#i don't know exactly what to tag this with so

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 7

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader sleep together for the first time

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: loss of virginity, oral f/m receiving, so much praise, pain during sex, unprotected sex, cr**mp**, bit of overstim, soft dom spence, if u don't like that freak shit (love and intimacy) this is not for u, spencer is a nerd, they're both nerds actually and that factors in heavily, you may get more from this part by FIRST reading how they met in this bonus chapter a/n: thank you all for being patient, ilysm, this was the most laborious thing i've ever done for no reason and also this part changed so many times and is not what i expected it to be so pls go in with tempered expectations and keep in mind that this story is more about the characters and their specific relationship dynamic than just being porn. i truly have no idea how you guys will react to this but i sincerely hope you love it and them like i do<3 also it's twice as long as the other parts so feedback would be very very appreciated! again i love u all and enjoy the penultimate part!

Spencer’s lips are on yours, and you weren’t expecting it—hell, you weren’t expecting him to be in your apartment. After all, he’d wished you goodnight and walked out only a moment ago.

“Spencer—wh—” 

But he’s insistent with his lips, kissing you bruisingly over and over like there’s nectar on your tongue and he’s parched for you. Still, he has enough decency to not completely ignore you, exhaling a quick excuse over your flushed lips. 

“I missed you.”

This time, though, you dodge his hungry kiss. Part of you thinks, as he watches you, eyes alight and breathing heavily, that he sort of likes your playing hard to get. It’s not something you do very often, admittedly. 

“We’ve been apart for like, maybe a minute.”

“I didn’t even make it to the parking lot.”

Your face heats.  

“Well you can’t just—you can’t just walk in like that! And I thought you said we weren’t supposed to mix fighting with pleasure.”

“Then start locking your door. And I thought you said we weren’t fighting.”

You roll your eyes in response, though your heart is still pittering in your chest. 

At least his hands move to your arms, stroking up and down relatively chastely—although he has this way of making everything seem intimate. Especially when paired with those amber eyes of his—glowing like a candlelight beacon in the window guiding you home. He speaks in low, appeasing tones and darts his tongue over his lips. 

“I originally said it’s a bad idea for couples to sleep together after an argument. But you know—makeup sex is ubiquitous across culture and time because it works. Anger and arousal trigger a lot of the same hormones, specifically norepinephrine which is involved in feelings of longing and—”

“Spencer.”

“You know what else?” He mutters in a way that feels dangerous. “It tends to feel better than regular sex.”

That earns a shaky exhale from you. Whether from irritation or arousal is anyone’s guess—probably a combination of both. 

“So you came back to fuck me?”

It’s probably evident to Spencer from your choice of language that this already isn’t going exactly as he’d planned. He doesn’t answer right away—just regards you, gaze bouncing between your two eyes like he’s trying to calculate your level of anger. 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You push him away and move to walk down the hall. 

“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”

A warm hand wraps around your wrist in the dark of the hallway and he pulls you back until you’re falling against something tall and warm and lean. The smell of polished amber and sandalwood overwhelms your senses. 

“What’s wrong, angel? What happened in the minute I was gone to change your mind?” His voice is scratchy like a favorite record. It’s the voice he could hold you captive with. The one you have a very difficult time saying no to. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter, unintentionally leaning back against him. “What happened to change yours?”

His response comes pressed against your ear, half-lost in your hair. 

“You’re upset that I changed my mind. I thought you wanted this, honey.”

“I do,” you admit, letting your head fall back against his shoulder and bringing his arm to wrap around you. “And if you hadn’t walked out earlier I would’ve done it. But… I’m tired of us doing everything on your timeline. You just… you expect me to be amenable to what you want, constantly.” His nose and lips press into your shoulder. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I’ve been begging you to sleep with me for I don’t even know how long. And you keep changing your mind, and I feel like you’re being really confusing about it. Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, you never did, but I just feel kind of… jerked around. And you did it again tonight.”

A beat of silence. 

“I understand your frustration,” he appeases, securing both his arms around you. You cling weakly to his wrist, to his warmth, like he’s a tether in a storm. “Would you prefer to wait until you initiate it?”

“No. Yes! I don’t know,” you huff, disentangling yourself from his arms and continuing toward your bedroom. “Now I’m annoyed at you again.”

He follows you right through the door. 

“Just tell me what to do! I don’t want to be annoying.”

“I can’t. I’m being unreasonable.” You flick on your adjoining bathroom light and examine yourself in the mirror. Yeesh. The eye makeup situation is abysmal after all the crying that has taken place over the course of the evening. 

“So choose to be reasonable and tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”

You frown at your reflection, pushing your hair back and rubbing at some excess mascara. 

“No, you’re not understanding me. I’m not choosing to be unreasonable. My thought process regarding the situation is inherently unreasonable and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s just the way I feel.”

“The feeling being that I’ve been too domineering over how our sexual relationship has unfolded?”

Spencer watches you in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as you tip some makeup remover onto a reusable cotton pad. You try not to check him out as you nod, but it’s impossible—with his sleeves rolled up to show defined forearms cradled in capable hands, and his hair all messy. 

When he pushes off the wall you freeze, unsure of his next move—until he’s gently spinning you around and taking the bottle and cloth from your hands. 

“Maybe it would help,” he begins, soft as he focuses on the new task, carefully bringing the round to your right eye so he can remove the bleeding mascara. You allow your eyes to flutter shut. “If I remind you why I’ve been so hesitant.”

“Because you hate giving me joy.”

He laughs, nothing more than one huff from his nose. 

“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”

Point taken, as he gently wipes your makeup away for you. Your silence is his cue to continue. 

“Everything I said about worrying that you would regret choosing me is true. It was especially true when I thought you felt lukewarm toward me. And all of that confusing stuff I said in the phone is true too—having sex for the first time is incredibly intimate and weird and sometimes scary. If you’re not 100% sure about your partner, or if you think your feelings are unrequited, it’s hard to be completely comfortable in such a vulnerable situation and your likelihood of getting hurt or having regrets skyrockets. I know that from experience. I wanted better for you than what I got. Still, I know it was wrong to project my feelings about the significance of sex onto you. In that regard, you’re right. I was being domineering, and I guess… I guess to an extent I’m still deflecting. I shouldn’t be trying to pretend like it’s about you when in reality I mostly just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go through that again, and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was something you could have changed.”

You try to process that. 

“Go through what?” You whisper hoarsely. Something about having him at such close range while he takes such care with you feels whisper-y. 

“Sleeping with someone who didn’t love me back.”

Your reply is small. 

“Oh. Right.”

How could anyone not love him back?

Spencer’s reply is simple and kind, without a hint of, obviously you dumb bitch—which is pretty much what you’re thinking to yourself. 

“Does that make sense, lovely? Do you understand why I wanted to wait?”

He lets you ponder for a while in comfortable-enough silence as he finishes removing your eye makeup with a characteristically gentle hand. When you open your eyes, he looks genuinely content, screwing the lid back on the bottle as if he’s got an eternity to wait for your answer. 

“Yeah. That part makes sense. But why did you seem so… I don’t know, like, wishy-washy about it?”

Spencer’s eyes dart up to meet yours, brows slightly raised. Then a small laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him. 

“Because I’m obsessed with you. I thought about you like that constantly. I still do.”

Your breath catches at the casual admission. 

“Oh.”

Spencer hums, setting the bottle down before tenderly thumbing away some excess mascara that he must have missed from under your eye. 

“You didn’t think it was easy for me, did you?”

“Well… kind of,” you admit, tracking his eyes until they meet yours. 

“Not sleeping with you has been among the hardest things I’ve ever done. Especially when you started begging me. That first time, when I picked you up from Penelope’s and you asked me why we hadn’t had sex yet…”

He trails off, still rubbing at your cheek as he loses himself in thought. 

Eventually, you grow impatient, prompting, “what?”

“It’s not a nice thought.”

“Well, you have to tell me now,” you insist. 

He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips. 

“It was just… you had no idea what you were talking about, and you were ready to throw a tantrum in my living room until I gave you what you thought you wanted. Part of me was imagining bending you over the couch right then, since you thought you were so ready.”

It feels like someone has snipped the pulley that keeps your stomach in place. 

“Spencer,” you splutter, convinced your cheek is tangibly heating under his touch as your head reels at the revelation that he could have such a deeply dirty and mildly sinister mind. 

“I told you it wasn’t nice.”

You swallow. 

“Is that… is that still what you want?”

His brows flicker again and he tucks hair behind your ear. 

“To bend you over my couch? No.”

Your face warms even more and you turn to leave the bathroom, sick of his teasing. 

“Okay, goodni—”

“Hold on.” Spencer catches you by your waist and pulls you back into him for the second time tonight. A dangerous smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t want to bend you over my couch.” He laughs, slipping a hand under your shirt to rub your back. “You know what I want. I’m more interested in learning what you want.”

“I want…” Your eyes dance between his, and your heart flutters against the confines of your chest as you realize what you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours for the taking. “I want to stop talking about it.”

His expression neutralizes and you know it’s probably intentional to stop whatever feelings you assume him to be having color your decision. 

“Oh?”

“I just think we’ve talked about it enough.”

Before he can say another word, or ask you another question, you kiss him with such passion there’s no way he can doubt how much you want this. 

Only a moment passes before he allows himself to lean into it, cupping your face between reverent hands and taking control of the pace of the kiss, slowing it down until you can hardly breathe. Your little noise of want has him quickening the process, pressing against you until you’re walking backward out of the bathroom. It’s like the first crack in a dam. After that, everything becomes inevitable. 

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sit down hard on the mattress, smiling up at him. You skim the front of his thighs with your palms as he smooths your hair.

Spencer groans, leaning down and kissing you til you’re on your back. 

“Don’t make that face.”

An affronted huff from you breaks the kiss up and he pulls back to study your expression. 

“What do you mean don’t make that face? I was just smiling at you.”

“I know you were. And you have such a pretty smile it makes me feel guilty about… defiling you.”

Your brows flicker up and your mouth drops open with an affronted scoff.

“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”

“You already have,” he admits with a half-laugh as he kisses you again. “My mind was never this dirty before we met.”

“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”

He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth. 

“I love your smile. You’re gorgeous. Any more demands?”

Pleased, you shake your head and pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Not currently.”

“Really?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over your cheek and down your jaw, “I’d do just about anything you asked me right now. You don’t want to take advantage of that?”

The sensation of his lips just below your ear threatens all rational thought in your brain, but you manage a reply with only a slight delay and a hint of a waver coloring your tone. 

“I shouldn’t have to demand things. You should just know to do them.”

His kisses drag lower, warm and unhurried and you’re trying not to let your hyper-sensitivity from going a week completely untouched show—but you doubt he misses the way your breath catches, or the barely audible squeaks, or the arch of your back or the tightening grip on his shirt. 

“Well, for future reference—” he nips at a sensitive spot and you gasp quietly, even as you tilt your head to offer him more access. More room to bite, if he so chooses. “—I happen to enjoy it when you make demands of me. Especially when those demands entail letting me call you pretty.”

“I’ve never not let you call me pretty before,” you huff. It’s a touchy subject, and Spencer can probably sense your hackles rising, but he has you right where he wants you and so he pushes anyway. 

“No. But you never believe me. We’ve had this conversation. You always act like I’m walking you to the gallows when I compliment you.” 

It’s hard to make a defense when he’s leaning his weight onto one arm so he can unbutton your jeans, when he’s looking down at you with sparkling onyx and scorched-earth eyes like you’re something to be consumed. But not violently, no—ardently. Like fruit heavy on the vine. Like you’re a religious rite to the devout and deluded. A sacrament.

But it’s not a blind passion. Spencer knows you; every inch of you and every loose thread on your soul begging to be pulled. He knows you and he still wants you like this. To be perfectly honest, you’d never thought you’d feel comfortable handing yourself over to someone like this—vulnerable and all your layers of armor shed. Never in your life would you have thought you could trust a person so implicitly that you’d hand them a knife and show them exactly where to press, that you’d say, I know once you open me and you see me you’ll not want to change a thing.

You adore him. Cosmically. Enormously. In every dimension. He’s lodged so deep in your heart you have no choice but to love him eternally. 

It’s deep in the midst of all these very profound revelations that you realize Spencer has stalled with your zipper undone. His hand has strayed to your hip, to sweetly push your shirt up and trace love letters into warmed and downy skin with his thumb. 

“I just wish you could see yourself how I see you,” he says softly, the weight of the truth a strain on his vocal cords. 

Sometimes, he is so kind it’s like a punch to your stomach. You’ve never been quite as kind as him. And nobody’s ever been as kind to you as he is. You’ve done nothing to deserve his kindness, but you know he needs a place for it, and you’re here with open arms. 

He studies you a moment longer, swallowing as his eyes trail over your face and lower. You want to reach out and brush strands of caramel hair out of his face, but he seems to be thinking so hard you’re hesitant to distract him. 

“I’ve never told you this, because I know you’d just shoot it down, but… you are genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.”

Something twinges in the depths of your stomach—the darker shades who live there and exist solely to whisper not enough not enough not enough to you every minute of every day. 

But they’re simply not a match for the softness you find when you do reach out for his hair, or the way he looks at you. Spencer loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist—not a cuff, but an affectionate hold. 

“Do you believe me?”

There’s so much earnest hope in his voice it almost jars you. He so badly wants you to understand how feels about you—he’s been trying to tell you for months and all you know how to do is refute his praise and insist on your worthlessness. 

Ever since Spencer, you don’t see the faces on magazine covers or in superhero movies, no matter how mathematically flawless they are. Nobody gets close to being as beautiful as he is in your eyes. He’s in an entirely different echelon, and despite how you feel about yourself, you have to accept that he might feel the same about you. 

“I do,” you say, equally soft, and 100% honest. You believe that he believes it, and that’s enough. It’s all that matters. 

The shallow knit of his brow loosens. His lips ease into a suggestion of a smile. But it’s most visible in his eyes—the way smoldering coals reignite, melting the amber glass of his irises until they’re molten. 

The way he kisses you then, you’d think you’d lassoed the moon and pulled it down from the sky for him. But apparently all it takes to make him incandescently, contagiously happy, is to accept a compliment.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency on his breath as he kisses you deeply and quick enough your heart is racing. It only goes faster when he remembers his previous task and begins tugging your jeans down, but he doesn’t even bother to pull them past your knees before his hand is creeping up your thigh. Goosebumps race each other across your body as you try to remember what it feels like—what he feels like. But you can’t, even as his thumb fans over your inner thigh and pushes it open, gently encouraging you to give him more access to you. 

“You’re not wasting any time,” you breathe against him while he traces the edge of your underwear.

“Do you want me to slow down?”

Judging by the way the tips of his fingers only barely shy away from the fabric, he really wants the answer to be no. But you know in his searching gaze that he’d never push you. 

“No, it’s fine. As long as we… don’t go this fast the whole time.”

“We won’t.” The hasty words are of lower priority than the next kiss he plants to your swollen lips. “We won’t. I just missed you so much.”

“Yeah?” You giggle airily as he drags his fingers over your clit through the material, trying to ignore the way it makes your head spin. 

“Yes. Yeah.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, so… desperate for you, as he drops his lips to your neck and presses barely-there kisses everywhere he knows you’re sensitive. Just the feeling of his breath against your skin has you shivering. His hand between your legs only brushes your most nerve-dense spot, but a few touches in and you’re already wound up, like if Spencer doesn’t give you more soon you’ll burst. And not in the good way. 

When he finally commits to actually kissing your neck, you squeak, warmth emanating from that spot just below your jaw all the way to your toes. The frantic energy of earlier is slowly melting away, and he loses focus with his hand, as it begins straying wider, stroking your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach. It’s like your nerve endings are on overdrive, delivering twice as much feedback to your brain as they normally would. Each touch feels like he’s conducting electricity over your body, like you’re a plasma ball. He’d probably like that analogy—you, a core of alternating voltage, and him, the conductor, tracing a path and giving all those electrons an easy release. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d tell Spencer you found a way to work Nikola Tesla into your mutual sex life, and he’d probably propose on the spot. 

But that electricity is building fast—even more so when he drags his lips down just above your collarbone. Your breath hitches, simultaneously trying to crane your neck to give him more room, and curl into him so as to escape the stimulation. Finally he pulls away, and losing the softness of his mouth while the air feels so cold against the places he’d kissed almost hurts. 

“You’re a mess,” he chuckles affectionately, raising his hand to brush hair away from your face before stroking the heated high point of your cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s teasing, but so low and gentle and honeyed it swirls your stomach. 

“Whatever you want,” you admit quietly. It’s a shy confession more than it is a salacious flirtation because he already has you. And you want nothing more than for him to act on that in any way he so pleases. Whatever he does, it will be careful, and kind, and because he loves you. You know that no matter how he takes you apart—he’ll put you back together again. 

“I don’t know if I can. You’re all jumpy.”

God, he has the prettiest smile—even when it’s twisted with sarcasm and a thin veneer of guilt, like he knows he shouldn’t be teasing and just can’t help himself. 

“I’m not,” you defend, face heating further. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know what it is.”

That sticky sweet tone is back, pooling in his eyes and dripping all over you like nectar as he languidly looks you over. 

“I didn’t say you were nervous. Just a little bit jumpy.”

It’s not accusatory—he’s simply stating a fact. Easy, gentle, designed to soothe. 

You shrug helplessly and chew on your lip, unsure of how he wants you to respond. It’s definitely true that excited as you are, you’re slightly on edge. You feel taut as a string on a guitar, tense and waiting to be yanked at any second. 

His expression is serene, and his thoughts inscrutable as he continues lavishing you with his eyes, down to where he’s lying over you and back up. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak for a moment as he formulates his words. 

“Can we try something? There’s this tantric exercise that might help you relax.”

Your brows draw earnestly and you nod up at him, not requiring any convincing even though you have no idea what he’s talking about. 

Spencer directs you to sit up, and you do—kicking your jeans all the way off so you can sit criss-cross with your hands braced on your ankles. 

He’s next to you on the bed, at a slight angle, one of your knees in his lap. You blink at him. 

“Now what?”

“Now you give me one of your hands,” he says, tone tinted with a hint of an amused smile, as if your impatience is funny to him. Of course it probably is. 

Frowning only a little, you unlock your left arm and hold it out for him, watching curiously as he takes your one hand between his and flips it palm-up. 

“Did you know,” Spencer begins, voice low and confidential, “that the fingertips are the second most sensitive part of the human body?”

“What’s the first?”

“Lips,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hand where he’s brushing the tips of your fingers light enough it almost tickles. “They’re both incredibly important for keeping you alive, which is why they’re one and two. But you’ll be particularly sensitive anywhere you’re vulnerable.” His words are trailing off as he brushes his thumb over your palm and to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Like here.”

His knuckles skim up your forearm, to the crook of your elbow. 

“And especially here.”

You’re fascinated as he traces back down the length of your arm and over your inner-wrist, feather light. Then up once more, with the blunted edges of his nails, and your breath catches. You’ve never noticed how sensitive such an innocuous part of your body could be, but it has your stomach flipping—more so when he looses a breathy laugh. “You know, some people are actually able to reach orgasm just by light stimulation to this area.”

Your response is just as airy—you don’t recognize your voice when it comes out like that, hanging in the pitch black between you. 

“Really?” 

An affirmative hum from him, as he lifts your hand and places an intentional kiss over your pulse at the bend of your wrist. Your chest aches and heat is pooling in your stomach as his gently trails them up the delicate skin of your arm. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the reaction you’re having—after all, it’s just your arm. But he treats every part of you like it warrants love and attention and intimacy. Even the parts you typically ignore. Certainly parts you never considered to be sexually or romantically relevant. It’s dizzying. It’s like magic. 

“Arms up,” Spencer finally directs, just as sweetly as he’s doing everything else, and helps you tug your shirt over your head. Every brush of fabric, every seam against your skin registers more than it normally would. Everything is heightened, and despite your state of undress you’re still warm. “Your neck is really sensitive, too. It’s the most commonly acknowledged erogenous zone.”

Erogenous zone. Of course this all comes back to biology. 

“Tilt your head for me, honey.”

Utterly entranced and useless to not abide by him, you do so. Spencer brushes your hair over your shoulder, and if the slip of it down your back weren’t enough, the graze of his fingertips against the nape of your neck has you shivering. 

The warmth of him at your throat feels completely brand new, despite having already had his lips there only minutes before. But now they ghost over your skin with a kind of novelty, and your own lips part in silent pleasure, head lolling to allow him greater access.

“Lie back.”

Without hesitation (but perhaps a bit sluggishly in your stupor) you obey, sliding down until you’re propped up only by pillows once more. Spencer takes his place propped above you once more, thighs slotted with yours as he quickly picks up where he left off. 

The sweet kisses are perfect and feel so much better than you’d ever thought to notice before—but at the same time your core aches and there’s that pressure building again that’s starting to get to you. 

“Spencer,” you try, and it comes out hoarse but you don’t care at all. “More.”

“You want me to leave marks?” 

And the offer is so tempting you’ll wait a few more minutes to ask for what you really need, nodding semi-frantically and ‘mhm’-ing desperately. 

As he gently latches onto a spot that will require concealer later but feels fantastic for now, one of his hands slips down your side, just barely letting his nails skim, and your back actually arches. It’s a shocking amount of stimulation for being nowhere near any sexual hotspots. That tiny caught breath dissolves as his fingers continue down just as lightly over your hip and thigh. Your muscles tense as you chase and run away from the feeling. It’s ridiculous.

There’s no point in trying to keep your eyes open now—they grow heavy and you let them fall shut as he sucks another love bite to your throat. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s kind of weird.” He says, voicing your thoughts as he eventually decides the mark will be sufficiently dark. 

“Yeah,” you agree, lacking all eloquence as he caresses every sensitive place you didn’t know you had and your hips writhe minutely in a little desperate dance of your own creation. 

“Most people aren’t aware of the potential of the erogenous zones that aren’t actual sex organs. They don’t pay attention to them. You know what else is an interesting function of erotic stimulation to areas that aren’t directly involved in reproduction?”

“Hm,” you hum as his hand skims to your back. You lean into it and he promptly undoes your bra with a single hand—a skill you’re not even sure you have. 

“It releases not quite as much oxytocin as an orgasm but more than sexual pleasure alone. So you’re less tense before sex than you usually would be, and you’re primed to build more trust and feel more connected with your partner during.”

God, he’s a nerd. And it’s so, so hot. 

You roll over on your back again and look up at him through half-lidded eyes. The corner of his mouth flickers as he takes in your expression, before trailing downward, following the path his fingertips make over your skin as they tug the straps over your shoulders. Trying to stop him, to be shy, would be a pointless venture. He’s seen you like this and you want him to see you again. 

