do it again but life became too much

[bayfuzzball7050]

Last day of @kakyoinmonth, day 31 — Knowledge / love / triumph

I have a bunch of silly things regarding these two (as many may know) but these are my favourites!!

I love to draw men kissing I’m sorry

I like to imagine he shows appreciation by showing off his knowledge…even when it isn’t always handy

Also eepy 6takak for the soul

I wanted to digitalize this but no brush matches my freak. On another note, aren’t they cute? :3

Ah and I made this thing bc I headcanon jotaro can’t cook shit and this wouldn’t be the kakyoin month if they didn’t celebrate his birthday

Translation because my handwriting is so shit:

Dear Kakyoin:

Do NOT come to my house. I’ve baked an absolute dogshit cake. Just completely fucked it up.

Kujo

And last but not least, Triumph.

“…You’re alive.”

Id like to believe that if he survived, he would awake not so long after— about 3 months after the trip. He probably couldn’t move much due to his spine being punched out, yet I’d like to believe that if Jojo was there by his side, he could help him ‘catch up’ with class. He would basically be doing distance-school, but he wouldn’t be alone. It’s far too cruel to leave the boy who has been alone all his life who then finds people he connected with alone again.

Jotaro does think it’s his fault still, the topic came up accidentally and he ended up confessing just how tired and scared he was. Nori ended up reassuring him it wasn’t his fault. They became a lot closer after that.

(note! I wanted to make a full render but i didn’t feel that much like it. I hope this has a more ‘serious’ tone than other pieces.)

Also to understand how they’re standing in the first picture I made this

Tall fuck

And something else! The dogshit cake is based on this

[tendermiasma]

Anonymous asked: What is an average day for Halsin and Clover once they settle in together?

https://retrospring.net/@tendermiasma/a/113195848025491320

I haven't finished the game actually so I don't know what specifically Halsin does after BG3 (I'm in lower city act 3, life happened), but it seems like he'll find himself busy with very fulfilling social work and fighting the system wherever they go. Probably with kids (honestly I hope, please don't say anything). Clover is going to need to settle into a new reality where he's

being led out of survival mode and into a place that truly is safe that he can build a life in, and first he just needs a long time to recover. I see them spending a lot of time at home in the beginning but Clover doesn't follow him out as quickly as Halsin takes on those new responsibilities. Again, it takes time. Mostly at the start, he'd curl up somewhere small and wait for Halsin to come home. But as things go on, he starts gardening, he cooks for him as he's always done at camp because it brings him joy, finds hidden spaces in their home that makes Halsin think he's lost him for some horrible amount of time. He's very good at stowing himself away, like your cat going missing in your 500-square-foot apartment.

He's a weaver at heart, though-- that's what they called those who learned magic back in his village. His mother was a weaver, too. It was something she passed to him that no rift of time or memory could take away. He'd begin exploring magic for the sake of it, to understand instead of just to live to tomorrow, and he'd go on to make some notable contributions to the study of Fae magic. He never lost his quirky ways of spell construction, though. They'd always helped open up some aspects of the Weave for him that were a little unorthodox, if not necessarily recommended.

He did also join Halsin in his service to the community, in the ways that he could. He was always withdrawn and never learned to swim in the bustle of the city, but he was happy now; and Halsin had the best of both worlds. He found his anxiety fading about everything needing doing all the time, and instead it had become replaced with looking forward to coming home (even occasionally unashamed to make excuses to) because of a little someone who needed him just as much as the rest of the world did-- and whom he needed, too . Not to be too meta but I always pictured Halsin in a more grassroots role that became more apparent as something he truly wanted to do, as the game progressed, and I think Clover would be drawn to this too-- especially if they worked with children. Even if he never had the social stamina Halsin did. Both of them feel a strong need to protect kiddoes. Halsin has a long history of it and Clover lived it. He never wanted a child to feel that fear and utter loneliness, ever.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Heyyy 😗 okay so g!p Donna smut idea where its reader and Donna’s first time sleeping together. Reader isn’t inexperienced but has never had a partner with a penis, and she has a fear of pregnancy but donna doesn’t like the way condoms feel so they come to a compromise of donna pulling out. So donna does that and instead cums all over readers body and donna is really into seeing her cum all over Reader 😋 (Basically just donna realizing she has a cum kink)

Yessss!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

Unexpected desires

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem!! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI,fluff...

Word count: 7,847

Summary: You wanted to do it, but you were afraid....

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!!I love you all!!!

The way home had been different for a long time, longer.

The forest embraced you with its shadowy branches and the ruins of what was once a garden full of life became your new sights as you walked slowly. You didn't mind walking through those dark places, that wooden bridge that seemed unstable. The way home was the way home, it didn't matter which one it was.

You were never a particularly brave girl, one of those villagers who perhaps dared to abandon the tedious life that was already written for you. You were always conformist, happy with the life you had been given. The village was sinister, the Black Gods, Mother Miranda, the Lords... They didn't matter to you.

You thought that maybe that way of thinking was something like a rarity, a feeling that mixed with boredom to hide it completely, so as not to have any desire for freedom.

 Live quietly in a village or suffer the consequences of trying to escape from the Gods? You had the answer very clear for a long time.

You were never interested in men. Your expectations weren’t like those of your friends. Maybe that's why deep down you always considered yourself different. But even your short relationships with girls began to be monotonous, boring. None of them managed to fill that void.

Yes, they were pretty, they gave you love, sex... But there was nothing else. The feeling of wanting to stay with one of them in a more or less stable relationship was nonexistent. You, a lover of routine, of tranquility, began to be overwhelmed by them.

It didn't matter how much you tried to convince your feelings to make up their minds, to convince yourself to fall in love with one of the girls. It never happened. Those girls were fleeting loves that never returned.

None of those girls seemed to have any kind of feelings for you, just like you did with them. The difference was your decision to remain true to yourself. You couldn't say how many of those girls threw away what they said they were to end up in a boring and empty marriage.

You had just turned 20 and you couldn't help but feel like you were in an endless spiral of tedious routine. That tranquility became a nightmare, a sentence that told you over and over again that you would never get out of it.

You wouldn't have a great love, you wouldn't have a faithful woman at your side who loved you, who you wanted to love. At least that was what you believed.

You didn't have to pray for a miracle the day that, after a sermon by Mother Miranda, a lapse made you go back into the chapel, coinciding closely with the Four Lords.

Your head was lowered but you couldn't help but rise it when you saw a figure that was too close to you; a black figure covered by a veil, looking at you curiously. It could be a ghost, a shadow, but it wasn't. That figure had a name: Donna Beneviento.

The adrenaline that your body produced was reason enough to want to have more distractions, to get a little closer to that mysterious woman.

Her mind was sick, disturbed, but her hoarse voice was soft, her hands seemed delicate, skillful. You could say that with the passage of time that woman constantly appeared in your head, but that would be a lie. From that first day, she never left it.

The surprising thing was the sudden interest that the lady in black showed in you. You didn't know why, you even thought that she saw in you a weak and perfect victim for her macabre games. But none of that happened, she didn't play with you, she invited you to tea, she slowly discovered things about you, and you about her.

For the first time in 20 years, you had achieved something you didn't think possible, you had fallen in love.

Her beauty went far beyond that of any stupid village girl. The scar on her face was just a small detail that made her even more special. She was ashamed of it, but you weren't, you never would be. Donna was perfect, simply perfect. Being in love with her was the best decision your heart made. Your life would never be routine again, never again.

Your relationship with Donna progressed little by little although you really didn't have many options. Her years in complete solitude had worsened the evil she was born with turning her into an extremely possessive woman.

Jealousy, arguments… The phases you were going through passed quickly. Your smile was a balm for Donna. Your loving eyes were a reminder that you would never abandon her. Little by little the lady in black relaxed her attitude, especially when after weeks of pleading, you agreed to abandon your life completely, to move to her old estate.

The best decision of your life.

“Donna?” you asked when you entered the mansion after spending time with your friends. A precious time that cost you a lot to get Donna to accept.

“Tesoro…” she whispered, with the hoarse voice that made you fall in love, walking towards you quickly and grabbing your waist, kissing you, claiming you with the irrational ferocity of her lips. “You're back…”

“Yes,” you said, with your eyes in love, dazzled by her relieved, calm smile, by her soft caresses on your back.

“Mm,” she murmured, fixing your hair, which always used to cover your face. “(Y/N), don't put your hair in your face… It doesn't let me see how beautiful you are.”

“Donna…” you sighed, blushing at her eternal compliments.

“Leave my hair alone,” you joked, taking her wrists to play with her hands, to intertwine your fingers erratically.

“I still can't get used to see you walking out the door,” the lady whispered, with a slightly sadder tone, kissing you slowly, hugging you to feel you again, to feel you had returned.

“I've only been gone for an hour,” you said, with your cheeks becoming more and more blushed. Her voice, her gaze… She was perfect

Her grip tightened, holding your hands, surely imagining a horrible scenario in which you never came back. Fortunately, you had long since managed to overcome those little crises.

“Shh, eh, Donna, calm down, my love,” you said softly, placing a hand on her wounded cheek, forcing the trembling lady to look at you. “I'm here, I always come back, you know that.”

“C-certo,” she said, blinking hard and smiling again. “Y-you'll always come back.”

“Of course,” you said enthusiastically, finishing to scare away her demons with a tender kiss, one that elicited a sweet laugh from the lady in black. “Come, let's sit down, it's not dinner time yet.”

Donna nodded and let herself be dragged by your hand into the quiet living room, sitting with you on your favorite couch.

“How are your friends?” she asked after a few moments of romantic staring. No matter how much time had passed, she would always look at you like that. You were completely crazy about her.

“Donna? Where's Donna?” you asked jokingly, looking around with a frown. “How long have you been interested in my friends?”

“I'm not interested,” the lady said in a soft voice, turning on the couch, resting the head on her hand. “I feel like hearing your voice.”

“Um, that doesn't sound like you,” you joked, turning around as well and putting your legs up on the couch. “Surely what you want is to make sure I haven't been out there making out with girls, huh?”

“(Y/N), don't say things like that,” she protested, with a dark look, gritting her teeth. “It makes me sick…”

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry, Donna,” you apologized in time, taking one of her hands and kissing the back of it romantically. “Anyway, I haven't spent much time with Irina.”

“Who is that?” she asked, pretending that jealousy wasn't speaking for her.

“The daughter of… Oh, come on, you don't have to worry about her, besides, she's pregnant.”

Donna nodded slowly, breathing deeply. Luckily that was a fact that relieved the lady in black, relaxing her expression. You remained thoughtful, since you had just found out that shocking news.

“Can you believe it?” you asked amused, shaking your head.

“Yes, I believe it, why wouldn't I?” Donna said confused, completely oblivious to your usual irony and sarcasm.

It might seem terrible that Lady Beneviento didn't have those communication skills. It was like a reminder of her former loneliness. You, however, found that innocence adorable in a not-so-innocent woman.

“She says it was a mistake, apparently her boyfriend wasn't careful,” you sighed, shaking your head again, pitying your friend. “Poor thing…”

“Poor thing? Why?” the curious lady asked.

You opened your mouth to say something but you didn't, frowning and scratching the back of your neck.

“A child is too much responsibility,” you commented, looking away. “Irina is still very young.”

“How old is she?” the brunette wanted to know.

“Oh, well, she's two months older than me,” you said. “Don't you think she's too young?”

The lady in black shrugged, blinking in confusion and shaking her head.

“No,” she said dryly, not seeming moved or surprised by the information.

That disinterested and very different attitude gave you an involuntary shiver.

“Oh, um… Well…” you stammered, arching your eyebrows. “I… I really think she’s too young…”

“Mm,” she murmured, with an impassive, almost expressionless look. “A child is a gift from the Gods, (Y/N). I’m convinced that your friend and that boy will be very happy.”

“You think so? The guy is a coward and he has abandoned her,” you commented, frowning at that uncomfortable conversation for you. “Sometimes I think that men only think with their…” you stopped before continuing, lowering your gaze. “Um, forget it. I didn’t want to offend you.”

“You don't offend me, I'm not a man,” Donna said, with that same expressionless look, serious but relaxed.

“Oh, that's obvious but... But you have... A penis, you know...” you murmured blushing. Your comment didn't offend the lady in black, who smiled tenderly, lifting your chin.

“I'm not like that, tesoro, I would never abandon you,” she whispered in a soft voice, with a hand on your cheek.

It might seem that this comment was sweet, even romantic, but for you it was a bit disturbing, it unleashed a different, strange fear inside of you.

“Oh, it's good to know, I guess, I...” you said stuttering, joining your hand with hers. “Don't listen to me, Donna. I'm just surprised by the news, that's all.”

“I love it when you get nervous,” the doll maker whispered adorably, getting a little closer to you to capture your trembling lips in a soft, intense kiss. “You're so sweet…”

You laughed shyly again, unable to resist her charms, biting your lip at the caresses of hers on your skin.

“Hey, let me go…” you said amused, trying unsuccessfully to escape from her kisses, from her increasingly intense caresses. “Donna.”

“Mm, no, I don't want to let you go… Come here, tesoro,” she whispered seductively, pulling your hand so you leaned on her body, climbing on top of her while she kissed you tirelessly.

Your laughter was camouflaged with the sound of the kisses, with the increasingly agitated breathing that came out of your lungs. Your mind began to cloud and the internal desire of your body hid that uncomfortable conversation, causing your hips to begin to move and your hands to run over the face of the lady in black.

“Bellisima…” Donna whispered in your ear as her fingers caressed your dress, while her kisses continued their path along the skin of your face, down your neck.

Of course there was nothing wrong with letting yourself be carried away by that growing passion. You liked to kiss her, to caress her, to let your bodies dance together, to have your ears blessed with her ardent whispers, even if you didn't understand them.

You pulled away for a moment, placing your legs on either side of her hips, erratically running your hands over her chest as you thought about how this outburst of kisses and hugs could end.

“I love you, you know that, right?” you said in a soft voice, not looking into her bright eye, carelessly playing with one of the buttons on the top of her dress.

Donna smiled as she caressed one of your legs, slowly returning to your lips, kissing them as her grip tightened more and brought you closer.

“Not as much as I love you…” she whispered playfully, slipping her mischievous hand under your dress, taking advantage of the distraction of her soft words to get further.

At first, that feeling comforted you, her nails running over your skin without hurting you, her kisses moistening your lips, her hips moving slowly to make contact with yours. It seemed like the perfect moment, the moment that you constantly delayed, the one you thought you weren't ready for.

Letting yourself go was much easier than on other occasions, but your mind was restless, working without you wanting it to, remembering that conversation with your friend, making passion slowly turn into irrational nerves.

“Uh, em…” you said nervously when her body began to react to your passion, when you noticed her erection pressing against you. “Wow…” you said playfully, moving away slowly so as not to make contact with her throbbing desire. “Donna…”

“What's wrong, tesoro?” she asked, breathing heavily, looking at you confused. “Come, come back here…”

“What’s in there?” you asked nervously, getting off her body and pointing at her lap.

The lady in black lowered her gaze and returned it to yours again, with a shy expression.

“Oh, um, well, I…” she said embarrassed. “I was really enjoying it…”

“Yes, I can see that,” you said nervously, looking away from her lap. “You, you are very sensitive Donna.”

“Yes, no, well, I… I thought that…” the lady stammered, visibly confused by your attitude. “Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“No, no, not exactly,” you said, making a gesture with your hands, trying to explain what still had no logical explanation. “It's just that…”

“I want you, (Y/N), I want to make love to you,” she said, letting herself be carried away by the excitement, bringing her hands to your face to assault your lips again.

“Yes, that's obvious,” you said, moving her careless kisses away from your lips, putting a hand on her chest and glancing sideways at her lap, at that lump you touched. “Pretty obvious…”

“Come, come, please…” Donna whispered, pulling you again, fearing one of your rejections. “Don't leave me like this…”

“Oh, wait, wait, I…” you interrupted, straightening your clothes that had been messed up by that passionate outburst, one that never came to fruition.

“It's just that… It’s, it's been a very…”you murmured, trying not to look at her bright, pleading eye, playing with the hand that was pulling yours. “Hard day…” you finished, looking again at her obvious excitement deforming her black dress.

“Oh, okay,” Donna said with a slightly sad voice, leaving you alone and sitting up straight again, looking nervously at her lap. “I'm sorry, (Y/N).”

“Don't apologize, you haven't done anything wrong,” you said with a relieved smile, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She didn't return the caress, her face relaxed, avoiding your gaze.

“My body makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it?” she whispered sadly, moving her dress so you wouldn't feel intimidated.

“Donna, it's not that,” you said quickly, with the need to divert that thought from her head.

