#i swear tags are still very difficult to think of

[experiment-tzt]

THE SILLIES EVER

Heya!! I have died and returned back after collage decided to kill me ✨🎉 Hahah anyways i like to redesign characters that i like to give them my stamp of details n´stuff and this time i went FULL with Ingo and Emmet!! I noticed there wasn´t many designs variations for the boys without them being AUS; so i decided to took my spin on the things :] Also this was kind of a side project since i´m working on something bigger for my possible next post which include Ingo but also other characters i like >:] So stay tune!!

Also forgot to draw the part in green in english but basically says that Emmet has a joltik tie and Ingo has pins of litwick I also almost forgot to publish this thing because i got distracted with the BIG project but eh better a bit late than later :P Anyways hope you guys enjoy it!

[mochinomnoms]

say you can't sleep, baby, I know

NSFW!Trey x Reader

Synopsis

You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? You're trying to rile him up, right? He's supposed to be the responsible, big brother of Heartslabyul, he tries so hard. So, so hard to stay out of trouble and have a normal day-to-day life. Trey used to pride himself on his levelheadedness and restraint, but that all went out the window into a swan dive into the lake when he saw you in his bed in that damn one-piece. “Happy Birthday Trey~”

[wc} - 5,258

[cw/tags] - afab!gn!reader (im sorry folks it's all i know how to write still), NRC is a university in this, domesticity kink, birthday sex, breeding kink (sue me), oral (giving & receiving), trey can be a little mean as a treat

[notes] - i apologize for the person i've become after seeing trey's new b-day card. it does things to me and this is 100% self-indulgent for me. also, tried to use very neutral descriptors for reader so tell me how that went and if it reads well! lastly, the outfit the reader wears is based on sabrina carpenter's outfits from her short n' sweet tour, specifically the baby doll one!

Written while listening to “Espresso” by Sabrina Carpenter, I recommend listening to it while reading :)

Let’s consider exactly the type of person Trey is.

Ever since he’s started school at NRC, he’s always taken a bit of a parental role in Heartslabyul, even before he became vice housewarden. Even Cater would joke about it when they first became friends:

“You’re, like, a total big bro! O-M-G, no! You’re like a dad friend! I’m totes willing to bet that the incoming freshmen are gonna slip up! Call you Dad or something!”

Evidently, when Riddle came into the picture and Trey was appointed his vice, Cater was proven right. He didn’t mind it too much, despite what others might think. 

He liked the familiarity of it, being the oldest at home, it translated well into his position at Heartslabyul, and it came with the added bonus of being able to minimize any chaos that arose. 

That was his main goal, especially with Riddle’s temper during his freshman and at the beginning of his sophomore year. Honestly, he had phenomenal conflict resolution skills, and he just wanted to make his life as easy as possible. 

Everyone at this school liked to make that difficult, though, especially the freshmen of this year.

“Oh fu—I mean sh—dam—fuc—shi—FIDDLESTICKS!”

“Dude, just say fuck, why you gotta say the corniest shit—OW—Treyyy! Deuce hit me!”

Deuce had a guilty look on his face as Trey looked up from his notebook to raise a brow at the two.

“W-well, Ace cussed, so he has to put money in the swear jar!”

“Aw what! Come on Trey!” Ace whined, shoving Deuce’s face to the side as the latter grunted and started pulling at his cheeks and arm. “Riddle’s not here, he’ll never know, so I don’t gotta! Don’t make me!”

Trey simply smirked and gestured to the jar on the fireplace mantle, helpfully available to everyone in the lounge. 

“You know the rules, bud, two thaurmarks for the f-bomb and a .50 cent for the other.”

Ace tossed his head back and groaned, begrudgingly dragging himself over to the jar as he dug around his pocket for change.

“Don’t be rude to your father, Ace.” A few giggles and snorts vibrated amongst the small group studying in the lounge as you wagged a finger at Ace, Grim squinting angrily at the book in your lap. 

Your lips quivered as you hid a laugh, jokingly chastising the ginger. 

“No need to be a brat.”

Trey had to withhold a snort at that comment, rich coming from you. He knew better than anyone that you could be as much of a brat as you were another parental figure.

“Oh ha-ha, very funny, Prefect. What, does that make you, Mom or Dad 2?” Ace stuck his tongue out at you as you grinned and focused back on Grim. 

“Okay Grimmy, so remember, what alchemy recipes need mandrake root?”

Watching from the corner of his eye, Trey watched fondly as you murmured soft words to Grim. It reminded him of his Mom talking to his siblings after a nightmare, or of his Dad after one of them would get hurt in the kitchen. 

Soft, soothing, parental. You’d make an excellent parent one day. 

Trey felt himself get warm at the thought, adjusting himself in his seat and looking back at his musicology notes. He couldn’t sing very well, but he can memorize notes, and that’s what the upcoming exam was focused on. 

That’s what he needed to focus on, not the way you cradled Grim against you like a parent with their child. Focus on his alchemy flashcards, and not the way you cleaned up the mess on the table so you could bring everyone a tray of snacks he’d prepared earlier that day. Focus on the history textbook in front of him, and not the way you cleaned up the lounge as it got later and later.

It wasn’t fair. It was so unfair how well you fell into the role. Cleaning and humming, one of his spare aprons on you as you wiped down the tables of crumbs and stacked a pile of dishes. It was unfair how sweetly you murmured to the few remaining students, and told them to go to bed and rest up. 

They obliged, probably half asleep at this rate, since it was an hour until midnight. Ace and Deuce had retired a while ago, the latter leaning on the former as they haphazardly stumbled to their room. 

Riddle had dropped by after his housewarden meeting, satisfied by the study group, but ultimately stuck to his very strict evening routine. 

Now it was just you two. Even Grim had been tugged along with Ace and Deuce earlier, not unlike a rag doll slung over their shoulders. 

“Trey? Honey, when are you going to sleep? It’s almost midnight.” His eyes fluttered tiredly as he felt your hands slide over his shoulders and a kiss pressed against his temple.

He felt warm again, heat pooling in his belly. You were so unfair. 

“You should go to bed soon, come on, I’ll take care of you.”

He can think of a few ways you could ‘take care’ of him. 

“It’s fine, why don’t you get Grim and head back to Ramshackle? Curfew is in 30 minutes, you know?”

You rolled your eyes, sighing into his ear, making a tingle go down his spine.

“Okay, but please go to bed soon? I left you a little birthday surprise in your bedroom~”

Trey perked up at that, eyeing your mischievous grin as you waved your fingers goodbye, going down the hallway to the dorms to grab Grim.

To be honest, he’d forgotten that his birthday was tomorrow, he’d been so focused on his midterms that it just slipped his mind. Well, he can’t say he’s not excited to see what you got him, especially since you’d been not too subtly probing him for preferences.

He groaned, running his hands over his face and sighing, heavy and exhausted.

“Ugh, just a bit more and I’ll retire for the night.” Trey reassured himself, eyes straining as he looked between the books in front of him. 

The words on the papers blurred after a bit, the sound of the grandclock lulling him further into sleep, his head nodding off until a ping from his phone started him awake.

It was Cater, his Magicam user popping up on his screen. 

cay-cay_diamond: hbd trey!! 🥳🎉🎉🎉grats on being an old man now!

Blinking at the clock, Trey realized that it was now a few minutes past midnight, so it was technically his birthday. He’s lucky that Riddle followed his own sleep schedule so rigorously, or else he’d be getting a scolding for breaking curfew.

luckyclover: Old? I’m only like 4 months older than you cay-cay_diamond: yeah. old. cay-cay_diamond: anyways! enjoy the gift in ur room!!! i helped (name) pick out the wrapping 😘😘😘

Trey hummed, a small smile on his face as he imagined the two of you bickering over wrapping paper and messily wrapping up a box with a bow. You did seem very excited for him to find it earlier, maybe you two picked something out together. 

He was curious on what exactly you got him and why you hadn’t waited to give it to him at his actual birthday party. And why did you need Cater to help you…you’d always shoo him away when he’d tried helping you with gifts for other’s birthdays. 

Stacking his books into his left hand and walking towards the junior dorm rooms, Trey looked at his phone as it pinged again. 

cay-cay_diamond: on that topic thooo…u should rly go 2 ur room and get ur present! the poor thing! they’ve been w8ing very patiently 4 u~ luckyclover: Waiting? (Name)??? cay-cay_diamond: 🤭🤫😉

Trey sighed, shaking his head and tucking his phone away and digging out his room keys. It was times like these, deep into the night, when he was thankful for having his own room. He felt a bit bad now, you probably fell asleep in his bed waiting for him. 

Though, the thought of you clutching one of his pillows, maybe in one of his sweaters to keep warm, made him smile. Then he could come in, gently take your clothes and shoes off to get you more comfortable, and dress down himself to slip in right behind you.

As he finally managed to get to his room, he heard shuffling as he turned the keys. Trey smirked, noticing that only his rose lamp remained on, and all the drapes to his canopy were now closed. 

He could just barely make out the shadow of you moving behind them, hearing you gasp and the bed squeak, making him let out a soft laugh under his breath.

“You’re breaking curfew, you should be asleep you know? You're such a troublemaker sometimes.” Trey teased you as placed his books on his desk, tossing his hat onto its stand and slipping his shoes off to throw them into his wardrobe and grab his slippers. 