A shaky exhale of his own brings a little smile to your face as he pulls your bra away and observes the newly bared skin with a hunger that you can feel. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes cast pointedly down and thumb brushing over the side of your right breast. 

“You mentioned.”

“I’m not allowed to say it again?” He teases, leaning down to kiss you soft. Your lips curve against his. 

“You can say it as many times as you want.”

Spencer hums, finally thumbing over your breast’s sensitive peak. It sends a chill down your back and seeing as you’re already worked up to the point of near insanity, the pleasure from such a simple touch is much stronger than it would be otherwise. 

“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”

After that, he doesn’t waste much time—only toying with your flesh for another minute as he kisses you before his hand is skimming down your abdomen and dipping below the waistband of your underwear. 

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips toward him when he doesn’t move to touch you anymore. 

“Please what?”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He smiles at this, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as his hand travels lower. Fingers slip between wet folds and he begins making the lightest of circles over your clit. 

“You’ve probably been waiting long enough, huh? I should be nicer.”

Your answer is a breathy almost-whine as you seek more friction against his hand. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing down harder. The sensation sends sparks down to your toes and you attempt to clamp your legs shut around his wrist. “These need to stay open,” Spencer chuckles, “or else I can’t help you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words are a sweet sing-song against your cheek as he kisses you there, before hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling down. You try to help wiggle out of them as best you can, gasping when he tosses them away and immediately returns his hand between your legs. He dips his head down, tongue lathing over your breast, and teases you with the tip of one finger circling around your entrance. 

“I need—”

“Shh. Let me worry about it.”

With that, he’s dipping his ring and middle fingers just barely inside of you to the first knuckle, then back out, before pushing a bit deeper, and repeating the cycle until they’re as far as they’ll go. When he slowly starts fucking you with them, still mouthing sweetly at your breast, you’re ready to melt. 

The room is quiet except for your breathy mewls, the lewd, wet sound of his fingers inside of you, and the blood rushing in your ears. Soon your breast pops from between his lips and he finds somewhere else to leave his mark. Spencer is turning you into a work of art, with his fingers, with his mouth. You don’t mind at all. You’d let him sign his name, if he could—but you doubt he’d let you get his name tattooed. 

Soon you stop fighting the perpetual tug of your lids down and let them flutter shut, loosing a freer moan as he brushes over that sweet spot inside you. Even when he’d told you how to find it over the phone, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like this—maddening enough to have your hips twisting again and that hot bed of coals in your tummy sparking. 

“Spencer,” you warn, leg twitching as he stokes the fire beyond the point where you can passively enjoy it. Either he’s got to slow down or he’s got to let you burn all the way up. You practically jump when you feel his tongue flick over your clit—you hadn’t even been aware of his shifting positions. Maybe you’re more out of it than you’d previously thought. Your eyes shoot open and he does it again. “Oh, fuck.”

The words are simple, quiet, and apparently that’s not enough. Before you can even process the sensation of the tip of his tongue on you he’s latching onto your clit, suckling in a way that has your vision momentarily going out. You cry out and kick involuntarily, hips jumping up, but he captures your leg and presses you down into the mattress so no matter how much you squirm and squeak you can’t get away. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, Spencer I wa—ah—sn’t ready—oh my god.”

He remembers his fingers deep inside you and begins rutting them and you hiss, inhaling sharply through your teeth before letting it all out in a tremulous moan. The orgasm is building up so quickly it almost feels like an attack on your poor body as you try to process it all to no avail. Every sound you make is a vulnerable mess of pleasure and pain, a clear fear of surrendering to something inevitable. Of course, it doesn’t really hurt at all. As usual, he’s blindsided you. Found you unprepared. You rake your fingers through Spencer’s hair, continuing on with your shaky moans that sound half-worried. 

“Oh, please.” Really, you’re just pleading to be put out of your misery. It’s in moments like this, as the black is creeping in around the edges of your vision and your thoughts become threads in the tangle of an existence knotting in on itself with no discernible end or beginning in your mind until everything is completely abstract, that you’re reminded why the French refer to orgasm as the little death.  

Your fingers lace tight enough in the wilds of his hair to pull, and he groans against you, and those vibrations are your undoing. You succumb to the dark momentarily but he continues a loving assault of gentle kisses to your clit—careful enough so as to be inoffensive even after the euphoria abates and you’re hypersensitive, still relishing soft strands of hair between your knuckles. 

You’re breathing hard as you blink your vision back, looking down at him as he looks up at you from his place between your legs and rubs the top of your thigh.

“I wasn’t ready,” you pant, lips flashing into a tired smile that doesn’t hold a candle to his own livelier one. 

“Took it like a champ.”

If you weren’t already so warm his sarcastic comment would inspire more heat in the apples of your cheeks. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid using sports idioms?” You smile as he climbs back up your body. 

“It’s unreasonably sexy that you said idiom and not simile.” He kisses you, grin mirroring yours, and you don’t complain about the slick still on his lips. “And look at that. Not afraid to kiss me when I taste like you anymore.”

“I remember what you said,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, glowing amber pools in the low light. The words echo in your head from the first time he’d gone down on you and you’d been hesitant to taste yourself. 

One day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.

“So do I,” he points out needlessly. “Eerily prophetic, hm?”

“I think you just like going down on me,” you laugh. 

Without the light on, his smile is just as brilliant as usual.  

“You might be right about that.”

Another interlude of quiet begins, but you don’t mind it. Taking this slow, as desperate as you’ve been for it, feels nice. Easy. Waves of burning need ebb and flow, but for now, it feels nice to be bathed in his candlelight gaze, know you’re loved, and nothing else. 

“What next?” You whisper after a long moment, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw. He leans into it slightly, lips brushing your palm. 

“That’s up to you, angel. What’s going to make you feel most comfortable?” 

Your bottom lip rolls between your teeth as you think and he tracks the movement, corner of his mouth twitching fondly. 

“It might help if you weren’t fully clothed.”

“I think we could probably do something about that.”

He pecks the tip of your nose playfully and then he’s pushing off the bed. Your brow wrinkles as you follow suit only partially, sitting up with your legs folded under you and pulling the sheets over your body to combat the chill and the vulnerability of being completely naked. 

“Oh, my god. You had your shoes on that whole time?”

“I got distracted,” Spencer defends, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to slip the loafers off. 

You clutch the sheet to your chest, watching the adorable way he pushes his hair out of his face as he rushes. He’s so clearly excited—it shows in the flush of his cheek and his even worse than usual coordination. 

“But on my bed?”

“I’m sorry,” he says without seeming very apologetic, leaning down to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll pay to have your comforter dry cleaned. I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t care.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I am,” he insists against your lips, shaped by what is surely a boyish smirk. 

Unsurprisingly, you get lost in the kiss, dropping the sheet to hang onto his shoulders. Spencer takes advantage of the once-more revealed skin, rubbing your thigh with slow passes in a way that has you all lit up again already. It doesn’t help that his tie is skimming right over the recess between your folded thighs as he leans over your seated form, kissing you deeper as the moments pass. 

“You’re distracting me now,” you scold, but your voice is quiet and smiley as your noses brush. 

“Do you want to help me with my clothes?”

You nod, heart hatching like a cocoon and already slipping a finger into the knot of his tie so you can tug perhaps not gently enough. He chuckles, bracing himself with his fists on either side of your lap as you pull and yank until the fabric comes loose and you slip it from around his neck, flinging it blindly for dramatic effect. Then he slowly draws back to his full height, until you’re about eye-level with his chest. His gaze fixes on you, feverish and intent as he finds the buckle of his belt without looking. The slide of leather on leather, the jingle of the metal has the hairs on the back of your neck rising and you fight a chill as he pins you with his stare—feeling rather powerless as he towers over you, still essentially fully clothed while you’re completely naked. 

You probably shouldn’t be as thrilled by it as you are. 

Spencer tosses the belt on the floor and watches on, utterly charmed as you rise to your knees. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you begin unbuttoning his shirt with slow, careful fingers. 

“See?” You murmur bashfully. “Helping.”

His voice is equally as soft. 

“Very helpful. Thank you.”

The tension in the quiet room gets to be too much and you have to focus hard on the task at hand, failing to bite back a twisty smile. For once, he keeps his stupid perfect mouth shut and lets you push the fabric of his open shirt from his shoulders in humid silence. 

Your fingers skate down his torso and you watch the muscles tense. You wonder if he notices the way he pulls you slightly closer or if it’s subconscious as you both track the path of your hands. 

“Your button is on the wrong side,” you note, voice wavering slightly, once your fingers stall at the waistband of his pants.

Spencer chuckles. You feel silly. 

“Men and women’s clothing tend to have the buttons on different sides, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence, before the words come pouring out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m still a little bit nervous, I think.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer assures you, hands gliding up and down the soft lines of your waist. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. But I’m going to take really good care of you, okay?”

You nod, not looking away from the exposed skin of his torso. 

“And if at any point you need to take a break or stop, you’ll tell me.”

“I will, but… I don’t need to stop right now.”

“Then you can go as slow as you want.”

You swallow and take a moment to gather yourself before continuing on undoing his pants. With his assistance, you pull them down, and with them his boxers tug an inch or two lower, exposing a subtle v-shape before it disappears beneath the waistband. The fabric is obviously tented. A ball of nervous anticipation spins faster in your stomach, drawing all the heat in your body down between your legs. He’s pretty everywhere. You’d nearly forgotten. 

Spencer’s stomach tenses under your light touch as you drag your fingers down, down, just to the waistband. It’s then that you look up at him for permission to continue, and find his eyes already on you, heated and intense. 

“Go ahead, honey.”

Again you find yourself quite excited to touch him, but you start cautiously, simply letting your hand fall over the shape of him through the fabric. Even that has his chest rising and falling at a slightly quickened rate, and one of his hands finds your unoccupied one, twining them together. That small gesture inspires you to bolden your explorations, becoming more insistent in the way you palm at him. He feels big, which is a concern of yours. But you try not to let that intimidate you.  

Already he’s quite hard, you suspect from going down on you earlier (which is flattering as much as it embarrasses you) and your fingers graze a small wet patch of fabric. You fixate on the shaky little breath he releases as you push down his boxers with new fervor, and his cock springs up. 

He’s still perfect. 

You smear beads of precum down his tip, and he sighs, letting his head fall against yours as you both watch. A few coquettish pumps and he’s humming, kissing your face and dragging his lips down your neck where he makes a home for himself. Apparently the sight of your hand wrapped around him had been too much to bear. 

“So good. Missed this.”

“It’s just my hand,” you whisper, a little insecure that he’s maybe playing it up for your benefit. 

“It’s you.”

His voice is so breathy, you sort of have to believe him. 

“Can I…?”

Too nervous to voice what you really mean, you trail off, but it apparently doesn’t matter to Spencer. He lifts his head like he’s in a stupor but you’ve said something urgent. 

“Anything you want. You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Um…”

You let go of his hand (and his dick). Spencer automatically rotates to accommodate you as you end up on your knees on the wooden floor in front of him. 

“This is what you want?” He breathes, already pushing his fingers through your hair and gathering it back as you look up at him and nod. 

Very quickly you have him back in your hand, trying to remember what you learned from the few times you’ve done this. You start perhaps a bit softer, less eager to prove yourself than you have in the past—simply dragging him over your tongue before enveloping his tip in your mouth, and releasing with a pop. Despite being overtly, explicitly, and undeniably sexual, there’s something almost chaste about the way you handle him. It’s a (dirty) expression of love, and you think he understands that as he rubs at your cheek affectionately. 

Eventually, however, you get too excited, and you take him into your mouth in earnest, bobbing your head slowly and seeing how much of him you can take without gagging. 

Spencer makes the prettiest noises—they’re breathy, and not ostentatious, but he’s got such a nice speaking voice it’s like his gasps are bars in a song. You whine around him, wriggling your hips in a rather pathetic display, and then all too quickly he’s tugging your hair so you can’t keep him in your mouth. 

“What?” You ask, closer to pouting than you’d care to admit and voice slightly hoarse. “You said I could do anything I want.”

“Not if you’re that good at it. Come here.”

He helps you up and catches you in a deep, messy kiss before you’ve fully regained your footing, swaying against him, but he holds you fast, pulling away slow like strings of honey trail between your mouths. 

Spencer’s eyes are fixed on yours, lips parted in a sort of wonder before he glances down to your own mouth, wiping the shine from your bottom lip. Any moment you’re expecting him to say something, to tell you you’re beautiful or perfect or that he’s in love with you—but instead he just meets your eyes again, that same wonder-struck look on his pretty face. A tiny, breathy laugh forces itself from his chest like you’re a genuine miracle. 

You feel so observed—seen in a way you’ve never been seen, looked at closer than anyone has ever looked at you before. And he still looks at you like you’re the human embodiment of love, the closest mortal manifestation of the divine, Galatea come down from her marble pedestal. The way he looks at you has your heart pounding and your breathing hastened. Adoration has never been something so physical, so tangible, ever before in your life. Your blood hums at the frequency of his electromagnetic field—an energetic aura that surrounds each person and can be detected from several feet away, as he’d explained it to you. It originates from the heart and if you spend enough time close to  someone, syncs up the beating of your most vital organ with theirs until it’s a perfect match. Maybe that’s why, almost as quickly as your heart had begun to pound, it slows again, and you feel any reservation flush from your body like a fever. 

“Okay,” you breathe, cataloguing every angle and curve of his face to store with all the rest, all the moments that feel important. Of course, you’ll never remember them like he does yours. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest. 

“Okay?” Spencer asks. He understands the confirmation for what it is, and searches for signs of hesitation on your face while rubbing reassuring circles into your hip. You nod resolutely. 

As he lays you down on your bed, it feels like you’re entering some kind of altered state. Everything is muted and glowing with a watercolor aura in the dark and you really only care about the man on top of you and the way moonlight dances on his skin and the way he smells like smoky amber and rain. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed under you, before sweeping your hair from beneath your shoulders into a corona around your head. All the while his eyes are so soft on you, just like his hands, and his lips when he leans down to touch them to yours. 

One of said hands finds its way to your jaw, trailing down over your neck and collarbone, before settling over your breast where he swipes a thumb over your nipple, lightly, slowly, several times. 

Once again you’re struck with the odd feeling, even with his hand on you like this, that the situation isn’t sexual in the way you’d anticipated. It’s not pornographic, or even very dirty. Everything Spencer does, even as his hand sneaks down between your legs, he does because he loves you. 

“One more like this,” he mutters against your jaw after a moment. 

“Why?”

Your impatience yields a smile you can only feel against your skin. 

“Just want you relaxed and feeling good. That’s all.”

When you assent, his fingers are already slowly pushing inside you. 

It seems you’ve entered some sort of time warp as well, because you reach a gentle peak in what feels like record time, aided by his easy murmurings and saccharine praise.

“Perfect. That was perfect,” Spencer says with a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his fingers from you and you feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets. “Can I ask you something before we get carried away?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sweet and compliant as pleasure dulls your inhibitions for the second time tonight and your head lolls into the pillows. 

“Baby,” he croons, voice soft as worn paper as your lids flutter and lashes brush febrile cheeks, thumbing over the heated skin. “Need you a little more alert, sweet girl.”

“’M trying,” you whine, though it’s half self-effacing laugh. Spencer chuckles too as you shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to reinvigorate yourself. “Okay. Go.”

“Well… we don’t have any protection.” Before you can groan, loudly, he hurries on. “And that’s… I’m okay with that, if it’s what you still want. I trust you. But there will come… a moment of reckoning. And I need to know where I should… reckon. So you don’t end up surprised.”

Now you’re really laughing—a giggly mess beneath him as your arms loop over his shoulders. 

“Stop it,” he whines, pressing his nose to your cheek as you turn your head in an effort to not snort at your boyfriend to his face. “That was for your benefit, you know. You get squeamish.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously when you refer to it as reckoning.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. When I come, you essentially have two options. Inside, or on your stomach. Tell me where you want it.”

Your breath catches and your stomach does that tripping-over-itself thing again. 

“Um…”

Another fond half laugh, at your expense, is pressed against your skin. It’s enough to prompt you into answering—he doesn’t have to say anything to make his point about your being squeamish. 

“Inside,” you mutter, shy as you attempt to bring him closer so he won’t be able to look at you quite so closely. You wonder if he’s remembering the conversation you’d had over the phone last week—before he’d accidentally kind of broken up with you—about this very subject. You certainly are. 

“Okay. I want you to have everything that you want.” A few kisses to your neck later, between nips, he speaks again. “Just need to hear that you want this one more time.”

“I want this,” you repeat, obedient and honest, plain and simple. “Now, please.”

Spencer responds by first kissing you, firm and loving. It soothes you, and he punctuates it with a kiss to your cheek, before he’s reaching down and guiding himself between your legs. You feel surprisingly calm, more overcome with love and the light pleasure rolling down your back as he drags himself over your clit than you are by nerves. Still, you pointedly hold his gaze, not looking down in case you psych yourself out. He slots himself in place, tip resting against your entrance. 

“Remember, if you need to stop at any point—”

“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly. 

Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous. 

He watches you, sympathetic though you’re not sure what for. 

“I need you as relaxed as possible, okay? I want this to be easy on you.”

You take a moment, scanning your whole body for tense muscles. When you feel sufficiently relaxed, you offer Spencer a small nod, and at that, he begins pushing into you ever so slightly. 

At first, it just feels foreign. He’s going so slowly, so carefully, you’re not sure he’s moving at all—until he finds resistance and the odd full feeling changes to a hint of burning stretch. Your hips jump and your breath catches, and Spencer stops immediately, relieving the pressure with a tiny shift in position. 

“It’s gonna hurt,” you realize, eyes darting between his like he might be able to tell you otherwise. You’d always been aware of the possibility, but you were holding out hope that you’d be one of those people who didn’t experience any pain their first time. 

“Just for a minute. Then it’ll feel good, angel.”

You swallow and nod. At the end of the day, you trust him completely. You trust him enough to let him hurt you. 

“Super deep breaths for me.”

He watches intently as you follow his directions, taking several deep breaths in succession, before he begins pushing into you once more. The pressure builds and builds until he pushes past that point of resistance, and it’s like he’s breaking you in two. 

“Ah,” you gasp, abs twisting as your body tries to escape the sensation without any input from you. 

“I know. I know, baby, that was the hardest part. Breathe.”

He drops his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles with light pressure to distract from the pain.

You nod, lips pressed together tight as the deep ache muddles your brain. It’s an insistent pressure against something does not seem to want to budge. It burns and stretches and is laced with sour, flirtatious pleasure so that you can hardly tell what it is you’re feeling. Mostly, you’re dizzy and hot.

“Relax, just like that,” he strains, looking down. “My good girl. We’re almost there, baby.”

Cries spill unbidden from your mouth and your eyes shut as he continues to open you up deeper, until finally, finally, his hips settle into the cradle of yours. 

Spencer sighs a curse under his breath, so quiet you don’t think it was meant for you. 

He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre. 

You whimper, and he snaps out of whatever revery he’d been in. 

“You okay? How does that feel?”

You take a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head to no avail—your thoughts are like TV static. 

“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”

“You can have as much time as you need. It’s a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice small and weak. 

“I bet,” he agrees, peppering soft kisses all over your face. “But you’re doing so well. Proud of you, brave girl. You’re doing so well and we’re gonna make sure it feels good soon, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

“Will you please kiss me again?” you whisper, and Spencer’s brow knits with concern. 

“Of course, angel. Of course I’ll kiss you,” he says, and makes good on his promise with his lips on yours. It sweetens the ache. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can have anything. You’re so perfect.”

He kisses you again, just as lovingly, and soft, like you’re delicate. All the praise is only contributing to your lightheadedness, but you don’t mind at all. It feels good. 

“You can… you can move.”

“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”

He waits for your nod before his hips are pulling back and you arch at the odd sensation. When he pushes back in, eyes carefully locked on yours the whole time, you keen slightly, frowning and brain shorting out as it tries and fails to process this new feeling. 

“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”

At first it doesn’t feel good. It mostly hurts. But slowly, the pain begins to abate as you acclimate to having him inside of you, and he’s careful the whole time. 

“Spence?” 

“Hm?”

He sounds concentrated on the task at hand—you’re entranced by the sight of him above you, the parted lips, the unkempt hair over the brow furrowed in pleasure and focus. But he’s never too busy for you. 

“Does it… um—” you pause to hold back a whine—“what does it feel like for you?”

At this, he slows even further and chuckles—it’s a strained, slightly breathy sound. 

“For me?”

“Mhm.”

“You feel perfect, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

The slight fry in Spencer’s voice as he curses, which is a rare event in and of itself, flips your stomach, turns you on immensely. The idea that you’re giving him pleasure too—it’s almost overwhelming. That’s when it starts feeling good. 

“Oh—” you squeak, jaw dropping and bucking your hips inadvertently as the first bolt of true pleasure shocks deep in your core. He hums. 

“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”

But you can’t answer for a long moment. Your brain is melting as your legs lock around him. 

“Mm—it’s—it feels…”

“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.

You whine and press your face into the curve of his shoulder as each thrust gently rocks your body. As the pace picks up bit by bit, you feel yourself clenching hard around him. His hips stutter and he hisses. 

“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

He laughs breathily. 

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me out. You have to relax.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re trying, baby, you’re being so good for me.”

Your nails skim his back—a small expression of a much larger desperation. Once he’s sure you’re relaxed around him, begins going faster. 

Your gasps and soft moans come more often now as he finds a steady rhythm and it feels so different when he’s actually fucking you. It feels like he’s everywhere. Every time your hips meet you feel the sweet shock of it in your teeth, your toes, the back of your neck. In the best way, you feel consumed by him. It’s not at all like you’d imagined, and it’s perfect. 

“Wait, Spencer,” you breathe, struggling to form the words. Immediately he stops again, lifting his head from your shoulder to examine your face. 

“What is it?”

He sounds just as wrecked as you feel, panting and strained and it feels good to hear. 

“I wanna watch.”

For a moment his eyes dart between yours like he’s trying to determine what you really mean—but you said exactly what you meant. Then he laughs, a huff of air from his nose as he presses his head to yours and gives you a quick kiss.

Your toes curl as he readjusts his position, holding himself a little higher and resting your heads together so you can both look between your bodies. 

“There,” he murmurs as he slowly begins to withdraw again. “Like that?”

But you can’t answer, because you’re too busy whimpering at the sight of him pushing into you. The feeling seems to increase tenfold as you watch it happen. Distantly you wonder how the fuck it fits. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”

Spencer takes this as a blessing to find a pace again, slower now as he seems to be just as enthralled by the sight as you are. 