No, that wasn't true, she didn't make you uncomfortable, you liked her body, although it was true that you always ran away.

You couldn't blame her for thinking that way, on that occasion you simply couldn't.

“So why don't you want to make love to me?” the brunette asked with a brusque, inquisitive voice, crossing her arms. “I just want to love you…”

“I know, I know, darling but… I'm just a bit tired today, I want our first time to be more special,” you said, gritting your teeth to emphasize that lie, so Donna wouldn't think she was the one to blame.

She wasn't. It was only your fault and your stupid fears’.

“Special…” the lady murmured, shaking her head, repressing a sob that broke your heart. “Cazzo…” she hissed, getting up from the couch, putting her dress back. “I'm going to make dinner.”

You, fearing that she had really been offended and seeing how your excuses sounded weaker and weaker, decided to act, grabbing her wrist so she wouldn't leave.

“Donna, don't be mad at me, please,” you said in a soft voice, approaching her.

The lady looked away, her face serious, annoyed, much more so than usual. She was probably starting to get tired of your rejections.

“I'm not mad,” she whispered in a voice that betrayed her lie, removing your grip on her wrist with a brusque gesture.

“Forgive me, I'm just tired,” you said in a pleading voice, caressing her cheek, a gesture that, luckily, she didn't reject.

“If you don't like my body, tell me,” Donna hissed, with tears in her eye. “You do nothing but reject me.”

“I'm not rejecting you,” you defended yourself, shaking your head. “I don't...”

“Bugiarda...” Donna said again, with a dangerous look. “My penis disgusts you, just say it.”

“No, hey, Donna, don't start taking things for granted, you know that's not true,” you said nervously, knowing that at least you were sincere.

“I should have guessed before, I know you, I know what you did with the girls in the village, there is only one reason why you don't want to do it with me and that is my body, come on, don’t lie to me,” she snapped, pointing at you unpleasantly, breathing hard again.

“Donna, relax, okay? You're getting nervous,” you said in a calm voice, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Look at me, come on, look at me...”

She obeyed reluctantly with a hatred in her gaze that pierced your soul again.

“Honey, please...” you whispered, calming her nerves with your caresses, with a tender smile on your lips. “I have no problem with... With you, I love you...”

The lady in black sighed, closing her eye and nodding, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly in hers.

“Sorry, tesoro… You're right, I got really nervous,” she apologized in a soft voice, pulling your waist to hug you lovingly. “I'm afraid of losing you, that's all.”

“You'll never lose me, I'll tell you whenever it's necessary,” you said with a sweet smile, relaxed for having cut that crisis in time, although you didn't know how long the calm would last. “It's just my mind, you have nothing to do with it.”

“Your mind?” she asked, frowning again. “Are you afraid of something?”

“Um, well, I…” you stammered with a somewhat shy expression, shaking your head involuntarily. “It's nothing.”

“If something worries you, you should tell me,” Donna said, brushing your hair away from your face as always, staring at you. “If you don't tell me, I won't be able to help you.”

“I'll get over it,” you said, falsely downplaying it, smiling and kissing the brunette, who still had a spark of distrust in her eye. “It's nonsense, Donna, don't pay attention to me.”

“Va bene…” she sighed, shaking her head, but capturing your lips again, deepening a different kiss, an innocent, tender one. “I'll wait until you're ready.”

“I appreciate it,” you said, hanging on her neck to continue kissing her, to feel the love that invaded you both, a love that not even your stupid paranoia could eclipse.

Donna laughed softly, caressing your cheek and moving your hands away. That smile was the end of that awkward moment, it was the sign that the danger had passed.

“I'll make you something delicious, tesoro…” she said amused, with a mischievous look. “Let me make up for my stupidity.”

“Oh, come on, you always do delicious things to me,” you said laughing, swinging your body with hers, kissing her messily. “You have nothing to make up for.”

“I like making you happy,” she whispered, kissing your hand chivalrously and slowly moving away.

You looked at her, sighing romantically. She looked back at you, but her happy and loving expression faded just before she turned around completely, something subtle, but something you noticed.

“I'm sorry, Donna…” you whispered, running a hand through your hair, regretful for your attitude, walking towards the sofa and letting yourself fall on it. “I'm stupid…”

“Yes, you are!” a shrill voice made you jump in place. Angie made her appearance, taking advantage of any moment to make fun of you. That day you were not especially in the mood to put up with the irreverent doll.

“Angie, I haven't had a good day today, why don't you be a good doll and leave me alone?” you protested, ignoring the puppet's jumping on the couch.

“Silly, silly, silly! You're a silly villager!” the doll shrieked among sinister laughs.

“Okay, thanks for reminding me every day, I'm sure it takes a lot of effort,” you mocked, looking away from Angie, who laughed with satisfaction.

“I just don't want you to forget, silly,” she insisted, making you growl.

“Seriously, leave me alone, I'm not in the mood for your insults,” you said seriously, crossing your arms, thinking about everything that had happened, about your irrational fears, those that always overcame the lust you were repressing.

“Uhhhh, the silly girl is angry…” Angie sang. “I don't know how my Donna puts up with you.”

“Ugh, do you want…? Never mind,” you hissed, shaking your head and looking at the door through which the lady disappeared.

“You've left my Donna hanging again,” the doll accused you, startling you again, making the blush travel mercilessly down your cheeks. “You're cruel. Do you know what she's going through?”

“Hey, that's private,” you complained, looking away. “What do you care?”

“I don’t care, but if my Donna gets sad and cries again because of not wanting to open your legs, I won't forgive you,” Angie said, pointing at you with her finger.

“You're a very rude doll. Don't get involved in our affairs,” you said with a dark voice. You weren't really that angry with the doll, but with yourself.

“You're the one who doesn't let my Donna get involved in your affairs,” the doll hissed, looking away indignantly. “Are you playing with her?”

“What? Of course I’m not, I love her,” you said in your defense, entering into her game without wanting to. “It's none of your business, Angie.”

“Silly, idiota,” she insulted you again. “Donna is sad because she thinks you don't love her.”

“Is she sad?” you asked upset by that statement, which the puppet confirmed by nodding slowly.

“Oh... Now you want to talk to me, huh?” she mocked, making you snort and shake your head sharply.

“Why is she sad?” you asked again, frowning.

“Isn't that obvious? She knows how you fornicated relentlessly with other girls,” Angie explained, dropping down next to you.

“How do you know?”

“Donna and I are part of the same mind, remember, stupid?” the doll mocked again.

“I've only had four relationships before Donna,” you said, unintentionally starting an awkward conversation with the doll. “And I haven't loved any of those girls as much as I love her, you can be sure.”

“Ohhh, it doesn't seem like it,” Angie said, crossing her arms. “Donna is stupid, as stupid as you, but she knows how to hide her feelings. Don't worry, silly, that's what I'm here for.”

“Oh, that's nice,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Wait, what feelings?”

“Mm, I'm not supposed to tell you anything but... Well, I like you,” the doll said, patting your back.

“Really?” you asked ironically, arching your eyebrows.

“Yes, you are a very funny silly, and you take care of my Donna…” the puppet sighed, nervous and uncomfortable saying something nice.

“I guess that's the closest thing to a compliment I'll ever hear from you so… Thanks, Angie,” you said with a genuine smile, patting her back and making her grunt and shift. “Tell me, what's wrong with her?”

“It's obvious, silly… Donna thinks you hate her body,” she explained, swinging her legs comically.

“That's a lie, I don't hate her body,” you said, lowering your voice in case the lady came back earlier than expected. “I love her just the way she is.”

“Do you think she likes having that thing hanging between her legs?” Angie asked with a nasty tone.

“Angie, don't be so… explicit,” you protested. “Besides, it doesn't seem to bother her too much.”

“Ha, that's what you think, silly,” Angie said, standing up and putting a wooden finger on your nose. “She didn't ask for it, the Black Gods changed her body involuntarily thanks to Mother Miranda's gift.”

“I already know that, she told me,” you said with a frown, impatient. “What’s the point?”

“Donna is ashamed of it in the same way as her scar, but she just got used to it,” the doll explained.

“Mm, I understand,” you whispered for her to continue.

“No, you don't understand,” Angie snapped at you. “Your constant denials are making her believe that you will never be able to truly love her, that you will never be able to accept something that wasn't her fault.”

“I've already told you that I don't care about her... Well, that I don't care,” you said annoyed by the conversation. “I've just never been with someone with... a penis, you know.”

“You said penis,” Angie laughed amused.

“Oh, please…” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “I'm going to make one thing clear to you, psycho doll,” you said with a firm voice, pointing at her. “I love Donna. She's the woman of my life. I'm crazy about her and her body doesn't matter to me at all. I, I like her body, I love it, in fact.”

“So what's your problem?” Angie asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Your own words did something in your mind, a click that led you to believe them, to consider yourself stupid for having delayed the moment you desired. An absurd fear prevented you from letting yourself go, forced you to reject her.

Her body wasn't the problem, in fact, you had showered with her several times, you had seen her naked and of course, displeasure or discomfort were not the words that came to your head when doing so, rather the opposite.

So… What was stopping you from enjoying, from making love with the woman of your life? A stupidity accentuated by the circumstances of those around you.

It wasn't the fear of pain, of feeling those new sensations, that wasn't a concern. Your greatest fear was the direct consequence of that act of lust, a consequence that you had seen in your friends and that you didn't want for yourself.

Irina was the last reason why you didn't let your body act the way you wanted. You were very young, she was very young, and she was pregnant. The idea terrified you. It's not that you didn't want to start a family with Donna, sometimes you even fantasized about it but… It wasn't the time.

You were still young, you had a lot of things to live. That absurd fear of carrying that responsibility was what dragged you again and again to refuse to join your body with hers.

But miraculously, those words you said out loud, the affirmation to Angie, and to yourself that Donna was the woman of your life, that you loved her just the way she was, unleashed a wave of thoughts that made you change your mind.

Your worries were absurd, and, unlike your unconscious friends, you had already prepared yourself for that. You had nothing to worry about. You couldn't wait another night to hear the lady sigh, to make her think that you were just playing with her, that you didn't really love her.

You had to prove it to her, give in to your desires and hers and make love for the first time, that very night.

“Where are you going, silly?” Angie asked when, after a sigh, you got up from the couch, turning to smile at the doll.

“Don't even think about going downstairs,” you threatened with a smile.

“You don't give me orders, stupid!” the doll squealed in a muffled voice on your way to the elevator.

Fully determined to make that night the most special of your life, you walked to the kitchen, where the delicious aroma of the food made you sigh pleasantly.

“Donna,” you said, catching the attention of the brunette, who looked at you briefly, smiling.

You did the same, approaching her from behind and hugging her waist, planting a soft kiss on her neck.

The response was a shy laugh along with a hand in yours. It seemed like she wasn't upset at all anymore. She wouldn't be anymore.

“Amore mio…” she sighed calmly stirring one of her delicious sauces.

“It smells great,” you said, peeking around the lady's side and smiling pleased. She laughed again, taking out the wooden spoon and offering it to you.

“Do you want to try?” she asked in a sweet voice, a gesture that you accepted, keeping your eyes on hers, as if you wanted to communicate with your gaze.

“Delicious...” you sighed, savoring that sauce.

You really didn't know how to act, how to tell her what you wanted. Words would only hinder your intentions, it was much better to go straight to action. You subtly moved away, taking her free hand and playing with her fingers.

The lady in black didn't seem to want to pay attention to your clumsy mischievous glances, so you gently brought her hand to your mouth, kissing it slowly, bringing one of her slender fingers to your mouth, sucking on it in a terribly erotic way.

Of course that caught the attention of the doll maker, who looked at you with a frown, open-mouthed by what you were doing.

“(Y/N), what...? What are you doing?” Donna asked with a trembling voice. You let her finger go and smiled, moving closer to her ear.

“Donna, I want us to make love,” you whispered, biting her earlobe.

That dormant desire woke up at that moment, warming your body surprisingly quickly, forgetting for a moment your shame and your absurd worries.

“But, but tesoro... You, you said...” she stammered with a distrustful look, caressing your cheek and studying your gestures, looking for the reason for your attitude.

“I know, but I thought better of it... I want to love you, Donna, I want you to love me,” you said with a purr, biting your lip and scrutinizing the lady's perfect body with your gaze.

“Oh, um, now?” she asked nervously, but visibly excited by your change of mind. “I-I'm cooking…”

“Well, if you don't want to…”you whispered, pouting and pulling away from her, something you couldn't do completely as her arm wrapped around your waist, dragging you towards her body.

“Wait, wait…” the lady said nervously, turning off the stove and cupping your face in her hands, kissing you passionately, sighing in relief at your sudden decision.

“Shall we go?” you said, hiding your nervousness by turning around and taking her hand, walking towards the bedroom.

The kisses were hurried, wild. You walked clumsily while you devoured her, while you let your instincts take over your actions. You had never been so excited, so fearless, it was the perfect moment.

“(Y/N)…” she said, her voice agitated and with a predatory smile, leaving no corner of your face unkissed, no exposed part of your body uncaressed. “Ti amo…”

“I love you…” you whispered, walking backwards to fall on top of the mattress, so her body climbed on top of yours accompanied by her heels falling to the floor, just like yours. “I love you, Donna, I love you…” you repeated, as a reminder that you wanted to do it, that her body on top of yours sent hundreds of burning sensations to yours.

“Amore mio,” she sighed, excited by your unleashed lust, putting her hand through the ties of your dress, undoing them with a surprising skill.

Her fingers were soft, they were conquerors which didn't want to miss a single inch of your skin, which wanted to travel what was theirs, wander aimlessly through each of your curves.

Her hands traveled to the edges of your disheveled dress while yours struggled against the buttons of hers, making them disappear hopelessly.

The cold of that room reached your more and more naked, more and more exposed skin. The rush and desire mocked your bodies, forcing them to move against each other, to dance in a erotic way that caused a satisfied smile on your face.

Her skin was soft. Every part that black fabric left was like a gift for your mischievous hands. The lady simply panted, not stopping kissing you, getting rid of her sleeves to give you that divine vision of her half-naked body.

Her hands traveled down your legs, moved them at will, moved them away so her body could make more contact with yours, so her already eager erection could rub against the heat between your legs.

You moaned at the contact, letting your lust enjoy it for the first time, your hands accidentally pulling at her hair, causing a smile to spread over your neck, mercilessly attacked by her lips.

Donna sat up to look at you, to enjoy for a moment your already naked torso under her discreet hands. Her fingers tickled the skin of your breasts, her eye roamed over your nakedness in a terribly seductive way.

“Sei bellisima…” she sighed, shaking her head, moving closer to your lips slowly, letting your hands bury her head against yours, your fingers tangling in her black hair.

“Donna,” you said amused when her teeth gently dug into your skin, when her mischievous smile crossed your hot body, making you tremble.

Your hands rested on her chest as she removed her bra, mesmerizing you again with the perfection of her shapes, her curves, that body you couldn't stop looking at.

The kisses continued after some cautious caresses, a hug of her hands on your breasts, kisses that traveled relentlessly down your torso, filling it with a wet love, an unbridled passion that Donna struggled to control.

But there was no time for doubt or slowness. Your hips moved anxiously, free of fear, while her hands grabbed the edges of your underwear, pulling it down your legs under her watchful gaze.

The brunette paused for a moment, delighting in the sight of your naked body beneath hers, caressing your cheek with a confused look, with her altered breathing, with her hips unable to avoid moving against your wetness.

“You are perfect, (Y/N), I love your body, I love everything about you…” she whispered romantically, as if wanting to prevent her own desire from consuming her.

“You are so tender…” you said, noticing the blush on your cheeks, pulling the lady's hair to kiss her, with your hands already uninhibited, caressing her soft breasts, running your hand over her back, over her belly…

Her mouth left yours to rest on your nipples, to suck them slowly, without hurting you, nothing that could compare to the carelessness of your previous lovers. Donna was different, she always was.

“I want you, tesoro… I need… I need…” she murmured in a more nervous tone, keeping her lips on your belly, lowering the remaining part of her dress along with her underwear, releasing her desire, her throbbing erection that finally came out of its prison.

You moaned seeing her like that, seeing how her body was excited by the mere touch of yours, by your kisses. Her body was perfect, everything was perfect.

Your shy hand moved down her body as she impatiently studied your movements. You brushed her chest, her skin, even scratched it as you went down, caressing her shaft superficially, making her moan.

“I like it…” you whispered satisfied, moving the embrace of your hand on her erection, gently stimulating her to continue hearing those soft and discreet moans.

“(Y/N)…” the lady moaned, letting herself be carried away by the caresses of your hand, by your playful fingers stopping at the tip, exploring the best way to make her tremble.