He yawned, the late night really starting to sink into his body as he started undressing, his jacket and vest getting hung back up in the closet as he worked on his sash and unbuttoning his pants.  

“Only like a third of the time!” You whined, the bed softly squeaking as you followed his movements behind the canopy. “Besides, I really wanted to give you your present. Don’t you want to unwrap me?”

Trey paused at the purr in your voice, narrowing his gaze as he saw your hand ever so slightly move the curtain at the end of the bed to peek at him. You were still mostly shrouded in darkness, but there was a very soft glow coming from inside the canopy, so he could just barely make out your mischievous smile.

Though, you quickly frowned, eyeing him up and down out of concern. 

“Not if you’re too tired though, you have bags under your eyes, Trey. Do you just wanna go to sleep?”

Giving you a weary smile, Trey finally tossed his sash to the side and reached for the curtains, pushing them to the side to finally take a look at your “mysterious” present. 

“In a bit, let me see what you got me…”

Trey’s breath hitched, he suddenly felt very wide awake as his eyes roamed up and down your body. 

From the corner of his eye, he could see that you set up string lights along the top of the canopy for ambiance, making you look like you were almost glowing. Though it wasn’t that that made him lose his voice. 

You were sitting on the edge of his bed with your legs curled underneath you, dressed in the most darling sage-green, sheer baby doll dress. The dress's puffy sleeves and hem were lacy, matching the lace on the stockings. 

Holy shit you were wearing stockings.

“Ha, I wanted to surprise you, I thought you could use a stress reliever.”

You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

“I should’ve realized that you’d be tired from studying for midterms, sorry.”

You're trying to rile him up, right?

“But, still, do you like it? I wrapped myself up just for you~”

He's supposed to be the responsible, big brother of Heartslabyul, he tries so hard. So, so hard to stay out of trouble and have a normal day-to-day life. To behave.

“In any case,” You shifted onto your knees, the dress splitting in the middle, the only thing keeping it together being a small bow at the base of your neck, revealing the lack of undergarments, just your bare skin underneath. “Even if you’re too tired and just want to sleep, I just wanted to say…”

Trey leaned in as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in, batting your eyelashes and ghosting your lips over his with a teasing smile. Your hands caressed the back of his neck, a thumb rubbing soothing circles, making him melt. 

“Happy Birthday Trey~”

It’s now that he noticed that you even added a gloss to your lips, and he could smell the warm perfume on your neck as you pressed your lips to his, tongue swiping over his mouth, asking for permission to enter. Obliging, Trey sighed into the kiss and tangled his tongue with yours, his hands slipping underneath the baby doll and squeezing at your waist.

He really should go to sleep. He has to wake up early for the party. He has to dress in his birthday robes. He has to make sure that the others don’t burn down the kitchen or damage his expensive bakeware as they made his cake. 

But the way your skin felt under his gloved hands, skin meeting skin, lace, skin, and lace again.

How could he be expected to sleep now?

Trey used to pride himself on his level headedness and restraint, but that all went out the window into a swan dive into the lake when he saw you in his bed in that damn one-piece.

Humming in delight against your mouth, Trey slid his hands down, as you curled into his body in response, and squeezed at the fat of your thighs before picking you up. 

A yelp left your mouth as he picked you up and tossed you up the bed, pulling off his shirt and tossing it behind him as he crawled on top of you.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he saw the way the dress fell open to expose your body, your chest moving up and down as you watched him with a giddy smile. 

“Oh! I guess you’re not that tired—ah!”

You gasped as Trey grabbed your calves, tugging you up to place the back of your knees on his shoulders. He leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your right thigh, smirking against the lace. 

“I was tired. I should be asleep,” Trey murmured against your stocking laced skin, pressing kisses as he went farther and farther down. “Resting—kiss—Up—kiss—but no.”

He gave you a half-hearted glare, which you responded with a smile and lacing your hands through his hair as he pressed another kiss to the bend where your thigh met your sex. 

“You broke curfew, you wanted to keep me up with your little ‘present’, you know I’d get in trouble for hiding you out in my room.”

Trey gave you a bite on your thigh, groaning as he felt your hands tighten in his hair, moving back to press a soothing kiss to the mark he left.

“Are you trying to get me in trouble? Throw me in the doghouse?”  “Cause I’ll make sure you come right with me, after a little taste of my birthday treat.”

The same time he ran his tongue up your sex, Trey could feel you shiver and pull on his hair as he ate you feverishly, like a man starved from food or water for ages. 

“Mmm! Trey!” You threw your head back, bringing one hand up to slam a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries, the walls here weren’t known to be sound-proof. 

He should probably care a bit more, especially when you let out a particularly high-pitched squeal as his tongue began fucking into your hole. 

“Trey! Oooh, Trey~” 

Bringing a finger to join his tongue, Trey smiled against your skin as you squeezed your thighs around his head, using his free hand to push his pants and underwear down to palm at his dick. 

“Trey—aaaah—wait, let me—mmph—Honey—” You let out a shuddering gasp, pulling his head up from your sex. Trey locked eyes with you, leaning into the hand you slid down to cup his cheek and caress his lower lips, wiping the slick and drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Yes? Honey?” Removing his hand from inside you to cover your own hand and kiss your palm, Trey smiled and hummed, “I like that, you know, reminds me of a husband coming home to his spouse.”

Pressing kisses up your body, soft and tingly, up your neck, and back to your lips where they belonged.

“Hmm, I really like the sound of that, (Name) Clover.” You murmured against his lips, smiling as you wrapped a leg around his waist to bring his dick closer to your sex, rubbing against him as you both sighed into each other’s mouths. 

“Is that what you want? You want me to be a cute little spouse? Dress up in a cute apron? Greet you when you come home from work?”

So focused on the softness of your lips and the wetness sliding against his dick, Trey didn’t even notice you twisting your body to turn him onto his back, the back of his head hitting the back of his pillows as you sat on top with a cheeky grin. 

“Hm? How would my husband want me to welcome him home? A hug? A kiss? Mm, what about…me?” Trey watched you with flushed cheeks as you kissed down his body, mimicking his earlier actions as you helped him tug off the rest of his clothes. 

“Oh, how nice it would be for you to come back to a warm, clean home with a spouse…” Looking up at him through your eyelashes and giving him a kitten lick to his tip. “...ready to give soft wet holes for you to fill~”

Giving him a vision into that sweet, sweet future, you swallowed his tip, down his shaft, and started sucking. 

“Haaah—”

Trey lolled his head back into his pillow, letting out a breathless moan as you bobbed your head up and down his length, your hand working the rest that didn’t fit into your mouth. 

“Fuuuuck. That does sound nice—mmh!” Reaching his hand down, you immediately took one of your hands to lace it with his, squeezing it as you hummed around his cock. 

“My lovely spouse—nnnngh—their pretty mouth—unnnh—soft holes—aaaah—all for me to come home to every day, what a dream~”

A particularly harsh suck made Trey arch his back and squeeze your hand harder, a giggle vibrating his dick as you pulled off. 

“Hehe, is this your way of proposing? Kinda dirty to do it with your dick on my mouth.” You giggled, pressing kisses and quick licks along his shaft. 

“That’s okay though, you and I both know that deep down, you’re a bit of a pervert. Right?”

Trey scoffed, tugging you up with a bemused smile. “Yeah? How can you tell? Thought I hid that pretty well.”

A soft laugh escaping you, you held both of his hands, bringing them up to press kisses on his knuckles, making the green-haired man sigh fondly. 

“The way you look at me sometimes, like you’re undressing me. It makes me feel all warm and tingly, especially when I piss you off.”

Both of you let out a breathless moan as your wetness rubbed against his hard dick, grinding against one another as the tip occasionally caught against your hole, making you shiver. 

“Is it bad that sometimes I wanna get you mad so you’ll fuck me real mean? Is it bad that I want you to use me? To fuck your stress out with me?”

A lump forming in his throat, Trey let go of your hands to pull at the string holding your flimsy baby doll together. Eyes half lidded, he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, watching it pool at your elbows as you placed your hands on his chest to steady yourself as your grinding turned into vigorous humping against him, making you both gasp in pleasure. 

“Ooh, Trey, honey, baby, hubby~ Won’t you use me? Be a little mean? Pleeeease? Fuck me, fill me up like I know you want! Pleeeeease Trey? Pretty, pretty please?”

Lips smashed against yours as Trey bolted up, groaning into your mouth as he grabbed your hips in an almost painful grip. 

He picked you up once again, throwing you on all fours, covers tangling against your knees and hands, as he ripped your dress off and tossed it. 

Trey’s left hand placed itself on your hip, while his right pushed down on your back, following up your spine to the base of your neck where he pushed you down to shove your face into the sheets, forcing you into a doggy pose.

“So you do like getting me in trouble, little brat. Fine, I’ll be mean.” 

Trey lined his dick against your throbbing hole, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your ear and moving the hand on your neck to wove with your right, squeezing it reassuringly. 

“Squeeze three times if you need me to stop, otherwise, I’m going to fuck that brain right out of your pretty little head, since you don’t seem to be wanting to use it.”

In one, swift move, Trey slammed his hips to your ass, sinking nearly half his length into your warm, waiting hole. 

“FUCK! YES—MMMPH” Burying your face into the sheets to muffle your cries, Trey did the same into your shoulder, shivering at your tightness around him. 