“Give me your leg,” he rasps after a few moments like that, and you don’t know what he means exactly but you lift your right leg slightly only for him to press his hand to the back of your knee and push toward your chest, effectively opening you up and giving him more range of motion. It also enables him to fuck you even deeper. Again he slows, apparently savoring the feel of you yielding around him all the way down to the hilt. 

Black spots dance in your eyes as he settles at your deepest point—not pain, necessarily, just overwhelming sensation. Your jaw drops and you choke out a moan as he presses into recesses you didn’t know you had, as he shows you a part that you might have gone the rest of your life without knowing existed. He stops there, like that. Everything stops there, like that. If the cars on the road below ceased to drive, if the airplanes froze in the sky, you’d not be the least bit surprised. Somehow, you’ve unlocked a small eternity. There’s no sound but your joint heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. The words just come bubbling up out of you in a little whine. 

“I love you.”

Spencer’s breath pauses for a moment before he’s letting it all out at once, brushing his lips up the ridge of your nose before they settle on your forehead in what seems like a permanent kiss. A few breaths in, you allow your eyes to flutter shut. Your heart rate slows down a touch, and you settle into the moment, never having been quite so content as you are like this—never having felt quite so adored and safe. 

“I love you,” he finally echoes, voice rasping, lips still pressed to your skin, still breathing against your hair. When he starts to move again, drawing back ever so slowly, you hiss softly. He raises his head from yours, and you look away from where he’s pulling out, meeting his eyes just in time for him to push back in, just as deep. They shine in the mostly-dark room and you moan unabashedly. It’s a high-pitched, sweet thing, nothing that will have the neighbors complaining—but so clearly true, from the depths of your soul, an expression of everything you’re feeling—not just the pleasure. 

Although that’s good, too, as Spencer shapes you to him again and again, the head of his cock kissing places nobody’s ever been and places you hope nobody else will ever venture to. This is all you need. Him. 

“Jesus,” Spencer groans, eyes fixed on your face as he fucks you slowly. But you can’t bring yourself to talk, too new to this kind of pleasure to find it anything other than mind-boggling and world altering. Your lips are still parted, allowing each sound to pass without filter. “Listen to you, beautiful.”

When he stops again, just to look down and marvel at you, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you can taste the pleasure on the back of your tongue and he keeps taking it away when it’s so close. But on the other—you’re just as overwhelmed as he said you’d be. Your body has never had to process this kind of sensory information before, and you’re exhausted, but it’s so good. 

“Spencer,” you manage. He looks up, pupils blown and eyes lidded where they’d normally be wide. “Please don’t stop.”

He swallows, spurred into action again as soon as you say it. 

“Good?”

You nod and whine again as he picks up the pace bit by bit, remembering to push your leg back once more so he can get as deep as you need him. 

“So good,” you exhale at the top pitch of your voice. Your brows pinch and you release a fuller moan as Spencer finds a speed that’s fast enough to constantly feel good no matter where he is. You’re gasping for breath, back arching—and he finds a new angle, catching against the spot inside you that renders all those years of human evolution that gave you sentience and intelligence a waste. He chuckles airily at your series of series of affronted moans and halted gasps. 

“Right there? That's a good spot, isn’t it?”

“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”

It feels so good it almost hurts, and your eyes are stinging to prove it. Your legs clamp tighter around him and you realize there’s a very lewd wet sound and you can’t believe that’s you. 

“Spencer, you’re—oh my god, I love you,” you whine, and it sounds like you’re pleading for your life. At this makes his own sound of pleasure, and hastens his messy circles on your clit as if in reward. 

But it’s too much all combined. 

Your hand claps to your mouth to obscure the loud, licentious moan that comes out—but Spencer immediately moves his hand from between your legs to grab your wrist and pin it gently to the bed, intertwining your fingers. 

“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”

You nod, and he lets go of your hand to return his fingers to your clit. If possible you get wetter around his cock—you can feel yourself gushing. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as if pained. 

“Yeah? Gonna finally let me feel you cumming, angel?”

He has a filthy mouth when he wants to. The words hit like high voltage to your core and the very pit of your stomach. You can’t even respond beyond a desperate sob. 

“Show me, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”

You cum around his cock with a broken cry and it’s like a purge of every drop of angst you’d felt over the past week or so—hell, it’s a purge of all the insecurities that had bubbled to the surface since you started dating him. None of it matters anymore. How could it matter when you have him? When you have this?

The orgasm washes you out like a tidal wave, taking everything with it. It’s strong, and it’s so good, so intense, your body is overwrought with sensation and it’s too much even though it’s perfect. Your brain is drawing a blank as it tries to react to the feeling, and it’s like every button on the damn panel has been hit. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” Spencer grits, and you feel it in the way he adjusts his position, shifting as he grips at the edge of the mattress for leverage and the thrusts become messier, needier. You gasp as his other hand tangles in your hair, turning your head to ghost your lips over his forearm. It’s not entirely surprising when his own lips find your shoulder—but the feeling of him finding his release just as his teeth sink into your skin does come as quite a shock. It doesn’t hurt, and you’re sure there’s no skin broken, but it’s an undeniable fact that he has grounded himself in the throes of passion by biting down on you.

Inside you, he feels hot. Searing, almost, as his spend tries to fill space that doesn’t exist. There is absolutely no room for anything else inside of you. Stars dance in your eyes at the overstimulation, but long after he’s finished he’s still fucking into you—albeit much slower and with far less technique. Spencer moans like a two bit whore, like he’s reached pain to a point of ecstasy, and to you it’s as good, as special as the singing of the planets. If he’s as sensitive as you are now, it’s no small feat for him to keep going on like this. It’s a testament to how much he doesn’t want it to be over. The pleasure is carrying him away, but you’re beginning to feel how soft you must be and how if he continues on like this you may bruise like an overripe peach. 

“Spencer,” you manage, skating your hand up and down his back in what you hope are soothing lines. “Baby.”

He whines as his lips detach from your shoulder, but his hips finally slow to a stop, nestled inside you. 

“Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes, opting now to bury his face in your neck (with significantly less biting this time).

You’re still reeling, toes still curled, still struggling to breathe as your head spins and spins and spins. His chest pushes against yours with every heaving breath, hot and heavy on your skin, and that’s the only sign he’s still alive until his hand eventually reanimates in your hair, scratching your head tenderly. 

For a span of minutes, you stay like that—silent, twined together like caducean serpents. His weight on top of you is perfect. This, the lack of differentiation between your body and his, is perfect. You don’t know where he ends and you begin and you don’t need to. It’s a blissful moment. 

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, lifting his head to look at you with flushed cheeks and messy hair and sparkly eyes. 

“Hi.”

He smiles. 

“You’re so pretty.”

“You too,” you murmur, moving your hand from his back and pressing your thumb into the hollow of his cheek. His eyes map the curves of your face as he pushes your surely askew hair back. 

“How do you feel?”

It takes you a moment to seriously consider his question, scanning your body for any undue pains, but for the moment, you find none, beyond a dull aching throb that you can manage. 

“Good. Tired.”

You wince at the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. Spencer hums sympathetically and presses a sticky kiss to your lips which makes it a little better, though you can’t ignore how uncomfortable all the previously pleasant wetness has become between your legs. 

“Here—stay here, I’ll get a wash cloth and—”

“It’s fine,” you insist, holding on even as he tries to roll off of you. “I just need… will you stay here for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he promises, now pressed close to your side and propped up on an elbow, “whatever you want.”

You lavish in his gaze, warm like a spotlight, as he strokes your cheek and plays with your hair. Very quickly you’re lulled into a doze, eyes fluttering shut. Minutes stretch. You feel drunk on waking dreams, and perfectly at peace. Safe. 

“Angel girl,” he christens you fondly. More than anything, it’s an observation, so lovely it sinks into your skin like a balm, soothing every tired muscle and little mark he’d made. Even half-asleep, it makes you smile. 

“You’re an angel,” you slur, reaching blindly for him, and he chuckles, catching your wrist and helpfully settling your hand on his cheek. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

You hum, “mm-mm,” looking up at him with just as much adoration as he has for you. Those cuddle hormones must be kicking in because soon you’re attempting to pull him back on top of you. He doesn’t quite comply, probably for fear of crushing you—rather he settles next to you, gathering you in his arms. 

Silence blankets the two of you, but it’s not unpleasant as you just watch each other with barely-there smiles curling your mouths. This kind of intimacy still manages to give you butterflies, even after everything else you’ve done. This kind of satisfaction, reverie in the sound of each other’s blood flowing and lungs filling. Setting aside words because you don’t need conversation as a pretense for wanting to be around each other anymore. You don’t need an excuse to look at him like this. You don’t need words any more than you need clothes. It’s enough to just be. 

“I love you,” he says, a soft reminder, and entirely redundant with the way he’d already been looking at you, touching you. 

“I know. I love you too.”

The smile flickers brighter on his face. 

“And thank you.”

Your eyes narrow minutely as you consider what he could possibly be thanking you for. 

“For what?”

“For loving me. And trusting me. It’s…” your heart squeezes as you realizes tears are pooling in his eyes. He takes a moment and clears his throat. It’s incredibly endearing. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

You look down, thumbing at the sheets where you’ve hoisted them over your bodies. 

“You do realize how lame we are if we have sex and both immediately start crying, right?”

At this he laughs loudly but not loud enough to pop the little bubble you’re in, and you look up just in time to catch the brilliance of his smile, the way it changes his whole face and he becomes superhuman in his beauty, the lines that form by his eyes and the way they narrow and crystalline tears bead his lashes like precious gems. 

“Don’t cry,” he requests gently, hypocritically as your own eyes sting. The way his smile fades is like the sun setting. Gorgeous, like everything else he does. “You’ve cried so much, honey. Please don’t cry.”

You sniffle, gathering yourself. 

“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”

Spender leans forward to kiss you tenderly a few more times. Ordinarily you’d worry about coming across as clingy when you hold onto him so closely and so insistently like this, but for now you don’t care. Neither does he, it seems, as he seems unable to get you close enough. Eventually, you end up curled against him, head tucked under his chin and dozing on and off as he traces shapes into your skin. 

“What are you writing?” You mumble some time later, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He only responds with a soft hm, like he was lost deep in thought. You clarify, “it feels like you were writing something.”

“She Walks in Beauty.”

Your lips pull into a sleepy smile. 

“The Lord Byron poem?”

The first time you’d met Spencer, he’d inadvertently caused your painstakingly annotated copy of Lord Byron’s works to go flying all over a cafe, and then kindly helped clean up the pages and reorder them for you in record time. Among the poems had been She Walks in Beauty. 

“Yeah. I was trying to figure out when exactly I fell in love with you, and as someone who is deeply skeptical about love at first sight, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I keep coming back to our first conversation. I mean, I believe in genetic compatibility, and how that contributes to attraction and what we think of as chemistry, but—”

“Wait, what about our first conversation did it?” Your cheeks ache from smiling as you speak. “As I recall I was being a bitch and I was covered in coffee.”

He laughs dreamily, still tracing letters over the small of your back. You wonder what part of the poem he’s at now. 

“Yeah, mean to me and covered in coffee is pretty much exactly my type. But I think it was actually the annotations on that copy of Lord Byron’s works. They were so insightful, and personal, I—it kind of took my breath away, and I know I shouldn’t have read them all but I couldn’t stop. You were compelling, and charming, and funny and wildly intelligent and beautiful and… and I didn’t stand a chance.”

Everything aches. It’s a good ache. Despite being seconds from tearing up all over again, you snort. He never told you about that first day.

“You thought me writing ‘sister fucker’ in all caps every time he mentioned Augusta was charming?”

“Oh, obscenely so. But now that I’m looking back, I feel like… I feel like I can’t remember not being in love with you. I mean, I remember when I realized I was, and that was later. But it was like I met you, and then I was just… waiting for you to catch up.”

You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, watching the way the ambient nighttime light from the window and the bathroom dips them half in color. 

“We were pretty much on the same page. I was debating courthouse versus small intimate ceremony as soon as you left.”

You watch him watching your joined hands, features soft and relaxed, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as he speaks. 

“Definitely small intimate ceremony. I have too many friends who would kill me if they weren’t invited to the wedding.”

You giggle and pretend the thought doesn’t give you butterflies. You imagine a ring on your finger, the one he’s got between his own. Marriage had never been something you’d considered. Not when you had no reason to. It seemed like something for other people. But maybe one day, it will be for you, too. 

“Did you know Lord Byron had a daughter who is regarded by many as the first computer programmer? She wrote the first algorithm for a theoretical machine that was so complex it couldn’t be built with the technology available at the time. It was called an Analytical Engine.”

He sounds almost wistful as he gives you the utterly unprompted, but still welcome, abridged version of her life. The description is ringing a bell—but you can’t quite place her, sleepy as you are.  

“What was her name?”

“Ada Lovelace. She was exceptionally gifted. The odds of parent and child being so extraordinary in their respective fields are incalculable, but from a purely theoretical perspective, negligible. I mean, they’re both massive historical figureheads. That’s extremely uncommon.”

You adore it when he goes off on these tangents—the passion that stains his voice, the ardor that grips him until he has no choice but to tell you exactly what’s got him so excited. You could listen to him talk for hours. It means he’s here with you, and he wants you to love what he loves. 

Since he met you, that’s all Spencer has wanted—for you to love what he loves. 

You want the same. 

“Pretty name,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.” 

[wholoveseggs]

Omg love your elijah stuff it's the best out there! Could you write a fluffy smut where the reader and elijah get married and she's still human and they plan for her to turn on their wedding night. But since she's about to become a vampire and knows elijah loves the taste of her the blood she has him drink from her during sex one last time and she drinks from him so after sex and aftercare his blood is in her system and he turns her then:)

Something Sweet

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

It's the day of your wedding, a day you've dreamed about since you were young. Everything is exactly as you imagined it would be, except one thing. Today is not only the day of your wedding, today is also the day you die... And you never wanted anything so badly.

♡♡Thanks for the request lovely @sarah-bear706318! I made this one super fluffy♡♡

5.5k words - Warnings: smut, oral sex, so much flufffff, blood drinking, sappy Elijah, something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue...

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

Trying to fix my tags! I re-added all of you, and now you will be posted at the top! If you no longer wished to be tagged just shoot me a DM {I won't be offended} xoxo~

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv @myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming @criminallminds @rosemarypotion @spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse @sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2 @itsjulzandmydiamonds @spideysbabe @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury @sekaishell @ziayamikaelson @amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28 @loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy

It was the day of your wedding and you were awoken by the birds chirping outside of your bedroom window. You rolled over to find your side of the bed empty and cold, a note from Elijah in his elegant handwriting.

My love,

I thought it best if I did not see you until the ceremony, as that is a tradition.

I have not been able to sleep. I am both excited and nervous for today, my beautiful wife. I will spend every waking moment cherishing you.

Elijah

You smiled to yourself as you read his words, imagining him pacing the floor as he wrote this, probably in the study or the library.

You pressed the note to your chest, you could hardly believe that you were getting married today. It was a day you had dreamed about since you were young. You had imagined what your wedding dress would look like, the flowers you would pick for the arrangement, how you would wear your hair. But now, none of that seemed important, the only thing on your mind was what came after the wedding.

Elijah would make you a vampire tonight, and then you would have eternity together.

He was still hesitant, even though you had insisted this was what you wanted. He worried that one day you would regret it, that you would hate him for it, that it would break the connection between the two of you.

But he was wrong, you knew it would only strengthen your bond. You loved him so much that it was impossible to put it into words. You would do anything for him, give him anything, including your life.

After a few moments of lying in bed and thinking of your handsome husband to be, you heard the sound of your bedroom door opening. In walked your three bridesmaids and your maid of honor, carrying a tray of delicious breakfast foods.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty!" Rebekah said, walking around the bed and placing the tray on the mattress in front of you.

"What are you still doing in bed?" Freya asked.

"Yeah, it's your wedding day! We have a lot to do!" Camille exclaimed.

You chuckled and sat up in bed, tucking the duvet over your legs. Hayley laid on the bed next to you, popping a bottle of champagne open and pouring four glasses.

"Everybody relax, we have lots of time," she said, handing you a glass. "Don't stress her out,"

Rebekah rolled her eyes and picked up a bag from the floor.

"We have some gifts for you, Mrs. Mikaelson," she teased.

"I'm not Mrs. Mikaelson, yet," you pointed out, taking a sip of the champagne.

"Oh please, the two of you act married already, he is the most whipped man I have ever seen," Rebekah said, sitting on the other side of the bed and passing a wrapped present to you.

You giggled at her comment, knowing it was true. You were a little surprised by how much he was willing to bend to your will. He was a stubborn man, but with you, he was a complete pushover. He told you once that he found it impossible to deny you anything, and that's how he knew you were the one.

You carefully unwrapped the gift and found a beautiful necklace, with a sapphire pendant, you held it up to the light, the rays bouncing off the gem and painting the walls of your room in blue light.

"It's beautiful," you said, smiling at the girls.

"It's something blue, from Freya," Rebekah explained, as Freya fastened it around your neck.

"I spelled it so you can always find each other, no matter where you are. So when you are away, you can always feel him close to you," she explained.

You were touched by her thoughtfulness, touching the stone as it rested against your chest. You couldn't explain it, but it did feel like him, like he was right beside you.

"Thank you, Freya," you said, squeezing her hand.

"Okay now mine!" Rebekah interrupted, holding her present out to you. "Something old,"

You grinned and took the large box from her, opening it to find a beautiful vintage corset, along with a matching set of lace underwear and stockings.

"Rebekah, these are gorgeous!" You said, running your fingers over the intricate designs.

"They're vintage, of course," she said, proudly. "Elijah is rather fond of that time period, I thought they might... inspire him," she added, winking.

You blushed, he didn't need any encouragement in the bedroom, you were certain of that.

"My gift is next," Hayley said, holding out her gift to you. "Something new, and I'm really sorry, but they aren't quite as classy as the last two," she said, nervously.

You took the bag and opened it, it was full of luxury naughty nightwear, baby dolls, bras, panties, a silk robe, all in different colors and fabrics. Along with a few sex toys and a pair of handcuffs.

"I had to get you something practical," she said, with a smirk.

"I love it, thank you," you said, giggling. "I will certainly put them to good use,"

"Okay now mine, it's something borrowed," Camille said, handing you a small box.

You opened the velvet box and found a gorgeous pair of diamond earrings, with a matching bracelet.

"Camille, these are beautiful," you breathed, examining the sparkling jewels.

"They've been in my family for a long time, they belonged to my grandmother," she explained, clasping the bracelet around your wrist.

You looked at your wrist and smiled, your friends were the most wonderful women you had ever met, they had been so welcoming and so supportive, and now here they were, giving you the best gifts ever.

"Thank you, all of you, so much. This has been the best morning," you said, pulling them all in for a group hug.

"More champagne!" Rebekah exclaimed, grabbing the bottle and topping up everyone's glass.

"We still have the day to go, I'm going to have a terrible hangover at my own wedding," you pointed out, taking a large sip anyway.

"Not for long," Rebekah said, a mischievous smile on her face.

The wedding party went quiet, everyone knew exactly what she was talking about, that Elijah was planning to turn you after the reception.

"It's really happening then, tonight?" Hayley asked, looking at you.

You nodded.

"How are you feeling about it?" She asked.

"A little nervous, I guess," you admitted. "But excited,"

"It's a big decision, are you sure you are ready for it?" Freya asked, putting her arm around you.

"Absolutely. I've never been more sure of anything," you said, without hesitation.

"You'll make a lovely one," Rebekah added, pulling you out of bed and to your feet.

"Come on, we have a lot to do, the hair and makeup people will be here in an hour, and I need to make sure you eat something first," she said, ushering you towards the bathroom.

"And then we can finally see this dress!" Hayley added, excitedly.

The five of you spent the rest of the morning in a flurry of activity, the girls made sure you ate and drank water, despite how much champagne was flowing. The hairdresser and makeup artist did wonders, and then finally, it was time for the dress.

You had put on the vintage corset and underwear, rolling up the stocking and clipping them in place. The girls helped you step into the gown, fastening the buttons up the back, before you stood in front of the mirror.

Rebekah started to cry and Freya and Camille put their arms around her, all of them staring at you.

"Are you okay, Bekah?" You asked, looking at her reflection.

She wiped her tears and sniffed. "He's going to faint when he sees you,"

The four of them laughed and you turned around, holding out your hands.

"Well, let's go get married,"

The music started as you entered the garden, and everyone stood, turning to look at you.

It was like a fairytale.

Your eyes were on Elijah the entire time, his eyes were a bit glassy and he was nervously playing with his hands. Klaus handed him a tissue, patting his shoulder and Rebekah hooked her arm in yours , guiding you down the aisle.

"No fainting yet," you whispered to Rebekah, making her giggle.

"I promise I will catch him if he does," she whispered back.

He held out his hand to you when you finally reached him and you took it, Rebekah handing your bouquet to Hayley.

"Hello," you whispered, looking up at him.

"Hi," he replied, smiling down at you, his brown eyes warm and loving.

"You look perfect," he said, softly.

"So do you," you said, grinning at him.

Klaus cleared his throat and began to speak.

"We are gathered here today, to join Elijah and Y/n in matrimony. They have both written their own vows, so Elijah, you may start,"

Elijah squeezed your hands and smiled at you, his eyes soft and full of love.

"My love, you are the one that I have waited centuries for. The one who brings light into my life. I love you so much, I will be forever grateful that I found you. I promise to spend every day of eternity showing you how much I love and cherish you. Thank you for agreeing to marry me, thank you for loving me," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You felt tears in your eyes as he finished speaking, reaching up and brushing a tear away with his thumb. The crowd aww'd at his words, and the entire wedding party dabbed at their eyes with tissues.

"I'm afraid my vows are going to sound a little lame after that," you teased, making Elijah chuckle.

"Elijah," you began. "I have loved you from the moment I saw you. You have always been there for me, through good and bad, you have taken care of me, supported me, loved me. I know my heart is safe with you. You have always said you would give me the world, and I know you will, and I want to give you mine, for as long as I live,"

Elijah's eyes became glassy again and he took a deep breath, fighting back his tears.

"Do we have the rings?" Klaus asked.

You glanced down the aisle to see Hope toddling towards you, with a pillow in her hands. Everyone watched her and she reached you, proudly handing the rings to her uncle.

"Thank you, darling," Elijah said, ruffling her hair.

"You may exchange the rings," Klaus said, Hope was now clinging to his leg, watching the ceremony with fascination.

Elijah slipped the ring on your finger, and you did the same, looking down at the two silver bands. You realized that your ring had a lapis lazuli stone embedded in the metal, the one that would allow you to walk in the sunlight when you were a vampire.