But that gentle masturbation didn't last long, as did the touch of her fingers on your folds in compensation for your movements.

In a delicate way, Donna pushed your hand away, kissing the back of it and then your lips, sighing and placing your legs in a comfortable position before bringing her erection to your wet entrance.

The desire was overwhelming, but that terribly pleasurable contact activated the part of your mind that you had turned off. You almost forgot, you almost let yourself go.

“Wait, honey,” you said, moving away subtly despite the incredible sensation of her erection starting to enter you. She looked at you strangely, scared by your reaction.

“Cosa c’è?” Donna asked nervously, trying unsuccessfully to enter you again, something you prevented by moving away further and reaching out to your bedside table.

“Um wait,” you said with a shy smile, opening the drawer and taking something out of it, something you gave to Lady Beneviento and that she looked at suspiciously. “Put it on first, please.”

“Cosa?” she asked again, nervously, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. “(Y/N)…”

“It's, it's a condom, Donna, put it on, come on… I want to do it…” you said nervously, helping her to open the package. The passion and desire disappeared from her gaze as you took it out, approaching her erection. “Let me help you… Let’s see…”

“Basta,” she said, grabbing your wrist tightly and pulling the condom away from her skin. “What are you doing?”

“Put it on, Donna,” you insisted. “Come on…”

“No, I’m not going to do it,” she said with a frown, shaking her head. “What’s wrong with you?”

“No, what’s wrong with you?” you asked angrily, struggling with the lady until she managed to snatch the condom from you. “Donna… Come on, don’t be like that…”

“Me? What do you want, (Y/N)? Humiliate me?” the lady protested, throwing it across the room and leaving you speechless and surprised.

“No, Donna, I don’t mean to humiliate you, it’s for protection,” you said, crossing your arms and taking another one out of the drawer. “Do you want to know why we haven’t done it until now? Because I’m afraid of… Of…”

“Of what? Of feeling my skin on yours?” she said, protesting with a haughty, childish look, sitting on the bed. “Now I know that I disgust you.”

“No, damn it…” you said, hitting the bed with your fists and approaching her.

You didn't want it to be another failure, you had to convince her, help her understand your fears.

“Donna, look at me,” you whispered in a soft voice, guiding her head so she would inevitably look at you. Her brow was still furrowed. “Donna, honey I… I'm… I'm afraid of… Of getting pregnant…”

“Mm?” she murmured, with that same dark expression. “What?”

“That, that's my only fear, Donna… I… I don't feel ready to, to be a mother, do you understand?”

“I don't want you to be a mother if you don't want to, (Y/N),” Donna whispered in a dark tone. “It's not my intention.”

“But…” you said, rolling your eyes. “You know, you know that if we don’t protect ourselves, it could happen…”

“So… That's your fear, that's why you've made me wait so long…” she said, lowering her head and nodding, biting her lip before looking at you pleadingly. “It's not because of me.”

“No, no Donna…” you said with a smile, relaxing the tense atmosphere with a kiss. “I want to do it, really.”

“Okay,” she said with a calm smile, playing with your hand. “I'm relieved to hear that.”

“I'm relieved that you take it so well…” you sighed, opening another condom. “Come on, put it on, I can't wait to have you inside of me.”

“No,” she said in a brusque tone, looking away and crossing her arms.

“Donna… Didn't you understand what I told you? Come on, stop complaining and put it on… I'm going to get cold,” you said, nervous again.

“No, I'm not going to do it,” the brunette insisted with a childish protest. “That thing is humiliating, if I wear it I won't be able to feel you as much as I'd like. No.”

“Oh…” you sighed, comically scratching your face. “Don't be stubborn. I'm not going to take the risk.”

“Well,” she said, with a cocky tone. “I'm not going to put that on me.”

“Okay, and what do you propose? I'm not going to do it without protection,” you said, putting yourself at her level of cockiness.

“Well…” Donna sighed, thoughtful, scratching her head. “I can move away.”

“What?” you asked yourself with a frown.

“I'll move away before I cum, so there won't be any risk,” she explained, with a calmer tone.

“That's not… Oh…” you said unsure, thinking about your options. You certainly wanted to feel her, to truly love her, your fears couldn't consume you again. “Will you move away? Donna, I need you to promise me.”

“I promise you,” the lady said, approaching you and taking both of your hands, kissing them affectionately. “You have my word.”

“Well… In that case…” you said, smiling calmly again, fully trusting her word. Donna had never broken a promise and besides, the desire of your body was calling you. “Come here…” you whispered, pulling her to return to kissing, to reactivate that previous passion.

Without more patience, Donna positioned herself between your legs again, erotically stimulating her erection, which had been resentful of that argument, but which soon returned to normal, slowly entering you.

“Donna!” you cried out with a moan when you felt your body deform, your wet walls being stretched uncomfortably by the intruder. “Go slower… You're big…”

“I'm sorry,” she said, controlling her own pleasure. “I love you so much, amore mio…” she whispered, leaning down to kiss you, to relax your body overwhelmed by the intruder. “You’re… Tight…”

“Mm…” you said when that discomfort disappeared from your wetness, when the pleasure of having her inside of you overcame the lack of experience. You couldn't compare that sensation to any other, even your hips began to move on their own.

“Can I move, tesoro?” she asked kindly, holding and caressing your legs, enjoying that feeling of finally being inside you, of the obscene embrace of your body. “I'll be gentle…”

You nodded, unable to control your moans, moving slowly to the rhythm of her soft thrusts, sliding with extreme ease, impregnating her with your wetness. You didn't know exactly how it would feel the way you wanted at first, but now you didn't want it that way.

“Donna, Donna…” you moaned nervously from the pleasure, moving to get all those incredible sensations. Each thrust was ambrosia. It was an electric current throughout your body, a pleasure like no other.

“You are perfect… Perfect, (Y/N)… I love taking you…” she whispered, calming your hurried moans, the unleashed lust that could be sensed due to the soft movement of your hips, ones more and more skilled, more uncontrolled.

You smiled pleased, moaning without fear, grabbing the sheets to contain your fast and anxious movements, letting yourself be cradled by hers

Kisses, hugs of your legs on her waist, caresses, soft movements… It was a passionate session that would be unforgettable. Her hands held your legs, letting her hips take the initiative, filling you with that overwhelming pleasure you didn't want it to end.

Your dormant desire was so powerful that you were starting to move erratically, to hug the brunette eagerly as your muscles tensed, letting your desired orgasm leave your lips, making you move nervously and scream in a terribly scandalous way.

Donna didn't say anything, she only moaned in satisfaction at the movements of your walls squeezing her erection. Your body relaxed little by little, but hers did precisely the opposite, speeding up, moaning erratically, almost growling.

She was also close, very close, and you closed your eyes, hoping that she would do as she promised, that this lack of control wouldn’t make her break her promise.

Luckily, with a furious growl, Donna pulled away just before she released, filling your body with her wet heat, covering you with her seed as she held you.

The labored breathing replaced the moans and the kisses returned softly to your lips. It had been something impressive, memorable. You would want to do it every night.

You both laughed without saying a word, looking at each other intensely, romantically, at least until Donna lowered her eye to your belly, to your body stained by her passion, by that wet and obscene heat.

“Donna, it was great,” you said, caressing her cheek. She nodded erratically, her gaze fixed on your body, almost without listening to you. “Donna?”

“Yes... It was...” she said, opening her eye wide, as if she were nervous, touching your skin covered with her seed, breathing heavily and moving with a strange moan.

“Are you okay?” you asked curiously, confused by her attitude, by her dark gaze that seemed not to want to move away from your body.

“Cazzo…” she hissed, looking between her legs, where unexpectedly, her erection had returned again, something that surprised you.

“Oh, darling…” you said, amused by that curious reaction of her body, which you couldn’t find an explanation for.

“You look beautiful with your body full of me…” Donna whispered, with a dark and lustful voice, as if the passion had abruptly returned. “Come.”

Without giving you time to respond, the brunette turned you over on your stomach, holding you. You played along with that curious game and when you least expected it, her shaft entered you again, wetter, but hard.

“You look… Beautiful with my cum all over your body…” Donna repeated, beginning to move roughly, not very delicately, taking you from behind with intense moans, as if something inside her had awakened.

You enjoyed that improvised repetition. You were so blinded by the pleasure that nothing worried you, only the immense desire that seemed to have no end.

The lady quickly moved her hips, increasing the rhythm of her fierce thrusts and coming out again before releasing for the second time, now wetting your back.

“Donna,” you said amused by that strange outburst, by that strange obsession with covering your body with her seed. “Stop painting my body…” you joked, making her laugh too.

“I think I'll keep doing it, tesoro… I love seeing your body like that…”

[tinycheesecakedetective]

Character Files #1: Blueberry Milk Cookie

Hello again! It's been a while. Today I'd like to waffle on about Blueberry for a bit. If you'll allow me to. In the past I discussed his trajectory, but I wanted to take the opportunity to update a few things and add some fun details. This post is meant to cover Blueberry's past. What will become of his kingdom will be discussed when I get to the aftermath of the Dark Flour War. Now let's begin! ~~~~~

Personality & Early Life Blueberry Milk is a scholar with a taste for thrill and has an insatiable curiosity. He's kind to others, however he has a tendency to be overdramatic and cocky. He always pushes beyond boundaries despite the consequences or risks it may pose. He's an adventurer specifically because he found traditional studying too boring and would much rather get his hands dirty with experiments. But before Blueberry Milk became the illustrious founder of the republic, he was just a student at the Parfaedia Institute of Magic. Many teachers considered him a prodigy due to his prowess and intelligence, however others dreaded teaching him due to his penchant for troublemaking.

He would graduate at the age of 17, and took on a job as a professor before quitting years later. Many would cite a lack of stakes as one of the reasons for his departure, though that was common knowledge to anyone that was close to him. Blueberry Milk would then become an independent researcher, exploring the world and doing field research.

The Kingdom's Beginnings With months of travelling under his belt, it became very clear that he needed somewhere to store all of his findings. Initially he planned to establish it back at Parfaedia, but found it too stifling for him. So he packed all of his things and began moving north. Some old colleagues heard about this and followed suit, joining him up north in what would be called "The Land of the Studious." Alongside his colleagues, they established The Congregation, a meeting hall where they could all discuss the progress made with each of their projects.

Over time, more cookies heard of this place up north and had began seeking it out to perform their own personal projects. The Land of the Studious became known among Parfaedians as a wizard's getaway, a place where students could perform magic more freely than in the Institute. With the surge of visitors, the Gelato Villas were built for incoming travelers and eventually permanent residents, and the Wafer Train Station was built soon after for easier access to and from Parfaedia, and a new school began construction. As the area expanded more and more, the Land of the Studious had changed from a small community of scientists to a bustling city-state. The Congregation evolved, with the original founders becoming council members and gaining more political power over time. Soon even the name itself had changed, now being known as New Yogurt City.

A City in Crisis As the city developed, Parfaedia began to recognize NYC as a legitimate entity outside of "tourist destination." With competition on the rise, the magic city was forced to evolve to stay relevant. More technology was implemented into daily life as a result, with new experimental magic being tested. It was all going well until everything came screeching to a halt.

The incident happened outside of the institute. It started as a few electrical malfunctions inside some of the classrooms before quickly spreading to the rest of the building. Strange rifts opened inside one of the classrooms before letting in a legion of cake monsters. Even with all wizards pushing back, they were unable to stop the rifts. More appeared, wreaking havoc across the magic city. In a final attempt to get outside help, the wizards looked to the legendary beacons and lit them.

Dozens of wizards saw the lights and answered the call, including Blueberry Milk. With additional backup, they all began to go around the city, fighting the cake armies with staffs and wands. The city lit up with magic spells and potions as the streets were enveloped with smoke. For a moment, it looked like victory was near for the wizards, until the smoke parted with a mighty shriek.

Flying over them was their last and greatest opponent: the roll cake hydra. A horrible beast with cream cheese frosting bleeding through it's teeth and seven heads to boot. While the wizards and townsfolk fought long and hard, it kept coming back harder and more angry. The terrible beast forced them to retreat into the nearby forests.

A Glimmer of Hope Tired and exhausted, the cookies tended to their wounds. Many of them had passed out from spending too much mana, and others didn't know how much longer they could go on. Splitting from the group, Blueberry Milk wandered through the woods. He began flippantly going through spell after spell, trying to find one that could stop this before he never could. In his darkest moment, a voice beckoned to him. He tried to find the source, moving further inside before it spoke again.

It asked him if he was truly determined to save Parfaedia, and he responded with a nod. Sensing his desperation, the voice offered him a deal. It would give him the power he needed to stop the hydra in exchange for defending Earthbread as a whole. With dwindling options, he agreed, and his powers were amplified. Using his newfound strength, he left to face the hydra alone.

The fight was intense. Standing in front of the hydra armed with only his staff, he launched the first blow. Taken aback by the sudden attack, the hydra was struck, backing up before lunging it's heads at the cookie.

Move.

Blueberry Milk jumped out of the way, heart racing as he looked down at his hands. He felt sharper, quicker. The hydra tried again, snapping it's neck at him as it attempted to swallow him whole.

Roll.

His body acted on impulse, rolling away from it before sending a shockwave at the monster's body. A direct hit. A grin curled up onto his face as his teammates returned, mouths agape in shock.

Again.

The fight raged on as Blueberry Milk effortlessly weaved through each attack while dealing blow after heavy blow. More onlookers came, cheering him on as the hydra grew tired and sloppy. Another set of attacks came as he pushed the hydra into a corner.

Once more.

Pouring his remaining mana into his staff, he sent one final attack aimed at the hydra's chest. The hydra, desperate to live, fought back with all it's remaining strength, but it would be of no use. The attack speared through it's chest, pushing it back into a wall before it erupted in a beautiful collage of colors and sounds.

His finest work yet. And one that made him faint. His body was quickly ushered into a recovery room. When he woke up, he found himself surrounded by friends and acquaintances. If he didn't shoo them away, they would have killed him with kindness. He also wouldn't have noticed the gleaming blue gem resting on his chest.

The Aftermath Since the attack, Parfaedia immediately began reconstruction efforts, and with the help of the NYC was able to recover almost completely. After intense discussion and meetings, the two cities agreed to join under one entity as the New Yogurt Republic. The new republic recognized the efforts of the brave wizards that defended Parfaedia as heroes, and Blueberry especially began to grow in popularity. He was eventually appointed as the leader of the republic, with a new and improved council by his side, and with their combined efforts helped to usher in a new golden age for both cities.

For now.

Blueberry Milk, now a wielder of the soul jam of hope, began doing research into how exactly it worked. He knew that it helped him during the fight, but something about it felt.. foreign. But Blueberry wasn't one to give up, and he began to seek out others like him for his research. His curiosity knew no bounds, and he was determined to unlock the secrets of the soul jam.

[kasu-meow]

I think this is a bit of an unpopular opinion at the moment, I haven't seen anyone else say this, but... I love Gojo Satoru with all my heart, and because I love him so much, I am so glad that he is dead and is staying dead.

Ever since he was born, he was labeled as the strongest, and he was unable to be anything else except a weapon. He is so far above everyone else that most people don't even stop to consider that he is a human too, and the one time he allowed himself to love and be human, the object of his affection was ripped from him by the same society that put him in a box and forced him to carry all the burden alone.

Ever since then, Gojo Satoru has been shouldering the bulk of the responsibilities of Jujutsu society, living in regret, wondering "what if?" and desperately trying to protect the ones who now walk the same path he used to, because even though he lost what was precious to him, maybe he can make things slightly better so others don't have to go through that pain.

In my eyes, Gojo Satoru's is a story of loss, of pain and regret. The only thing he desperately clung onto was the hope that if he just pushes on a little longer, and mentors the new generation, that maybe he can really affect something in this godforsaken society, make it just a little better for the next generation, but not for him; it's already too late for him. He has already lost everything.

And so he became a teacher, even though he "doesn't want to do any more babysitting," he fought the people who made him a tool to protect the ones he knew could create the change he was seeking, and even though he knew he was walking towards his death, he still put on a smile and reassured his students saying "Nah, I'd win."

Even though he sacrificed himself to wear down Sukuna and let his body be used like the tool it was always perceived as, just so he could save everybody, what did he get? No one cried for him, he wasn't remembered for his kindness or selflessness, but was only blamed for his mistakes because then again, he is a weapon, a tool. Gojo Satoru will never just be a person.