Setting a rhythm, hips smacking into your ass, Trey worked the rest of his cock into you until he could hear the smack of your ass against his hips, the sound echoing with the creak of the bed.

Your tightness around him was heavenly, as was the sight of you sinking further into the bed and arching your ass to sloppily meet his thrusts. Straightening again, bending your arm back so that your hands could remain intertwined.

His left hand caressed your back and the fat of your behind, before bringing it down in a harsh slap to your ass, making you yelp and squeeze his hand in a vice grip, though you also tightened around his cock. 

Rubbing a soothing circle against the reddening skin, slowed his thrusts, making you whine and push against him. 

“Haaah, that okay? Feel good?” Trey murmured, smiling at the frantic nod and wiggle against him. “Want me to keep going?”

“Mmmph... yessshh... mmmore, mmmore... pleeeashh, honey~” Your sounds were muffled as you bit into the blanket, getting higher and higher as he obliged, not one to deny you after all. 

Every other thrust was met with a slap to one cheek, then the other, the skin turning redder and redder with his handprints marking you. The harder he went, the more and more slack you went, until he was eventually just fucking you like his personal toy. 

Though, you did offer yourself as his present, didn’t you? So it was only fair that he got to use his present as he wished, and right now, he wanted to feel you cumming around him. 

Ceasing his smacks, making you whine, Trey instead melded his body against yours, the weight both overwhelming and comforting, as his left hand instead moved to your sex to rub you to completion. 

Trey watched as you gasped for breath, completely burying your head into the bed to muffled your screams as you came around him, trembling and squeezing him. 

The feeling of your walls pulsating around his shaft was becoming dangerously addicting, and he was very greedy for more of that. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m so close! You can give me another one, right?”

Slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you up, Trey adjusted you so that you sat on his dick, kissing the side of your neck for reassurance as he let go of your hand to quickly slide his arms under your knees. 

From all his years of tossing bags of flour and sugar, from kneading dough, from all the labor he’s done as a baker, picking you up was like child’s play. 

Folding your knees up to your chest so he could hold you, back flush to his chest, was nothing for him. Everything for you, though, your over sensitive hole squeezing down on him again.  

“FUCK! I caaame! Treytreytreytrey—” You dug a hand into his arm, tossing your head back and lolling your tongue out with a dumb, drooly smile on your lips. 

“A-almost there—nngh—just squeeze if I need to stop—I’m so close~”

Smashing his lips against yours for an open mouth, wet kiss, Trey pounded faster into you, determined to feel your walls pulsate again, this time as he filled your insides up like one of his pastries. 

Then, an awful, perverted thought filled his head, like a devil was whispering in his ear. 

Why doesn’t he fill them up with his kids? Don’t stop until his cum is drooling out of their hole, and go again to make up for the lost seed. He already wants them to be his spouse, why not add a few little ones to that picture?

Trey was losing any bit of restraint that he may have had as he was now determined to fullfill his fantasy. Even if you couldn’t do it, magic made anything here possible, and right now is good practice anyway.

“I’m—aaaahhh—I’m gonna come inside, okay? Fill you up, yeah?”

Digging your nails into his skin, you nodded against his mouth and whined. 

“Yessssss! Fill me up! Inside! Gimme a baby Trey! I wanna make you a daaaaddy~”

Squeezing your legs further against your chest, Trey pounded faster and faster, trembling as he reached close and closer to his peak. 

Warmth flooded his body, tingles, and he swears sparks, flying over his skin as he felt you clamp down on him for a third time. 

Your voice squealed higher and higher, any previous attempt to be quiet for naught as you practically screamed.

Trey shuddered as he finally came, cum flooding your warm insides as you went limp in his arms. 

Panting for air, both of you remained still for a minute, the bed feeling stuffy with the curtains still closed. After another minute, Trey pulled you up and off of him, shaky as his now limp dick left your warm, comfortable embrace.

Doing his best to gently place you on the bed, Trey let out a breathless laugh as you collapsed on the bed like a rag doll, blinking your eyes tiredly at the ceiling of the canopy. 

“Haah, sorry, I went too hard there, huh?”

You shook your head, giving him a tired smile and reaching a hand for him, which he took and brought up to kiss. 

“It was good, really, good. You liked your present?”

Snorting and nodding, Trey carefully scooped you up to move your head onto the pillows and gently roll off your garter stocking, thumbs rubbing soothing circles as he did. 

“Yeah, I did. Come on, let me get you a shirt.”

You whined as he pulled away, exhaustion starting to steep into him as he tied back the curtains to the canopy to let the stuffiness out. Trey picked up the baby doll he’d tossed earlier, placing it into his wardrobe drawer as he dug out a shirt and sweatpants for himself and a shirt for you.

As he closed the drawer, he noticed your backpack hidden underneath it, digging in it to grab you some underwear. You had packed a pair of pajamas, apparently, but…he’d rather see you in his clothes. 

“Hmm, honey? Come to bed…” You whined, hands reaching out for him impatiently as he slipped on his clothes, crawling over to you and helping you slip your underwear and his shirt on. 

“I’m here, I’m here.”

Trey slowly blinked, eyelids heavy as he scoop you up to place you two under the covers, the soft mattress making him practically become one with the bed and you as you nestled into his chest. 

Your legs tangled with his as Trey wrapped his arms around you and tucked your head under his chin. He could feel fatigue and sleep quickly taking over him as your voice vibrated against his chest, soft and sleepy. 

“Happy birthday honey, I—yawn—love…you…”

A different kind of warmth, soft and sweet, filled him as he squeezed you tighter against him, murmuring back. 

“I love you too…”

*Riiiing* *Riiiiiiiing* *Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing*

An irritating, loud noise filled Trey’s ears as he groaned, half-awake as he turned over to smack his hand on his phone, silencing the alarm. 

“Aah…Noisy…hhggh.” Trey groaned, rolling over, careful to not crush you under him to blindly reach for his glasses. 

“Glasses…glasses…ah..”

Plastic and glass finally under his palm, Trey slipped his glasses on his face, ultimately throwing himself back into bed next to you, who’d begun shifting awake.

“Mmm, honey?” 

Grunting in response, Trey threw an arm over his eyes, irritated at the sun seeping through the window into his eyes. 

“Early…”

You chuckled, a yawn escaping you as you decided to move closer and slip a hand under his shirt to rub at his chest, pressing kisses into his neck as well. 

“You’re so grumpy in the morning. Come on, you've got a big day ahead.”

“…Ugh, I do?”

Snorting at his response, Trey grunted as he felt you move, peaking under his arm to see you resting on your elbow. You had puffy, dark circles under your eyes from the little sleep you managed to get. 

“Birthdays are a pretty big deal, right?” Smiling at him, Trey squinted an eye and groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in protest.

“Ugggh, yeah…”

Hearing you hum, Trey groaned in surprise as he felt you straddle his waist and caress his neck and cheeks, making him remove his arm to blink up at you. 

Your hair was a tangled mess, sticking up in all sorts of places. The bags under your eyes more noticeable under the night. His shirt dwarfed you. You were a hot mess, all things considered. 

He probably wouldn’t say it out loud, with how cute you were last night, but he thinks you look most beautiful like this. Better than any frilly, skimpy, or tight outfit.

“Come on, Birthday Boy, want me to give you a little pick me up?”

Kissing him with a smile, Trey moaned into the lazy, sloppy morning kiss, tilting his head back as you pressed kissed down his neck, deciding to work on leaving a love bite at the nape of his neck.

Trey’s phone chimed, making him sigh as he reached for it, letting you continue your love bites and kisses, 

Squinting at the few messages, it seemed like a few of his friends and classmates were already sending him birthday wishes. Though, a message from Cater made him blot up, a sudden shock of alertness running down his spine. 

“Ah! Trey, what is it?”

cay-cay_diamond: morning!! happy bday 2 the bday boi again! thought i let u no tht u owe me a favor, had 2 cast a silencing spell on ur roum last nite. totes ruined my beauty sleep! cay-cay_diamond: also i know u got ur lil cutie 2 distract ya, but liek dont b l8 2 ur bday breakfast, grimmy might eat it!

“Shit, we were too loud, Cater had to cast a silencing spell on the room.”

You made an ‘oh’ shape with your mouth, giving Trey an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, but at least you enjoyed it, right?”

Trey smiled, more awake now, and nodded, sharing a sweet kiss with you. 

“Definitely. You might have to consider making your go-to gift for now on, it’s gotta be my favorite one I’ve ever gotten.”

He solidified that statement with one more, firm, assuring kiss with you, before having to leave your sweet dream into the real world. 

At least he could have one part of that dream with him at his side from now on: you. 

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[n0thingbutlov3]

need you now

in which an impulsive voicemail leads to some secrets being spilled.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader. warnings/tags: angst (sorry i’m incapable of being nice lol) hurt/comfort tho!! lil bit of fluff too because i AM capable of being nice, alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism (i’m literally just a girl…) spencer and reader are broken up :( but they’re still sooo in love and it’s soo obvious so it’s fine!! (also it kind of gets fixed at the end-ish. you’ll see *evil smirk*) reader cries a lot (real) spencer is a cutie (as always) spencer and reader sleep together…no like literally, not in a funny business way, some swearing, no use of y/n!!! wc: 3k a/n: hihihi!! so this is my first fan fiction i’ve wrote and completed ever (gulp) it’s also my first time publishing one (gulp) my writing could definitely be better and so could my grammar tbh but i HOPE if you choose to read you’ll enjoy…feedback is always appreciated (plsplspls) also like requests?? if anyone’s into that—id love to write more but inspo is difficult sometimes. if there’s any spelling mistakes im sorry, eye am very tired!! it’s 5am *eye twitching* okay i’m going to sleep, gootbye IF U SAW ME EDITING THIS 5 TIMES NO U DIDNT (i’m bad at tumblr ok..)