"Elijah, do you take Y/n as your lawfully wedded wife, to love and cherish, until death do you part?"

"I do," he replied, staring deep into your eyes.

"Y/n, do you take Elijah as your lawfully wedded husband, to love and cherish, until death do you part?"

"I do," you said, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

"Well then, by the power invested in me by a monk in the 12th century, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,"

Elijah cupped your cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone, before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. His hands moved down your back, tilting you backwards, dipping you. The guests cheered and applauded, and the photographer snapped pictures.

"I love you," he said, whispering the words into your mouth.

"I love you, Mr. Mikaelson," you said, grinning.

He pulled you up, his eyes were bright, and his cheeks were flushed, his happiness radiating off him.

"Mrs. Mikaelson," he said, softly.

You kissed him again, the two of you wrapped in each other's embrace, his arms holding you tight against him.

"Let's get this party started!" Marcel yelled, causing a cheer from the crowd.

The two of you made your way back down the aisle, and back into the house. As soon as you were inside, you pulled Elijah in for a passionate kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"We are married," you said, giggling.

"Indeed we are," he replied, smiling.

"Can't we skip the party, and just go upstairs now?" You asked, kissing him again.

"My greedy little wife," he teased. "Don't worry, tonight will be worth the wait,"

The compound was elaborately decorated, with lights and flowers hanging everywhere, and the guests were laughing and dancing, having a great time.

You sat at a table near the dance floor with your new husband, watching everyone. His hand was resting on your thigh, squeezing it gently every so often.

It was getting late, the sun had set and the guests were getting more and more drunk. The music slowed and the couples swayed together, some kissing and holding each other tight.

"So," Elijah whispered in your ear. "How are you feeling about tonight?"

"I can't wait," you said, turning to look at him. "I just can't wait for us to start our lives together,"

"Me either, sweetheart," he said, brushing his lips against your temple. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I want this." You placed a hand on his cheek. "More than anything."

He let out a long sigh, his hand squeezing your thigh tighter. But he didn't say anything else.

After a moment, he stood up and held out his hand.

"Dance with me?"

You took his hand and he led you out to the dance floor. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his hands rested on your hips.

The two of you danced slowly to the music, lost in each other's eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked him, breaking the silence.

"Nothing." He replied, smiling softly, looking away.

You narrowed your eyes. "Don't lie to me, Mr. Mikaelson."

He chuckled. "Fine. I'm thinking about how beautiful you are, and how lucky I am."

"I'm the lucky one," you whispered, leaning in and kissing him softly.

The two of you continued slow dancing and you rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"I'm nervous," He admitted, softly his hands running up and down your back.

You lifted your head and looked up at him. "Why?"

"I don't want to see you die," He looked into your eyes, and you could see the pain behind them. "I don't want to watch the light leave your eyes, and not be able to do anything about it."

You cupped his cheek and stroked it. "I'll come right back, Elijah. You have nothing to worry about."

He nodded, then leaned in and kissed you, soft and slow. His hands on your hips, slowly guiding you, the two of you still moving to the music.

After a few minutes, he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours.

"I don't think I'm capable of not worrying about you." He said, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

"Well," You whispered, smiling up at him. "That's something we have in common, then."

His hands were on your lower back, his fingertips tracing patterns on the soft fabric.

"Do you remember when we met?" He asked, looking down at you.

"I do." You said, giggling. "It was the most cliché thing ever, but I remember it like it was yesterday."

"You were wearing a green dress." He recalled. "You were trying to get a book from the top shelf at this little bookstore. You had climbed onto a chair and were stretching your arm as far as you could, but you just couldn't reach it. And I thought, 'that's the most adorable thing I've ever seen'."

You laughed, remembering how flustered you'd been. "And then, I dismissed your attempt to help me as being creepy,"

"Until you tripped over your own feet and fell into my arms." He reminded you, a smirk on his face.

"You caught me, though." You whispered.

"That I did," he murmured. "And I will always catch you."

You stood on your tiptoes, kissing him softly. "I'm glad," you said.

His hands moved lower, grabbing your ass, and pulling you closer. You blushed and looked around quickly, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to you.

"I remember something else about the day we met," he whispered in your ear.

You looked up at him and smiled. "What?"

"How you looked in my bed that night, the soft little moans you made," he teased.

You bit your lip, a wave of arousal washing over you. The memory still fresh in your mind.

"You have a way of making me lose all sense," you said, breathlessly.

"I know," he smirked, his eyes sparkling, "I've got you right where I want you."

You giggled, burying your face in his chest, breathing in his scent.

"You are so bad," you whispered.

He hummed in agreement, squeezing your ass once more, causing you to let out a little squeak.

"We should say goodbye to our guests," he murmured. "There is a car waiting,"

You nodded and let him guide you around, saying goodbye to all the guests. They followed the two of you out to the courtyard, and then they began throwing rice and rose petals, while the two of you got into the waiting car.

As the car drove away, the guests cheered and you couldn’t help the huge grin on your face, waving at them until they were out of sight.

Elijah's hand rested on your thigh, rubbing circles with his thumb. You rested your head on his shoulder, watching the city go by.

"So, are you going to tell me where we are going?" You asked, glancing at him.

"There's this lakehouse, about an hour from here. It's a quiet, private place, not even my siblings know about it." He said, pulling your hand into his lap.

"You didn't tell anyone about it?" You asked, a little shocked.

"Not a soul," he said, smiling. "I've had a few secret hideaways over the years, but this one is special."

"Why is that?" You asked.

"It's where I go to get away from everything, to clear my head and recharge," he explained. "And now, it's going to be our special place,"

"That's sweet," you said, kissing his cheek.

The drive seemed to take forever, but finally the car turned onto a long driveway. Elijah helped you out of the car, and then he scooped you into his arms.

"You are such a romantic," you said, giggling.

"I try," he teased, carrying you inside.

He set you down in the entryway, and then took your hand, leading you around. It was a gorgeous home, and it was obvious that Elijah had put a lot of work into it.

But he didn't give you much time to admire it, before he was on you, quickly dragging you to the bedroom.

His hands roaming your body, his mouth crashing onto yours, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer.

"Don't you dare rip my wedding dress Mr. Mikaelson," you breathed.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured, his hands gently tugging the fabric.

You giggled and pushed him away, holding his gaze, then you turned and looked over your shoulder at him, motioning to the buttons going down your back.

His fingers deftly undid the small buttons, taking his time, as if he was savoring each one. He kissed along the back of your neck and shoulders, pushing the straps of the dress off, and letting it fall to the ground.

His hands went to your waist, helping you step out of the dress, and he knelt down, picking it up and placing it carefully on a nearby chair.

"Such a gentleman," you said, softly.

His gaze roamed over your body, admiring the way the lingerie clung to your skin, accentuating every curve.

"Gorgeous," he said, stepping closer, his fingers tracing along the boning of the corset.

Your hands went to his chest, reaching up to undo his bowtie. He watched your hands, his eyes darkening with desire.

You tossed the tie aside, and began unbuttoning his shirt. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, your hands continuing their path.

When you got to his pants, you stopped, a wicked grin spreading across your face. You ran your finger along his waistband, teasing him.

He groaned and picked you up, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck.

In an instant you were on the bed, the speed of vampires never ceased to amaze you. You lay there, looking up at him, your hair fanning out around your head, and you couldn't help but grin.

"Will you teach me to do that?" You asked, referring to the vamp speed.

He chuckled, leaning down and kissing your cheek. "Of course, my love. I will teach you everything you need to know."

You smiled, then reached up and pulled him down, crushing your lips together. He pressed his hips against yours, and you could feel the bulge in his pants.

"What else can you teach me?" You whispered, biting your lip and looking into his eyes, trying to look all sweet and innocent.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, his eyes darkening. "Lots of things."

You ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly. "I can't wait."

He grinned and leaned in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands moving all over your body, caressing and squeezing.

"But first I'm going to take this corset off." He said, his fingers trailing down your chest and finding the ribbons. "I'm going to untie it slowly, and then I'm going to kiss every inch of your skin."

You let out a small gasp, his words sending a wave of arousal through you. He pressed his hips harder against your hand, still working to slowly untie the first ribbon.

"I'm going to make you come all over my tongue," He said, his voice raspy and low, working on loosening the second ribbon, pulling it free. "Over," He tugged on the third, "And over," the fourth, "And over."

You moaned, his words making you dizzy, and he grinned, pulling the last ribbon loose.

The corset fell away, and Elijah quickly pulled it from you, tossing it aside. His hands were on your breasts immediately, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, causing them to harden.

He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out and swirling around one nipple, before sucking it into his mouth.

You were panting, your hands gripping the sheets, watching as he made his way down, slowly removing your panties. He kissed his way up your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

He looked up at you and smirked, then slowly lowered his head, groaning as he licked a broad stroke over your pussy.

You gasped, arching your back, pushing yourself closer to him. He chuckled, his hands gripping your thighs, pushing them further apart, his tongue teasing and licking at your clit.

You were in heaven. The sounds he was making, the way he was devouring you, it all felt incredible. You couldn't help the moans and whimpers escaping from your throat, only fueling him on.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight of him between your legs, the way his gaze would meet yours sent a thrill through you. He looked so content and satisfied, his eyes hooded, his tongue working you expertly.

He suddenly slipped a finger inside you, curling it against your walls, searching for that sweet spot. When he found it, he smirked, picking up the pace of his tongue lapping at your clit.

You came undone in seconds. Your walls clenched around his finger and your back arched, crying out his name.

He lifted his head, staring up at you, his eyes black. He licked his lips and winked at you, two of his fingers still pumping in and out of you.

He looked down at your flushed face and swollen lips, watching your body coming down from your high. You were always so beautiful after an orgasm. He could always coax these little spasms out of you afterwards, making you moan even more.

"I love you." He whispered. "My perfect wife."

With a wicked smirk, he slid a third finger in, curling against your g-spot, a delighted squeak escaping your lips as you squeezed his fingers.

"I can't wait to spend eternity with you," He said, his voice slow and gruff, the pleasure overwhelming you. "Watching you come like this, every night."

He continued to pump his fingers, with firm and steady strokes, the pressure building and building. Your body began to tense again, your moans becoming louder and more desperate. He grinned, watching you fall apart for him.

Your body started to shake, the waves of pleasure hitting you again and again, as you came on his fingers. He captured your lips in a rough kiss, swallowing your moans.

You collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily, the aftershocks still rolling through you. Elijah leaned down and kissed your neck, nuzzling against you.

"My wife," he said, savoring the way it sounded.

You giggled, still feeling a bit floaty. You looked up at him, taking in the sight of him. He was so handsome, his dark hair slightly disheveled, his eyes shining with love and affection.

"My husband," you said, reaching up and brushing some hair out of his eyes.

He smiled, his hands tracing along your bare skin. "You don't have to turn tonight, if you're not ready,"

You shook your head, smiling. "No, I want to. I'm ready."

"Are you sure?" He asked, his voice full of concern.

"Eli," you said, cupping his cheek. "I'll be okay,"

His expression turned a bit serious, his eyes flashing with worry.

"You're my whole world, I won't lose you," he said, kissing you deeply.

"You won't lose me," you said, softly.

"Promise?" He asked, his hand moving to your cheek, stroking it gently.

"I promise," you said, your heart fluttering.

He gently pushed your legs apart, his fingers stroking your thigh, the touch sending sparks through you.

"I will never let anything happen to you," he said, positioning himself between your legs.

"I know," you said, gasping when you felt him ease into you, slowly and gently.

"I love you," he said, leaning down and kissing your lips, as he began to move his hips, pushing himself deeper. "More than anything,"

"I love you, too." You gasped, wrapping your legs around him, pulling him closer.

One of his hands went to the small of your back, the other cradling behind your neck. He held you to him, forehead to forehead, his eyes boring into yours.

He rocked his hips, grinding against you, filling you completely. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, then his lips pressed against yours, whispering how much he loved you.

You felt as though your heart beats were the same, the way it was pounding in your chest, in time with his. The way he held you like this, close and tight, it was everything.

The heat and friction began building between you, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder. The air filled with the sounds of your moans and sighs, your bodies moving together.

You could feel another orgasm building, your breath coming in short, ragged pants. He seemed to sense this, his pace picking up, his eyes locked on yours.

"I want you to come with me," he said, his voice husky and low, as his hips drove into you, over and over.

"Yes," you whimpered, your fingers digging into his back, leaving crescent moon marks in his skin.

Together, you let go, your bodies trembling and shuddering, clinging to each other. He buried his face in your neck, groaning, his teeth scraping your skin.

You lay there for a few moments, holding each other, your breathing slowly returning to normal. His lips were still against your neck, his arms wrapped around you.

"Elijah?" You asked, hesitantly.

"Mmm?" He mumbled, not wanting to move.

"I know how I want to die," you said, quietly.

He pulled back, looking at you. ". . . You do?"

You nodded, chewing your bottom lip, you weren't sure if he would be willing to do this for you.

"I want you to drink from me," you said, softly.

His eyes widened, a look of shock on his face.

"I mean, only if you're okay with it. We can find a different way... You can just snap my neck like we originally planned... I just thought...," you said, quickly, starting to ramble.

He cut you off with a deep, passionate kiss.

"Are you sure?" He asked, once the kiss broke.

You nodded, a shy smile on your face.

"Absolutely."

"Alright, but if it gets too much, tell me. We can always stop," he said, his hand resting on your cheek.

"Okay," you said, nodding.

He sat up, leaning against the headboard, pulling you into his lap. His hands on your hips, he didn't move for a moment, just looked at you, a gentle smile on his lips.

"I'm ready Elijah... I want this," you said, cupping his face, and brushing your lips against his.

He kissed you softly, with pure tenderness and love. He looked into your eyes, and you could see the conflicting emotions running through him. Fear, happiness, sorrow, joy.

You stroked his cheek, reassuring him.

"I love you," he said, biting down on his wrist and bringing it to your lips.

"I love you, too," you whispered, taking his blood into your mouth, his free arm wrapping around your waist.

His wrist fell away, and he tilted his head, pressing his lips to yours. Then, he kissed a trail down your neck, stopping right over the vein.

You could feel the sharpness of his fangs, his mouth ghosting across your skin. His hands moved to your back, rubbing it soothingly. He was still hesitating.

Your hands gripped his chest, preparing for the sting of pain, the dark shroud of death that awaited you.

His fangs sank into you, and your body jerked. But the pain was fleeting, as the pleasure began to take over. His hands moved up and down your back, pulling you closer, his mouth working over the bite.

He was so gentle, and tender, the way he was holding you, caressing you. It made your heart swell with love, as the blood flowed from you.

He drank slowly, savoring the taste of your blood, listening to your heart beating slower, your breathing becoming shallower.

He could feel your life force slipping away, the blood no longer rushing through your veins. He felt an almost uncontrollable fear, and he had to fight the urge to let go.

You began to drift away, darkness creeping around the edge of your vision. Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart skipping a beat, before it came to a complete stop.

He pulled his mouth away, and pressed his forehead to yours, his tears falling on your face.

He let out a choked sob, the anguish of losing you was too much. He knew you would return, but in this place of nothingness, the void, it was all too real.

Your body was cuddled into his, your head resting in his shoulder, the wound on your neck still oozing blood.

He closed his eyes, and focused on the future, of all the things he would teach you. The places he would take you. The adventures you would have.

He was going to make the most of this eternity with you.

It didn't take long for your heart beat to return, or for you to stir. Your eyes opened slowly, blinking against the light.

"Eli?"

He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Welcome back," he said, smiling.

You returned his smile, snuggling against him, and sighing.

"How do you feel?" He asked, his arms tightening around you.

"Hungry."

He laughed, stroking your hair. "I have just the thing for that,"

You nodded, sitting up, and looking at him. He looked tired, his eyes rimmed with red, his hair tousled.

"Have you been crying?" You asked, gently.

He nodded, looking a little embarrassed.

You kissed him softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"It's alright, my love. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere," you whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

"Good," he said, letting out a shaky breath.

He held you, his hands stroking your back, your hair.

You lay there for a while, in the safety of his arms, before he pulled away, and smiled at you.

He reached for a blood bag he had gotten ready, and handed it to you. You tore into the bag, and drank deeply. You hadn't realized how thirsty you were, until you tasted the blood. It was sweet, and thick, and it was exactly what you needed.

He watched your eyes turn black, dark veins snaking underneath them, and smiled. You were beautiful.

When you were done, he tossed the bag aside, and wrapped his arms around you again.

"So, what happens now?" You asked, your eyes searching his.

"We live.”

[scribblesofagoonerr]

hc’s about a zoo day with Buddy and Monkey and how chaotic they are? 💗

— trip to the zoo | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

oh i absolutely love this one, here's an adorable hc of a trip to the zoo with the dynamic duo! 💗

buddy and monkey's trips to the zoo are always pretty chaotic to say the least, the whole day is an adventure for the dynamic duo!

"monkey! oo-oo! ahh-ahh!"

"whoa, look at the giraffes!"

"penguins! monkey, look, penguins!"

"lions, wow!"

it wasn't too bad when buddy wasn't able to walk, it was only monkey that she had to wrangle, but thankfully she wasn't alone in that as jordan accidentally spilled the news that the makeshift family of 4 were heading to the zoo, and soon it became a trip that the rest of the arsenal girls tagged along on.

once buddy learnt how to walk, leah isn't exactly sure who she spent more time chasing after given the excitement that both of the girls had.

it's also the first time that she realises it was a rookie error to leave buddy's pushchair behind.

wrangling both buddy and monkey at the same time was a challenge in itself, even with lia there as a pair of extra hands.

"buddy! monkey! don't run off too far!"

"regretting bringing the pushchair, huh?"

"don't even-- girls! come back here!"

"what made you think leaving it at home was a good idea?"

"I... I don't know, okay? monkey, do not try and climb over the enclosure! buddy, don't copy monkey!"

leaving the zoo with buddy in her arms and holding a tight grip of the back of monkey's t-shirt, leah felt like her stress levels had definitely reached a new level.

"let me go, let me go,"

"get off me, le!"

"this was supposed to be a nice day out, and instead i spent the better half of it chasing after you both!"

"i just wanted to show buddy the animals!"

"yeah, no kidding there,"

"you really should have brought the pushchair with you,"

"well, i'll remember for next time... maybe a leash as well just in case."

so it's safe to say that the next trip they took the zoo, leah was more than prepared to handle it.

keep the hc's coming through, there so much fun to write! 💗

[illumnis]

finish line. — you and alhaitham are not friends, far from it. you're not exactly lovers either; so why does he decide to take ten steps back and settle for aquaintances?

pairing: alhaitham x gn!reader

warnings: kinda toxic? idk to each and their own, he's just really emotionally ignorant, mentions of non-sexual nudity, angst, unedited

note: look what i'm back with (i am so sorry this is bad,,, i haven't written in AGES), also happy summer i am officially not a highschooler anymore!

alhaitham is efficient. he decides what is considered more work than necessary and greatly succeeds with the basic necessities. this also means that alhaitham has every intention to finish what he starts and only starts what he knows he can finish.

alhaitham also holds your hand so you can fall asleep at night despite the nightmares that plague your imagination, but he leaves before you can wake up. alhaitham helps you scrub away the finely ground sand off of your sweaty body after a research project done on the dunes residing in the sumerian desert, even allowing you to do the same to him, but he always rejects your offer to cook him dinner afterwards in celebration of the grueling excursion. alhaitham whispers how you're devastatingly beautiful as he washes your hair without care if you hear him or not, but he can't bring himself to help you dry it.

for once in his life, alhaitham has started something he can't bring himself to finish.

he wonders why you're bitter all of a sudden. how you can't bring yourself to look at him in the eyes anymore, how you walk a step behind him instead of a linked pace, how you don't let him touch your hair anymore, how you don't invite him over or ask if you can tag along on his journeys to the desert.

you're avoiding him and he blames his irritation on the fact that friends aren't supposed to brush each other off.

you're not entirely sure when the two of you started treading the line between acceptable and having alhaitham push you away, but the unspoken agreement was that this was all it was going to be. you're not like alhaitham. often times, you walk the world on your terms, which must be why you now found yourself on the opposing side of the agreement.

who can blame you? he's seen you, flesh and bone. under your clothes and to your heart. he's seen you, your rampant imagination, both the good and the bad parts. he's seen you most vulnerable, stating that even this side of you is worth adoring.

the waiting game was a exhausting one, even before, you knew he'd be the last person to bring your... situation with him up; which is why you settle for slowly stretching the strings of your relationship until they snap, and you never have to look back.

or that was at least the idea until you were crying behind the akademiya over an offhanded comment that your least favourite professor had made about you. he was there, somehow he always is, and he was holding you. his warmth was the same as it had been since you had last invited him over, which only made you cry more. had your absence not frosted his heart over at least a little?

by the time you're done crying, you are no longer in his arms and he looks at you with a mixture of hurt and comfort. something vengeful in you is satisfied that you have given him a taste of how he leaves you.

"i'll always be here when you need me, yn, regardless of if you choose to stop being acquainted with me or not."

somehow, his reassuring words do the opposite and the vengeful spirit in you grows.

"then why can't you let me need you all the time? what's stopping you from letting us rely on each other? it's not like you act like we don't already."

this seals his lips and a subtle frown paints itself over his them and something inside you aches. you have always prided yourself in being able to bring the most emotion out of him that anyone has in years. now, you are stuck with pitiful expressions; frowns nonetheless.

it's a heavy silence that takes over the atmosphere before you've decided that whether you hear his answer or not, you'll still hear your glass heart shatter. so you move to get up.

"i can't take the risk. not yet." it flows out of his mouth so naturally. almost like he's been waiting for your confrontation.

"risk? what risk, alhaitham? look at what you've started, you've already taken it," you're fuming, a new level of self-loathing filling your being at the idea of you being so naive to believe that someone who can't even call you a friend could be full of love, "either finish what you've started, or destroy it before you lose yourself in it."

alhaitham's silence elicits a scoff from your lips and you're grateful you had shaken yourself out of his touch earlier, or else you'd find yourself back at square one; forgiving him and asking once more if he'd let you make him dinner hoping his answer would be different.

you'll help him out one last time, you guess. walking away as he doesn’t spare you a glance, stuck in the position that was meant to comfort you, only for it to end whatever mess he had started.

navi. mlist.

[dreamy-diva]

Pov: when your arranged marriage husband finds you reading smut manga....

Tags: fem!reader, Nanami x reader, arranged marriage, makes you cum again after again, unprotected, smut

Your parents forced you to marry a normal salaryman guy named Nanami Kento, you didn't even bother to say otherwise because you knew your parents didn't give a fuck about your opinions. You thought him to be just an average looking guy but when you actually saw him, your jaw dropped.