But at least... now it's over. He doesn't have to fight anymore. He left Earth knowing he did his job, and that his students have got it from here on out. He is finally able to breathe and rest, and he was even reunited with the only person who, despite it all, saw him for what he was. Not Gojo Satoru, the strongest, but Gojo Satoru, the guy who likes Digimon, eats kikufuku and smiles despite everything. The one person who was willing to destroy the entire Jujutsu society to protect Gojo Satoru, who really cared about him, and the one Gojo Satoru did everything for. He finally has what he always longed for, and he made peace with his own death. He tied up everything he had left on Earth, and chose to let go because he is no longer needed. The reason he couldn't be revived with RCT was because his soul was no longer clinging to this plane of existence, because finally Gojo Satoru got what he wanted, a new generation of allies who will grow even beyond his potential, and will carry on his vision and make real change in the world.

Gojo Satoru is finally resting and at peace. I miss him, so much, but if he were to come back, what would he be coming back for? He would have to leave Geto Suguru once again, even though the first time almost killed him, and for what? To go back to being who he was, playing the role he used to play, fighting to swim upstream in a world that sees him as nothing more than a machine? What does he have left on Earth now, besides the life of a weapon? He did everything he could, and Jujutsu society will start changing now because of him. He even died the way he always wished for, killed by someone stronger than him, who recognized him, and swore to never forget him.

For the first time in a decade, I believe Gojo Satoru is truly happy where he is. And I really, really want him to be happy. I don't want him to force himself to smile for the sake of someone else like he is used to, I want him to be able to let loose and be himself with the people who appreciate him. I don't want him to go back to a miserable life of loss and regret. So yeah... it pains me, and I miss him, but I'm glad Gojo Satoru is dead, and I hope it stays that way.

[multifandomfix]

I Never Promised You A Rose Garden — Regina Mills

Summary: You’ve always loved Regina, but her actions as the Evil Queen finally become too much to bear. Will she see the error of her ways in time or will it be too late to make her amends?

Word Count: 1,377

Warnings: Angst, grief, no happy ending

You’ve always loved Regina.

You were there before Daniel, before the eventual heartbreak that followed in the wake of his death, before she became the Evil Queen. From the moment you met her, you knew she was special. She was kind, passionate, and full of life. When she fell in love with Daniel, you saw her happiness and swallowed your own pain, choosing instead to support her.

You remembered the first time you saw her with him. The way her eyes sparkled and her laugh rang out, pure and unrestrained. It was a beautiful sight, even if it broke your heart. "He's everything to me," she had confided to you one day, her smile brighter than the sun. You nodded, forcing a smile and hiding the turmoil inside you. You told her you were happy for her. In part, at least, you were.

When Cora killed Daniel, you were the one who held Regina, comforting her through her grief. "I can't go on without him," she had sobbed, clinging to you like a lifeline. You wanted to whisk her way and protect her from the world’s cruelty then, but before you’d had a chance, Leopold came with his proposal, and she was drawn into a grander life that you couldn’t follow her into. "I have to do this," she'd said to you, mere days before she was to depart, and this time it not only broke your heart, but hers. Cora had made this decision for her, and no matter what you said, you knew her fate was sealed.

When Leopold died, Regina found you again, asking you to be an adviser in her court. It wasn’t an offer you could refuse, not that you had wanted to. You were happy to be by her side once more, even though something felt different. In private, she was still your Regina, soft and caring, especially with you and her father, Henry. But around others, she had become the Evil Queen, cold and ruthless. It was a dissonance you struggled to reconcile.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked her one night, after a particularly harsh punishment to one of her guards.

"Because I have to be strong," she replied, looking away. You thought to argue that there were other ways she could be seen as such, but you could tell by her demeanor that she would hear none of it.

You, along with Henry, tried to dissuade her from casting the curse you both knew was coming, but again, she wouldn’t listen. "This isn't the answer, Regina," you pleaded. "You can't build your happiness on others' misery."

She looked at you, eyes hard. "Happiness is a lie," she snapped. "Revenge is all I have left."

Watching the woman you so ardently adored become this cold, unloving and merciless queen had hurt you more than you imagined. You debated leaving more than once, but your devotion to her and the person she’d been stopped you each and every time. You still thought you could get through to her.

However, her sacrificing her father to enact her dark curse was the breaking point. You couldn’t hold back any longer. "Regina, stop!" you shouted, rushing to her side. "I can't let you do this."

She turned to you, eyes cold. "You don't get to tell me what to do," she said. "Not anymore." You could tell the last part wasn’t meant for you specifically, but Regina was so lost in her own hatred, she wasn’t being rational.

"This isn't you," you cried, tears streaming down your face. "I don't recognize you anymore. What happened to the woman I loved?"

Regina's eyes widened in shock. "Loved?" she repeated, incredulous. "You... loved me?" For a moment, you glimpsed the Regina you used to know.

"Yes," you said, voice trembling. "I've loved you all these years. Even when it hurt, even when you pushed me away."

And just like that it was gone, that lightness in her eyes darkened once more and Regina snapped, refusing to believe you. To her, the only happiness was making Snow White suffer. Your confession was seen as a weakness, an obstacle in her path to revenge. "You're lying," she spat. "You're trying to weaken me, to stop me from getting what I deserve."

"No, Regina, please," you begged. "I'm telling the truth. I love you."

But it was too late. She had her guards seize you, and you were left to watch as she prepared to cast the curse. "Get out," she ordered, voice breaking slightly. "And don't come back."

It was too late for Regina to turn back. "I can't stop now," she whispered to herself, tears in her eyes as she moved to complete the curse. "I can't."

*****

For twenty eight years in Storybrooke, she thought about you, regretting the day that she let you go and longing for your presence. With no magic in this land, she couldn’t track you down. She didn’t even know if you’d made it here when the curse covered the land. She had no way of knowing for certain. Not unless she saw you. And for all twenty eight years, she’d not even seen you in passing once.

Finally, when Emma broke her curse, Regina disappeared to her vault and cast a spell on a necklace of yours that she had kept for all these years. The spell led her to a spot in the back of her garden where a bush of wild roses grew. Confused, she went to Gold, who gave her a potion to show the last memories of the person she thought about.

Once safely home, she drank the concoction down, damning any side effects that may come with it. She had to know where you were. Her vision clouded over and a scene played out in her head.

It was back on the day she cast the curse, you had broken free from her guards, the ones she’d ordered to take you away from her. You tried to reach her, in one desperate last chance to stop her. If you’d made it to her, you still would been too late, somehow she knew that, but as she watched you run, trying to make it back in the castle, she felt an ache grip her chest. And there it was, you, stumbling up the stairs in your hurry and alerting some of the castle knights. Thinking you were an ally of Snow White and Prince Charming, they pursued you, catching you easily enough after your fall. And Regina collapsed onto the floor when she witnessed one of them stab their sword through your chest.

As the fog of the memories lifted from her eyes she realized, if her house here in Storybrooke represented her former castle, then the bush of wild roses in her yard marked the very spot where you died.

Regina was completely broken by the vision and by your loss, but she made a promise to herself. She hadn’t been able to protect you in life, but she would take care of those roses until her dying breath. The bush grew there at the back of her garden because you had almost reached her when the curse was cast. Now, the place of your death had become a silent testament to her loss.

Every day, Regina tended to the roses, pouring her love and regret into their care. "I'm so sorry," she whispered to the blooms. "I was blind and foolish. I should have listened to you."

As the years passed, the roses flourished under her care, a living memorial to the love she had lost. Regina would often sit by the bush, talking to the flowering bush as if you could hear her. "I miss you," she would say, tears glistening in her eyes. "I wish I could reverse it all, make things right."

In her heart, she vowed to honor your memory, knowing that she had been too blind to see the truth when it mattered most. The roses became her solace, a reminder of what she had once and had lost, and the depth of her own folly. And as she tended to them, she hoped that somehow, somewhere, you could feel her love and her regret, and forgive her.

For @annalestern

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Regina Mills: @dancingwith-sunflowers, @riveranddoctorsong123, @the-disorderly-writer, @ladysc, @reginassecretlover, @sarah-paulsons-bottom-lip, @ejcoolgirl, @xscarlettxbelovax, @iciclesandsnow, @the-bearr, @akeldamasemele, @geekyandgay98, @yetanotherattemptatanaccount, @academiagaymess, @lady-darkswan3, @babygirlscout, @myfriendtuvok, @axel-barnes

[muxshwriting]

the winner takes it all

Nico Rosberg x Hamilton!reader

summary: after 2016, nico cut you and your brother off. you reach out to him, wanting him to know you would always be his || warnings: slight angst, abandonment, threats || word count: 1328 || masterlist

It had been a hectic year, dating your brother's teammate who he was currently rivals with. The boys you'd grown up with had changed and evolved and grown ever more distant from each other. You'd spent most of the season juggling your emotions, trying not to celebrate too much when either of them one so the other didn't feel upset.

But as Nico crossed the line as World Champion, you couldn't hide your elation. The moment he was out of the car, he was jumping into the arms of his team. A part of your heart aches for Lewis, your brother, knowing how hard he had worked for this Championship, only to lose at the last second. But the pure joy that flowed through you dictated your actions as you threw yourself at Nico as he cheered. He pulled off his helmet, holding your head in his hands and pulling you in for a kiss.

"You won!" You're shouting over the crowd but Nico is nodding and grinning like a kid all over again.

"I won!"

Behind him, Lewis was watching his own sister congratulate the man who had just ruined his life instead of comforting her brother. How can Nico be so smug about taking everything Lewis had dreamed of? He was so nonchalant throughout interviews, as if he knew this was always meant to happen. But Lewis couldn't stop himself feeling bitter.

Nico could have the championship, Lewis could earn himself another. But Nico would not take everything from him, he would not take his sister. He watched his team celebrate from the sidelines, watched as his sister kissed and danced with the man she loved, the man he now hated. Tonight would be the last night he would come anywhere near his sister.

Whatever your brother did, you certainly noticed its affects even if you didn't know the reasoning behind them. Nico did not speak to again after the night he won the championship. Or any day after that.

In the beginning, you just assumed he was busy with interviews and stories, too busy to text you back or find the time to come and see you. But as time went on and he declined all your calls, it became obvious this wasn't a time issue. This was something else.

No matter where you went in Monaco, you could not find him. He didn't frequent the places you had shared, stayed away from your work and ignored anything you tried to reach out with.

"I don't understand Lew, he's not the kind of person that would do this, I don't know what happened." You're sitting in your brother's apartment, binging episodes of a random reality show and trying to figure it out.

"Maybe he thought he was too good now he's won the championship." Lewis felt bad for his sister, yes. But he was also glad Nico had realised what was good for him.

You wipe away tears. "We always talked about life after the championship was over, whether he won or you did. We were gonna move in together, take some time for ourselves, figure out if this was forever..."

"He mustn't think it was forever then."

"Then he should've told me that to my face, not completely blank me."

Two weeks later, by sheer coincidence you're sitting in the cafe you and Nico had often visited and he walked through the doors. He didn't notice you at first, ordering a takeaway and waiting by the counter. Quietly, you pack your bag and stand by the door, trying to catch him on his way out.

"Nico!"

He said nothing, his eyes widening as he recognised you. Nodding politely, he tried to push past you, not meeting your eyes.

"Nico?"

He finally met your gaze, swallowing the lump in his throat. "It's good to see you Y/N. I -"

"You’re gonna stay the fuck away from my sister, alright? I don’t want you to talk to her ever again."

"Lewis-"

"No! You won't talk to either of us again. You're nothing. You don't deserve her, and the sooner you realise that, the better off she is. She knows she's better off without you."

"Can we talk?" You ask.

Nico shakes his head. "There's nothing to talk about." He walks out the door but you follow.

"We need to talk about it Nico." You implore him. "Nico?"

"There's nothing to say."

"There's plenty to say Nico. Listen to me, please! I loved you, I still love you." You say. "Even after everything that happened, I never stopped. Why did you stop letting me see you?"

"Lewis told me to stay away. And you're better without me-"

"What?"

Nico turned to face you. "Lewis? He told me that you would be better without me, that you said that."

You're face is plastered with confusion. "Lewis told you not to talk to me? But- I never said that. Why does Lewis think he can control who I love?" As you were speaking, the anger grew. "Why did you listen to him?"

"Because he's right. You deserve more than me."

"Don't say that!" You quickly reply. "I don't care what my brother thinks, you are the world champion. You deserve everything, especially me! He can have any model he wants, all the races, all the wins, all the championships but I want you. I want to have you and I want to be happy with you."

Nico’s expression sours. “We’re not doing this here, not now.”

"I want you!" You yell after him, not caring who else heard. "Only you."

"Your brother-"

"Stop talking about my brother!" You beg him. "Please, I love you Nico."

He sighs, running a hand down his face. "Alright," he gestures you to follow him, "We need to talk somewhere more private."

Silently agreeing, you grabbed his hand and led him through the winding streets of Monaco until you reached his apartment building. He hadn't moved yet and as he unlocked the door, you let yourself admire the man you would always love. Nothing inside the apartment had changed except the pictures hanging on the wall.

Nico had a wall of pictures that you had helped him create. They were moments from his karting career, his life and his relationship with you. There was a new picture in pride of place at the very top of the wall, the place he put his favourite. It was a picture of the day he won his championship, a picture of you and him in a lovers embrace, confetti falling around you and sweat dripping from his hair. It was the perfect picture that captured everything you and him were.

"That's new." You point to the picture and look at Nico hopeful.

"Yeah." He smiles. "The team photographer sent me the original and I couldn't think of a better place to put it."

You took the chance and stepped closer to Nico, almost pressing your body against his. You felt the sharp intake of breath from him as he tucked a loose hair behind your ear.

"Are you sure?"

You're nodding before he's even finished. "We're gonna move in together, and take some time for us. And I know it's going to work because this is what I want in forever. I want you to my forever."

"Will you marry me?" He whispered the question like he didn't quite believe what he was saying.

"Yes." You immediately answer before Nico can backtrack. "Yes. Please."

Nico stepped back and shook his head slightly. "Wait- Y/N, just wait. I don't know why I said that."

"Are you trying to take it back?"

"No!" He hurriedly corrects. "I think we need to go slow. I haven't talked to you in three weeks."

"Three weeks don't matter, we know each other, we know that this works. Why do we have to wait?"

Nico couldn't hide his smile as he dipped his head to press his lips against yours.

"Why wait indeed..."

[bestjeanistmonster]

hey I always wandered why do you chose certain characters in roles for your DC au like sonic as Harley Quinn or knuckles as bat man?

also I love your content btw!

usually i just choose what character roles i think would be interesting to explore for that character, or just what would be most fun

like when you think of Sonic in the dc universe you would instantly think ‘ok he would be the flash’, and its true that he would probably make a pretty good flash and a good story could come out of that, or maybe making Amy ‘harley quinn’ and again lots of character stuff you could do with that

But those options kinda just. write themselves tbh, its a bit too easy for me to just choose those options and call it a day cuz just looking at them you’d get their entire deal.

So when im choosing character roles im basically asking myself, not just ‘what sonic character would fit in this dc role the best’ but ‘what would this specific sonic character have to do/go through to become some version of this character’ or ‘what how would this dc role have to be moulded to fit this sonic character’

lets take Shadow for example!

he was the first person i made Shadow would obviously be batman, just looking at him and his backstory he would make an amazing batman, he fits that pretty well no question

but at the time i made Shadow poison ivy, i was reading the the comic series ‘Poison Ivy: The Virtuous Cycle’, it went into detail into Ivy’s hatred for humanity and how they’re destroying the planet, and how she plans to kill all of them off (including herself) in order to save it. It was so interesting to think about her hatred for humanity this way, so interesting that my brain was like ‘wow if when shadow woke up from his cryostasis and learnt all this he’d probably wanna kill humanity even more lol’

then i thought about it more, Poison Ivy cares deeply for the environment and basically wants to kill all humans cuz they’re destroying the planet and giving Shadow that role kinda adds another layer to that because human’s are destroying the world that Maria so desperately wanted to see and he can literally feel the planet dying cuz of that plant connection + the fact that he was created artificially in a lab by humans (plus alien deadbeat) away from the planet and having that intrinsic connection to that planet below the Ark his whole life, a direct connection to the planet that Maria loved so much, a connection that he would’ve never fully known the extent of if GUN hadn’t raided.

So what if wanting to destroy the planet, he wanted to save it and to save it he had eradicated a certain ‘infestation’, humanity.

that was super interesting to me to explore as a concept so Poison Ivy!Shadow, the first character in my dc au was born!!!

it’s important to me that though im making Shadow and Ivy have the same role im not just copypasting Ivy’s backstory onto Shadow, they’re different characters and those backstories aren’t necessarily interchangeable, different things happened to make them who they are and one might not work for the other.