“Hi. This is Doctor Spencer Reid. I’m not available right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can…”

His tinny voice cut off to make way for the signature beep of the beginning of a voicemail recording.

You could hang up now—you should hang up now, save yourself some dignity and go drown your sorrows in alcohol like a normal person instead of calling your ex-boyfriend.

You should, but your mouth was opening before your finger could reach the hang-up button, and…and it was a losing battle from the moment you clicked on Spencer’s icon.

“Uh—hi, it’s…it’s me.” You huffed out a sad laugh.

“So, um, I…I tried calling, but you didn’t answer so…” The static buzz of silence hummed through your ear, just inches from where you held your phone with a shaky grip. “maybe you’re on a case or out with friends, or someone else—“ You let the implication hang in the air—the thought of Spencer potentially being in a relationship bringing a lump to your throat.

You swallowed it down.

“I just…I just had an unbelievably shitty day, Spence.” You sniffed, wiping the moisture that had escaped from your eye with your sweater sleeve. “I know you’ve never read A Series of Unfortunate Events but I think I’d give those kids a run for their money.” You tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob.

You inhaled shakily, trying to collect yourself and remember why on earth you thought it would be a good idea to call Spencer when you’d been broken up for months. Hell, you hadn’t heard from him at all since you had parted ways—except from the odd text about returning each others’ things. It was obvious he had moved on, and here you were, filling up his voicemail with blubbering messages and making references to adolescent books.

“God, sorry about this.” You breathed out a watery chuckle. “I just…didn’t want to be alone, I guess. But that’s-um-not your problem anymore, so I’m—I’m sorry. Have a nice night.” Your voice cracked and you hung up before you could start weeping down the line. You didn’t need to look even more pathetic.

You pulled your phone away from your ear, looking down at his contact photo through blurred vision. He was smiling—not the tight, closed lip smile he gave other people, but a full, bright smile that had his dimples showing. One of your hands was wrapped loosely around his neck and the other was holding your phone just far enough away to capture both of your smiles. Your head was rested on top of his shoulder, tilted just slightly to the left so your temple was brushing against his.

It felt like looking at a vintage photograph—you knew those people and their happiness existed at some point in time, but it wasn’t tangible; you couldn’t verify it was real.

When you were with Spencer, you never doubted how real it was. All you had to was look at him across the room and he’d flash you a smile identical to the one in that photo and you’d just…know.

It felt like forever ago now that you’d been on the receiving end of that grin and it killed you. So much so that before you could consider the repercussions, you were trudging through to your kitchen and grabbing the bottle of whiskey that sat unopened in your cabinet. It had been a present—from Rossi, actually. When Spencer had first introduced you to the team, the older man had given it to you as something of a welcome gift. Of course, he couldn’t have known you weren’t much of a drinker, and since you wanted to make a good impression (and because you were sure it had cost more than all the alcohol you had consumed in your life combined) you accepted it—deciding to save it for a rainy day.

You think this qualified.

You grabbed the bottle, a glass, and padded back through to your living room, slumping onto your couch. You filled your glass up a little less than halfway before gulping it down, enjoying the burn in your throat—it was better than the constant thickness.

You poured yourself another glass before turning on the TV. You weren’t sure what was playing—it didn’t really matter anyway, your vision was already being obscured by tears again.

You thought the pounding was in your head at first—serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Only, it wasn’t, because moments later the pounding subsided and instead, your apartment door was opening, casting your pitch-black living room in a yellow glow which temporarily blinded you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your mind hazy—again, serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Someone was calling your name, but there was too much sensory input for you to make out who.

You certainly hoped it wasn’t a paramedic—maybe your neighbour had heard you sobbing for the last four hours and decided you needed a wellness check. Then there were hands on your face, and that had you flicking your eyes open, because you recognised those hands—impossibly soft, with a callus on his trigger finger being the only thing to mar them. Spencer.

“Spencer?” You slurred.

He sighed in exasperation (or relief) and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Are you alright? You weren’t answering your phone, I thought…” He trailed off, worry evident in his voice.

You sat up then, trying to compose yourself even though the room was spinning. Fucking whiskey. You rubbed your eyes haphazardly, blinking until you could finally see.

You should’ve stayed bleary-eyed. Because nothing could prepare you for the way your breath hitched when you finally saw him. After months of not seeing each other, Spencer was here, sitting on your couch, and he was looking at you like you were something fragile, and—God, you needed another drink. You turned away from him, reaching for the neck of the bottle as you spoke.

“I’m fine.”

Before you could lift it up, Spencer gently pried your hand away from the bottle with his own, and then slid it across the coffee table with his other.

“You’re drunk. No more of that, please.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but he left no room to argue. You probably would’ve objected anyway, if it weren’t for the way he kept his hand clasped around yours, rubbing soothing circles into your pulse point almost absentmindedly.

You glanced up to him—to stop yourself from staring at your hand in his and how natural it felt, more than anything—but that proved to be a mistake too, because he looked just as beautiful as thirty seconds prior and it felt just as natural for him to be sitting next to you on your sofa, but it wasn’t natural anymore.

“How did you get in?”

“My key.”

“Oh.”

Right. The key that he still had because you refused to meet up with him to let him return it. He tried for weeks to contact you, but you ignored him, because getting the key back meant things were finally over. You supposed he could return it now—maybe that’s why he came in the first place.

“Why did you come?” You asked, your voice impossibly small.

“You called.” He replied—as though he was talking about something as simple as the weather. You call and I come.

You searched in his eyes for any sign of a lie, but of course, there was none. He was being completely genuine—as always. You were the awful ex-girlfriend who left concerning voicemails on his phone and had him travelling to your apartment in the middle of the night only for him to look completely okay with the situation—like there was nothing he’d rather be doing than making sure you were safe.

You couldn’t help the way tears sprung to your eyes or your lip began to tremble as you lolled your head back onto the couch, pulling your gaze away from his.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

You liked to consider yourself to be a strong person. You had been through things in your life that were objectively worse than your breakup with Spencer, but something about the gentleness of his tone and the way he had let one of his many (past) petnames for you slip had your throat tightening and you ducked your head into your one hand—the other still seized by Spencer’s—to try and muffle a sob.

“Hey,” He trailed his hand that was wrapped around yours up your arm, all the way to your shoulder blade before lightly guiding you towards him. You don’t have enough energy in you to fight his magnetic pull, so you shuffle over until you can bury your head into his shirt. You inhale his scent; vanilla, neroli, and so him it makes you ache.

Stopping your tears is futile—you’d know, they’d barely ceased all night—so you just let them fall, seeping into Spencer’s tie as he rubs one hand softly up and down your back, the other cradling the crown of your head.

His breathing is quiet and slow—the exact opposite of yours—and you try to imitate it—forcing air into your lungs. When your sobbing has turned to shaky breathing and the occasional sniffle, he speaks up.

“Do you want to talk?”

Talk about what? About what had happened today—what had led you to calling him? Talk about how for the last few months, he had been the only person you had wanted to call?

“No.” You hated how pitiful you sounded.

“Okay.”

Spencer didn’t say anything else for a minute—your synchronised breathing being the only thing to stop the room from falling into dead silence.

“You need to rehydrate.” He murmured, smoothing down your hair.

You hummed into him, in no hurry to unwrap yourself from his body. You probably wouldn’t get to be this close to him again, after all.

He moved both of his hands to your biceps, pulling you back slightly so you could look at him. He knitted his brows together in a silent plea which had you rolling your eyes petulantly, your lashes still damp from tears.

“Fine.” You peeled yourself off of him, pushing yourself into a standing position. Horrible mistake. You were still incredibly drunk, turns out, and everything was spinning a little bit and come to think of it, you were also nauseous and—

“Careful, lovely.” Spencer placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, keeping you upright.

and—actually, you were fine now.

He stood too, moving his hand just slightly over to your waist so he could guide you to the kitchen. When he knew you could stand upright—even if you were relying mostly on the counter behind you—he grabbed a glass from your cabinet, moving around effortlessly to pour you some water. The sight was so domestic you almost wanted to cry again. Maybe in some alternate timeline, where you and him could’ve worked, this would be an every day thing—minus the drunk sobbing part, of course.

He handed you the glass of water, watching as you took a few sips. He raised an eyebrow, nodding his head slowly.

“Whole thing, please.”

You let out an exasperated (affectionate) sigh and gulped the rest of it down, setting it on the counter behind you.

“Happy?”

“Very.”

You smirked, trailing your gaze down his body. He was still in his work clothes which, at the very least, meant he wasn’t on a date before he came here. He always changed before dates—well, for you, anyway. You wondered if he had been on any dates since the breakup—you certainly hadn’t. It had been long enough now that it wouldn’t be weird for you to start seeing other people—but you didn’t want to. You weren’t sure you’d ever want to, to be completely honest.