He got that jawline face, muscled body, just perfect. It's been some days since you married him but being shy and introverted, you can't even look him in his eyes when he is talking. He often catches you staring at him down there and you just look away so smoothly. You have such an innocent face that no one can imagine what goes in your pretty head. You are reading a smut manga named 'My husband keeps me awake whole night' with the description on the poster 'big dick deep inside me', the male lead exactly looks like Nanami and yes that's why you are reading this manga.

You got in the shower, placing your phone on the table. Just then Nanami got back home from his work and sat down on the sofa, the notification bell beeped, screen lightened your phone saying 'my husband keeps me awake whole night is updated'. He saw the manga poster and description, his mouth parted, eyes darted.

You came from the shower and saw Nanami standing arms crossed against his chest, holding your phone. Why the hell is he has my phone, you thought. You were just about to say when he cornered you to the wall, not giving you space.

"I didn't know that you read these kinds of stuff, wifey", showing you the manga cover, "big dick deep inside me, wait isn't he looking like me", his eyebrow furrowed questioning you.

You thought of many excuses but no you should say the truth, he is your husband after all. "Yes I ..read these , and so what huh if he looks like you", you said nervously, not looking at him. "Is that so, how many fantasies you got there in your head,let me listen, I can fulfill them",he whispered in your ears, your heartbeat increasing, eyes dilating.

"Do you wanna see if it's not just my face that resembles him?", he smirked looking down at you. This literally made your knees weak, you nodded to his question. "I knew it, it's always the innocent faced..", he carried you in bridal style, placed you on the bed.

He kissed you so gently, gesturing you to open your mouth, his tongue inside you, basically devouring the hell out of you. He opened your shirt, unhooked your bra, his eyes darting from your face to your bosom, his tongue out licking your nipples, one of his hands on your other bosom, massaging them.

"They feel so good in my mouth", cupping them in his large hands, making you squirm, eyes closed out of embarassment. "Open your eyes, I want you to see me", his fingers making lazy circles on your lower stomach, making you moan out of pleasure.

"I think I'm gonna....", you covered your face,and fuck he didn't even touch you there and yet you are this sensitive. Your body trembles and you came. "You are so sensitive, sweetheart, he removes your panty, slides a finger inside your pussy, in out , up down , then two fingers thrusting inside you, making you drive crazy.

"I have already cum..hngh.. Kento", listening his name with your mouth, made him smile. "You don't want this, so you want me to stop", his fingers still inside you.

"No, ..hngh..I want ..I want you inside me", your face flushed, eyes watered, mouth parted.

"Undress me", he pulled out his fingers. Then came the realisation that he is fully clothed and you are just lying under him naked and also came.

You untied his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his belt, removed his pant, now comes the boxer , which you can see his hard cock itching to be free. Sliding his boxers down, his cock sprang in front of your eyes, long and thick will it fit inside you, this thought made you gulp. He was looking down at you with a smug face "Do you wanna ride it", he pinned you down.

He slides it tip up and down teasing your throbbing clit. "Please ..Kento...", you arch. "Please what", he bit your neck. "Please fuck me already".

He thrust inside you making you dizzy. His cock is so deep inside you already.

His face focused, thrusting in and out. Hitting the spot, making you squirm, moan, scream his name.

"Yes, Good girl, yes just like that... hngh... scream my fucking name, you wanted it just like this, rough and raw". You climaxed , panting, your body trembling, locking your eyes with him.

"Don't think it finished, get on your fours, now".

[justauthoring]

and i wonder... who? [6]

somehow, you find yourself torn between the two hottest guys at your school and you have no idea who to choose. loosely based off of operation: true love where geto is eunhyeuk and gojo is dohwa :)

a/n: sorry for the delayed update! life kind of took a sporadic turn lol and the next few chapters might take a bit but i'll try my best <3

pairing: geto suguru x f!reader, gojo satoru x f!reader, satosugu x f!reader

tag list: @username23356-blog - @anxious-chick - @novacaneformybrain - @mandysfanfics - @rottmntrulesall - @voiceofnoreturn - @rh-tg1 - @ky0mybeloved - @black-swan-blog27 - @ladytamayolover - @the8ate - @maybe-a-bi-with - @dudalo100 - @reese-is-right - @6lonely-town6 - @its-a-damn-blue-brick - @kimi01985 - @dorusken - @siimp4youu - @catobsessedlady - @paper--angel - @animechick555 - @meshiinuma - @xxannyxx - @kaeyaviado - @kochochan-shinobulvrrs - @ichikanu - @valeriinee - @yourfavepookiebear let me know if you'd like to added! also i still don't know how to fix the tags - it works in editing but doesn't link some when i post it. if anyone knows how to fix this, please let me know!

Gojo knew exactly what Geto was up to and he had no intentions of letting him win.

He really thought he was being so suave and kind.

Gojo could see right through the bullshit.

That in of itself was truly Geto’s biggest mistake – given how often Gojo spent his time bullshitting other people, it wasn’t hard to tell when others were doing it. Sure, Gojo had no intention of doing that to you, but the fact remained plain and simple; people were gullible and fell for Gojo’s ‘charm’ every time just like he could see right through their sweet smiles and kind words.

Everybody wanted the same thing in the end and no one really truly cared about him. At least, not as a person.

Except for you.

You were different. He could tell immediately. The second he’d bumped into you that day and instead of grovelling on your knees with an apology like every single other person would’ve–you got mad. You actually got angry at him. You weren’t all fake smiles and sweet words, and that’s when Gojo instantly knew that you were different. You weren’t just automatically nice to him because of who he was and because you thought you could get something from him; no, you were nice to him because you actually cared.

Sure, it was fun teasing you. Fun seeing your face grow embarrassed and you stutter over your words, but what Gojo liked best was when you thought no one was watching and you’d have this look on your face. This concentrated, twisted face that was completely you in every meaning of the word.

Truth be told, Gojo thought it was beautiful.

He thought you were beautiful.

So, yeah, sure… It was a bummer when he realized he wasn’t the only guy who had eyes for you–and he wasn’t talking about Sukuna. Sukuna hadn’t even been a threat before you’d broken up with him. Just a few questions here and there and it was abundantly clear to Gojo that Sukuna was a horrible boyfriend and although he hadn’t really understood at the time why you’d still stuck with him, he wasn’t worried about getting you to break up with your loser boyfriend.

And hey! Then you went and did it yourself.

Now, it wasn’t like he was saying Geto was a threat—because he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t. But, it had been just the tiniest bit annoying (yeah, that was the word) for Gojo to find out that he wasn’t the only one who’d realized how amazing you were and if the looks on Geto’s face were anything to go by, it seemed Geto was just as down bad as he was. And sure, he’d been peeved when he’d seen that you’d, at some point, borrowed Geto’s hoodie–and washed it for him, and Geto had been at your house–but it’s fine.

These were all just tiny blimps and Gojo knew he’d be able to win you over easily.

Not that you were just a prize to be won. That certainly was not it.

Gojo’s intentions weren’t just for the sake of it—he’d said it already, hadn’t he?

He thought you were beautiful, kind, funny (the list went on) and you were the only one who had ever been real around him. And Gojo wasn’t about to give that up for anything.

So, no, Gojo wasn’t stupid. He could see Geto’s plan from a mile away to sway you over and he had no intention of losing.

-

You’re starting to think inviting both Geto and Gojo to hang out wasn’t such a great idea.

And it wasn’t because you didn’t want to hang out with them. No, that certainly was not it. Although you’d only known them for a short amount of time, you considered them friends and you hoped they felt the same.

It’s just… well, maybe you underestimated just how much the two didn’t like each other.

It definitely didn’t seem like they were all that concerned with hiding it from you either; at least not anymore.

If anything, it felt like a constant battle between them all night, with the winning side tipping towards the both of them back and forth. Like a relentless, painful game of tug of war.

One second it was Geto tugging you towards a ride, deliberately leaving Gojo trailing behind, and then the next it was Gojo getting you to try some sort of sweet he’d bought and purposefully making sure that Geto could see him spoon-feeding you. You’re not really sure why they’re tug of war is centered around you, but you were tired of being the bait every time.

Now, sitting on a bench, you could physically feel the two of them glaring at each other from over your head on either side of you.

“Ugh!” you cry, pushing yourself to a sudden stand before spinning around to face them. They both start at your sudden outburst, wide eyes falling on you, before flinching when you shove your finger in both of their faces. “I can’t take the two of you! Constantly fighting all night! This was supposed to be fun but it’s been nothing but awkward and tense all night!”

Lips parting, they slowly glance at each other.

Gojo is the first to speak up, pouting; “but Y/N! He’s been trying to hog you all night.”

“Tch,” Geto scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he rolls his eyes. “As if. At least I don’t try to feed her every snack I find.” Then, turning to Gojo, Geto smirks; “what are you? Her mother?”

“I’m being considerate for your information,” Gojo growls, leaning towards Geto without missing a beat. “Did you even bother to ask her if the rides you dragged her on were ones she wanted to go on? I’m pretty sure—”

“This is exactly what I mean!” You cut in, holding your hands out toward them in exasperation. At the dumb look they both give you, you throw your hands in the air; “that’s it. I’m going to the washroom and when I come back, the two of you better have made up or else I’m leaving.”

At that, both of their eyes widened.

When neither of them say anything, you just sigh. 

“I’ll be back.” 

Shoulders slumping, you turn, not bothering to give them another glance before making your way towards the bathroom. It takes you a minute to find the washroom and it’s a little far from Geto and Gojo, but you figure the distance just gives them more time to work out their issues, so you’re not worried. After you’re done, you wash your hands, humming softly to yourself as you dry your hands before making your way out.

Only, you find yourself bumping into another.

“Oh, I’m so–”

Your words, however, fall flat the second you see who you bumped into.

“Su-Sukuna—”

Not wasting a second, Sukuna grabs you by the arm; “can we talk for a second?”

You step back instantly. “I’m actually here with—”

“Geto and Gojo,” he cuts in, voice sharp. His grip never lessens despite you trying to pull away and then suddenly you find yourself being dragged around the side of the washroom, Sukuna pulling you into a more secluded area away from prying eyes. You try not to stumble on your feet as he drags you, forcing the both of you to a stop the second you find your footing and casting a nervous glance around you when you realize no one really can see either of you.

“I know,” Sukuna finishes the second the both of you stop. Your eyes fall on him at his tone, leaning back when you see the nasty glare on his face. “Didn’t take you long to move on, did it?”

Lips parting, you’re baffled; “Su–Sukuna, did you follow me here?”

He scoffs, as if that’s absurd. “I overhead you at school. I invited Mei Mei with me,” he explains with a shrug. “She’s… somewhere.”

Annoyed, you raise your hand, grabbing the one holding your arm and ripping it off of you by the wrist. Sukuna watches you with thin lips. “That still sounds like following me,” you hiss, narrowing your eyes up at him. “And what? Just wanted to wait until I was alone before you cornered me?”

“You’re being dramatic,” Sukuna scoffs. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Stepping back from him, you cross your arms. “Why?” You bluntly ask, tilting your head. “Because I have nothing to say to you.”

“I want to finish our conversation from last time,” Sukuna explains, stepping towards you.

“There’s nothing to say,” you state, putting emphasis on the word ‘nothing’ to make it clear. “I broke up with you. That’s it. And I have no intention of “continuing” our conversation,” you make the air quotes as you speak, “when you gave me bruises the last time we spoke. I’ve had to sweat in sweaters and hoodies all week and was only able to properly cover them with makeup today.”

Frowning, Sukuna swallows thickly. 

“And why do you even care?” You ask, shaking your head as you shove at his chest lightly. “I moved on too quickly? Didn’t you cheat on me?”

Taking your wrist in his hand, Sukuna’s eyes flash, like he’s going to do something, before he stops himself, face falling briefly. “What do you want me to do?” And oddly, his voice sounds different; twisted and distressed… almost, desperate? “You want me to beg? Get on my knees and beg for you to reconsider?”

Well, that certainly wasn’t what you were expecting.

Still, you find no true argument with his words.

“Yeah,” you say without hesitation, straightening your back out as you step towards him. “Kneel.”

And there’s the briefest moment of pause, stilling and suffocating silence, before you feel a sharp sting across your cheek.

-

“Well, this is getting nowhere.”

Huffing, Geto shakes his head; “clearly.”

Silence follows. Despite Geto’s sarcasm, Gojo shockingly doesn’t retort in return, and then, unfortunately, Geto finds himself sitting there in silence, Gojo doing the same beside him, the both of them waiting for you to return.

Even if that means you’ll all just end up leaving because Geto and Gojo couldn’t work out their differences for one night.

This certainly wasn’t what Geto imagined for your first date with him – upsetting you enough that you’d leave… but hey, Gojo wasn’t supposed to be here either so it’s not entirely his fault.

…Right?

Sinking further against the bench, Geto lets his head lean back, glancing up at the darkening sky.

A minute passes. Then another. Then another.

Geto frowns. Sitting back up, he glances in the direction you’d left, brows furrowing when he doesn’t see you peeking through the crowd. A quick glance at his phone tells him you’ve been gone for at least ten minutes, maybe more… it didn’t take you that long to go to the washroom, did it?

“She’s taking a long time, isn’t she?”

Face falling, Geto glances at Gojo. If he was thinking the same thing, then…

With a split second decision, the both of them stand up, not wasting a second before heading in the direction they saw you leave in. Geto sees the sign to the washroom after two minutes of walking and his panic really starts to settle in then, eyes frantically glancing around to see even a flash of you somewhere.

But you’re nowhere to be found.

“Can you see her?” Geto asks, turning to Gojo beside him.

The white-haired boy is frowning; “no. She’s not here.”

Chest tightening, Geto tries to ignore the racing of his heart as he frantically glances around. The park isn’t that busy but still, it’s overwhelming him just how many people he’s seeing that aren’t you… Where could you have gone in the ten minutes since you’d gone to the washroom? 

Then, briefly, Geto sees a familiar head of blueish-white hair.

It’s Mei Mei.

Which meant…

“Gojo,” Geto calls sharply, pulling the boy's attention on him.

“What?” Gojo calls, stepping towards him. “Did you find her? I can’t see her anywhere.”

“No, but I know where she might be.”

Not bothering to explain, Geto starts to walk towards Mei Mei, Gojo quickly moves to follow after him, but he makes it a total of five steps before Gojo is suddenly calling your name. Startled and confused, Geto glances back at Gojo only to see the guy heading to the right and as Geto’s eyes trail upwards and sees you, he swears he sees red.

- 

What?

What… just happened?

Bringing a hand to your cheek, you stare back at Sukuna in disbelief. To his credit, even he seems a bit shocked by his actions, but the anger easily takes over any shock and his face twists into something nasty as he takes the wrist of the hand holding your cheek and tugs you towards him.

Your mind is numb. You can feel your eyes welling with tears, not so much because of the pain but because of the sudden fear radiating through your veins and the way it feels like you can’t breathe, but yet your body refuses to move. You know you should—you know you should be trying to get as far away from Sukuna as possible, but your body won’t listen.

Neither will your mind.

“Me!” Sukuna cries out, sound estranged as he squeezes your wrist hard. “Kneel for you?! Are you insane? You should be thanking me for ever even considering giving you the light of day when you’re nothing but—”

But Sukuna never finishes his words. 

One second, he’s in front of you and the next he isn’t. You’re left standing there, confused, cheek still hurting, wrist aching, arms left before you, before there’s another set of hands pressing into you but this time they’re warm and gentle and soft and wait—

You’ve felt these hands before.

You blink and then suddenly Gojo’s familiar blue eyes are staring into your own with concern, lips parting as he asks you what you’re sure is if you’re okay even though you can’t hear him actually say the words.

But you can’t think of how to respond to him because your eyes slowly shift to his left and you finally see Sukuna. Only, he’s on his back and Geto is over top of him, gripping him by the front of his shirt before swinging his free hand back and punching him square in the face.

Oh. 

Oh.

“—Y/N. Y/N! Look at me! Are you okay?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turn back to Gojo. “I’m… I’m okay.”

His hands leave you and a start of panic floods you, but then his palm is pressing gently into your stinging cheek and your eyes flutter as it instantly soothes the ache; even if a little.

“Your cheek is red,” Gojo mumbles, frowning. “That fucking asshole.”

And his narrowed eyes glance back at Sukuna.

That reminds you—

Your eyes shift and Geto is still punching Gojo and your face falls when you see his knuckles are slightly red—bloody.

“Geto…” You call but your voice comes out as a whisper, panic crawling up your throat. Geto lands another hit on Sukuna and you swear you hear the sound of his fist making contact with your cheek and the panic deepens because something about seeing Geto that angry scares you. “Geto–please… please—!”

You’re stepping forward even as Gojo tries to pull you back, but you manage to catch a grip on the back of Geto’s sweater just as a high-pitched scream echoes. Mei Mei comes running in just as Geto finally focuses on your touch, your knuckles turning white from how hard you’re clutching onto his shirt.

Breathless, panting, Geto lets his eyes fall on you, then Gojo who nods at him, before falling back on Sukuna who has a bloody nose and what looks like a black eye and then, finally, Mei Mei who is falling on her knees beside him.

“What did you do?” She cries, voice shrieking. Her watery eyes meet Geto’s eyes directly. “What did you do!”

Stepping back, Geto stumbles, and Gojo moves to steady him just as you reach for his hand.

You frown at how bruised it is.

Gojo watches the interaction for a moment before speaking up; “we should probably get her out of here.”

Still somewhat breathless, Geto nods; “yeah,” he calls out, voice hoarse.

Gojo sets a hand against your back and Geto is threading his bruised fingers through yours, and the both of them tug you out, not letting you see Sukuna and ignoring Mei Mei’s cries of indignation. 

And the three of you don’t stop once.

-

“That was honestly kind of badass.”

“Satoru.”

“I mean it!”

Snorting, Geto rolls his eyes, before meeting Gojo’s. “Thanks.” 

Grinning, Gojo sends him a thumbs up.

“This isn’t a joke,” you cut in, carefully wrapping a bandage around Geto’s knuckles. “You could get in serious trouble for this if he tells the school. Or worse, if Mei Mei does.”

“Psh,” Gojo laughs, “they won’t.”

You turn to him in disbelief. “And how do you know that?”

“If Sukuna says something, he’ll not only be a snitch but his reputation will be ruined. I mean, he lost… badly. He didn’t even get one hit in,” Gojo explains with a grin, stepping towards you and Geto who are sitting on your couch. “There’s no way he’d ever admit to that. And Mei Mei won’t either because she’ll do anything Sukuna says.”

Biting your lip, you take in Gojo’s explanation — honestly, you couldn’t find any fault in his explanation.

“Besides,” Geto speaks up, eyes focused on you. “He deserved it. For hitting you.”

Sitting on the single chair across from you, Gojo lets out a heavy breath; “ditto. The guys a dick.” 

Frowning, you set Geto’s hand down, now fully bandaged, hugging yourself as you glance at your feet.

Geto and Gojo glance at each other.

“What happened?” Geto asks after a moment, voice low.

Pinching your arms slightly, you sigh.

“Y/N,” Gojo pushes, “come on.”

“I don’t even know.” You breathe after a moment, shoulders slumping. “I was just leaving the washroom and then I bumped into him and when I tried to get away, he just… grabbed me. I didn’t think–... I didn’t think he get that mad.”

Meeting each other's eyes, Geto speaks up first; “what did he want?”

“He wanted… to get back together,” you choose not to mention the part when he insinuated you were easy by being with Geto and Gojo… that would only egg them on further. And even if Geto decided he didn’t want to get his hands anymore bloody, you couldn’t count on Gojo feeling the same way. “When I told him no, he asked me if I wanted him to beg. I said yes.”

There’s a stunned silence, then Gojo laughs. You blink at him, surprised, having expected they’d curse you out for being so stupid to try and talk back to Sukuna, but Gojo is laughing and when you turn back to Geto, he’s smirking.

You bite back a smile.

“Nice,” Gojo snorts. “The man could be knocked down a peg or two.”

You just nod to yourself, secretly really happy they both liked your confidence.

But then, you remember what you’d originally been saying; “anyways… After that, he—... slapped me. I was shocked and my body wouldn’t move, so he grabbed him and truthfully I don’t know what he would’ve done but you guys got there before he could.” Hesitating a second, you meet both of their eyes. “Thank you.”

Gojo nods, but Geto just glances at you, then, you watch as his eyes lower towards your arm.

Your back straightens.

“Is that the only time he’s hurt you?”

Eyes widening, you freeze. “W-What?” 

Reaching forward, Geto takes your wrist in his own—instantly, you notice how much more gentle his touch is. His fingers loop around the length of your wrist but he doesn’t squeeze or pull, and you follow his lead, despite your nerves, easily as he shifts your arm, moving it so it's raised. He then takes his free hand and rubs at your arm.

You watch with parted lips as he rubs the foundation you’d put there clean off, revealing a faint and healing bruise.

“It’s why you were wearing sweaters all week, yeah?” Geto asks, meeting your gaze with lidded, dark eyes.

Swallowing thickly, you nod.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Gojo cuts in, pulling your attention away from Geto and on him as his face tenses. 

“I’ll help you.” Geto adds, letting your arm fall softly by your side, nodding over at Gojo.

You watch the two of them for a moment, before realizing; 

“Hey!” You suddenly call, ignoring the mood as you smile at them. “You two are getting along!”

Geto and Gojo stare at you blankly.

“That’s what you’re concerned with?” Geto asks incredulously.

“Why not?” You laugh, shaking your head. “This is what I wanted all night!,” then, lowering your voice, you add; “even if it is bonding over talk of murder…”

There’s a beat of silence, then, Geto snorts, a second later, Gojo follows by a laugh of his own. You all glance at each other for a moment longer, before bursting out in a collective laugh, your head falling back as you clutch at your stomach, giggling.

[clarionglass]

gang,,,,, gang. i am honestly still reeling from The game changer account reblogging the comic,,,, my god. my god.

for newcomers: welcome! thank you for being here!! for those who may have only seen the part of the fic linked to the comic, this is part 6 in the series (because truly i cannot stop myself). all the other parts are linked in the lil game master cinematic universe blurb i've got down the bottom of the post, and the whole thing is now on ao3!

and speaking of my lil blurby thing, if anyone else wants to play around in the game master cinematic universe, tag me so i don't miss it and i'll add whatever you make to the list!! and if you just want to chat about the crossover, hit me up! truly i am so happy to have as many people playing in this sandbox as want to be here :D

but anyway, without further ado:

a selection of correspondence (game master cinematic universe, part 6) | read on ao3

From: Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) To: Group <Dropout cast and crew> Subject: Announcements and info

Hi all,

Just a quick announcement that we have a new member of the team joining us at Dropout! Some of you have met him already, although you may not have realised it—he worked on A Game Most Changed and Escape the Greenroom in season 5, and Bingo, Deja Vu, Beat the Buzzer and Sam Says 4 in season 6, doing some of the hosting in my place.