And if i do make the backstory similar, i wanna make changes so i can justify why they made these choices, like with what i did Sonic

Sonic’s dc au backstory follows similar beats as Harley Quinn’s backstory, but i added some details make it more believable for me to understand how Sonic could ever became what Harleen Quinzel became. So i started him out Nicky from the sonic manga, an insecure, weak, nerdy kid that’s easy for people to beat up and pick on, so he’d be someone with vulnerabilities and insecurities. Then i had Tails and Amy be his number 1 protectors cuz he can’t protect himself, his insecurities deepening cuz of this (not only can he not protect himself, he doesn’t even have the strength to protect them), he lived in the worst place in gotham, etc. Basically a lot of stuff that Eggman could use to exploit and manipulate him.

this made it really interesting and fun for me to delve into his mindset and see how he would tick!

then from Sonic’s kidnapping came Tails and Amy’s motivations to become vigilantes, to save their friend, people like their friend and to stop people like the joker from hurting them

other times times i just make the choices based on vibes and what would fit the plot <3

this character exploration and thinking process is why i personally don’t allow ppl to make character suggestions for any of my aus, cuz its really a personal process of picking out roles and dissecting them in my brain

but yh that’s pretty much why i picked who i picked lol

ty for the question!

[itsyourstarboy]

Before I had my ipad to do digital art, I LOVED doing traditional. I loved the sketching process, I loved the inking process, I had a love/hate relationship with the coloring process, and I loved getting to share what I created.

I would fill up sketchbooks in a matter of months. I have five personal sketchbooks, and three highschool ones.

7/8 of those are completely filled up, every bit of paper, front to back. My current sketchbook (#5) I started I think like 2 years ago 😬

It's kinda sad, because when I left traditional art behind I stopped drawing as much.

[heyitslapis]

Ok

[endlessfuckup]

Are you okay?

Not really :/

Constantly dealing with one traumatic/chaotic event after another

[ame-to-ame]

Rereading ayaka is in love with Hiroko senpai!!! Last time I read it I don't think it was finished/I didn't finish it but ack. Now I also want to be in love 😭😭😭

[snekdood]

so august 2018 is when my peak being-crazy-made art craziness happened, huh

[golden-redhead]

You see, the biggest problem with this is that Five HAD a love story all along.

His love for his family has been THE very foundation of the show and what kickstarted the entire chain of events.

He spent 45 years in the apocalyptic wasteland because he loved them too much to give up.

He found them in every possible timeline.

He reversed time for them.

He became an assassin to get a shot, however small, at coming back to them.

He’s been through countless timelines, doing his best to save and protect them in every single one of them.

No matter how dire the situation, he always pushed to find a way to save his family. His devotion was stronger than anything and there was no line he wouldn’t cross for his siblings. No matter how self-destructive the cost, he sacrificed himself again and again just for a chance at reuniting with them and saving the world so they could live.

It was a destructive kind of love, yes, but also inspiring. I think it resonated with many people because love can be intense, we love and want to be loved with this kind of intensity and dedication.

So, to throw it all away for a romantic subplot that no one asked for is not only a huge disservice to Five’s character but also goes against everything he represents. We already knew he’s capable of love and that he loves deeply.

I don’t understand how the showrunner who worked on the series for 5+ years can say that Five had to have an arc like this. It doesn’t make sense. He already had a love story. Arguably, the most beautiful and deepest of them all. He didn’t need more, what he needed was to have it returned and to finally settle down after multiple lifetimes of putting his life on the line to keep his loved ones safe.

To say otherwise means that the writers fundamentally misunderstood what made Five a great character and what fans loved most about the show. It feels like a betrayal, because it is one. It proves that the creators not only misunderstood the core character of the show but also never paid attention to the fandom and its preferences.

There’s a difference between catering to the audience and what they ended up doing, which is a character assassination at its worst. And it’s not just the character who was ruined but also the entire premise of the show, the reason why fans loved it in the first place. There’s no coming back from something like this.

[luvjunie]

earth 42 miles reaction to reader hanging up the phone on his face mid argument?

— facetime

pairing: e-42!miles (aged up) x fem!reader

contains: arguing, minimal cursing, slightly toxic behavior lol

summary: you love miles, but his overbearing nature is beginning to irritate you. the two of you get into an argument over it on facetime, and you snap at him and hang up the phone. wc: 1,537

a/n: ik the pic might not make sense regarding who hung up on who, but i like it so we finna pretend it does lol. miles/reader are only aged up for plot

“look mami, you not hearin’ me. i’m not tryna control you, i’m just saying maybe it would be best if-“

“that is literally you trying to control me.”

you cut miles off from another one of his mini tangents as you stared at him through the facetime call on your screen, so far beyond the point of caring to hear the same thing he’d told you a million times.

you loved your boyfriend with everything in you. honestly, you did. but in the last few months he’d grown to be so much more controlling than he was in the beginning, a result of his ridiculous need to protect you and it’s got your head spinning on your shoulders. you couldn’t do anything without him looming over you, and you’re fed up. it was suffocating, and you needed him to know that you could handle yourself.

you heard his voice come in again from your phone’s speakers.

“aight fine, if that’s what you wanna think, then that’s cool. but i don’t want you going out that late, chiquita, simple. ain’t no discussion.”

“alright, bro.” you sighed, and he tutted at you.

“i’m not your ‘bro’. don’t do that.”

while you knew your boyfriend only wanted the best for you, you didn’t really understand the extent to all these rules he’d given you. like no going to the corner store at night, having to keep your location on at all times, or having to send a picture of yourself when you’d gotten back into the house— so he could really make sure it was actually you texting him from your phone.

since then, you’d deemed it safe to assume that he most likely had immense trust issues, and that was why he acted so strangely, because any other reason for this kind of behavior seemed ludicrous to you.

miles had yet to tell you he was the prowler, that certain people had bounties on his head, which included anyone who may be involved with him, anyone he holds close to him. he saw everything that went on in this city— when night had fallen and the streets became far too dangerous of a place for a defenseless girl like you to be out in them. you had no idea the kind of people he dealt with, the things he’d seen, the things he had to do. he just didn’t want you to get hurt, but he wasn’t the best at expressing the sincerity of his words, and they often came out too rough, too harsh. it was the best he could do, he was trying to communicate effectively, he really was. but time and time again you’d failed to try and understand his pleas past the words spoken to you; to actually listen to them, and comprehend them, and not just listen to respond.

so, being you, you retorted like the stubborn girl you always were. the stubborn girl he’d fallen so helplessly in love with and was only trying to protect with his entire being.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him in disbelief. “look, you can’t tell me what to do, miles. i can do what i want.”

he didn’t hear anything that came from your mouth, because the expression on your face had completely distracted him from the conversation at hand.

“hol’ on, did you just roll your eyes at me?” his brow raised, daring you to answer that question with anything but a ‘no’.

what you responded with wasn’t necessarily a ‘yes’ per sé, but it definitely wasn’t any better.

“oh, so you wanna control my face now, too? dictating what i do with my life or the shit i say isn’t enough for you?” you challenged.

his head dipped back as he laughed, a deep, provoked laugh— though the both of you knew nothing was funny, and that this was always how he reacted before he actually got angry. laughing it off was a means for him to screw his head back on right, as if a warning to you to not push him too far, because anybody who spoke to him with this kind of gall just had to be joking.

he exhaled heavily, a hand scrubbing down his face.

“can’t lie, you talkin’ mad crazy right now, ma. i think you need to cool it with that.” he warned, corners of his lips turned into a forewarning leer. “ima let that lil’ shit you just said slide, cause i love you, and ion wanna hurt your feelings, but we done talking about this.” he decided, leaning forward to prop his phone back up on his desk before scooping his playstation controller back up into his hands.

“and watch your mouth.”

chin retreating towards your chest, you were taken aback at how quickly he decided for the both of you that the conversation was over, as if you had to agree with him, as if things were decided simply because he’d said so. and somehow, you found it in all your unbridled nerve to make things worse.

“yeah, you’re right. we are.”

thumb pressing to the red X, you hung up the phone, leaving miles to gape at the black of his screen with shock etched into his features. he waited for you to call back and tell him it was an accident, and sat there for a minute, leg bouncing to maintain what little patience he’d managed to cling onto during this entire ordeal. he swallowed his pride and called you back, only for the screen to read ‘facetime unavailable’ after just two rings. you declined it. squaring his jaw, he calmly nodded to himself, phone snatched up, jacket thrown on and controller tossed onto his bed— game forgotten about.

“bet.”

____

you were fuming after you’d hung up the phone, steam probably would’ve been puffing from your ears if something like that were possible outside of the cartoons. there was a tiny part—no, a huge part of you that knew you shouldn’t have hung up on him like that; that regretted it. a part that knew miles’ was genuinely trying his best to speak to you calmly in the way he’d learned how, specifically for you, when calm was something he rarely ever felt. but you couldn’t help your anger either, and figured a break from the conversation, and a shower to calm you down would do the both of you some good.

you sauntered out your bathroom after about twenty minutes, a towel tightly wrapped round your damp torso and a heavy, depleted exhale departing from your lungs.

you felt relaxed. the heat of the water had washed away most, if not all of your anger towards the situation and you sighed to yourself, ready to come back to the discussion with a level head, and to apologize to your boyfriend for snapping at him and ending the call so abruptly. it was rude of you, and honestly you hadn’t thought it through until you had already—

“you know, ion usually fuck with cats like that, cause y’all kinda freak me out. but you cool.”

the inner dialogue of your thoughts were cut off by a familiar voice, muffled through the shut door of your bedroom.

“what the fuck—“ you hurriedly started towards the door, hand barely remaining on the doorknob for a second as you flung it open, to see none other than your boyfriend, miles, sat in your desk chair with your cat, bella, in his lap.

he was leaned back, his large green puffer jacket still on, legs spread in his grey sweats. he looked very comfortable for someone who had just broken into a home.

“how the hell did you get into my house, miles?”

you stared at him unbelievingly, quickly shutting the door behind you. he was in no rush to lift his head to address you directly as he scratched the underside of bella’s chin with his pointer finger.

“window. you should really lock that.”

“even if i had, you would’ve picked it.” you argued.

“true.”

his eyes eventually met yours, and they gave you a drawn out once over, gaze following the drops of water that rolled down your skin. there was a hint of a smirk on his lips, and he almost forgot what he came here for. almost.

you felt your face heat up, grip tightening over your bath towel as you shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling flustered from the boldness of his gaze. so he looked away.

“let’s hope that shower gave your mama some of her sense back, huh?” he dipped his head down to address your cat in a sweet voice, before gently lifting her off his lap and placing her back onto the floor, only for her to drag her head and body along his calf with a purr. traitor.

he leaned back once more, hands patiently clasped between his open legs and head cocked to the side, twin braids swishing behind him when he did so.

“so wassup? you wanna try that conversation again?” with a brow raised he studied your features, as if he were silently challenging you to talk that same shit you did over the phone to his face.

“do you know what boundaries are?”

“nah, not really.” he admitted.

you swallowed, gesturing towards the open room for a reason you didn’t know why.

“can i at least get dressed first?” you cringed at how your voice sounded when you spoke, but the way he was looking at you had your mind reeling and you could only focus on one thing at a time— the argument long forgotten. to be honest, you don’t even recall what you had a problem with.

he shrugged. “sure, if that’s what you’d like.” arms crossing over his chest he spun around in your swivel chair, now facing the same window he’d come in through. “lemme know when i can turn around.”

you sighed.

this boy was going to be the death of you.

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Simmons!Reader Summary: You never planned on having a casual fling with your brother's friend five years ago, nor did you expect him to fall in love with you, which forced you to end things abruptly. But now he's unexpectedly back in your life—older, wiser, and fully intent on winning your heart. Content: (18+) >12k words, reader has commitment issues, he’s the softest softdom i’ve ever written, female oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, a little squirting? teeth rotting fluff and a chaotic ending because who am i without my crack humor A/n: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge and somewhat a celebration post for 7k milestone. Idk how that happened but tysm :( I hope you like this as much as I did writing it because matt simmons is so underrated??? I’m also freaking nervous with this i haven’t posted a new fic in a while so please please please be nice i feel like throwing up

Surprise has a way of stopping time. Although you're not sure you can call it that. What you’re experiencing is more than just surprise, it’s the kind of feeling that makes you freeze in place. It’s not just a jolt to the system—it’s a full-body takeover. Your breath catches, your heart skips, and your thoughts scatter like leaves caught in the wind. How could they not, when the last person you expected to see is standing right in front of you, clad in the most questionable clothes?

You almost laugh at how absurd he looks. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a tacky “Washington D.C.” print sprawled across the front. It’s baffling why he’s draped in that shapeless thing over his freakishly tall frame, but it’s too hard to focus on something so trivial when you’re still grasping with the reality of seeing him again. You really can’t believe it. Spencer Reid is here. The Spencer Reid.

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

You should have seen this coming. In fact, you kind of did, when your brother’s friends came rushing into the hospital room, their voices a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as they crowded around the newborn cradled in Kristy’s arms. You exchanged polite greetings when they noticed you—Penelope even pulled you into a tight hug, gushing about how amazing you looked—and thankfully, there was no sign of him.

But you’d almost allowed yourself to believe he wouldn’t show up. When the small space became overly crowded, you stepped out into the waiting room to catch your breath… only to find him standing a few feet away with JJ.

And just like that, all the air seems to vanish from your lungs.

You had a plan, of course. In the back of your mind, you always knew a chance meeting was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. And that plan was simple. You’d offer him a polite smile. Exchange a few words, nothing too personal. You’d be friendly but distant, always make sure to keep the kind of composure that says you’ve moved on, and that the past is just that: the past.

But those well-laid plans seem fragile now, almost naive as you suddenly caught his smile. Now how do you stick to a script when your heart is starting to rewrite all the lines? Or blur the lines specifically, when the past and present merge so seamlessly that you’re reminded of the first time that same smile had charmed you.

You’re suddenly thrown back to that day five years ago, when your brother had thrown a barbecue cookout to celebrate some joint investigation his team had wrapped up. You didn’t know the details—didn’t really care to, if you were honest—but Matt had called you and insisted that you join him.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time. It sounded like another family gathering with a few new faces. But that was the day you met Spencer, and what began as a simple introduction quickly spiraled into something much more complicated. Really complicated. Because as charmed as you were by his smile, he had wanted something more from you when all you could offer him was your body.

So you ran away.

Although not very far, because apparently, he’s standing a few steps away from you, five years later. And the worst part? He’s now very much aware that you’re here. You watch as his jaw slacks open as he takes a double-take. You’re rooted in place. JJ, on the other hand, tugs his sleeve as she notices his demeanor slowly shutting down. She turns around to see what’s caught his attention, and when she spots you, a huge smile spreads across her face.

"Hey! You're here!” You force yourself to look away from him as she moves forward. You reciprocate the hug she throws at you. "How are you?”

You’re not entirely sure how to answer. How do you even explain that your heart just did a triple backflip and landed somewhere near your stomach? Or that you’re seconds away from having an internal existential crisis because, of course, the universe would choose this moment to throw Spencer Reid back into your life?

There's really no good way to sum that up. So instead, you plaster on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and reply, "Good. I’m good.”

JJ doesn’t seem to notice the strained edges in your voice. “It’s so nice to see you again! How long has it been?”

There’s a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts. But before you can respond, Spencer’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. It’s soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s been holding onto this detail for far too long, but every syllable rings in your ears.

"Five years," he says. "Five years, three months, and seventeen days."

Your stomach does another flip. JJ raises her brows, her eyes darting between you and him. You carefully meet her gaze. "Actually, you and I met up last year.”

“Oh, right!” She exclaims, her face lighting up as the memory clicks into place. “You were in town for a conference, right? I totally forgot about that.”

“You were in town last year and you didn’t tell me?”

God, he’s making it terribly hard for you to keep your composure. You throw him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He looks at you as if your words sounds ludicrous to him.

“I always want to see you.”

You can't decide what surprises you more, the fact that he still wants to see you after all these years, or how easily he says it. The words roll off his tongue so casually, so effortlessly, as if the weight of your shared past doesn’t cling to them. And to make matters worse, he's saying this right in front of JJ, who is now staring at him, clearly scrutinizing the significance behind his words.

You quickly shift your attention to her, forcing another smile. "So, are you going to head inside?"

JJ blinks at you. “Oh, yeah, I probably should.” She turns to Spencer and gives him a quick but knowing glance. "See you on Monday, Spence."

You glance at him. “You're not going to see the baby?"

"Spencer’s got something he needs to take care of,” JJ chimes in. There’s a slight edge to her voice, like she knows exactly what that ‘something’ is, but she doesn’t elaborate. She gives him one last look before heading inside.

You catch yourself looking up at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Spencer pauses, studying you carefully, his brow furrowing just slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines of your question.

“I was,” he says softly.