The more you thought about it, the more the whole thing seemed stupid. You didn’t want anyone else, you wanted Spencer. You had tried to get over him but if tonight was any indication—it clearly wasn’t working. You can’t even remember why you broke up in the first place—it all seemed so insignificant now. No amount of pain you had ever experienced in your relationship had come close to that of living without him.

You met his eyes once more and it was like he could see the question brewing. He tried to stop you, calling your name in a quiet warning, but you ignored him.

“Why did we break up?”

He frowned, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth with his tongue in that maddening way he did.

“I—you know why—“

“No, but I don’t! I know things were difficult sometimes but that doesn’t mean it didn’t work. It worked—we worked.” Your eyes were stinging again.

Spencer pressed his index and middle finger into his eye, furrowing his brows.

“I know, I know we worked, angel—but you were sad all the time, remember? I was gone so often and it wasn’t good for you.” His true emotions were indecipherable but his tone was soft, and you wished you could be as calm about this as him. Did he just not care as much as you did?

“But It’s—It’s worse now—“ You choked out, tears falling freely now. “I was sad when you were gone, but you always came back—you don’t come back anymore.”

Spencer removed his hand from his face, flexing it at his side like he was uncertain what to do with himself before taking a stride towards you. He brought a hand to your face, wiping the tears from under your eyes delicately—like you were made of porcelain.

“Listen, sweetheart—alcohol affects your ability to regulate your emotions and I know right now it might feel worse but that doesn’t mean it always—“

“Spencer, stop! It’s not the fucking alcohol, I miss you! I miss you all of the time! Even—even when I’m having a good day—I still want you—and especially when I—when I have a bad day—“ You choked out through heaving breaths.

“Breathe.” He urges, cupping your cheek. And you’re so, so angry, and sad, and tired that you have no choice but to shut up and listen to him. When you’ve adequately calmed down, he moves his hand to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think we should talk about this tonight but I—“ You open your mouth to protest.

“I promise we can talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober—if you still want to.”

Your lip trembles of its own volition and you frown.

“Of course I want to.”

“Okay,”

“Okay.”

He gives your eyes a final wipe before he’s—rather unexpectedly—pulling you into a hug. You all but melt into him, your head finding its home in his sternum and your arms wrapping around his middle. He tilts his head down, kissing the top of your head—and you’re certain you can’t let this go again. You will chain him down before Spencer leaves this apartment again.

Everything is wordless from there—mostly because you’re so, so exhausted that even talking seems like too difficult a task. Spencer helps you find something more comfortable to change into and you pull out an old t-shirt of his and a pair of plaid pyjama pants you had kept here for him. I guess your keeping them ‘just in case you needed them in the future’ had come in handy, after all.

As you washed your face, Spencer snuck through to the kitchen, refilling your water and grabbing two aspirin in a not-so-subtle attempt to help the inevitable hangover you were going to have in the morning.

You caught him placing them on your bedside table and mock gasped.

“Trying to drug me in my sleep so you can make a run for it in the night?”

He grinned lazily—exhaustion creeping up on him as well.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You smiled, flopping yourself onto your bed rather ungraciously. Spencer looked at you like you were something fascinating before biting his lip, clearly deep in thought.

“What?” You let out a self-effacing little chuckle.

“I was just…wondering…if you’d like me to sleep on the couch?”

You probably should’ve been more careful in your facial expressions considering you were still broken up but your thoughts about that offer were obvious.

“No, stay.” Stay in your bed, in your apartment—stay anywhere that was close to you.

Maybe you were coming on a little too strong.

“Unless you want to, I mean—“

“No, no—I’ll stay.” Forever, preferably.

He walked around to the other side of your bed—as he had done so many times before—and sat down, pulling the covers over his legs. You mirrored his movements before flicking your bedside lamp out, turning to face him.

You were a little thankful you were so out of it, because this had the potential to be very awkward otherwise. Spencer shuffled down so that he was at eye level with you, turning to face you as well.

You just stared for a moment, committing him to memory. The moonlight had a way of highlighting all the high points of his face, and the twinkle in his eyes, and—God, you were so glad the moon existed and that Spencer was in your bed that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“What?” Spencer laughed along with you, even though he had no idea what was so funny.

“Nothing. You’re pretty.”

“You’re drunk. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Why?”

“Scared you’ll be gone when I wake up—like I made it all up.”

Spencer’s smile faded then, and he looked at you with something that seemed so much like the one thing you had been willing yourself to stop doing the whole time that you’d been broken up, that it almost took your breath away.

“I won’t. I promised, didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“So there’s nothing to worry about. Now get some sleep, lovely.”

You smiled, feeling Spencer’s hand inching towards yours. He intertwined them and gave yours a squeeze.

“Just in case you make a run for it in the night.”

You chuckled, your eyelids fluttering shut. Yeah, you could make it work.

part two!

[jilsthings-rb]

CAN I GET AN AMEN IN THE HOUUSEEE YOOWWWWWWWWWWWWZAAAAAAAAA‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥💢🔥‼️‼️🔥🔥‼️💢‼️💢🔥🔥‼️‼️‼️🎉‼️🎉🎉🎉🎉‼️🔥💪🔥💪‼️💢🔥💢🎉🎉🎉🎉‼️‼️🔥🔥💢💢‼️‼️💢🔥💢‼️💢‼️💢🎉🎉🎉‼️🔥🔥

I Really Wanna Stay at Your House

Sypnosis: Pico invites Lara to sit down and talk with him. What she didn't expect is the reason for it.

Ship: Pico/Lara 💚🩷

Word Count: 3k

WARNINGS: Hurt/Comfort, Degradation (Pico @ himself, I need to save this man). Not sure what else so lmk!

Happy PicoLara Anniversary!!! The long awaited fic is finally here! Just as a little funfact but this was originally supposed to be a comic but the script got too long bc I kept writing... oops. So it's a fic now! Hope it's a good read still. I haven't written in a long while and this isn't completely proofread but enjoy still 🫶

DNI: prosh1p/comsh1p do not even touch this post.

May 13th, 2024. Monday afternoon. Today was their anniversary, and it was luckily a quiet and slow day. At least it was supposed to.

Pico finds himself seated on the couch, back slouched on the backrest, fiddling his fingers as he was staring at the ceiling. He was feeling nervous.

He wasn't usually like this most of the time, especially on days like these. But today was different, because today, he invited his girlfriend to sit down and talk with him because there was something important he wanted to mention. No, it wasn't about the anniversary– they were both fully aware of that already. It was something more personal to him, something that has been troubling him for quite a while now. He couldn't start on that conversation just yet though, because she wasn't there with him.

She was still in their bathroom cleaning herself up. He had knocked on the door prior to this– asking her to join him on the couch once she was done. She agreed of course, and now he was just waiting for her to finish. But as every second passed by, he was starting to get a little more restless.

He was alone with his thoughts for the time being, his mind swirling around the topic he wanted to talk about with her. It was terrifying, imagining all the made-up scenarios on how this one conversation he'll have with his girlfriend could go wrong. He should really try looking on the brighter side more often, but right now he can't.

Right now he feels his stomach twist and turn, and it almost makes him want to throw up. He clenches one of his hands into a fist until the knuckles turn white, forgetting his own strength of all things. He hates how uneasy he gets with simple confrontation, even though this wasn't a confrontation at all. It was really just a simple little talk. But the fear of it still gnaws at him from the inside out.

All those negative thoughts die once Lara enters the room.

"Hey, what's up?" She smiles, and it's as almost as bright as the sun that's shining through the window. Maybe if Pico stares hard enough, he could see the faintest outline of a halo right above her head.

He notes her appearance briefly. She's wearing shorts and a loose tank top. Her hair was slightly fluffed up, an effect of hair-drying such thick hair after taking a shower. She looked so relaxed and refreshed, and it makes his heart skip a beat. She looks so pretty.

Pico clears his throat as he finally loosens up, lifting one hand up to wave at her. "Hi, hey." He greets, and the words come out more quiet than he'd like. He feels like he's staring. He's definitely staring. It's so obvious to her that it makes her chuckle, the soft laughter finally snapping him out his trance.

"Here, take a seat." He moves to one side of the couch, making room for her to sit on.

Once she's seated, she looks at him expectantly. "So..." She starts, looking off to the side momentarily before returning her gaze on him.

Being on the spotlight like this makes a lump form in Pico's throat. There it was again, that sinking feeling of how this whole thing could go wrong. He clears his throat once more, pushing his fear back before speaking.

"So... about what I wanted to talk about." He pauses, trying to find the right words to describe the topic he has in mind. "It's... well, pretty serious."

"Did something go wrong?" She instantly asks. She tried to keep it casual, wanting to keep the light and airy atmosphere despite the topic (whatever it may be). But she couldn't stop the worry that slips in her tone when speaking, her protectiveness starting to override.

"No, no- everything's fine actually. I mean it as- this is really important, at least to me." He explains, and it makes her sigh in relief. He wouldn't want to give her a heart attack this early on.

"I'm listening."

"Well, you see... it's not really easy to talk about."

"Something personal?" She asks carefully, wanting to make sure she's not overstepping any boundaries. She knows he should know he can decline answering if it touches on something private.

"I guess you can consider it that way." He answers with a shrug, seeming unsure himself if it could be deemed as such.