And before you ask how that can be, this man is my exact doppelganger! He’s a time traveling alien who, for the moment, we are calling Other Sam, because we’ve agreed that the name he’s chosen is not exactly appropriate in a workplace setting. He’s here on a kind of rehabilitation program, as shows like Game Changer provide the sort of enrichment that he needs, without him having to resort to things like planetary conquest and murder. We also have him to thank for our new studio—he has kindly allowed us to use his (currently grounded) spacetime machine to record in, seeing as he did blow up our original studio. On an operational basis, nothing should have changed with the studio, but I do recommend you don’t go poking around in cupboards, just in case.

I promise on everything dear to me that this is not a joke.

I hope you’ll all make Other Sam feel welcome! So there’s minimal confusion between the two of us, he and I will be taking care to differentiate ourselves (he says he will try and look, in his words, “more evil”, although I’ll admit I’m not quite sure how that will work).

Series leads and producers, if you would like to include Other Sam in one of your shows, please let me know. He’s a lot of fun to work with, and he’s promised us his best behaviour, so I can guarantee there will be none of the aforementioned planetary conquest and murder. Of course, the wellbeing of all Dropout cast and crew is my highest priority, so if any of you are not comfortable working with him, please let me know as well, and production and I will ensure you are not cast in the same episodes. In future seasons of Game Changer, we will be sharing the hosting duties, so if you’re on an episode, it’ll be made clear which of us you’ll be working with.

On a related note, you know I hate being the bearer of bad news about mandatory seminars, but there is a training seminar next Monday on psychic defence techniques. This seminar is a requirement if you’re going to be working with him, and even if you’re not planning on that, I’d strongly advise coming along anyway.

As always, if you’ve got any questions, don’t hesitate to get in touch!

Cheers, Sam

---

[Note: many responses with the general sentiment of “what the fuck?!” have not been included in the selection of return correspondence.]

---

From: Brennan Lee Mulligan (@gmail.com) To: Sam Reich (@droput.tv) Subject: Re: Announcements and info

I need this man in the dome immediately. 

---

From: Siobhan Thompson (@gmail.com) To: Sam Reich (@droput.tv) Subject: Re: Announcements and info

Hi Sam,

Many thanks for your email, and for letting us know about Other Sam. You don’t need to confirm or deny this, but I’m assuming he did something to us during the Deja Vu recording. I haven’t felt entirely comfortable around you since then, and until now I haven’t been able to find a logical reason why. You mentioned psychic defence techniques in your email, so I take it that there was some kind of mental fuckery involved—perhaps a memory wipe? 

I don’t know what he did, and I’m not sure I want to know, but whatever it is, I don’t think it’s good. I would very much appreciate it if I don’t have to work with him.

Best wishes, Siobhan

---

From: Grant O’Brien (@gmail.com) To: Sam Reich (@droput.tv) Subject: Re: Announcements and info

Hey Sam,

I’m already digging up info for a Breaking News segment. There’s someone on reddit called scarfytwin who says they might be able to give us some good info, but I might need to sign a few things first? Looks like it’s tangled up in some British government stuff, which is wild. Sounds juicy, whatever it is, and I reckon it would be good payback…

Best, Grant

---

From: Lou Wilson (@gmail.com) To: Sam Reich (@droput.tv) Subject: Re: Announcements and info

Man, are you telling me that Samuel Dalton was kind of a real fucking thing?? No way. If you let me punch him *hard* one time I’ll go on any show with him.

Cheers, Lou

---

From: Brian David Gilbert (@gmail.com) To: Sam Reich (@droput.tv) Subject: Re: Announcements and info

Hi Sam,

This explains a lot about the weird feelings I’ve been having since Deja Vu! I know something terrible probably happened during that recording, but I’d love to just sit down with Other Sam and have a chat. Do you recommend we just meet in a professional context, or would that be something you’re able to organize?

Thanks, Brian

---

From: Zac Oyama (@gmail.com) To: Sam Reich (@droput.tv) Subject: Re: Announcements and info

Cool.

---

From: Ally Beardsley (@gmail.com) To: Sam Reich (@droput.tv) Subject: Re: Announcements and info

Absolute freak behavior and i love this for you, sign me up for anything!

---

From: Mike Trapp (@gmail.com) To: Sam Reich (@droput.tv) Subject: Re: Announcements and info

Hi Sam,

Huh, that sure explains some things. This will probably be cool in future, but for right now, I think I need to do a bit of processing. I’ll let you know!

Cheers, Trapp

---

From: Vic Michaelis (@gmail.com) To: Sam Reich (@droput.tv) Subject: Re: Announcements and info

Hi Sam,

Intriguing! If you think he’d be up for the prosthetics, I’d love to have either of you on Very Important People next season. Both of you together would be even better!

Vic

---

From: Lily Du (@gmail.com) To: Sam Reich (@droput.tv) Subject: Re: Announcements and info

Hey Sam,

I’ve had a chat to Grant, and I would love to put this guy on Dirty Laundry. Grant says he’ll share what he finds out from the reddit person with me, and we might be able to make a good episode happen.

Cheers, Lily

---

From: Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) To: Other Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) Subject: Fwd: Announcements and info

Well, most people seem to have taken it well! Looks like we’ll be having some fun…

---

From: Other Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) To: Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) Subject: Re: Fwd: Announcements and info

“Not exactly appropriate in a workplace setting”?

---

From: Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) To: Other Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) Subject: Re: Re: Fwd: Announcements and info

We discussed this. You agreed.

---

From: Other Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) To: Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) Subject: Re: Re: Re: Fwd: Announcements and info

I most certainly did not. I said “hm”. “Hm” does not count as agreement.

---

From: Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) To: Other Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Fwd: Announcements and info

You do know this is a group of people who I can guarantee, on hearing the word “Master”, would react the exact same way Grant did?

---

From: Other Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) To: Sam Reich (@dropout.tv) Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Fwd: Announcements and info

Fine. “Other Sam” it is.

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x escape the death beam: x

by @bloopdydooooo drawing collection: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): x part four (you think you know someone): x part five (point and counterpoint): x part six (a selection of correspondence): you are here!

[sneakyboymerlin]

Can I ask for you to talk more about what you said in the tags of this post? Morgana went evil because she was classist and not because she was hurt? Can you go more into depth on that? I feel like Morgana's arc and her motivations are really hard to decipher because of the way she was written. Like one episode it seems like she just wants Uther dead, and then the next she wants Arthur dead too and she wants the crown and she's going after Emrys and that shift always confused me a little.

I always thought the interpretation that Merlin could have helped her more was valid. Like, yes I am completely in agreement that the entire point of 2x03 is that Merlin helped her when no one else would. But he also took back that help as the season went on, and betrayed her when he poisoned her. There WAS more he could have done, I think. He could have been honest about himself, but he wasn't. He could have simply told her that he suspected that maybe she was the center of the sleeping spell in the Fires of Idirsholas, but he didn't. He could have tried convincing Gauis to help her on his own, without bringing Merlin into it, but he didn't. (Even Katie McGrath said that she blamed Merlin for what became of Morgana.)

And yes, I know why these things didn't happen. Because the dragon told him not to and Gauis told him not to. But in the end these WERE Merlin's choices. And maybe if he had chosen differently, so would have Morgana.

Like, yes I agree that Morgana's choices were her own. But I don't think she made those choices in a vacuum.

As to the bit of her being classist, I think I understand what you mean? But I'm still confused because I wouldn't exactly call Morgana from season 1-2 or even season 3 a classist person. She was good back then, shared values with Arthur about what a better world would look like.

I'm just so intrigued by what you might mean, and I'm always looking for new ways to look at this story. It's lovely that after all this time there's still more to discuss.

Lot to unpack here.

For one thing, Morgana feeling hurt didn’t encourage her to kill or allow the killing of random uninvolved people, but especially the Druids + their sympathizers who were arrested in 2x03. She ignored her kin’s plight in favor of her own comfort, even though she is granted protections that those people couldn’t dream of. She’s very much a class traitor from the start, because she tends to be thinking more about how she feels than how others do. She’s more blatant in her self-loyalty later on, but it’s always been a theme with her.

As for Merlin, 2x12 was a mutual betrayal between him and Morgana. Morgana betrays him first in this episode by endorsing the fever spell that Morgause casts on Camelot. While she’s not fully informed at first, 1) Merlin has no way of knowing that (especially since she has formed similar alliances in 1x12 and 2x11), and 2) Morgana embraces Morgause’s plan after the fact (explicitly so in 3x01/2). Merlin then poisons Morgana in order to end the fever spell on Camelot, choosing the greater good over her as an individual. To clarify point 2 here, Morgana is aware long before 3x01 that Merlin poisoned her because everyone in Camelot was slowly dying, but she makes it clear that she understands this in 3x01.

I also fail to see how Merlin revealing his own magic would have changed anything. Morgana already knows that Merlin is pro-magic (also discussed in 3x01), they simply have different methods by which they aim to achieve that goal. Both are flawed, as Merlin’s relies on tyrants like Uther changing their minds, and he places blame on the oppressed group (even if he’s a part of it) for not demonstrating that magic can be good, when it doesn’t matter how well this is demonstrated, since magic is not banned for any logical reason.

Morgana’s plan is also flawed because she prioritizes herself over anyone else, meeting Uther’s tyranny with more tyranny. This is where the classism comes in. Morgana’s sense of entitlement is rooted in her status as a noblewoman. As 2x03 demonstrates, she values her own safety above the safety of her people, and when her descent is portrayed more openly, the first changes we see are in her mistreatment of Gwen, her maidservant. In 3x01/2, she also finds the townspeople to be disposable (including the Druids & sympathizers she knows live among them) and blackmails Merlin using her status as a noble. She also tries to kill Gwen because she can’t stand the thought of a “mere servant” taking the throne. She’s good to Gwen as long as Gwen functions as her underling, but as soon as Gwen is set to outrank her, everything that makes her appear distinctly better than other nobles disappears.

But ultimately, it’s Morgana’s actions that tell us this. These actions aren’t bad because she was hurt, or because she has magic. Every bad thing she does is bad because she is classist. The harm she does comes from a place of entitlement and inflated self-importance. While she may justify these actions with the hurt she’s suffered, being hurt did not make her do those things. Classism is the reason she becomes a tyrant, and it’s the reason she mistreats the “commoner” class. Again, her dismissing random civilians, especially the Druids & sympathizers, as disposable to preserve her own comfort? Comes from a place of classism. Her getting Gwen arrested on false charges and blackmailing Merlin using her power as a noble? Acts that are motivated by classism.

But back to what Merlin could or didn’t do. Morgana knew that Merlin was pro-magic, but she would never have agreed to his methods, as we see in 3x02, because she did not have faith in Uther or Arthur changing for the better (understandably so, and she’s proven correct). Whether Merlin is just pro-magic or has magic himself does not change this outcome, because it is about methods, not identity. Even when she finds out that Merlin is a sorcerer in 5x12, this does not change her mind.

And again, as far as Merlin knew in 2x12, Morgana was very much in on the plan with Morgause. He even tests this by asking Morgana why she reacted the way she did about Morgause and catches her in a lie. If he tells Morgana that he suspects her involvement, with the information he has (that she is allied with Morgause), then what? It makes no sense to bring it up. He never tells Agravaine that he suspects the man’s involvement with Morgana, either, because he doesn’t suspect that Agravaine could somehow be innocently/unwittingly doing these things. One could argue that Morgana could have confided in Merlin about her earlier interaction with Morgause (when the curse was cast) since she trusted him so much, but alas, she did not. And that’s understandable, too. Also, if you’ll recall, Merlin did try to get Gaius to help Morgana. They had a whole argument about it. Gaius concluded that gaslighting her about her powers was helping her. Merlin had to give up and go to Kilgharrah, and then when Kilgharrah wouldn’t help, either, he searched out the location of the Druids on his own and sent Morgana to their encampment. What Katie McGrath thinks about it means very little since she is just one (1) opinion against the visible canon facts. Merlin too blames himself for what Morgana became, but that doesn’t make him right.

The fact is that Morgana is her own person and her mind isn’t going to be passively changed. She’s always been fiercely independent, opinionated, and actionable. The desire to blame everyone but Morgana for her own actions also has a lot to do with her being a rich white woman. People assign a ~delicate, passive~ demeanor onto her, even when she shows her ruthlessness (whether that is simply standing up for her beliefs or torturing people). Morgana did not just get passed around and manipulated by everyone. If anything, 2x12 seeks to establish that it is Morgana herself who can make these decisions and change the future, rather than sitting around passively watching it happen. And by choosing to join with Morgause, she changes everything. The rest of the series is a chain reaction to this one crucial moment when she makes up her mind.

[writingforstraykids]

Ready, pretty?

Pairing: Minchan

Word Count: 2564

Summary: One night, after sharing a few drinks, Minho feels safe enough to overshare a little, thinking Chan is too drunk to remember the next day. He doesn't know that Chan remembers every word and is more than willing to help him with his little issue.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, late-night confessions, drunk confessions, friends to lovers (sort of), virgin!min, first time

A/N: Oh well, another audio that rotted azzy's and my brain😂 Based on this audio by my dear miu, hope you like it love @slutforchanlix 🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©writingforstraykids 2024-

Minho and Chan found a quiet spot away from the bustling crowd at the party, nestled under the comforting canopy of a sprawling tree. A soft blanket spread beneath them provided a makeshift sanctuary from the noise and distractions. The night sky above them was a tapestry of stars, twinkling faintly amidst the velvet darkness.

They sat side by side, shoulders brushing occasionally as they sipped from their drinks, the clinking of glasses a gentle background to their conversation. Minho, already feeling a bit lightheaded from the alcohol, couldn't help but notice Chan's relaxed demeanor and chuckled inwardly, convinced his friend was also a few drinks past sobriety.

"You look like you're in another world, Channie hyung," Minho teased lightly, nudging him playfully. "What's on your mind?"

Chan chuckled, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Just enjoying the peace, I guess. It's rare to have moments like this."

"Yeah," Minho agreed, taking another sip. "Life's been hectic lately, huh?"

Chan nodded, his gaze drifting upwards towards the stars. "Tell me about it. Sometimes I just need to escape from all the noise and expectations."

Minho nodded sympathetically, feeling a wave of empathy wash over him. "I get that. So, how do you relax best, then?"

“There's only been one thing that actually helped lately,” Chan grinned mischievously, a glint in his eyes as he glanced at Minho. "By relieving some tension…you know?"

Minho snorted, caught off guard by the unexpected response. He leaned his head on Chan's shoulder, his own laughter bubbling up. "I should've guessed."

Chan chuckled, patting Minho's knee affectionately. "You're not too bad at it yourself, Minho."

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asked with a snort.

“Your room's right below mine, I'm insomniac, so no, not everyone's asleep when you touch yourself,” he told him, taking another sip. “You're not exactly quiet sometimes and the vent carries it all the way up.”

“Oh,” he whispered, making Chan laugh. “Can't help it sometimes,” he said.

“Yeah, I get that,” Chan agreed, smirking to himself. There hasn't only been one time when Minho's soft moans and quiet whimpers kept him up, too sweet of a symphony to ignore.

Feeling emboldened by the alcohol and the already happening oversharing, Minho decided to share a bit more than he probably should have. "Yeah, well, I tried my fingers once, but it didn't feel nice. I didn't really know what I was doing, so I gave that up again."

Chan burst into laughter, the sound echoing softly in the quiet night. "Noted," he managed between laughs, shaking his head fondly at Minho's confession. Yeah, he'd remember that.

Realizing what he had just admitted, Minho blushed furiously, hoping the darkness hid his embarrassment. "Just don't tell anyone."

Chan sobered slightly, a warm smile on his face as he nudged Minho gently. "Hey, I'll keep your secrets safe, don't worry."

Minho hummed softly before glancing at Chan. “Did you ever try it?” 

“Yeah, a few times,” Chan nodded, seemingly unfazed. 

“Any…any advice?” he asked, ears burning up.

“Well, you should be able to relax, give yourself time and don't get too eager too fast. Also use enough lube and be careful so you don't hurt yourself,” he told him.

Grateful for Chan's understanding, Minho shifted the topic to something less potentially embarrassing. "Speaking of secrets, what do you think of our new album? You excited about it?"

Chan's eyes lit up with enthusiasm, his earlier humor returning. "Definitely. Also, you've been working so hard on those English lines, Minho. I'm impressed."

Minho pouted playfully, leaning back against the tree trunk. "I get tired of them sometimes, you know?"

Chan nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine. But seriously, you sound amazing singing them. Fans are gonna love it."

A small smile tugged at Minho's lips, grateful for Chan's praise. "Thanks, Channie. Means a lot coming from you."

They fell into a comfortable silence, content to simply be in each other's company, enjoying the tranquility of the moment. The night breeze rustled the leaves above them, a gentle reminder of the world beyond their secluded spot. For Minho and Chan, this brief respite from the demands of their careers was a precious gift—a chance to unwind, to share laughter and confessions under the starlit sky.

As the party's noise gradually seeped back into their awareness, they exchanged a knowing glance, both silently agreeing to cherish this memory. With a final clink of their glasses, they toasted to friendship, to music, and to the simple joy of finding peace beneath the stars.

-

After a tiring and long day at the company, Chan and Minho finally collapsed onto Chan's bed, the soft mattress providing a welcomed respite from their demanding schedules. They had stayed longer than the others, Chan meticulously fine-tuning tracks for their upcoming album and Minho patiently walking him through the new choreography after.

Chan couldn't help but notice Minho's restlessness as they settled in. The room was bathed in a gentle lilac hue, casting a serene glow that accentuated Minho's features. He looked almost ethereal in that light, but Chan sensed a tension in him that hadn't dissipated since earlier.

"You alright, Minho?" Chan asked softly, his concern evident as he propped himself up on one elbow to look at his friend.

Minho sighed, running a hand through his hair before meeting Chan's gaze. "Yeah, just... I don't know. Can't seem to relax tonight…Long day."

Chan nodded understandingly, his eyes scanning Minho's face with a mixture of affection and curiosity. "Ever wish someone could help you with that? Release some tension after a long day?"

Minho's breath caught slightly at Chan's question, his heart beating a little faster as he processed the implication behind those words. He searched Chan's eyes for a long moment, finding sincerity and a hint of something more—something he had quietly wondered about but never dared to voice.

"Yeah," Minho admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do."

Chan's expression softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he remembered their conversation from a few nights ago—the one where Minho had confessed his clumsy attempt at doing just that. "Remember when you told me about trying with your fingers? Didn't quite like it?"

Minho blushed deeply, embarrassed that Chan remembered and seemed unfazed by his earlier awkwardness. "Yeah," he murmured, unable to meet Chan's gaze directly. “I took your advice but it doesn't feel as good as Felix and Jisung said it would.”

Chan chuckled softly, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind Minho's ear. "It's okay, Minho. You can tell me what you need. That's what I'm here for, yeah?”

Minho swallowed nervously, his heart racing as he leaned closer to Chan, their faces now only inches apart. "I... I need..." He hesitated, unsure if he could voice his desires aloud.

Chan's hand found Minho's, fingers intertwining in a silent gesture of reassurance. "You can trust me, Min. Whatever it is."

With a shaky breath, Minho closed the gap between them, pressing his lips tentatively against Chan's. The kiss was hesitant at first, a mixture of nerves and longing, but soon it deepened, fueled by months of unspoken attraction and the intimacy of their shared moments.

Chan responded eagerly, pulling Minho closer until their bodies were flush against each other. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the soft sound of their breaths mingling and the gentle rustling of sheets beneath them.

As they broke apart for air, Chan brushed his thumb over Minho's cheek, his eyes filled with tenderness. "I've wanted this, Minho," he confessed softly. "More than I've let myself admit."

Minho smiled shyly, a weight lifted off his shoulders now that his feelings were out in the open. "Me too," he admitted, his voice filled with a mix of relief and joy.

“Can I take care of you?” Chan asked softly and Minho's breath hitched.

“Please,” he nodded gently, rolling onto his back and glancing up at Chan as he sat up. Minho watched him as he gently pushed his legs apart and got seated between them, gently rubbing up his thighs. 

“Want me show you how good it can feel?” he asked and Minho bit his lower lip, nodding quickly. Chan reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube. 

As Chan settled back between Minho's legs, he held up the bottle of lube with a reassuring smile. Minho's heart raced with anticipation, his body tingling in anticipation of Chan's touch. The soft lilac light cast a gentle glow over them, adding to the intimate atmosphere.

Chan leaned down to kiss Minho softly, their lips meeting in a tender exchange that conveyed both desire and tenderness. Breaking the kiss, Chan whispered against Minho's lips, "Relax, Min. I've got you." Minho hummed softly in response. “May I?” he asked gently, waiting for a nod before removing his pants and boxers.

Minho blushed softly at Chan's admiring expression, feeling a little exposed. “Channie,” he whined softly.

Chan giggled softly. “Ready, pretty?”

Minho nodded, his breath coming in shallow gasps as Chan squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. He gently trailed his fingertips down Minho's thighs, causing him to shiver at the sensation. Chan's touch was gentle and deliberate, each movement aimed at building trust and pleasure.

"Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable," Chan murmured, his voice a soothing presence in the quiet room.

Minho nodded again, his eyes locked on Chan's as he slowly began to circle his fingers around Minho's entrance. He applied light pressure, testing Minho's response before gradually easing a finger inside. Minho gasped at the initial intrusion, but Chan didn't move further until he felt Minho relax around him.

"That's it," Chan encouraged softly, his other hand stroking Minho's thigh in a comforting gesture. He continued to move his finger in and out slowly, allowing Minho to adjust to the sensation.

As Minho relaxed further, Chan added a second finger, stretching him carefully and watching closely for any signs of discomfort. Minho's breath hitched, but he didn't flinch away. Instead, he arched his back slightly, silently asking for more.

Minho was a little overwhelmed by how good it felt, panting softly at the feeling. A shaky moan escaped him and he quickly bit his lip, not wanting to fall apart right there during the first time someone touched him.

"You're doing great, Min," Chan praised, his voice filled with admiration and desire. He curled his fingers inside, searching for that spot that would make Minho gasp and moan.

The pleasure began to build, Minho's body responding eagerly to Chan's touch. Chan moved his fingers in a rhythm that was both tender and insistent, coaxing soft sounds of pleasure from Minho's lips. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through Minho's body, heightening his arousal with every stroke.