There’s a sudden tightness in your chest. “Right.”

“But now I don’t want to.”

There it goes again, the butterflies in your stomach. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him. You knew that once you looked into his eyes, heard his voice, it would stir up everything you’ve spent five years trying to bury. You’d told yourself it was better to pretend that whatever happened between you was nothing more than a stupid choice. But now, standing here with him so close, you can feel all those walls you built crumbling down with just a few words.

You finally look at him, like really look at him. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s changed over the past five years. There are faint lines around his eyes now, signs of age that wasn't there before. His hair is longer, a little messier. It curls around his ears in a way that makes him look almost boyish, yet undeniably charming which suits him more than you'd like to admit.

But even with all the changes, his smile—gentle and just a little shy—remains the same. That smile reminds you of a time when things were simpler, where it was enough to convince you that you didn't have to keep your guard up all the time. But then you remember the reason you walked away, and his smile becomes a little harder to look at.

Because while he's changed, grown, matured, so have you, and you're not sure if there's room for the person you are now in the space that once belonged to both of you.

His eyes scan you in the same way you’re assessing him. “You look good.”

Your mouth twitches at his words. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. “Thank you.”

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

The sigh you let out is long and weary. He really knows how to push your buttons.

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that after—” You hesitate, crossing your arms. "After everything. What happened to 'Hi, how are you?’. Or maybe something simple like ‘What have you been up to? Anything new?’”

He blinks, clearly taken aback by your abruptness. “Okay. Hi, how are you?”

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

He pauses again, his eyes searching yours before he asks, "No new boyfriend?"

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

He smiles sheepishly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're right, that was inappropriate. I didn't think I would see you again, it’s throwing me off a bit."

“You didn’t think I would be here for my newborn niece?”

His smile turns into a grimace. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly." He shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his fingers—a small, familiar tic that you hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words. His nervous energy is making it hard to stay annoyed. Your eyes narrow on his oversized hoodie again, the casual, almost careless choice that seems slightly out of character for the Spencer you remember.

He seems to notice you staring so blatantly. “What?”

“You look funny.”

A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You think I’m funny?”

“Different,” you correct. “Did you raid someone’s closet on your way here or something?”

"Oh… I had to change my clothes. I got wet at the park earlier.”

You glance towards the window with a frown. "It's not even raining."

"I ran through the sprinklers."

The cease on your forehead deepens. Even that sounds so unlike him. Spencer Reid doing something that carefree in public?

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

You notice his expression shift as the question leaves your lips, something very subtle, but you’ve known him long enough to catch it. The way his eyes flicker, the slight hesitation before he answers, makes it obvious. There’s a hint of something unspoken in the way he looks at you, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t alone.

You look away. It's ridiculous, you think. To feel this somewhat… jealous when it should be the last thing on your mind because, really, what right do you have? What you had with him wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. But despite all the logic in the world, you can’t help the pang in your chest, the twist of something bitter and familiar curling in your gut.

"It's not what you think," he slowly says.

You force a small, awkward laugh, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t assuming anything. It’s none of my business, anyway."

"No, really, it's nothing like that." he insists, scrunching his nose in the way he does when he's trying to think. "I mean, I did meet someone at the park, but it’s not like… what you might be thinking. We were just talking, and… and then there were these sprinklers and it wasn’t really planned or anything, then she—well, technically, we weren’t even alone the whole time because there were other people around, and it’s not like we—”

“Spencer, you don’t have to explain—” you begin, but then something dawns on you. “Wait, is this what JJ was referring to? Did you… Did you have plans?”

You notice his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. "Kind of," he admits. “But it wasn't anything serious. It was just, you know, a casual thing.”

You can't help the way your stomach knots. Casual could mean anything. Maybe a simple coffee between two friends, or even a lighthearted conversation over lunch. But in your experience, at least in the book you and Spencer had written together in the past, casual had always meant sex. And now, hearing him say it about someone else feels like a punch to the gut you hadn't expected.

You suddenly feel foolish for letting your mind go there, for assuming that whatever he meant by casual was the same thing it had meant for the two of you back then. It's been five years, and so much has changed. Maybe casual means something entirely different for him now, and you're the one stuck in the past, reading into things that no longer hold the same weight.

He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression, the way your eyes momentarily cloud over with something you can’t quite hide. He takes a step forward. "It’s really nothing.”

You take a step back. “Even if it is, it’s really not my business.”

“But it’s not,” he urges. He’s suddenly so persistent, and you can’t help but feel the embarrassment gnawing you at how easily he can read your mind. It's one thing to wrestle with these feelings privately, but having them so clearly acknowledged makes it all the more humiliating. You can’t believe you let yourself get so worked up over something that shouldn’t matter this much.

You eye the exit door. “I need to go.”

"Right now?” His brows knit together in confusion. “But your family’s here."

You’ve only spent a few minutes with him and you’re already running away.

"I just remembered I have to take care of… something."

The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, but you don’t wait for his response. You quickly turn on your heel, and when he calls out your name with concern, you force yourself to keep moving, scurrying off down the hallway.

Me: I'm heading back first Big bro: You okay? Me: Bad headache Big Bro: You didn't eat anything, did you?

You scoff. What is it about your brother always zeroing in on eating whenever you complain about feeling off?

Me: You know I did. Just not much Big Bro: That’s what I thought. There’s some leftover dinner in the fridge. And check the second drawer in the kitchen, there should be some ibuprofen Me: Yes, Dad Big Bro: Don’t get smart with me Me: 🫡 Big Bro: Drink lots of water Me: Yes, sir. Anything else on your mind while you’re giving out parental advice? Big Bro: I’m just trying to keep myself from dragging you out of my house if you collapse Me: 🙄 Big Bro: The kids are staying with Kristy’s parents, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning Me: Okay Big Bro: Call me if you need anything

You toss your phone down on the bed, then let out the most exasperated sigh. Spending your Saturday night in your brother’s guest room is the last thing you expect to be doing, let alone faking a headache just to avoid confronting a situationship from the past. You honestly thought you’d outgrown this kind of avoidance, but here you are, slipping back into old habits as if no time has passed at all.

Ironically, your mind stumbles into the past, and you remember a conversation you once had with Spencer. It was during one of those nights when you both were tangled in each other’s arms. You could faintly remember the conversation started with him talking about his work.

He never actually told you the details of his cases, but he liked to share his thoughts on the different complexities of the human mind. And on that particular night, he was rambling about the psychological concept of avoidance, which he claimed to have detected the first time he spotted the bad guy. He went on at how people often retreat into familiar behaviors to protect themselves from discomfort.

At the time, you had brushed it off with a joke, teasing him about overanalyzing everything when the situation had already played out. But now the irony isn’t lost on you. You’re doing exactly what he once explained. It’s almost laughable if it didn’t sting so much to realize how right he was.

A sharp ding from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, and one glance at it tells you exactly who’s messaging. The name on the screen makes your chest tighten, but you don’t even give yourself a moment to consider responding. You quickly turn the phone to silent, push yourself off the bed, and head straight for the kitchen. True to your brother’s words, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, but the idea of reheating it doesn’t seem appealing to you.

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

The red liquor tastes like butter, or something close to it. It’s similar in the way the liquid melts over your tongue, spreading warmth through your chest and settling comfortably in your belly. By the time you're sipping the second glass, you feel more relaxed, but then the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing cuts through the calm.

You glance at the door from the position of the couch. You have a strong feeling about who it is. But as much as you're sure of the who, what really gnaws at you is the why.

You hesitantly make your way toward the door, and sure enough, when you pull it open, Spencer is standing at your brother’s doorstep. The corner of his lips turns upward in an awkward, almost apologetic half-smile as if he’s unsure of how to begin or whether he should even be there in the first place.

You lean against the doorframe. “Did Matt tell you I was here?”

He gives you a pointed look, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.” You throw him the same questioning look, and he explains, “This is the only place you’d stay in town because not only do you hate staying alone at a hotel, but Matt wouldn’t let you even if you tried.”

You can’t believe he still remembers your offhand comment about sterile hotel rooms. It’s one of the reasons you used to prefer staying at his apartment whenever you were in town.

“Why are you here anyway?” You ask. “I thought you had plans.”

He pauses for moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in? I’d rather explain it inside.”

"I don't think you owe me any explanations about what you do with your time," you reply, crossing your arms.

"Maybe I don't owe it, but I want to give it.”

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

You find yourself caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You tell yourself not to read too much into it, but there's a part of you that can't help but soften at his words. Maybe it's the way his eyes reminds you of melted chocolate as he stares at you that makes you want to let him in, despite your better judgment.

You pull the door open. “Fine, but take your shoes off. Kristy’s very serious about hygiene.”

He does as he’s told and tucks away his shoes on the rack by the door.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

He shakes his head slightly, offering a small smile. "I'm good, thanks."

You nod and gesture toward the living room. He follows you, and as you both approach the couch, he instinctively moves to the far end, settling down cautiously as if not wanting to invade your space. You take a seat on the opposite end.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

He leans back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. You can tell he's trying to gauge your mood, figure out how much to push and when to hold back. "Do you remember when we went on that date at the street fair?"

You frown, remembering how you had missed your bus home in one of your trips here and ended up wandering at the fair with him. “That wasn’t a date.”

"Fine. Do you remember when we went to the street fair together not on a date?"

“I remember."

His shoulders relax a bit at your response. “You spent ages deciding what to eat and you ended up choosing that little Korean stall in the corner. We had to walk a bit further to get there even when your shoes were hurting you.”

You think back, internally scolding yourself for wearing those damn boots that day. “You thought I was being ridiculous.”

"I didn't think it was ridiculous. I just didn't get it at first. Your feet were practically covered in blisters."

"I really wanted kimchi."

"I could tell, and it took me a while to understand why you went through all that trouble. Now I do.”

You glance at him, sensing there's more behind his words. “Why are you bringing this up?"

He meets your gaze. His brown eyes looking a little more golden underneath the dim light. "I guess this is me choosing.”

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

He gives a soft, genuine laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “Not exactly,” he says and leans a little closer. “What I’m trying to say is, that’s how I feel right now. I'm here because I want to be, not because it's convenient, but because it’s you.”

There’s a subtle flutter in your chest, and your skin prickles with a familiar warmth as he speaks. Your heart beats a little faster, not enough to be alarming, but just enough to remind you that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be. You can feel your palms start to sweat, and there’s that almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing that you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Spencer…” You don’t even know how to start. “It’s been five years."

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. A lot of has changed since the last time we saw each another, and you’re here acting like we both separated on good terms? Don't you hate me?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I broke your heart. I—" Your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words. "The moment you told me you were falling in love with me, I... I ran. I couldn’t handle it. I pushed you away like a coward.”

“You weren't a coward, you were scared. And maybe I didn’t understand that back then, but I do now.”

You shake your head. “But I hurt you.”

The sigh he lets out is heavy, yet there's something deceptively calm about it, almost as if he’s already made peace with the past. “You did what you thought you had to do, and sure, it hurt. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I realized that I don’t blame you for needing space. It wasn’t about me not being enough, it was about you needing to protect yourself.”

His words start to chip away at the wall you’ve built around your heart. “I thought you’d hate me,” you admit quietly.

“I could never hate you."

You lower your gaze, your fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s say you choose me. Now what? What is it that you want?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers curled into his palms. He looks away briefly, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts, then returns his gaze to you. “I want another chance.”

If you were surprised to see him at the hospital earlier, this is something entirely different. There’s something akin to panic fluttering in your chest. It’s amusing, really, how the human body reacts before the mind fully comprehends as if your heart knows what’s coming before you do. You can feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your stomach knots with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. Because how do you even react to that?

You finally turn to face him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This moment feels like some sort of déjà vu, and just like the last time, your mind is already bracing itself, preparing to give him the same answer you did back then.

“You know it’s never going to work.”

He mirrors you, but instead of the frustration or sadness you half-expected, there’s a gentle smile on his lips. “You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I am,” you reply. “I know what you’re asking for right now, and we don’t function like that. Not in the past, at least.”

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

“And what do you think I’m asking for now?”

“More than sex, which isn’t going to work."

“Why not?”

“Because—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not even sure how to explain. The fears, the doubts, the past... all of it feels too big, too overwhelming to articulate in a way that makes sense.

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

You frown, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “No.”

The smile stretches even more across his face. “Then give me one good reason why you think so.”

"Oh I can name a few."

He studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read every thought racing through your mind. “Let’s make a deal then. You give me those reasons why we can’t work, and I’ll give you reasons why we can.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his offer. It’s bold, almost reckless, and yet... there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to accept the challenge.

"And if your reasons aren’t good enough?"

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” he replies softly. “But I’m willing to bet we won’t have to.”

"You really think you can convince me?"

"I can try." He leans a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "So, what’s your first reason?"

That’s too easy, too obvious. “You’re one of my brother’s closest friends,” you point out. “What happens if this doesn’t work out? I don’t want to put him, or us, in that position.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That didn’t stop us in the past.”

You scoff. “Spencer, we were sneaking around behind his back. It’s not exactly the same thing. This… whatever this is, it would be out in the open, and that’s a whole different level of complicated.”

“It would be different, yes. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a problem. If anything, it shows how serious we were then, and how serious we could be now.” You scrunch your nose at his response. “Now what’s next on your list?”

"Uhh.. the distance! You’re in D.C., and I’m not. It’s not like I can just drop everything and move closer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a three-hour drive away, maybe two if I take the expressway. And honestly, with how much we both travel for work, I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

His reasoning is so undeniably logical you feel a flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at how easily he’s dismantling your arguments.

“You didn’t even want to visit me back then.”

"You were the one who didn't want me to. You kept saying it was easier for you to come here.”

His words hit harder than you expect. You remember all the times you insisted on making the trips yourself. You'd convinced yourself it was about convenience, but with him calling you out on it, you realize it wasn't about convenience at all. It was about keeping things on your terms, maintaining a safe distance even when that distance wasn't physical.

"Well, I had more flexible hours," you claim. The excuse is flimsy, and the way Spencer looks at you—patient, but not fooled—makes it clear that he sees right through it.

You try to think of your next reason, although the words seem to get stuck before they even form. You know you can easily rattle off more excuses, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it harder than it should be.

“That’s it? You’ve only thought of two? I was expecting a bit more of a challenge.”

You scowl at him. "I didn’t say I was done."

"Take your time," he comments, leaning back slightly, still wearing that infuriatingly patient smile.

You huff softly, trying to regain your footing. "Okay, how about this? Sex."

There's a beat of silence. "What about sex?"

You feel the words forming, but they sound ridiculous even in your own mind. Still, you force them out of your mouth. Your subconscious is urging you to come up with more excuses to keep him at arm’s length. "That was all that we had. What if… what if we just fall back into the same patterns?"

“Don't you think that's a reason why we can work? If we were only ever about sex and we're still here, doesn't that show there's something more between us?"

“Or it just means we had a strong physical connection. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something more.”

“You really believe that? That all we had was just physical?”

“Yes,” you retort, though the confidence in your voice wavers slightly. Your eyes flicker away for a split second before you meet his gaze again. “That’s all it ever was and I don’t know if it can turn into something you’re trying to imply.”

He lets out a low, amused sound, as the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being realistic,” you shoot back. “What if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if everything falls apart because we weren’t good at anything but the sex?”

His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s wearing the most boyish grin you’ve ever seen on him. “So you're admitting the sex was good?"

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“You know what I mean. What we had was...” Wild? Passionate? Crazy-hot-mind-blowing sex? “…intense. But intensity isn't enough for a relationship. What if the rest of it doesn't hold up?"

He leans in closer, his hand hovering near yours on the couch.

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

“You’re giving me all these reasons to push me away again,” he continues. “But I’m here because I’m not afraid of those doubts. I’ve always wanted to give you more than what we had because you deserve something real. I want us to be real this time, and I think you do too, even if you’re scared to admit it.”

His words are affecting you more than you like to admit. You can slowly feel it in the tension building between you, it’s surprisingly not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort that pulls you in, that makes you want to move closer even though every instinct tells you to stay put.

And then it happens. You feel a slight tremor in your leg, an involuntary movement that causes it to brush against his. The contact is so light it's almost like it didn't happen at all, but it did. He notices—Of course he does—and now there’s a certain gentleness in his gaze like he knows exactly what's going on inside your head. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, just watches you with those impossibly kind eyes.

And in the softest, most careful voice, he asks, “Can I move closer?"

Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm echoing in your ears, in your chest, in the pulse at your throat. The sensation travels downward, a slow, steady beat that moves through your body, inching its way down your spine, tightening in your stomach before it settles low in your abdomen. It’s a heat that spreads outward until it reaches your core, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of space between you and him—and how much you want to close that distance.