"Well, whatever it is, take your time. I'm listening whenever you’re ready."

"Right, uhm..." He mutters, finding himself a lot more hesitant all of a sudden. He doesn't know why he still finds himself this way, scared to open up and be vulnerable still. The person across him has witnessed him at his complete worst. They've both been through hell and back for each other, yet there's still unease despite it all.

He gulps again, trying to swallow down his dread. "It's just..." He groans, and it frustrates him how complicated he's finding this. "It's- it's really not that easy. I-"

"Hey, it's okay." She immediately tries to reassure him, reaching out to hold him. Her hand rests gently on his arm, hoping it provides some form of comfort. "Like I said, take your time. But if you can't tell me then there's no need to force it-"

"But I want to tell you!" He cuts off, his face practically pleading. "I've been dying to tell you this and it's killing me, I-"

"Pico-"

"Lara," he grips her by the arms, white eyes staring straight into her own. "You are the love of my life and the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. You've stuck by my side after all this time even after everything. After every breakdown, argument, every time we'd wake up in the middle of the night because one of us had a nightmare. Even after I've hurt you-"

"So did I-" She's confused and startled. She wasn't expecting this yet she's still listening. She just couldn't help but butt in during that one sentence.

Pico huffs. "That's not the point. My point is that you still stayed. Stayed to love me, care for me. Made the best out of the fucking mess I am. Everything. And I just-"

"Pico-"

"You're everything. You're seriously fucking everything to me and I- I don't know where I'd be without you. Not here, not right now that's for sure. I'd probably- no, I'd definitely be dead sooner or later if you didn't come into my life."

"That's not true!"

"It is. It fucking is and you know it."

"Pico- please," she's the one pleading now, worried on where his words are going. Although she appreciates his adoration for her, she didn't want it to come at the cost of him demeaning himself. "I- you're shaking."

"You're just... I don't want to loose you." He admits weakly as he looks down, feeling his grip loosen when she moves his hands away. They're wrapped around hers now, slender and soft fingers cradling his shaky and calloused ones. He intakes a breath of air and it's an unsteady one. "I can't loose you."

"I'm not going anywhere, love. You know that." She responds, gripping his hands tightly into hers. "We've talked about this. I'll always be right here for you, just like you will for me."

"You're- that's not-"

"What? What's not? Explain it to me, I don't-"

"Fuck. Just-" He's exasperated now. He knows he's not making any sense and the conversation isn't going the way he wants it to. But he just can't bring himself to say the right words. The direct ones.

It's when he finally pulls a hand free from her hold, reaching into his pocket before dragging something out. He places the item on the palm of her hand, albeit a bit roughly.

"Just take it."

"Wh-" She's so much more confused now.

When she finally looks down and reluctantly opens her hand, she finds a small, golden colored band, with a shimmering stone encased neatly on it that she knows is worth thousands. It's settled gently on her palm, and that's when realization hits her.

He was proposing to her.

"Pico- This is-"

When she looks up to look at the ginger, she finds him facing away from her. He was trembling ever so slightly and... is that sniffling she hears?

Oh.

It makes her sigh, free hand reaching out to tap him gently on the shoulder. The action makes him flinch for a second, but she hopes it makes her lover look at her once more.

"Pico..." she says softly.

He slowly turns around to face her again, and that's when she sees it. The state of his face, eyes filled with tears that couldn't stop themselves from spilling, and the flush on his cheeks that was evident. This isn't the first time she saw him get this emotional, but the reasons for such a breakdown is different this time around. It makes her sigh again, reaching her free hand out to hold him.

"Oh, Pico... love..."

"'m sorry."

"Don't be."

She softly whispers, cradling his face now, letting her thumb wipe away some of his tears gently. It makes him instinctively lean into her touch, nuzzling into the palm of her hand despite the wetness. Soon enough, he moves closer, starting to embrace her now as he hides his face away into the crook of her neck. She lets him do so, the action second-nature as she moves her hand to his back now, starting to rub soothing circles on it.

"I could've worded this whole thing better." He mutters, his breath hitting her skin and making her hair tingle.

"You did fine."

"No I didn't. I'm such an idiot."

She sighs once more, a bit more frustrated this time. "You're not! You're the smartest person I even know honestly." She contends, not tolerating his degrading comments any longer.

"Seriously though, you did okay, I promise."

Pico merely stays quiet, gripping his hands a little tighter on her waist as he contemplates things. The silence takes over for a few minutes, but it doesn't bother her. Not one bit, at all. She'd wait for eternity on him if she needed to, but luckily she didn't have to when she hears his voice once more.

"You don't have to... y'know, say yes."

"Now why would I do that?" She tilts her head to try and look at him, even though the only thing she can really see is the back of his head.

He hums for a moment. "Multitude of reasons. Main one is that you aren't ready."

"Well, are you ready?" It felt redundant to ask such a question, considering he did just propose to her. But knowing him? She knows immediately that despite him taking initiative- he still had some reservations in doing this whole thing. She knows him like the back of her mind at this point, and it wouldn't exactly hurt to ask still.

Just as she expected, she feels the hands on her waist grip tighter for a moment, while the face that was hiding in the crook of her neck lets out a muffled answer. That was all she needed to know his true feelings. He was still hesitant.

"I'm taking that as a no, then?"

"No- I mean-" He finally looks up to her now, revealing his face from hiding. His eyes meets her once again and it makes him feel like he's caught red-handed. His voice was a bit more raspy and strained, but he cleared his throat before speaking again to let his words sound clearly.

"It was... hard. I thought about it a lot, so many times, for a long, long time." He admits now, his voice slow and almost quiet from the shame he feels. "Every time I thought of proposing, it scared me shitless. I didn't feel ready- I wasn't at all ready. But the more time flew past us, the more scared I got about losing you. Scared you'd get bored eventually with how long we're still dating. But it also felt too soon. But I still wanted to show you much you mean to me- how precious you are. But I'm still-"

"Hey. Hey, breathe. you're shaking again."

"Sorry, I-" He intakes a deep breath of air. When that wasn't enough, she guides him with a breathing exercise to help calm his nerves properly. When she sees he's finally relaxed, she speaks up.

"It's okay. It really is." She gives him a gentle smile, wanting to reassure him. "I can understand how hard this is for you, I'm not mad at you or blame you for feeling scared. But I want you to know I'd never get bored or leave you just because we've been dating for so long now. Do you really think I'd throw away all of this—what we have—just because you haven't proposed to me sooner?"

"No, but..." He trails off, realizing soon enough how she has a point.

It was purely paranoia on his part, clouding his common sense and reasoning. Even after all the progress they did to lessen it and make him feel safe in this relationship, the doubts still crawl back into his mind every now and then. Now is one of those moments. His face shows the inner conflict that he's going through, and it makes her frown. She places the ring in her hand on her side for a moment, before using that same hand to cradle his face fully to make him look at her again.

"I love you. I love you so much, Pico. I could care less when you'd propose to me, so please don't worry about it too much. Do it whenever you're ready."

"But I want to do it now. I want you to- I just want to show how you're everything to me. I don't want to push this back any further."

"So are you proposing now?"

His breath hitches, but he nods. "Yes."

"Then I do. I mean- sorry," she giggles, and it makes the ginger chuckle in response too. "I mean yes. Yes, I will marry you."

His features finally relax as it contorts to give out a relieved smile. His laughter becomes louder now, more joyful as he wraps his arms around her tightly. It pushes her back onto the couch with him on top of her now, still embracing her as he sounded and seemed so happy. It makes her laugh back in response, the laughter contagious.

"I'm glad. I’m so fucking glad..." He sighs, before pausing for a moment as he looks up to her. "Ah, where's the ring actually?"

"Oh, I set it down somewhere on the-"

"Found it." He says with a chuckle before lifting himself up from his fiancé now. Right, she was his fiancé now, and so was he to her. He could get used to calling her that.

He sits up properly to look at her now, and it makes her do the same. He holds out his hand to her, making her understand immediately and comply as she put her hand on top of his.

Slowly and gently, he slots the diamond ring into place, watching as it glimmers slightly. Once it was in place, Lara brings her hand up to admire it, shifting her hand in different angles as she observed the precious ring now wrapped around her finger. It makes her smile.

"It looks beautiful." She whispers.

"Glad you like it."

"Like it? I love it! But also... you shouldn't really have gotten me something so expensive."

He scoffs. "But you deserve it."

"I'm scared I might loose something so precious. The guilt of doing so would eat me alive."

"Nonsense. I'm sure it wouldn't slip off your finger that easily. How does it feel?" He eyes the ring closely now, running his thumb over the jewelry to check if he got the right size for her.

"Fits perfectly." She answers, and that alone makes his insides swell with pride.

"See? No need to worry. Even if you did loose it, I don't mind buying a new one."

"Pico!"

"Whaaat?" He shrugs innocently, but there's already a clear smirk on his face that he was anything but such. "Buying that one didn't even leave a dent in my savings. Surely another one wouldn't hurt." He says it so playfully that the angel couldn't help but just sigh.

"You're unbelievable."

"C'mon. Let me spoil you every now and then." He wraps her arms around her once more, gently guiding them both down to lay on the couch again. He nuzzles his face into her neck and it makes her laugh.

"It's not that- just..." She looks away as she hesitates on continuing, her cheeks heating up from the next few words she thought of saying. It only makes the ginger all the more curious, trying to encourage her to speak up. When she does, her voice is soft and quiet, and reasonably so.