"Chan..." Minho whispered, his voice strained with need. He reached for Chan's hand, urging him to go deeper, to give him more.

Chan complied, adding a third finger carefully and gauging Minho's reaction. Minho tensed briefly, but as Chan massaged that sensitive spot inside him, pleasure quickly replaced any discomfort. Chan's fingers moved with practiced skill, pushing Minho closer to the edge of ecstasy. Minho's head fell back, jaw growing slack as Chan lovingly worked his prostate. “Oh shit,” he whispered.

Feeling Minho's body respond eagerly, Chan leaned down to kiss him again, their mouths melding in a desperate, passionate kiss. Minho whimpered into Chan's mouth, his hips lifting off the bed to meet Chan's movements.

"Channie hyung," Minho gasped when they finally parted for air, his voice raw with desire.

“I'm here,” Chan whispered gently. “What do you need, baby?”

Minho moaned softly. “Need more, please. Can you - I'm…I never did that before,” he admitted, ears burning up fiercely.

Chan soothingly rubbed his thigh. “Are you sure you want it to be me?” he asked gently, searching his eyes observantly. 

“Please,” Minho nodded, vulnerability lacing his features. “I trust you.”

Chan nodded, his own arousal evident as he reached for a condom and quickly prepared himself. He positioned himself between Minho's legs, gazing down at him with a mix of tenderness and hunger.

"You're sure?" Chan asked softly, seeking Minho's consent.

Minho nodded eagerly, his eyes locked with Chan's as he guided himself into Minho's heat. Chan took his time, making sure to give Minho enough room to adjust to the feeling. They both groaned at the sensation of being joined so intimately, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that spoke of longing and mutual need.

With each careful thrust, Chan focused on Minho's reactions, ensuring he moved at a pace that allowed Minho to adjust and enjoy every moment. Minho's soft moans and gasps filled the room, driving Chan further into a state of controlled desire. He kept one hand firmly planted beside Minho's head for support while the other stroked gently at Minho's cheek.

Minho's body responded eagerly, meeting Chan's movements with an increasing urgency that mirrored Chan's own rising desire. Their eyes locked in a silent conversation of trust and need, each moment deepening their connection beyond physical intimacy.

As Chan moved inside him, Minho's fingers clawed at Chan's back, his breath hitching with each deep thrust. Pleasure coiled tightly within him, building to a crescendo that threatened to overwhelm his senses. Chan's movements grew more insistent, driven by the raw need to bring Minho to the peak of ecstasy.

"Chan," Minho gasped, his voice a desperate plea mingled with pleasure.

Chan's heart swelled with affection and desire as he pressed his forehead against Minho's, their breaths mingling in a heated exchange. "I'm here, Minho," he murmured, his voice husky with longing. "Let go. I've got you."

With a final, deep thrust, Chan sent Minho spiraling into euphoria. Minho's body trembled beneath him as waves of pleasure washed over him, his moans filling the room with unrestrained ecstasy. Chan held him close, his own release imminent as he buried his face in Minho's neck, his breath hot against Minho's skin.

Moments later, they lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, hearts racing in the aftermath of their shared passion. Chan pressed gentle kisses against Minho's temple, his touch reverent and tender.

"You okay?" Chan asked softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along Minho's back.

Minho nodded, a blissful smile spreading across his face. "More than okay," he whispered, his voice filled with contentment.

Chan smiled back, his heart overflowing with love and tenderness for the man in his arms. He gently withdrew from Minho, disposing of the condom, cleaning Minho up and then pulling him close again, cradling him against his chest. They lay together in the quiet of Chan's room, their breathing slowly synchronizing as they savored the intimacy of their shared moment.

"Thank you, Channie," Minho murmured after a while, breaking the peaceful silence. “For being so gentle and always looking out for me.”

Chan kissed the top of Minho's head, his voice a soft murmur against Minho's hair. "Always, Min. I'm always here for you."

They drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, the soft lilac light still casting a gentle glow over their entwined bodies. For Minho and Chan, this night marked not only a physical union but also a deeper understanding of their feelings and a bond strengthened by trust and love.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @james-is-here

[murdrdocs]

vampire!reader; biting; fang fixation; sub benny vibes 1.0k+ words (whoopsie) MDNI 18+ w/ BENNY WEIR

he thinks he's being subtle.

you know benny thinks you don't see him. you don't know why. he knows how intelligent you are, he knows how observant you are, yet he's still being as obvious as ever, staring at you while you sip from a blood bag, bringing you food and telling you that it's okay to eat in front of him, offering to tag along with you when you need to stop for a quick bite, and even watching you from the car as it happens.

you don't realize it for a while, so long that it's actually a little embarrassing, but maybe he wants you to know. he's a bit of an idiot, but he isn't completely oblivious. he had to have known that you were going to notice eventually. and even then, even when you glare at him while you lick over your fangs and clean the crimson off of them, he doesn't stop. he keeps driving and risks your lives (his life, really) to watch you.

eventually, you have to confront him. and having your suspicions confirmed by him so blatantly is surprising. it has you back tracking, your smug smirk rinsed off of your face as soon as he agreed.

"i just think they're cool, you know. they're hot" and then he left his admission hanging in the air. he tried to play it cool, as if what he just said was the most normal thing ever, but he had already incriminated himself enough.

is that what he did? incriminated himself? because his form of punishment is beneficial, for the both of you, at that. his punishment is more of a reward, like a treat given to a dog, telling him to do it again and again.

you end up straddling him, two hands keeping him pressed back against the bed as you run your lips over his skin. you're taking your time, letting him feel the sensation of just your lips before you give him more.

before, when you started by kissing him, he had one hand along your lower back, rubbing little circles that you melted back into. but now he's growing impatient. his shoulders may be kept still against the bed, but his hands have free reign. they grip your hips, pinching into the skin around the waistband of your panties.

when you dip your tongue out, his hips push up into yours. when you bare your teeth and drag them along his jaw, just flat without the introduction of your fangs, benny pulls you down into him.

you try not to laugh when you tell him, "patience, it's coming," but you think your smile was a little audible.

when it does come, when you let your fangs drop with a little hiss and you press them into benny's pale skin, you think he might cum. he sighs, big and satisfactory, and his body goes limp. it's like you've given him exactly what he needed, and maybe that's truly what happened.

you sink your hips down until you can feel the boner in his boxers up against the crotch of your panties, and in tandem you give pressure to your fangs. your lips hover right above his skin, you're far enough from a vein, but it's right there. this is more control than you've ever had to exercise before, but it's mutual.

you can feel benny grinding up into you. over the sound of the blood rushing through his body, you can hear his breathing. his heart pumps dutifully in his chest, his lungs bring in shallow gulps of air. between it all, he's moaning. it's barely audible, if you weren't you, then you wouldn't even hear it. but you do and it's so fucking beautiful.

it's enough to keep you from sinking your teeth into benny's pretty, perfect vein. if you want to keep your composure, and if you want to keep benny alive, you need to hear more.

you press one hand into the pillow beneath his head of curls, and use the other to slide down his bare chest until you get to his checkered boxers. you rest your hand over his boner, working down the length of it, and you do it over and over again. it's barely enough stimulation, at least you would think that, but benny is making those noises and it's working. you keep going.

he tells you to keep going, after broken mumbles of your name and insistent stuttering as if he’s terrified to speak.

"more. can you, uh … just—more, please."

you slip your hand into his boxers.

he sighed into his next request. "a little more."

you gather some of the slick from your cunt (which is wetter than you're willing to admit) and combine it with the droplet of pre on his tip.

the last is guttural, as if he’s almost there. "more."

it's then that you realize he's not asking for more down there, he's asking for more up here. you hesitate. but as erica has always told you, there's no way you're going to gain more control without practice.

so you avoid the vein and you dip your teeth into his skin, no more than the first five layers, but that's all you need. you're being careful as benny cums, your hand doing most of the work as you press open mouthed kisses into the skin of his neck, and it's a good system. until benny presses his hand into the back of your hand and he pushes and you feel the puncture. it's a classic stick, reminscent to getting your finger pricked when you were a kid, but what the needle felt. it's satisfactory, the precursor to something you'll never get enough of. and it's right there, the substance you've been craving for weeks.

but restraint. control. so you pull back before you can get a taste and you're a little bit glad that you do pull back, because benny's still riding through his orgasm, his cock twitching in your hand, and he looks so pretty. his thick eyebrows lifted, his eyes shut and his eyelashes reaching towards the shadows under his eyes, his lips parted as he periodically sighs or gasps. the sight is almost enough to make up for your refusal to indulge in the blood beading out of the dual holes in benny's neck.

almost.

[chaifootsteps]

some tags on a post I just wanted to share:

hb#critical#FOR FUCKING REAL#this is exactly why i HATE when people say 'but blitz came onto him first! thats why stolas thinks he likes it!'#one moment of consent does not IMPLY consent for all future interactions.#especially in entirely non-sexual situations. stolas is a grown ass man. he should know better#i see 'stolas is autistic/bad at reading tone' a lot too. which is one thing#but blitz isnt using some neurotypical secret coded language. he says 'i dont like this' TO HIS FACE.#if he was just bad at reading tone and/or blitz WAS playing hard to get wouldnt stols take that at face value and stop???????????

that sums it up, really. It's annoying to see so much work done to unpack people feeling entitled to someone they dated/slept with once, or Nice Guy Syndrome, only for the HB fandom to act like we never had those conversations

if the only defence of Stolas is 'well Stolas thinks he likes it because Blitzo slept with him once' then we don't have much nice to say about Stolas, do we?

there's no amount of mental backends one can do to excuse the fact that Blitzo was not 'leading him on' - he immediately dipped after that first night, avoided him, didn't want to take his calls and acted completely disinterested in Stolas outside of the time he was forced to spend with him. Even the whole 'Stolas thought Blitzo liked dirty talk' is categorically untrue because when he pulled that in The Circus Blitzo straight up snapped his neck all the way around and said 'Ew. Stop it' to get him to shut up

Say it with me: Blitzo is not responsible for Stolas' delusions and it's not a flaw on Blitzo's part for wrecking Stolas' illusions about him and their relationship. It's on Stolas for having them in the first place and keeping them way longer than he should have

Oh god, it's the kind of thing that'll break you if you think about it. Years and years of conversations about enthusiastic consent and rape culture and how one consensual encounter doesn't automatically mean consent forever, gone like a fart in the wind.

The very second it's about Blitzo, these people start talking like old 1960s white men asking what the victim was wearing.

[angelltheninth]

Cockpit Confessions

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff. love confessions, doubt, flirting, co-workers, missions

Word count: 0.6k

Ao3

A/N: It's time for some space dad fluff.

Din had been even more distant then normal lately. He's not the man of many words, he never was never the type of person to talk a whole lot after missions but these past few have been incredibly conversation dry. Not only that but he didn't want to celebrate with you anymore, made you wonder if it was something you did.

"You're fine. I just have a lot of things to do, between Grogu and visiting Bo-Katan, I don't have time for chit-chatting." That was a load of shit and you knew it.

"But you have time to run around the galaxy with me at your convenience. And I know its not tough jobs either Din, you could handle those on your own and take the reward for yourself." It was almost laughable, the types of bounty missions you went on. Easy money, but also very easy missions, not something that was dangerous or challenging. "I love partnering up with you but you've been sending me so many mixed signals as of late. Hasn't anyone ever told you its not wise to play with a woman's heart?"

"Good thing I'm not trying to. You're the one who said you wanted to hang out with me more, isn't that what we've been doing?" Din settled back into his pilot seat and turned to look at you.

You threw your hands in the air, unbelievable, he was unbelievable, "I meant outside of missions. We used to be better friends then this. We used to... be closer."

He was a dad now and that took a lot of his time. You were happy that he was taking the role so seriously, not many in his line of work would. It was a quality of his that you were very much drawn to. But he still made time for you too before, he brought Grogu along. Oh, oh no. Did... did Grogu not like you?

"Grogu loves you a lot actually." Din spoke up and replied to your apparently spoken out loud question, "That's not the problem."

"Then what is Din? Please tell me, what's the problem between us?" You surged forward and pinned the Mandalorian flat into his chair, hands on either side of his head. No escaping you now.

He seemed to shrink back into his chair, a funny sight for such a badass Mandalorian, "I think I'm in love with you and I'm... I'm terrified." His helmet almost blocked out his entire confession with how silent his voice was just then.

"Huh?!" You tried to back away but Din caught your hands. No escape for you either as he pushed them slowly against his helmet, "I-In love with me? Since when?"

"I don't know... exactly. Might have happened when were we trapped together on that ice planet, or on our undercover mission to the Casino. All I know is, its been scary going on missions with you. I know you yourself have a reputation to uphold, but when I'm with you I don't prioritize the mission, I prioritize you." So that's why its been easy pickings lately, he can mess them up even if he's distracted. "I know this isn't what you thought you'd hear but Grogu's been talking me into this for some time now. I promised him I'd try."

Anything for his kid, what a good dad.

"I wish you hadn't told me this now." You heard him grunt and saw his shoulders slack, fully expecting your rejection, "Because I don't think I can focus now either." You planted a quick kiss on his helmet and then an even quicker one on his jaw as you lifted the helmet up just enough. Din whined when your lips came into contact with his skin, "Oh I definitely won't be able to focus now." You teased, letting his adjust his helmet again.

"Kriff you." Din mumbled and you could almost imagine the blush on his face. One day you would see it for yourself, maybe sooner then you thought.

[anystalker707]

don't let me go

Pairing: Sam Monroe x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: he confesses his feelings to you, but he's a lot softer than you thought Tags: comfort / he's puppy coded (normal) / he's also whiny (normal) / giving him a piercing, but it's brief / he cries a lot a/n: self-indulgent fic, and @sw33tsuccubus wanted to read it <3

MASTER LIST

The tips of my fingers felt something between numbness and a stinging pain while I pressed the ice cube wrapped up in a gauze over Sam’s eyebrow until he sighed, staring at me.

“It’s enough,” he said with that bad humor of always.

“If you keep being annoying like that, I’ll never do you another favor,” I sighed as well, putting the ice cube inside an empty glass on the nightstand, but he didn’t seem unsatisfied, snickering.

“You know very well that you will, independent of how ‘annoying’ I am,” Sam continued, following the needle with his eyes.

I shook my head. “Wanna test?” And he didn’t have time to answer, his words being replaced by a hiss the moment the needle pierced his skin, going in under his eyebrow and reappearing a few millimeters above it. “Done,” I said, carefully putting the barbell in the needle’s place and cleaning the area around the new perforation with a humid piece of cotton.

It sounded like Sam had been holding his breath for a while, exhaling heavily while letting his head hang, forehead pressed to my shoulder, while I discarded the needle and the cotton in the glass, with the ice. It wasn’t safe or anything, but it was what we could do when Sam had no money on him.

“Let me see.” I pulled away a little, just enough to look at his face, watching his cheeks, normally pale, now slightly flushed.

Sam tried to arch an eyebrow but suppressed the movement whilst grabbing a small mirror from the bedside table and taking a brief look at his new piercing. “It’s good.” He looked at me again, moving to sit on my lap, straddling it, and kissed me on the forehead. Curious. I rolled my eyes. “What do you think?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” I said, nodding, giving him a light tap on the thigh. He had a few tears in his eyes. I wiped one away before it fell from his eye and ruined his eyeliner.

The new piercing suited him very well, overall. Something that had been missing. Silver was a color that really complemented him—it was on the chains that hung from his neck and over the worn-out band shirts, and also on the ones that fell from his belts that were practically useless on the large pants that were always low enough to show the hem of his boxers and the circumference of his hips. The silver of his earrings and the labret under his plump lip contrasted fantastically with the black eyeliner, same color as his short air, save for the blue strand.

“It hurt like a bitch,” he muttered with a sigh.

“Well, I told you that I’m not exactly a professional or something,” I chuckled. “But it’s not crooked or bad. You just gotta care for it now. I’d give it a little kiss to make it better, but I don’t want it to get infected,” I chuckled again.

Sam clearly wanted to laugh, but he masked the laughter with a scoff and gave my shoulder a light pat. “Stop being stupid,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes, and he was so beautiful like that. I would’ve kissed those plump lips if I could. I didn’t remember the last time I’d seen someone that beautiful. He adjusted his position on my lap to make it more comfortable for us, almost resting his head on my shoulder again before he looked me in the eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

The question was useless, really. Sam already knew a lot of personal things and could practically ask about anything, but I only nodded, muttering in agreement. My hand hovered over his thigh, tracing the logo of a band patch he’d sewn there. Very poorly.

The silence made me look at his face again, and Sam poked his labret with the tip of his tongue, his cheeks still flushed. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally exhaling and speaking up, his voice trembling slightly. “What do you think of me?”

It was hard to tell, even harder to act as if I weren’t a deer caught in headlights—a situation that only existed inside my mind, worst of all. I sighed, shaking my head. Sam was so many things. Why did he need to know that?

“Ah, dunno. You’re one of the coolest people I know.” I paused to think. “You have a great style. Smart. Cute, too. I didn’t think I’d have the patience to be friends with you, but we hit it off pretty well.” We had different backgrounds, obstacles, but it never seemed to be much of an issue. “I like you a lot, as a person, y’know.”

A crease appeared between Sam’s eyebrows until he slowly averted his gaze and pressed his lips together. “Cute? Really?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re like a puppy, sometimes. In a good sense, of course.” I shrugged lightly and leaned back against the headboard.

Sam bit his bottom lip, playing with his labret again, a loose thread of his jeans between his fingers. It wasn’t really possible to identify the expression on his face, but there was an air of annoyance. Maybe. “A puppy? I think you already called me something like that when we first met.”

I smiled. “Yeah, of course.” I hooked my finger around the ring of the black collar that involved his neck and tugged lightly, noticing the light hitch in his breath.

“For fuck’s sake, if you keep doing that all the time, I’ll go insane!” Sam’s eyes widened while he took my wrist and lowered my hand, but he still held it, between us.

“Poor thing,” I chuckled, shaking my head. Sam’s hand was warm and kinda soft. His rings were pretty silver bands, darkened through time, around bony fingers, suiting him well.

Despite grumbling, Sam didn’t say anything. His attention was in tracing my knuckles with his thumb. I didn’t like the silence hovering between us. I wanted to hear his voice more.

“Why did you want to know what I think of you? Afraid that I secretly hate you or something?” I smiled, observing our hands. “If that’s really the reason, I’m just kidding. I also feel like people secretly hate me, sometimes, so I’m not judging.”

Sam chuckled in disbelief and shook his head. “No,” he said, gulping. “It’s not that. It’s just… Dunno, I like knowing what you think about me.”

My heart fluttered in my chest. “Fair.” I sighed. “Does your piercing hurt?”

Without looking up, Sam squeezed my hand lightly, taking a while to answer. “Uh?” His blue eyes finally met mine. “Ah, it’s not that bad, only sore.” He moved his eyebrow lightly and clearly regretted it. It was a little swollen already.

I only nodded. Of course, he knew how to deal with that, with all the piercings he already had. His hand squeezed mine lightly again while he adjusted his position on my lap.

“Another question.”

“Shoot,” I said.

“Hypothetically,” Sam started, “if a person has been secretly in love with someone else. For years. Should they confess?”

I sighed. It was a difficult topic. I leaned back against the headboard once more, leaning my head back against it, and shrugged. “Is it better to speak or to die?” I had heard that somewhere.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like a threat,” he chuckled, playing with his rings, transferring one from his hand to mine. “So, what you’re saying is that it’s better to speak?”

I breathed a chuckle. “Ah, yeah. Totally a threat. If you don’t confess, someone will show up and stab you. And it counts for everyone.”

And Sam chuckled, too, seeming calmer now. He rolled his eyes, smirking. “No need to threaten like that. I don’t have a deathwish,” he joked and paused. “You’re avoiding the question.”

I sighed again, avoiding his gaze for a moment, drumming my fingers against his thigh. “I know. Like, it’s just that I don’t know. I’m one to suffer in silence. I don’t want to tell someone to confess and be hypocritical.”

Sam took a moment to answer, seeming to ponder what I said, pouting. “Hypocritical,” he accused in a whisper, squeezing my hand.

I chuckled, nodding. “I am.”

“A coward,” he insisted, with a smirk.

“I am,” I agreed again. “I’d rather die.”

Sam asked me if I really loved someone intensely enough to prefer dying with my feelings to confessing and having them rejected, but how could I not? People are infatuating, and I had an aching heart. I had a whole universe inside me. I felt too much, saw too much, heard too much, and everything just for because I was breathing and being alive. Anyhow, I could and wanted to love that intensely.

His next doubt was about why I wouldn’t confess if I loved people that much, but feeling too much is a double-edged sword. Too much love also meant too much sadness, and letting the love fade away seemed easier than reconstructing myself again and again after every wreckage.

Sam seemed angsty, brows furrowed, and lips pressed together while he held my hand tightly, as if afraid of something. “You say pretty things.”

I chuckled. “They’re just messy words.”

“Don’t talk like that. It’s not messy…” Sam said, seeming like he was going to add to it, but nothing ever came, so I just kept in silence for a moment, looking into those beautiful blue eyes, playing with his fingers between mine.

“Well,” I broke the silence, my shoulders dropping while I smiled, “if you say so…”

A hint of despair flickered in Sam’s eyes, but I didn’t really know what to do with that. What kind of despair was that? What if I scared him? His hand shifted against mine, still holding it.

“You can’t just sit there, being poetic and holding my hand, and expect me to answer so eloquently,” Sam murmured with a pout.

I shook my head. “I only expect you to be yourself.” I squeezed his hand.

A lot of things seemed to be going on inside his head, and I asked myself why. I liked making someone like Sam—all sulky and tough—turn into a mess with me, even if that occasionally gave me a sense of guilt.

Sam gulped. “You’re making this hard for me.”

I raised my eyebrows in curiosity and a bit of surprise. “Huh? Hard? What for? Why?” I tilted my head to look at him in the eyes as his gaze fell again.

“You keep saying that poetic and romantic stuff,” Sam said sharply. “And I’m just sitting here, wanting to tell you something, but I’m afraid you’ll rip my heart out.”

I widened my eyes a little and chuckled but in disbelief. “Rip your heart out?” I scoffed. “Why would you expect that from me?”

Sam contained himself, grumbling. A faint pain spread through my hand, given the way his nails sank into my skin. “I’m being serious, and this is not funny,” he said, trying to keep his voice firm and steady. “So stop mocking me.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “I’m not mocking you,” I tried to keep my voice soft, in contrast. “I’m trying to understand you.”