You find yourself nodding. He shifts closer. “Can I touch you?”

You really want to say something witty, something that might deflect from the weight of the situation, but the words won’t come out. You can only manage another nod. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull back. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re rooted in place as his hand reaches for you.

His palm gently rests on your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed against your consciousness, and the tension that’s been coiling in your chest slowly unwinds, replaced by a sense of calm. When his thumb slides across your cheek, he speaks again. His voice is so close it's as if the words themselves are brushing over your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You inhale sharply. The word "Yes" hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you don't need to say it out loud. He can already see the answer in the way you’re leaning into him, and his mouth is on yours in an instant.

The reality is, you’ve kissed Spencer before. Plenty of times, actually. You know the feel of his lips, the way they can be both gentle and demanding, the way he tastes faintly of coffee or something sweet when he’s had a treat. You also think back to those hurried kisses in the past when time was short and the world was pressing down on you. Or the playful pecks that came with laughter. Even the desperate, heated moments when the need to feel something, anything, was too overwhelming to resist.

This kiss, however, isn’t like any of those. This one is slow, and achingly tender. His movements are unhurried. The way his lips glide over yours carries a deep sense of care, like he’s trying to memorize every soft curve. Just as you begin to melt in his arms, he pulls away slightly, not very far, but enough to hover close that you can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

There’s a tense silence as the tip of his nose brushes gently against your cheek. You can tell he’s giving you the space to decide what happens next, and there are a lot of scenarios running in your head. You could push him away, repeating history all over again. You could be in denial and pretend all of this never even happened. But something inside you snaps.

Maybe it’s the way he’s holding back, so gentle, so careful, too afraid of pushing too far. Or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t want him to hold back, that you need more, that you’re tired of resisting what you’ve both been dancing around for so long. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

He tenses for a moment, but the hesitation is gone almost as soon as it appears. His mouth finds yours again, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh. You feel the soft, insistent push of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You hold onto him, parting your mouth eagerly before he slips his tongue with a desperation that catches you off guard.

Then his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, tracing the curve of your spine, sliding down to the small of your back, and brushing along the edge of your jaw. His fingers then tangle in your hair, tugging gently while his other hand skims over your waist. But when his hand slips inside your shirt, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin, you slowly pull away. “W-Wait.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you can feel the shift in his body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, tugging him closer again. “I just… I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more… private?”

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

“If you want to.”

A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me for sex?”

You’re oscillating between being incredibly turned on and equally mortified. In a sense, yes, that’s what you’re asking. But you didn’t expect him to be so blunt about it. You don’t think he’s ever been this direct in the past, and now you’re wondering if you missed something before, or if he’s just tapped into a level of confidence you’re struggling to keep up with.

“Would it be inappropriate if I said that I am?” you ask hesitantly, and you can’t help but wince a little as the words leave your mouth.

“Since when have you been worried about being inappropriate with me?”

“Well, Spencer, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a five-year gap since the last time we slept together.”

His hand on your waist tightens slightly. “Five years too long, if you ask me.” Then he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “You do realize this is you giving me a second chance, right?"

In a way, you do. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that you were better off keeping your distance. Walking away in the past was easy, but now… now it feels different. The years have stretched on, and the excuses you’ve made have started to wear thin. Especially when just being near him is starting to stir memories you thought you’d buried—some good, some less so—but all intense, all Spencer.

Maybe he's right. Maybe five years is too long to pretend that whatever was between you didn't matter.

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You hesitate, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer gravity of what you're about to say.

"Maybe."

His sigh is audible when he hears your answer, and without missing a beat, he brushes the barest, lightest, most gentle of kisses on your lips. “Maybe is good.” Kiss. “I can take—” Kiss. Kiss. “—maybe.”

You think you should say something more, but all coherent thoughts scatter the instant his lips meet yours again. You return his kisses, hesitant at first, but quickly falling into a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. It doesn’t take long until his lips move into something more urgent. There’s a hunger there, a pent-up longing that he can no longer hold back. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing, and you know you need to stop him before he starts to undress you right there on the couch.

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls you to your feet, and you’re practically dragging him to the guest bedroom. When the door closes behind you, he’s quick to guide you toward the bed, his hands firm on your hips as he steers you backward. The moment your legs hit the edge of the bed, he pauses, his hands lingering on your waist, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Having second thoughts?” You tease. The sarcasm drips sweetly in your voice, knowing full well he’s been trying to win your heart the entire evening.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m trying to see if you are.”

You draw back from his arms just enough to climb onto the bed and lay down in the middle. “Does it look like I am?”

He shakes his head with that cute, bashful smile. Although there’s nothing bashful about the way he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. The shirt underneath is crumpled, and his hair is even messier, sticking up in ways that make you want to run your hands through it.

“Come here,” you motion for him. Without hesitation, he crawls between your legs and leans in for another kiss. His hair feels like the smoothest silk when you finally reach for it. There’s a slight dampness from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way it curls just slightly at the ends, brushing against your forehead as he dips his head to capture your mouth.

You don’t think you can ever get tired of kissing him. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves. His lips mold perfectly to yours, soft yet demanding, as if he knows exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of your desire. And you feel it everywhere. In your pulse, in your veins, all the way down to the spot between your legs.

It intensifies even more when his lips begin to trail down your neck. You feel the first warm rush of arousal pooling in your panties when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, the fluttering veins below your jaw with so much intensity as if he's taking every one of your heartbeats for himself. Your grip tightens in his hair as he marks another spot near your collarbone.

“I’ve missed this so much,” he murmurs as he slowly nips down your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You can only hum a reply, your voice catching in your throat as your head starts to spin from the way his hands are now trailing down your side. He reaches the hem of your shirt and pauses, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, pulling back slightly just enough to look down at you. With his messy hair falling into his glossy brown eyes and swollen wet lips, how can you possibly say no to him?

Without a second thought, you nod, your fingers already moving to help him with the fabric. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly lifts your shirt. It slides up over your skin, and you raise your arms to let him pull it off completely, tossing it aside without a care. Your bra comes off next, and when that follows to the floor, his eyes sweep over your body.

There’s a certain look in his gaze. Devotion would be too strong of a word, but it’s something close—something softer, yet just as intense. You’ve seen desire before, felt it in fleeting touches and heated glances, but this is different. This feels different. It’s as if his gaze is reaching into the spaces between your thoughts, gently pulling at the threads that hold you together to unravel you in the most tender of ways.

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

Then his tongue flicks along the delicate curve of your chest, making a slow, teasing trail upward until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks gently, rolling it around with his tongue, and you’re mesmerized by the lewd scene of him drawing your flesh between his lips. Your fingers instinctively find their way back into his hair, tugging on the soft strands as he continues to lap at your sensitive skin.

He then shifts slightly, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft, wet sound before moving to give the same attention to the other. While he suckles and nibbles on one hardened peak, he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. If you thought you were wet before, you’re certain you’re drenched by now. Your panties cling uncomfortably and the growing desire makes you ache to peel them off.

He must sense your growing need because his kisses trail lower, down to your stomach, while his fingers toy with the waistband of your leggings. His touch is teasing, slipping just under the elastic, and you instinctively lift your hips, silently begging for more. He takes his time as he slides the fabric down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your skin before discarding them somewhere in the room.

Your attention is on him as his palm dances along your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to where you ache him the most, the more your breath hitches in your throat. When his thumb brushes over the wet patch on your panties, your hips buck against him. “Spencer…”

He glances over at you and lets out the most appreciative sigh. You really are beautiful. Eyes full of lust, skin flushed with his marks. You’re a vision of longing, and every part of him is consumed by the sight of you. “Yes?”

You squirm under his gaze. “Aren’t you… going to take them off?”

A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. “What, these?” He gives a playful tug at the edge of your panties, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric before pulling away. “Are you sure you want them off?”

You try to hold back your groan when his thumb finds your clit. “Yes. I-I’m sure.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, but instead of giving in immediately, he begins to circle your clit slowly with his thumb, watching your reaction closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how sure are you?”

Now he’s starting to get on your nerves. You can’t hold back the small huff falling from your lips. He simply laughs then slowly takes off the last piece of your clothing. The cool air instantly hits your skin as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs apart. He skims along your naked body and when you notice where his gaze settles, you swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy.

It's kind of ironic, you think, how you've gotten this far, and now, of all times, you're suddenly blushing like a damn teenager. It's as if your brain is catching up to everything your body already knows—that this is real, and it's happening. You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Here you are, all tangled up in each other, practically begging him to get you naked and yet you're acting shy now?

He seems to notice the shift in your mood, his hands pausing on your thighs as he looks up at you with concern. He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head. “I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious.”

He studies your face for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” you blurt out, more forcefully than you intended, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist. “I… I guess I’m not used to feeling this exposed in front of you.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer so he’s eye-level with you, his hands still resting gently on your thighs. “We’ve done this countless times before.”

“I know, but that was years ago. Things feel different now… like there’s more at stake, maybe?” You let out a sigh. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he reassures you. He soothes the skin behind your thighs. “But you don’t need to feel self-conscious with me. You’re beautiful, and I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, there’s no doubt you’ll end up giving him your heart on a silver platter by the end of this. He shifts lower down your body. “We can go as slow as you want,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another. “Just tell me what you need.”

You take a deep breath as his soft stubble grazes your skin. “I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me.”

You watch with heavy lids as he drags his lips along your skin until he presses the most tender kiss on your cunt. He really wasn’t lying when he said he could go as slow as you want because every kiss is achingly gentle, barely more than a feather-light touch. It’s the kind of softness that makes you writhe beneath him, and before you know it, your fingers are tangling in his curls while your hips buck against his face.

There’s a slight vibration on your skin—it could be his laughter, or maybe just a hum of contentment—but you don’t bother deciphering it. You’re too lost in the sensation as his tongue breaches your folds. You peer down and watch as he trails the tip of his tongue through your wetness, slowly tracing up and down your slit until he flicks it against your clit.

You’re honestly gone after that. You’re not surprised, though. If there’s one thing Spencer Reid is good at, it’s knowing exactly how to use his mouth. Sure, he’s a bona fide genius who spouts off random facts and quotes obscure literature, but his mouth? His mouth is a whole different level of expertise. It’s almost unfair how good he is. It’s like he’s studied you, memorized every little thing that makes you go crazy, and now he’s putting all that knowledge to devastatingly good use.

And it’s not like he’s doing it just for your pleasure. It brings him the same deep satisfaction. His eyes are closed, and he seems to lose himself in the act, savoring every taste, every reaction, every subtle shift of your body beneath him. It’s as though he’s completely immersed in finding an almost insatiable need to drink in everything about you. His tongue delves deeper, swirling around your entrance before sucking gently on your folds, pulling the soft skin into his mouth.

You find yourself pressing his head closer to your heat. His eyes flickers up to you. “You’re back.” Your response is simply another push of his head. “Oh. Needy, are we now?”

"Mhm," you manage to squeak out, feeling a rush of wetness seeping out of you. He leans in, his tongue catching a bead of moisture before it drips further, dragging it between your slick folds.

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile before his mouth descends again, this time focusing on your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub before he gently sucks, pulling it into his mouth with a slow rhythm that has you gasping. Each motion is perfectly timed and you feel yourself growing even wetter under his attention. His tongue swirls, then flattens before he sucks a little harder.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your stomach. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it slowly overwhelms you. Spencer seems to sense it too, his hands gripping the back of your thighs a little tighter, pushing them further apart as he continues with unwavering focus. He’s not rushing, though, he’s savoring it, but his slow motion is enough to make you snap.

Your hips jerk against his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat, holding you steady as he continues his ministrations. He’s relentless in his gentleness, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you, even as you’re left gasping for air. When you finally come down from the high, Spencer finally lifts his head and places a final, soft kiss on your inner thigh.

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

It takes you a moment before you can answer. You smile lazily at him. “Not after that.”

He grins and pulls you up into a sitting position. “Do you think you can give me another one?”

“Spencer,” you breathe out. “Even if you gave me thousands of orgasms, I’d probably ask for more.”

The laugh he lets out is warm and infectious, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes you smile even wider. “Well,” he starts, slipping his hand down your thigh. “The human body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in a relatively short period of time, especially for women. So technically, you could keep asking for more, and I could keep giving them.”

“Even up to a thousand?”

“Maybe not to that extent.” He pulls you close, and you lean your weight against him. “Hold on to me.”

You do as you’re told and somehow you find yourself in a new position. When he spreads your legs apart, your senses go on high alert again. “Spence?”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Try to relax.”

A gasp escapes your lips as his fingers dive between your thighs. Try to relax? Try to relax? Men and their audacity to tell you what to do, especially when they're the reason you're so wound up in the first place. Because how are you supposed to relax when his fingertips are brushing ever so gently over your clit? How are you supposed to calm your breathing when he’s spreading your arousal up and down your folds?

And how are you supposed to keep your composure when he suddenly fills you with, not one, but two of his fingers?

You feel yourself slipping and he tightens his other arm around your waist. “Told you to hold on.”

He’s starting to annoy you, but you listen to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take a deep breath as he starts to move his fingers. Soap, you decide. It must be his soap, because he smells clean and crisp, almost like fresh linen and a hint of something peppery. It’s almost distracting if it weren’t for the way his fingers are curling inside of you.

Then you feel that sensation again, the kind that ripples through every nerve of your body. At first, it’s manageable, an intensity you think you can handle. But when he suddenly changes his technique, everything shifts. His entire hand moves in a fast, up-and-down motion that catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, you’re whining, your grip tightening on him as your head falls on his shoulder.

The rapid pace makes your head spin. It feels like he’s pulling the control right out of your hands, leaving you questioning your own limits. You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself become drenched before, but you’ve never experienced anything like this. You never realized your body could produce this much liquid. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but more than you’ve ever seen from yourself, and it splatters against his hand, dripping down your thighs.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch when your nails claw into his shirt. He keeps going, and going, and going, until the only thing you hear is your rapid breathing against his neck and the slick, wet sounds he’s coaxing out of you. You’re overwhelmed (in the best way, of course) but you can’t stop yourself from cursing as the sensation intensifies, multiplies even.

It's not until your body starts to go limp that he finally takes pity on you. He slows down, his fingers pumping lazily inside you. “Good?”

“How did you—when did you—” you exhale a long breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He slowly withdraws his fingers out, only to rub your essence over your puffy clit, and your hips jerk once more before he finally stops. You're a trembling mess once you sink into the mattress.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.” Your eyes suddenly feel incredibly heavy that you can't resist letting them flutter close.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Still up for another one?”

You peer through one eye, and when you catch him starting to undress himself, your other eye shoots open. The nod you give him is eager. His smile widens as he shrugs off his shirt, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop to the line of hair trailing down his stomach. You wonder what it would feel like under your tongue.

"Wait."

Your eyes snap back up to meet his. "What?"

His face twists into a grimace. “I don’t have a condom.”

Shit. Neither did you.

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow and resting your head in your hand. “And you’re realizing this just now?”

“I was too focused with you."

And by that, he means giving you the most intense orgasm of your life. You watch as his fingers hover over his belt. “You really didn’t think of bringing one when you decided to come over?”

“My intention coming here wasn’t exactly for this.”

“Well, it would be great if you at least considered the possibility." You study his face and blurt out the first thing on your mind, “I don’t want to stop.”

He shifts his weight on the bed. “Me neither.”

“I mean… we could have sex without using one. We’ve done it before. Once.”

He recalls what you're referring to and lets out an amused laugh. “Are you sure? Didn’t you freak out when you realized your period was late?”

“That was a coincidence! I was stressed out at that time, but I’m safe now—I think.” You pause, brows furrowing as you start calculating your cycle in your head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not ovulating.”

“Pretty sure?”

You give him a look. “No, I’m actually sure. I know my body, and I’ve done the math. See?” You gesture vaguely, as if the numbers and facts are floating in front of you. “No ovulation in sight.”

The corners of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright then,” he murmurs, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “No ovulation in sight.”

“None,” you confirm before tugging his belt. “Can you please take off your pants now?”

He complies—with incredible speed—and when he’s finally as naked as you, your mouth waters at the sight of him. His cock is painfully hard, thick, with a bead of arousal glistening at the tip. You try to reach for him, but he has other plans. He crawls over your body and slips between your legs. He then grips the back of your thigh with one hand, pulling it up slightly to open you to him, while the other holds himself from the base.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The moan you let out is lewd. “Fuck, Spencer.”

An airy laugh slips out from him as he rubs the head of his cock around your clit. “So needy.”

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

He only hums in response, before easing his hips back just enough to drag his swollen tip through your slick outer lips. The underside of his cock splits your folds open with each stroke, and your head is spinning. It’s almost sweet how he’s taking this slow, but at this point, you’re so close to just shoving him inside you. You let out a frustrated whine when he pulls back, only to thrust forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge at your entrance.