"Save the rest of your money when we settle down, yeah?" She says sheepishly, but there's also a hint of sweetness to it. It doesn't help the gentle expression she has on that sets butterflies loose in his stomach.

"So soon?" He teases, although it did make his heart skip a beat just thinking about it. "Not like I can get more as extra."

"I'm just saying. Better to be safer than sorry."

"Fine, fine." He sighs playfully, surrendering to his lover's decision. He moves his head to be on top of hers now, pressing their foreheads together. There's that same adoration in his eyes as he whispers. "Love you."

She can't help but chuckle, smiling as she returns the same gaze. She feels her heart swell with the love she has for this man that it almost feels overwhelming. "Love you too." She replies, before feeling the soft press of his lips against hers.

She moves her hands upward to run through his hair, and it makes him smile during it. They'll be here for a while.

[venusbyline]

Overwhelmed ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 31, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Spencer Reid x girlfriend!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: knife play + CNC

— summary: Spencer's mockery caused a sudden agony in your brain, your insides churning as your body writhed against the knife again. All of that seemed too much. Maybe it was because of the exhaustion of lying motionless in the chair, maybe it was because the ropes were too tight, maybe it was also because Spencer was starting to rub the knife too hard.

— word count: 1.8k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 31st day, female!reader, boyfriend!Reid, post-prison!Reid, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, knife play, consensual non-consent (CNC), kidnapping roleplay, rape roleplay, safeword use, dry humping, dry sex, aftercare, rope bondage, dumbification, curse words, crying, subspace, bittersweet ending, rough sex, spit, choking, asphyxiation, sadism, slight dark content, mild angst, mild fluff, soft!Reid, dom!Reid, sub!reader. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

"Oh, what a naughty girl you are. Did you really think you could get away from me so easily?"

Spencer's words echoed through the room and you whimpered immediately, your panties stuffed into your mouth as a way to muffle the sounds you had been making since Spencer caught you over hours ago, your body cold from the loneliness inside the empty room, the only other thing there being the chair beneath you, your hands and legs tied by a rope whose material was good enough to keep you still even after you tried to squirm when he approached.

"Don't be so hard on me, princess." Spencer teased, chuckling as he walked over until he knelt in front of you, his large hand caressing your cheek. "It could have been worse, couldn't it? When I kidnapped you, I could have been more... Rough." His voice sounded so sweet it turned your stomach and you closed your eyes. Oh, you perfectly remembered about the kidnapping. You were leaving work and all you least expected while you were walking in the parking lot was that you would feel someone grabbing and immobilizing you from behind, the alcohol rag in your nostrils making it difficult for you to escape, until you finally passed out.

Spencer played with your cheek, caressing the skin like you were a doll. A living doll. God, you could even picture him turning you into something like that if you could not escape. "You're so beautiful. Your boyfriend must be such a lucky guy to have you all to himself... A little doll for him to have fun with every night." You opened your eyes when you heard the sentence, your pupils dilating after assimilating what he meant, and it took you a few seconds to react, returning to scream against the fabric of your panties. Spencer ignored the muffled sounds and let his hand trail down your neck, his fingertips brushing your jugular. "I'd like to have you as my doll. What do you think about that, princess?"

You stared at him with the best look of disgust you could muster, hearing Spencer's soft chuckle before he scoffed. "Poor little thing, I almost forget that you can't talk like that." He continued stroking your neck, but his free hand went to your mouth, removing your panties and smirking at the sight of you choking on the sudden intake of air through your mouth, your lungs burning more with each cough. "Better now?" Despite the mean voice, you noticed how Spencer was checking you out, waiting for a verbal response.

After continuing to cough for a while, you managed to mumble. "F-fuck you. You fucking and sick psycho."

Spencer's facial expression was almost comical, his brown eyes wide and his lips parted, trying to think of something clever to say. However, even the genius man with his extremely high and above average IQ was not prepared for your very angry tone and your swearing.

You take advantage of his momentary distraction to spit in his face, and that was what makes him snap out of his trance. Spencer growled, wiping the trail of saliva on his face with the cotton fabric of your panties and looked at you with fire in his eyes. The hand that was playing with your neck closed around it, your eyes widening as you feel the air being denied to you for the second time.

"Fucking slut. I was really trying to be nice to you." Spencer growled again. "Is this how you treat your little boyfriend? Spitting in his face like a wild badass? I don't think so..." Spencer's jaw clenched and he released your throat then. He considered shoving the panties in your face again, until he found a better use for the fabric, stuffing it inside his pocket.

You barely had time to register what was happening. One moment, you were coughing, your throat sore from the asphyxiation, and the next, you were a mess of moans and low screams, rubbing yourself against something hard that you were not sure what it was until you looked down.

Your pussy was simply rubbing against the tip of the handle of Spencer's knife, something he was keeping in his pants pocket along with the leather glove he nimbly put on when you were still struggling to breathe. He took advantage of the strength of the glove's fabric to hold the blade and stimulate your swollen clit with the wooden handle, your legs tied to the chair making your thighs press together, also making the friction more intense for you and more fun for Spencer to watch. "Poor little thing..."

Spencer's mockery caused a sudden agony in your brain, your insides churning as your body writhed against the knife again. All of that seemed too much. Maybe it was because of the exhaustion of lying motionless in the chair, maybe it was because the ropes were too tight, maybe it was also because Spencer was starting to rub the knife too hard.

You could not tell what was happening to your body and inside your mind, but you suddenly snapped. "STOP IT, PLEASE!" You cried out, trying in vain to stop your clit from continuing to pulse against the knife held by Spencer.

Spencer froze when he heard your voice, so fragile and painful. These words normally would not be enough to completely stop the roleplay. They were words always said during the roles. However, Spencer was not an idiot. He knew his girlfriend like the back of his own hand and knew something was wrong. Your scream sounded much more broken than most other times.

"Color?" Spencer asked, moving the knife away from your field of vision, still keeping it in his hand. "Baby, what's the color right now?"

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath when your clit stopped being so abused, tears flowing as you tried to think about your color system. Did you just want a brief break so the two of you could continue after you breathing for a few more moments? Did you want to stop the roles completely? Could you hold on a little longer? Were you too exhausted? Was Spencer mad at you? "Red. Or yellow. Or red... I don't know, Spencie. Please... I just wanna stop it." Your sob broke Spencer's heart, your tears being like salt in the wound. He did not take long to throw the knife on the floor, whispering an apology when you were startled by the sound of the blade hitting the floor.

"It's okay, baby. You're fine. We're fine. It's over. Now it's just me. Your Spencie, your boyfriend." Spencer muttered as he undid the tight knots he had made to immobilize your arms and legs. "You were so good to me, baby. You're always good. I'm so proud of you..."

You shook your head, tears still streaming down your face. You did not feel good enough for Spencer at that moment. Even though it was just your brain playing tricks on you, you could not help but feel useless. Why could not you hold on just a little longer? Both of you always played like that when Spencer was feeling bad about the prison memories. It was a way to help him fight the traumas he had acquired and his slightly dark side that had awakened. You did not know if it was actually a healthy sexual thing to do, but Spencer refused to talk about that part with the therapist.

Anyway, Spencer had your consent. It was something the two of you had already talked about and debated about his boundaries and yours. Sometimes the roleplay had a brief script to be followed and everything varied depending on the needs of both of you. In that week, you and Spencer had decided to go again for something more like an obsessive stalker and a taken girl. Spencer really had a thing for that kink, and you mentally wondered if he pictured your fake boyfriend in the roleplay as the past version of himself.

It was not anything you had not already done. It was always the controversial "consensual non-consent" roleplay. Spencer always gave his all to act perfectly, warning you in advance the day before that something like this would happen that night. You could blame it on tiredness from work, because you had actually forgotten about it when Spencer "kidnapped" you, even though you had followed his commands throughout the afternoon about parking your car away from the security cameras so no one would think he was really kidnapping you. He definitely did not need more time in prison for another mistake by the authorities.

"I-I'm so sorry..." You managed to mumble a few minutes later, the only words in your mind since Spencer untied you, picked you up and ran a warm bath for you.

"There's nothing to worry about, baby." Spencer said, running the sponge gently over your skin, taking extra care with your wrists, which were quite red and bruised due the ropes. "I overdid it this time. I left you waiting too long alone in the room and—"

You interrupted him when you realized he was blaming himself. "Stop it, Spencer. You did everything like we always do. I could have taken more... I just... I felt overwhelmed this time. It all felt like too much. I had too much stress at work and I even forgot a little about what would happen today." Your eyes opened to look at him, noticing that he also had a few tears in those beautiful and big sad eyes.

"I'm so, so sorry. I should have noticed." You shook your head again and Spencer sighed at your stubbornness, taking your wrist gently and placing a few soft kisses on your raw skin. "I'll make it up to you, I promise, baby."

You wanted to say that he did not need to make up anything. That he had not done anything wrong. You had used the color system as you should. You had said your safeword like you were supposed to. You wanted to tell him that you loved him and that he did not need to feel guilty about that situation. There were so many things to be said, clarified and reflected on, but both of you knew that was not the time yet. Spencer could deal with your silence for a while longer. He would bathe you carefully as you relaxed in the bathtub. He would apply ointment to your bruises, and apply body oil to the rest of your skin. He would dry your hair and lay you down on your large and soft bed, only leaving the room for a few quick minutes to get you some tea. Then, Spencer would let you rest and sleep, until your body and mind returned to stability and the two of you could talk about everything that had happened.