His face got redder each time. Was he that angry or annoyed? His eyes scanned my face, looking for something that I didn’t know what to be. He was panting a little. “Promise not to laugh?”

The question was childish, but I wouldn’t make things even more complicated now. “I’d never laugh at something that’s serious for you,” I said, trying to seem casual, shrugging, however, my heart hammered in my chest as I gently caressed his hand.

Nodding short and fast, Sam exhaled, humming. “Okay. You can’t laugh, alright… I’m being serious,” he said, straightening his posture and taking a deep breath.

I nodded. I had to keep calm. Be patient. “I won’t laugh. I won’t get angry. I won’t distance myself,” I reassured, holding his hand between mine.

“You won’t hate me?’

“I’d never hate you.” I smiled. “The sooner you say it, the easier it’ll be. It gets harder the more you overthink.”

Sam huffed. “You’ll say something mean after this. Gonna tell me off.”

“No, Sam, it’s clearly a sensitive topic,” I said and paused, taking a deep breath. Keep calm. “Of course, I won’t say or do anything mean. I want to know what’s going on and help you. If you want it, that is. Maybe just listen. I’ll continue here, anyway.” I made an effort to look at him in the eyes the whole time.

Sam seemed a little more desperate, furrowing his eyebrows and looking down. For a moment, I thought he would faint, but he kept sitting there, on my lap, holding my hand, breathing shakily. “I’m in love. With you.” He whimpered, eyes glassy.

My heart skipped a beat. Everything stopped. I looked at him in disbelief. Did I hear it wrong? “Huh, in love with me?” I repeated, like a fool. “You don’t have to cry about it,” I whispered, wiping a tear away before it ran down his face and ruined his eyeliner. He almost trembled in stress.

For some reason, Sam furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. “Stop with that! Stop being so patient!”

My mind blanked for a moment. Why wouldn’t I be patient with him? What else did he expect? I wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling Sam closer. “What’s it, Sam? What’s wrong?” I wiped a few tears away from his face but didn’t stop him from crying his feelings out. It was a rare occurrence, and it seemed to be exactly what he needed, practically melting into my arms.

Sam clung to me as if he depended on it, hiding his face in my shoulder. His shoulders started to shudder, and he sobbed. “Why are you acting like that?” He sounded angry.

“Like what?” I almost scoffed. I don’t know how he wanted me to act. Maybe say something mean, laugh, reject him, or distance myself, as he feared, but as he was used to. Not a lot of people genuinely liked him. “I’m taking care of you. Am I supposed to stop?” I rubbed his back in an attempt to comfort him.

He whined and sobbed again, arms tightening around me. “No. Don’t stop,” Sam said quietly, voice muffled against my shoulder, and I exhaled in relief, despite not understanding everything.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” I whispered.

Sam seemed to be falling apart while crying and sobbing, clinging, and squeezing me. His face was hot against my neck, making it humid with the tears and heavy breathing, but it was irrelevant. I held him close and squeezed him back, letting him cry out all he needed to and enjoying his presence. I pressed my nose against his hair and closed my eyes momentarily.

Slowly, his sobs were replaced by light whimpering and shallow breathing, and his face wasn’t so close to my neck anymore, though he still held me strongly. The tears were drying, the silence growing louder. “Please,” Sam whispered. His breath tickled my neck. “Don’t let me go.”

“I won’t.” I kissed his temple, letting my lips linger against his damp skin. He closed his eyes. Made a quiet, needy sound.

“I can’t handle you being that caring with me. Fuck.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Why, my love?”

Sam tensed up again, his eyes filling with tears once more, as he held me tighter. He took a while to answer. “Makes me want to kiss you.”

A chuckle escaped my lips easily. “Then let’s kiss. What’s stopping us?”

A look of disbelief took over his face as he pulled away, just enough to look me in the eyes properly, with his eyeliner all smudged. He seemed smaller like that. Fragile. “Kiss me.”

And it didn’t take me a lot to do that. It was like a dream becoming true, making my body tingle when I felt his lips against mine, and I cupped his cheek, caressing it lightly. His skin was still hot. I finally felt the sensation of kissing those plump lips. The kiss seemed to last for an eternity, and I wanted it to last for another, but our lungs objected.

The cold air substituted Sam’s hot breathing against my face when we pulled away. I tried to clean away a little of the smudged eyeliner with my thumb while he looked at me with a mix of emotions, with passion, disbelief, anxiety. It was like he was in a daze.

“Everything alright?” I looked at him in the eyes, watching him glance at my lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam mumbled. His hands were closed tightly around my shirt.

I smiled. “My boy,” I mumbled with a peck against his lips, and it seemed like Sam would fall apart in my arms at any moment. It was hard to see him like that, all needy and shy, but I liked it. So lovely.

Sam wrapped his arms around my neck, holding firmly, taking deep breaths to slowly calm himself down. “Don’t let me go, okay?”

“Of course not,” I chuckled and pecked his lips again. “I’m yours, and you’re mine. Is that okay?” I kept giving him little pecks, trying to find out how much I could make him melt just with that, rubbing his sides.

His lips curled up in a shy smile while he nodded. “Say it again.”

“I am yours,” I repeated and kissed him, letting it last a little longer, “and you’re mine.”

Sam almost whimpered. We couldn't possibly get closer to each other, but it didn’t keep him from trying, wrapping his legs around my waist. “Hold me tighter.”

If I held him as tightly as I wanted, maybe I’d break Sam, so I held back, nuzzling his nose before kissing him again and again. “Mine, all mine,” I whispered. I had waited for too much time to say that.

⋆°｡⋆🎧🎸★ 𝖇𝖆𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

[skayafair]

Monty's Study

I haven't been to the fandom tag in a while, so maybe this was already discussed, but I want to talk about Monty.

First off, I've been reading what others say regarding his cage and connecting it to what he said himself.

the cage is too small for a crow (literally for any bird, actually)

the door is open, nothing that we could see was holding him in place

Monty still didn't try to get out and fly away

he said "being in the dark like that - it was... hard, not being able to make my own choices" about his previous life as a crow

Which makes me think Esther never cared much for her familiar and even left him alive after he failed her plan only because he could still come in handy in future but either cast a will-binding spell on him or simply trained to be tamed. In any way, he couldn't leave - neither before his human time, nor after.

Which still doesn't mean he should like being human.

Every time I see the takes about "Monty come back in s2", I can't help this thought scratching me even as I smile at the jokes and headcanons. Not to yuck anyone's yum, I'm all for shifter Monty, it's a very interesting idea that can unravel in soooo many ways, just give me all of them, - but at the same time I can't get rid of this uneasy feeling.

Here's the thing: I take a particular liking to the characters who aren't human but were forced to become one without their consent, and the way they feel about it and cope with it. Call that a projection, they're very relatable as an allegory, whatever. Says Skaya as an ND.

Some of them like the change, find new meaning in it. Some are 50/50 and uncertain. And some hate it. They never asked to be human, what the hell!

Malevolent podcast and some RK900 fics are partcularly good at exploring this

Since the first moments Monty was turned human, I've been looking forward to whether this question was going to be addressed and how. The show was going exactly in all the directions I liked the most, so I had hopes it will consider this, and suspected it would happen exactly the way I wanted the most.

And yay, that actually happened. The way I wanted the most. Added sad circumstances of Monty basically sacrificing his newfound life and self were really not that necessary okay q_q

Throughout the episodes I could see how initially all smiley and loyal familiar Monty felt more and more uneasy about the whole Esther's plan. He didn't like it. He liked his new friends. He actually fell for a guy. It was so fucking complicated and confusing but there was also joy in it! Until certain point, that is... Anyway! Being human is difficult. Monty didn't ask for it.

And he actually says that!

We don't know if he liked being a crow better, if he wanted to stay human longer - he doesn't talk about any of it. He liked the ability to make his own choices he couldn't make as a crow though - so maybe he would like to try this human experience to some extent again.

But we know he wasn't very fond of all those complicated human feelings. Crows are very smart, but it's a different kind of intellegence. Being a bird isn't necessarily simpler or easier than being a human, especially now that he's lost his owner and is probably out in the streets? I'm suddenly very much concerned, crows are very social and territorial creatures, what if they don't accept this boy?! But it's different. And it's natural for him. It's familiar, hence it's easier just by this fact. And no confusing emotions.

Maybe the fact that Monty liked making independent decisions so much and developed his rebellious side to some extent was what made him retain some memories and attachments when he was back to his crow form, helping Charles with his backpack.

I don't think he'd enjoy being fully human again, though. I think he likes being a bird, as he initially is. Hence why all the "Monty should come back in s2 and have a happy love story!" make me feel uneasy.

Still... since he liked some of it, maybe being given an ability to shapeshift at will and somehow merge a bird mind and a human one which should really be ONE HELL of a process into some comfortable chimera, he'd use it?

[orchidego]

ao3 has taken me places I wouldn't even go to with a g*n

smoking that dramione pack

( @ailenach asked me for a dramione rec list so that's what this post is, anyone else read at your own risk )

Compiler’s note - skip down to the list if you don’t need to know why/what exactly I like in fic!

aka my dramione ethos: The most compelling dynamic in a ship, for me, is when it comprises of two people giving each other the strength to be the people they need to be.

Before he can be loved, Draco must be redeemed. In a way, he’s awfully bad at being a blood supremacist (lacking real conviction). Draco’s Slytherin morality, at least as a teen, compels him only in the direction of protecting and preserving himself and his own; he doesn’t seem to have a morality outside of this. Everything else is borrowed from his fear and desire to conform to his loved ones’s expectations. Contrast with Hermione, who has an outsized sense of morality—she knows exactly what is good and right, and she throws herself into her causes with self-righteous conviction, headstrong and beautifully off-putting.

Draco, the boy who belonged everywhere, watched his fragile worldview turn to ash and became unmoored. Hermione, the girl who belonged nowhere, bent the world towards her through obstinate radiant willpower, and established herself. Two people who could, maybe, find a home in each other.

A Draco in love with Hermione might wrap his morality around her courage, might steady himself while in the service of her. A Hermione in love with Draco might be preserved by him, may be bolstered against burning out or being misunderstood or unseen. They’re both industrious with their respective tasks (she researches! he toils!), which lends itself to them having intellectual parity. They’re both kind of intense. Then there’s the general enemies to lovers appeal, the idea that at no point in time were these two characters ever indifferent towards each other. The banter potential alone…!

So this is some of the kind of exploration I like in fic, pressed in many different tones; ff is especially unique in that we can play around with the elements (AUs, contrived circumstances, tonal shifts, narrative beats) and be more experimental because the weight of canon grounds it.

My rec list:

Before I truly begin, I feel like I have to comment on it: I did ultimately enjoy Manacled. A "Voldemort wins" fic with a Handsmaid Tale twist; it has compelling structure, with a D/Hr dynamic suited to my tastes and what I find interesting about the characters. However, it's dark (mind the tags) and I’m still not certain if the content was handled as effectively as the author meant it to be, and so I don't think it's a universal recommendation despite its staggering popularity. If you do want to read this I would recommend downloading it because she's going to delete it off ao3 once the novelization of it comes out next year.

My quintessential dramione recommendation is, of course, The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy. It's a full Deathly Hallows rewrite where Draco goes Horcrux hunting with the trio and as far as I'm concerned, it's canon. Unlike every other fic on my list, I would recommend this to everyone. Written very closely in style to the books, I think it has universal appeal and it’s the perfect jumping off point for the pairing while being convincing. Sometimes I would find myself wishing that this was the direction the books had taken. PG-13, in terms of violence and sexual content, which I find significant enough to bring up since there’s usually a lot of sex in popular ff.

My favorite humor-based rec: Bad Omens. Written in the vein of Terry Pratchett. I would describe this as a "star-crossed morons" kind of story. It's literally perfect.

Remain Nameless. Caveat that this sort of trailed off for me once the central tension with the relationship was resolved but I think in terms of an adult redemption arc it was very sweetly done. Sometimes achingly tender.

The Fallout is probably my favorite “extended wartime” fic of all time. The intimacy in this makes me want to kms, in a good way. I'm linking to a downloadable pdf here since it's been removed off other sites.

Love in The Time of Zombie Apocalypse. Zombie outbreak AU. Plot goes crazy. Complex character work. Hooked me all the way through.

Thirteenth Night. Post-war, Hermione assigned to monitor a memory-charmed Draco. Less epic than a lot of the other recs on this list because the scope of the world is small, but its quietly good.

This is just my plug for anything PacificRimbaud has ever written, but particularly the historical rom com Love and Other Historical Accidents, the raunchy and funny One and Done, and the tender romantic one-shot Les Pelerins.

BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC. Listen to me. Listen to me. The title sort of explains the tone and it carries entirely throughout. I am obsessed with this version of Draco. All men should be bloody slutty and pathetic. Post-war, ministry employee Hermione, marriage law AU (which tbh I don't tend to love usually, so this really is exceptional).

She Whom He Harbors. Ok before you read the summary/tags and judge me, yes, this is basically a "fuck or die" fic. I figured I needed to make the rec in case this is a vibe anyone is interested in pursuing. But it's not just gratuitous smut, I swear, there's a plot here. Lot of orgasms. But there is a plot.

Brand New World. Epic in scope. Diverges in plot while they're still at Hogwarts. Great Draco redemption arc (which is important to me!)

The Gloriana Set. ThebeMoon is my personal queen of Hogwarts Eighth Year fics. I would also rec The Darkwood Wand, by the same author. Both very fun reads.

Things Without Remedy. Time travel! Adore the serious relationship build in this one.

Tea & Necromancy. Sort of an experimental tone. Equal parts funny and morbid.

Sucker Punch. Also would classify this as experimental; you'll know if you jive with the writing within a few paragraphs.

Choice and Chance. Absolutely delicious plot divergence at the point of Hermione's torture at Malfoy Manor. Involves multiverse elements.

Beyond Recall or Desire. If you like soulmate bonds!

Malfoy Shrugged. On the shorter side; just a great two-shot.

Tromp as Writ. While I'm recommending perfect one-shots.

Mindbound. This author has a series of very short works based on fairy tales. This one is my favorite but I'd recommend the others too.

My very last recommendation is something that is so important to me, but I'm separating it like this because it's a WIP whereas all the others are completed fics. Please don't let that deter you, if at all interested.

Lionheart. !!!!

What can I say about Lionheart, except that its author somehow resides in my brain and created something for me, specifically? I've really so rarely read ff that is so perfectly balanced in dialogue, character understanding, narrative arc, plotting, action—when I read this, I feel like how I felt at 11, reading Harry Potter. For real. It's a whole series rewrite, truly epic in scope, asking the question: what if Draco had been sorted into Gryffindor? Currently the storyline is complete as to book four, partially through book five, and being updated. The character work is especially stunning to me. This is the sweetest slowburn friendship-to-lovers of my dreams; obviously heavy on the friendship arc since we're not all the way through, and yet I find that my emotional investment in this is so heightened it doesn't even matter to me. I want to read thousands of words of this (luckily, it's already got 600k+ of those). Thank you greenTeacup, for my life.

I obviously have read more than this so if there are any specific tropes/interests/limitations you want a rec for, I'm open to give an opinion. Also I have my eye on a few fics that I just haven't read yet, so alas, this list is not perfectly complete. The next thing I want to read....Détraquée....

[crusty-chronicles]

heey! Good morning/night! So I was thinking about how Kurapika, Feitan and Chrollo would react to their S/O seeking to annihilate all the members of their own family because they think their blood is cursed (in a headcanons form if possible), since whenever someone in their own family gets involved in something this thing It always ends with someone dead/hurt but like on a extreme way. That's why their S/O was so difficult to get close to, and like they are VERY strong, well even if you don't make that request I would like to praise your writing!! 💗💗 (I'm using a translator, so any mistakes I apologize)

Apologies, I don't write for any of the phantom troupe, buuuuuut I do write for Kurapika so these head cannons will be based around him. Thank you 💕

Kurapika With An S/O Who Hunts Down Their Family

—---------------

Cold and calculated.

If you were to ask Kurapika what he thought of you, that's what he would say.

You were always so distant from everybody else. Finding solace in the quiet. Yet you were still very aware of your surroundings.

He'd met you formally as one of Neon’s bodyguards.

You were a blacklist hunter hired for extra help. Your specialty being claiming bounties.

Had he done the research back then, he would've seen that all your targets had one thing in common: they were all related.

But he didn't, and now he was left with the mystery of you.

Why were you here?

What did you gain by helping the Nostrade’s out?

Answers he wouldn't get for a long time.

Not until he'd caught Uvogin and dealt with him, did he learn about your motives.

He was doing his best to suppress his blood lust. Trying to calm himself down before he lashed out. He didn't even notice when you walked in.

Too lost in the feeling of the way blood coated his hands to process your presence.

“This is personal for you, isn't it?” You asked.

It was the first time he's ever heard your voice.

And it had him on edge.

Jumping back in surprise the second it hit his ears. He needed to be alone right now.

One wrong misstep and he'd hurt you.

But you didn't seem afraid. You didn't even acknowledge his disheveled appearance.

Instead taking a step closer.

“Maybe we could help each other out? My next target is someone who owns a pair of Scarlet Eyes.”

His eyes widened before narrowing in hostility. Immediately one of his chains had wrapped around you.

You didn't flinch.

“How do you know about that?” He questioned. His chain tightening around you.

What exactly did you know?

Were you working with someone?

Could you be apart of the troupe?

“You forgot to put your contacts in.”

You gestured towards his eyes.

Oh.

How foolish of him to act so impulsively. He released you. Yet there was a nagging feeling telling him to continue interrogating you.

You knew about the Kurta clan, or at least what happened to it.

And you'd deduced from his reaction that he was connected to them in some way. His own eyes only confirmed it for you.

“I don't plan on being here for long. I'm leaving after the auction. I'll give you some time to think about my offer.” Your voice snapping him from his thoughts.

He already knew his answer, but what he wanted to know was-

“Why?”

“Why would you help me? How does me tagging along benefit you?”

He just couldn't wrap his head around it. What use could he possibly be of to you. Did you just want someone to get their hands dirty for you? Or would this be a true partnership?

“I lost my Hunter license years ago. I unfortunately don't have access to the information I need. And there's places I can't get to without a license,” you explained.

“So you want my license in exchange for information?”

“Not necessarily. I have no desire to keep it. It would just be nice to have some more tools at my disposal. You don't have to say yes. I could always give you the eyes when I'm done.”

No, he needed to be involved. He wouldn't forgive himself if he let someone else avenge his clan, even if it was unintentional.

Thus your partnership began.

You were still distant. Treating your alliance as purely business.

Kurapika didn't mind. It meant he wouldn't get attached to another person. He wouldn't have anyone else to worry about.

But…. there were times when you were warm.

When you allowed yourself to grin so brightly.

When you opened up ever so slightly.

And in those rare moments, he found himself wanting to be close.

When he'd gotten sick in York New, you were taking care of him alongside Leorio.

He remembers the feeling of your hand on his forehead. The coolness of your skin.

He remembers refusing medicine and only accepting when you asked him to.

‘It's for your own good, Kurapika. Please open up.’ your tone cooing.

And he remembers reaching for your hand in his sleep. Awakening blearily to you still grasping it.

In his mind, you were friends to some extent.

He'd looked after you too. The first pair of eyes you collected together, you'd gotten wounded badly by your target.

Bleeding out and yet for some reason, you were dead set on claiming the bounty.

Not stopping until they were dead at your feet. And only then had you collapsed.

He spent days watching over you. Making sure your wounds were clean and stitched up.

A part of him worried he'd lose you.

He couldn't help but scold you when you awoke.

‘Do you have any idea how bad your injuries were? How much blood you lost? Why? Why didn't you just stop?’

You didn't answer him.

Confused as to why he cared so much.

If you died, what did it matter to him?

Maybe a part of you realized your relationship had become more than surface level.

‘I’m sorry,’ you offered.

You were always more careful from then on.

And your trust in the blonde only seemed to grow.

He'd treat your wounds after fights, and you'd take care of his.

When he was overcome with emotion, eyes glowing with his anger, you'd find a way to calm him down. Watching as the red faded little by little.

You should've known something would go wrong.

Things never tended to last when your people were involved.

This target you were chasing was vastly different from your previous ones.

You tried to go it alone, but Kurapika insisted on helping you.

You should've said no.

Your target laid beneath your foot. Kurapika a few feet behind you.

You should've been quicker to end them

But you weren't. You'd had the misfortune of letting them identify you.

An expression of distaste on their features before they spoke.

“So you've finally found me? Some sibling you are.”

You'd immediately taken their life, but the damage had already been done.

“What did they mean by that?” Kurapika questioned. His tone accusing.

“It’s nothing.” You dismissed.

But you'd spent far too much time together for him to fall for it.

“Don't lie to me. All this time.. All this time you were hunting down your family?”

He stood in front of you now, eyes a bright scarlet.

“You don't understand-” You tried to explain.

“What is there to understand!?!” He snapped.

“They're murders!”

“They're your family!”

Did you have any idea what he would have given to spend one last moment with his family? And here you were justifying taking the lives of your own. it made his blood boil.

He trusted you.

“Only by blood. Don't you dare group me in with them!” you screamed.

You refused to be associated with those monsters.

You two stood in silence. You didn't know how to show him the things you'd seen. How to convey the exact opposite of what he was thinking.

He was hurt, that much you could tell.

“Kurapika, they're horrible evil people. Everywhere they go, there's a path of pain and destruction left behind. They're- they're cursed.” You were pleading with him to listen to you. Sounding desperate and crazy in the process.

But you were scared.

Scared of losing him.

“Does that make you cursed? If they're evil, then what does that make you.” He asked. His voice rising as he came closer to you.

“Am I going to end up hurt following you around? Are you gonna end up killing me?”

He was trying to make you see this wasn't the way. That you were going too far by doing this.

You wouldn't hurt him. He knew you wouldn't. If your bloodline was cursed with carnage, surely you would've demonstrated it by now.

“I don't know.” You answered honestly.

“But I have to stop them.” You met his fiery gaze with determination. You weren't backing down.

“You're not like them. Stop while you're ahead.”

Before your anger had consumed you.

“I can't. I thought you of all people would understand that.”

You want to walk past him, stopping when he grabbed your arm.

“Then we'll find another way to stop them.”

He was in too deep with you.

“We?” Your tone was skeptical.

“You still need me right? Justice will prevail. But you cannot stoop to their level to do it.”

Why was he still trying? Why couldn't he just let you go?

“Why do you want to help if what I'm doing goes against your morals.”

You looked up at him once more. The red becoming faded. You could see nothing but a yearning behind his eyes.

“Because you're important to me.”

And you could feel it. The subtle way your heart beat faster.