Your walls squeeze around him.

“O-Oh…” His mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where your bodies meet. “I… I don’t remember you being this tight.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way your outer lips swallow him inch by inch. “I-It’s been a while.”

He pushes further, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches you in a way that feels almost too much, and you can't help but tense when he thrusts further. He wraps your leg around his waist before leaning down, propping his weight on his elbows.

“Need you to relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. You do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Clench, unclench. And then you feel him easing inside you, oh-so-deliciously slow, until you squeak out a gasp when he finally fills you completely.

Because fuck, he stretches you—wrenches you open, and you’re consumed by his heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him. It overwhelms your senses, and all you can do is sing out a filthy moan. He follows your tune with a melody of his own, though his voice trembles, sounding more like he’s in pain as if he’s trying to hold himself back.

“You’re so warm,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “More than okay.”

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls back, only to sink into you again. His hips roll against yours in a way that feels both achingly slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second to memorize the way you feel around him. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re giving him the chance to be tangled up with you in this position again.

And truthfully, neither can you.

But here you are, two bodies moving in perfect harmony, intertwined in the most primal, human way. Flesh against flesh, breath against breath. Even your heartbeats sync in the same rhythm. The world beyond seems to dissolve, leaving nothing but the pull of desire that draws you deeper into the moment, into him, until the boundaries of where you end and he begins blur into something undefinable.

It’s nonexistent. You’re glued to him, fused in a way that feels as if this is exactly where you belong.

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

He’s in no position to decline, and within a heartbeat, he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss—well, as sweet as it can go. Because even though he tastes like honeyed warmth, his hips continue to pound into you, hitting that deep, tender spot inside. You whine against his lips. A needy, breathless sound that has him faltering for just a second, his hips stuttering against yours.

“You feel so—” he chokes on his words. “God, you’re so perfect.”

You’re perfect, you want to say, but you stop yourself, biting down on the words before they escape. It’s not that you don’t believe it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. Not yet. Instead, your need wins out, pushing past everything else.

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah? You want me to go faster?”

You whine in approval.

The instant he pulls back, his tip barely teasing your entrance before slamming into you again, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He repeats the motion. Once. Twice. By the third time, he doesn’t hold back, driving his hips hard and fast, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls.

You turn into a putty mess. You can barely think, let alone form words, your mind clouded with nothing but the feeling of him—inside you, around you. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, to the way he fills you so perfectly. His forehead stays pressed against yours the whole time, his lips hovering above yours he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it’s not. It’s everything. Maybe even not enough. “I…” you gasp when a certain angle from him hits a deep spot inside you. “Oh, Spencer… harder, p-please.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

He shifts slightly, then snaps his hips forward with a sudden, forceful thrust. He repeats the motion. Over and over again. His pace is relentless now, and he starts to pant, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, every exhale brushing against your lips. There’s a tension in his body, a taut strain in muscles, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth, swallowing each of his gasps as his control starts to slip away.

“Where do you want—” His voice falters. “Can I—inside—”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

It’s enough to push you both over the edge.

The sensation starts as a gentle warmth in your fingertips, slowly winding its way through your body. It weaves through your limbs, spirals up your spine, before gathering intensely at your core. You’re shaking, trembling, and you instinctively reach out for something to ground yourself. One hand threads into his curls, the other clutches his jaw.

Then it happens. His cock moves in a frantic rhythm, sending you spiraling deeper into intense pleasure for the third time tonight. Your inner walls tighten around him as your orgasm crashes through you, gripping him so tightly that it pulls a raw, breathless groan from his lips. He slams into you with uneven thrusts as he presses your body flat onto the bed, until he stops and shudders, spilling hot, white liquid deep inside you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense before—not even with him in the past. Every inch of your body is buzzing as his warmth spreads through you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. You cling to him, your nails softly grazing his back as he finally lets out a satisfied hum, his lips moving to pepper kisses along your face.

He starts with your left cheek. Two gentle kisses. He moves to your right, giving a light peck that lingers just a moment longer, almost as if he’s blowing a warm breath against your skin. You giggle as the air tickles you. Then finally, he settles on your lips with a sigh that merges into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and tenderly slow.

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

His curls fall messily on his forehead and you reach up, brushing it back. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I grow on you?” You simply nod. “Like fungus?”

Your fingers pause in his hair. “Like what?”

"You know, fungus. It grows on things. Like mold or mushrooms,” he explains and gives you a smile. "Am I growing on you like that?"

You’ve been apart for so long that you almost forgot how his brain works. His unexpected comparison sparks your amusement, so you decide to humor him. “Depends on what kind of mushroom you are.”

He looks thoughtful for a while. “There's this mushroom called mycorrhiza. It forms a symbiotic relationship with trees and helps them grow by improving water and nutrient absorption."

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

“So you’re claiming you’re good for me?”

A slow, confident grin spreads across his lips. “I’m saying I’m exactly what you need.”

You burst out laughing. Your cheeks might actually ache from smiling this much. “That was pretty smooth.”

He looks incredibly pleased with himself. Then after a quiet moment, he buries his face in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and a sigh escapes your lips. It’s like all the time you spent apart melts away in that single breath, and something inside you relaxes, as if he’s managed to sneak back into the parts of you you’d forgotten existed.

Maybe he is right. Maybe, after all this time, he’s exactly what you need.

You wake up to the sound of clatter. It’s loud, jarring, and it echoes around the house. You stir in bed, stretching your limbs before tensing when you feel something poking your back. Your hazy mind immediately snaps into alert, and you open your eyes fully, glancing toward the window. Sunlight is already pouring into the room, far too bright for how early you thought it was.

You quickly turn over to the other side.

“Spencer. Spencer!” you hiss, shaking his shoulders urgently. “Wake up! We overslept!”

He groans softly but doesn’t move. Another loud clatter bounces off the walls, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

“Spencer,” you whisper sharply, eyes widening. “I think Matt is home.”

That finally gets his attention. He blinks his eyes open. “Wha—?”

You’re already halfway out of bed, rushing to the window to peek through the curtains. Sure enough, you spot your brother’s car parked in the driveway. “Yep, he’s here,” you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you turn back to Spencer. “And now he’s going to kill us.”

“He’s not going to kill us,” he mumbles, but even by his voice, you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. You watch as he finally slips out of bed, scrambling to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor. “We talked about this last night. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

You shoot him a look before quickly pulling on your own clothes.

“There’s a big difference between telling him, and him finding out that his sister is sleeping with his friend while he was away taking care of his wife and baby.” You yank your shirt over your head. “In his freaking house.”

When you put it that way, Spencer’s heart sinks a little. Although Matt isn’t a violent person, he has twice the muscle he does, and it’s not hard to imagine him being a lot less forgiving in a situation like this. He can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario even though Matt’s always been the reasonable type.

Until now, maybe.

“Do you think I should climb out the window?”

You stare at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you’re not sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he admits, pulling up his pants. “My biggest concern when I was sixteen was getting my first PhD.”

You forgot how ridiculously smart he is. Smarter than most people, definitely smarter than you. “Well now you’re getting firsthand experience.” You start pacing around the room. “Let’s just try to stay calm.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when your brother could walk in while I’m half-naked.”

You look at him in horror. “Then put your damn shirt on!"

Before he can reply, there's a noise from outside the room—a quick shuffle of steps, light and rapid, as if someone’s rushing down the hall. You barely have time to react before the door is wrenched open.

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

You feel your stomach drop when your eyes lands on the small figure of your nephew, standing there with wide eyes. His gaze shifts back and forth—from you, disheveled and clearly flustered, to Spencer, whose bare back is facing the door, still fumbling with his pants. From little Jake's point of view, it must look like the most confusing sight, because he quickly retreats, bolting down the hallway.

“Dad! Help! There’s a strange man in Auntie’s room!”

You don’t know whether to laugh or panic. The fact that Jake didn’t recognize Spencer without his usual suit is almost comical. You glance at him, noticing how his body has tensed, his back straightening in alarm.

“Who was that?” he whispers, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Jake.” You blow a strand of hair that falls across your face. “Who apparently thinks you're an intruder."

The blood seems to drain from his face. “He didn’t recognize me?”

Your eyes flick over his appearance—his wild, tangled hair sticking out in all directions, bare chest still slightly flushed from sleep, and pants barely zipped. “Not when you look like this, no.”

But before he can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, heavier this time.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

The idea of him dangling from the window is even more absurd. You glance toward the door. "Okay, wait here. Let me talk to Matt first." Your eyes flicker to his bare chest again, and you let out the most exasperated sigh. "And please, for the love of God, put on your shirt."

You don’t have time to wait for his response as you rush out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you. You take a second to catch your breath, trying to compose yourself, when a noise down the hallway draws your attention. Only then do you notice Matt cautiously advancing towards your way, his back against the wall.

That’s when you spot the gun in his hand.

“Seriously?” you hiss, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, Matthew!”

He looks at you, equally surprised. “Jake said there was a strange man in your room!” he replies defensively, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What was I supposed to think?“​

Your eyes shift toward your nephew, who’s peeking around the corner, his little head barely visible as he watches the scene unfold. This is definitely not how you expected your morning to go. A simple, awkward conversation was one thing, but having to disarm your brother while explaining this mess was an entirely different level.

“There’s no intruder, Matt. Put the gun down.”

He looks past you, his eyes zeroing in on the closed bedroom door. “Then who’s in there?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no easy way to explain this. How do you even start? That Spencer is standing half-naked in the guest room, trying to gather his dignity after being mistaken for an intruder by a six-year-old? You never thought you'd have to introduce Spencer to your brother this way, in his own house, under these chaotic circumstances.

You can feel Matt's eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. All you can think is how ridiculous this all must look, and how there's no good way to smooth over the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid, his friend slash teammate, is behind the door. And the most absurd part? A part of you is more worried about the look on Matt's face than the fact that he's holding a gun.

“Please don’t be mad.”

You hold your breath as you slowly reach for the doorknob. You push the door open and let out a small, relieved sound when you see Spencer fully dressed, looking almost presentable, except for the wild hair that refuses to settle. He gives you a small nod before stepping out of the room.

“Uncle Spencer?” Jake’s small voice cuts through the tension. Matt’s gaze darts between you two, his jaw tightening as he puts the pieces together. You can see the moment realization hits him full force.

“Reid?” Matt’s voice is incredulous, bordering on betrayed. “What the hell is going on?”

“I can explain,” you say cautiously. “It’s not exactly how it looks.”

“Not exactly how it looks?” Matt echoes, his eyes narrowing at you, then shifting back to Spencer. “You’re in my guest room looking like you just rolled out of bed—”

“Fully clothed now,” Spencer cuts in quickly, which only earns him a frown from Matt.

“Not helping,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Spencer a look before turning back to your brother. “Fine, it’s exactly how it looks like. So… uh, surprise?”

You watch so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Matt’s always been a good brother. Sometimes annoying, but always reliable. He doesn’t usually get angry at you—quite the opposite, actually. He’s calm, level-headed, and more prone to offering advice than raising his voice. But now? The frustration is clear in his eyes.

He’s not mad exactly, but he’s definitely not happy either.

“Surprise?” Matt repeats, his voice flat. His gaze flick back to Spencer, who’s now shifting his weight awkwardly beside you. “This is how you decided to tell me?”

“Okay, it’s not how we planned it, obviously.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans. You put on the best innocent face you can muster.

You put on the best, innocent-looking face you can muster.

“Maaatttt,” you try again, deciding to use a different approach by being cute this time. “Don’t be so harsh.”

To your relief, it actually works on him, like it usually does whenever you try to charm your way out of trouble. His tough exterior falters because, no matter what, you’re still his baby sister. His face softens for a moment, shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not mad, okay? But I am your brother. And you,” he adds, pointing at Spencer. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I feel like I should’ve known about this before… well, before finding you like this.” Your shoulders slumps at his words. “How long has this been going?”

Now that is a tricky question. Explaining that you and Spencer occasionally had sex five years ago definitely isn’t something your brother needs to hear right now—or ever, really. You can almost feel Spencer tense beside you, probably having the same thought.

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

"Last night?" Matt looks at you as if you’re crazy. It might be the most disapproving look he’s ever given to you. "You're telling me this just started last night?"

"But—" you quickly add, holding up a hand to stop his train of thought. "We’ve been talking for a while, it’s not like it happened out of nowhere. Last night was just the first time we decided to actually do something about it."

“Right under my roof?” Matt’s brows pinches upward. “You lied about having a headache, didn’t you?”

“Wait, you had a headache? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’re not sure you can handle two men pestering you at the same time. You focus on your brother instead.

“Look, we didn’t plan anything yesterday. Things just… happened,” you say, trying to explain without making it sound worse than it already does. “But it’s not only about last night. For what it’s worth, we were planning to tell to you. Just not like this.”

Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “God, no,” he says. You feel an arm snake around your waist. “I care about her. A lot.”

Matt stares at Spencer for a long moment, his face a mixture of frustration, concern, and something else. Acceptance, maybe. He looks back at you. “Is this what you want?”

You feel Spencer’s grip tighten on your waist. He’s also waiting for your answer.

“It’s what I want.”

Spencer’s thumb brushes over you as Matt lets out a long breath, his grip on the gun finally relaxing. “This feels weird.”

“In a good way?”

“In a bizarre kind of way.” Matt’s falls falls on Spencer again. “I’m still trying to process this, but if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises. “I swear.”

“Good, because you know I can put you back to prison if you do.”

Oh, he knows. Spencer understands exactly what he means, after all, Matt was one of the few people who helped clear his name during one of the most horrific moments of his life. Even if there’s a slight jab in his words, Spencer can tell he’s being dead serious. Especially with that gun still attached to his grip.

You, on the other hand, are hearing this for the first time. “Wait, what?” you blurt out. “Prison? You went to prison?”

Spencer merely shrug. Matt finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I need coffee,” he mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

“Wait…” Jake finally peeks out from behind the wall. You blink your eyes, forgetting he’s even there. “Does this mean Uncle Spencer is your boyfriend now?”

You feel three pair of eyes on you. Matt’s gaze is sharp. Spencer’s expression is cautious. And then there’s Jake, looking up at you with the straightforward curiosity only a child can have. To him, things are simple. Either you are, or you aren’t, and in hindsight, it really is a straightforward question. But nothing about this situation has been straightforward.

You look at Spencer for a fraction of a second. You can see the nervous hope reflected in his eyes. Maybe Jake’s question isn’t just his… maybe it’s Spencer’s too.

And sure, maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it really is as simple as saying—

“Yes.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “I suppose he is.”

If you’ve ever seen Spencer being happy, it pales in comparison to this. His eyes light up, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. A genuine, almost boyish smile spreads across his face as you feel his warmth seep into your skin. There’s so much affection in his gaze it makes your chest tighten. He’s not just happy. He’s beaming.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Come on, kiddo, let’s grab what your mom needs and get back to the hospital.” He glances back at you. “You guys coming?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

He throws you both a look. Not hateful, but definitely not warm either. You see him grip his gun from the corner of your eye, more out of habit than necessity, before steering his son away with a firm hand on his shoulders.

“That went better than expected,” Spencer mutters the moment your brother is out of earshot.

“‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think’,” you mock, reciting the words he said to you half an hour ago.

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

“He thought I was an intruder. I would’ve done the same thing,” he points out, his tone surprisingly calm as he holds you by your waist. “Relax, okay? He’ll come around us. Eventually.”

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

He does have a point. Matt has always had a soft spot for Spencer, but you’re not sure how far that can go after what just happened. “I think you might have lost a few brownie points today.”

He considers the truth in your words. “Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But at least I earned a few with you.”

“Because of the boyfriend thing?” He’s grinning so wide that his eyes practically disappear into crescent moons. You poke the slightest dimple on his cheek. “Don’t act so smug. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m dating an ex-felon.”

“I was framed,” he explains, and the way he says it so nonchalantly only deepens your confusion. He tries to smooth your frown with a kiss. “I’ll tell you everything on our first date.”

“Who said I’ll go on a date with you?”

“You will,” he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you so sure?”

Because he’s always been sure. The man who doubts everything, who overanalyzes every situation, looks at you with a certainty that makes your heart swell. You’ve seen that look before—the one that says he’s considered every possible outcome and decided this is the one that matters most. There’s something magnetic about it, the way he seems to know exactly what he wants, and right now, it’s you.

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

He’s so silly, yet there’s something so perfectly Spencer about it that makes the idea of not going on a date with him feel impossible. You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but the warmth in your chest tells you he’s already won your heart.

And you don’t mind him keeping it.