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[kckt88]

A Heartbeat Between Us.

Summary:

'Pregnant. Gods, how could she let this happen?

The answer flashed before her mind’s eye—an image of a defined chest, his lean yet muscular form, that sharp, sculpted face. The long silver hair that spilled over his shoulders, a single penetrating blue eye that seemed to look right through her.

And then beneath the clothes and boxers that hid the impressive length and girth of his cock. Y.N felt her throat go dry just thinking about it.

Oh-that’s how it happened.'

Drunken sex with your friends brother, was one thing but getting pregnant with his baby, now that was another matter entirely.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Swearing, Alcohol Consumption, Infidelity, Kissing, Oral Sex, Unprocted Sex, P in V, Pregnancy.

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count: 6048.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

Y.N sat on the cold, tiled floor of her bathroom, staring down at the positive pregnancy test in her trembling hand.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, as she forced herself to stand up, inhaling sharply.

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the test into the bin, though it was the fourth one she'd taken.

The missed period and constant morning sickness should have been enough of a clue, but no—she had to pee on a stupid plastic stick to truly accept what was happening.

Pregnant. Gods, how could she let this happen?

The answer flashed before her mind’s eye—an image of a defined chest, his lean yet muscular form, that sharp, sculpted face. The long silver hair that spilled over his shoulders, a single penetrating blue eye that seemed to look right through her.

And then beneath the clothes and boxers that hid the impressive length and girth of his cock. Y.N felt her throat go dry just thinking about it.

Oh- so that’s how it happened.

Neither of them had planned it. Blame the alcohol, the pent up lust, and the heat of the moment.

Still, it had been incredible, regardless of the consequences. A frustrated groan escaped her as she left the bathroom, wandering into her bedroom.

Her gaze fell to the bed, the same bed they’d writhed together on, naked and slick with sweat as he drove her over the edge again and again. She bit her lip as the memory of his hands, his mouth, sent a wave of heat through her.

Shaking her head, Y.N yanked on an oversized cardigan, trying to ignore the way her body reacted to the memory of him.

She needed to focus, to distract herself. Her feet carried her to the kitchen, where a pile of dishes awaited her. But instead of starting to wash them, her eyes landed on a photograph—her and Jacaerys.

Her ex-boyfriend.

She sighed, her chest tightening. They had broken up four months ago, but Jace had called her just two days ago, wanting to work things out.

Y.N's lips pressed together as she picked up the photo, staring at it for a moment before placing it face down on the counter.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen now.

Rubbing her hands over her face, she leaned against the counter. She knew what had to be done—first, she needed to make an appointment with the midwives.

Then, she needed to tell him. The father.

Gods, please don’t let him be an insufferable prick about it.

He had a tendency, didn’t he? Even though he’d changed since their school days, there was still a part of him that could be-difficult.

Her mind then betrayed her again, a flash of him working her body, bringing her to pieces with his tongue.

Y.N whimpered at the memory, her body trembling.

But this wasn’t the time for that.

She grabbed her phone, ignoring the sudden, nagging throb of need that lingered in her belly.

No, this was real now.

She dialled the number for the midwives office, steadying her breath as she booked an appointment for tomorrow.

The rest-well, that would have to come after.

The next day, Y.N sat in the waiting room of her local midwife centre, glancing around at the pastel-coloured walls and floral décor.

Boredom began to seep in as the minutes dragged by. The distant cries of babies echoed through the air, pulling her from her thoughts. She turned her head, catching a glimpse of a mother soothing a newborn, and despite everything, a warm, happy smile spread across her face.

"Y.N?" A stern voice interrupted her daydream.

Snapping to attention, Y.N stood up and followed the sour-looking midwife down a narrow corridor, her footsteps echoing off the linoleum floor. She was directed into a much warmer, cozier room, where the atmosphere softened.

"Good morning," a kindly midwife greeted her, adjusting her glasses as she stood beside a small ultrasound machine.

Y.N took a deep breath and stepped inside, her nerves prickling beneath her skin.

The midwife smiled kindly, beckoning her to sit. "When was your last period?" the woman asked gently, her pen hovering over a clipboard.

Y.N stared down at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. "I-I don’t really remember-" she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

The midwife reached out, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "No matter, we’ll get a clearer picture. Let’s take a look, shall we?"

With a nervous nod, Y.N moved to the examination bed, pulling up her shirt and exposing her stomach.

She bit her lip, her anxiety bubbling as the midwife spread warm gel over her abdomen.

The midwife began moving the device across her stomach, her eyes fixed on the monitor. For a few moments, there was silence, the room filled only by the soft hum of the machine. Then suddenly, a faint but strong sound filled the air—a tiny, fluttering heartbeat.

Y.N sat up straighter, her eyes wide as they darted to the screen. There, amidst the blurry black and white image, was her child. Her child.

The sound washed over her, and without warning, tears welled up in her eyes. They slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them, happiness engulfing her in a way she hadn’t expected. It was the most incredible sound, the most undeniable proof that this was real.

"Everything looks good," the midwife said confidently, tapping a few buttons on the machine. "Nice strong heartbeat-I’d say that you’re roughly eight weeks pregnant."

Eight weeks. The child-was definitely his.

She managed a small, trembling smile, still trying to process the flood of emotions swirling inside her.

The midwife froze the image on the screen, printing out a picture and handing Y.N a tissue to wipe the gel from her skin.

Then she scribbled something on a notepad and tore off the page, handing it to her along with the ultrasound photo.

"You’ll need to come in every other month so we can monitor the pregnancy and see how things progress." The midwife smiled kindly again, pushing the paper into Y.N’s trembling hand.

“O-Ok” muttered Y.N

"Take this to the front desk, and they’ll schedule your next appointment."

"Thank you," Y.N mumbled quickly, her voice barely steady as she stood and made her way out of the room.

She paused in the hallway, staring down at the ultrasound scan she now held in her hands. There it was—a tiny figure. In black and white, undeniable proof.

She was really pregnant.

Y.N sat on her sofa, the weight of the day pressing down on her as she stared at the ultrasound picture in her hand.

A baby was growing inside her.

Her heart swelled with emotions she hadn't expected, a sudden surge that consumed her entirely.

She had never felt anything like this before—this fierce, protective love. It was as if her entire being had shifted, realigned with this new reality. Every fibre of her body already wanted this child, with a depth and intensity that stunned her.

The father deserved to know, of course. It wasn’t even a question. But as she sat there, staring at the picture, Y.N made a decision.

She wasn’t going to force anything out of him. If he wanted to be involved, then he would have to choose that path himself.

Exhaling, Y.N sank deeper into the sofa, pulling her legs up beneath her as her eyes flitted over to the magazine that lay on her coffee table.

There he was, arm draped around his girlfriend—a dark-haired, older woman dressed in designer finery, the picture of elegance and wealth.

And he—clad in a perfectly tailored suit that moulded itself to his lithe, muscular frame—looked every bit the part of someone whose life was wrapped in perfection.

He was part of the Targaryen dynasty, one of the wealthiest families around. He and his half-sister Rhaenyra had taken over Targaryen Inc. after their father Viserys had passed away and Aegon, his older brother, had refused to step up, content to live off his inheritance.

Y.N’s lips pressed together as she wondered, for what felt like the hundredth time, how he would react to the news. Would he embrace it? Take responsibility? Or would he ignore it, pretend it didn’t exist?

Their lives were already so different, so far apart from where they’d started. Whatever happened, whatever choice he made, there was no denying that their lives were about to spiral into a whirlwind neither of them had expected.

She pulled a blanket around herself, snuggling deeper into its warmth as she closed her eyes, letting herself drift back to the night it all started.

It had started at Helaena’s flat, where Y.N was nervously tugging at the hem of her dress, glancing at herself in the mirror. “Do you think this dress looks okay?” she asked, turning to Helaena, who was adjusting her own makeup at the vanity.

Helaena smiled warmly, “You look beautiful, Y.N. Seriously. You have nothing to worry about.”

Y.N sighed, feeling a knot of anxiety twist in her stomach. “Sorry, I’m just nervous. I haven’t been clubbing since before I was dating Jace, and now that we’re over-” She trailed off, biting her lip. “-I’ve heard he’s seeing someone new. A girl named Sara”

Helaena waved her hand dismissively. “Forget about him. Tonight isn’t about arsehole ex-boyfriends.”

Y.N raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Isn’t he your nephew?”

Helaena smirked back, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Exactly, which is why I’m perfectly entitled to call him an arsehole. Now come on, let’s go enjoy ourselves.”

Y.N nodded, feeling the tension lift slightly as she followed Helaena out of the flat. They ended up at a club called Dragon’s Den, a pulsing, neon-lit space that buzzed with energy.

After an hour of drinks and dancing, the alcohol had finally started to work its magic. Y.N’s nerves faded away, replaced by a light, heady feeling of freedom.

“Oh, look,” Helaena waved excitedly, “-My brothers have finally arrived-took them long enough"

Y.N turned and her breath caught in her throat.

Lord almighty.

Aegon, the eldest, was grinning widely as he weaved through the crowd, his bubbly and cheerful demeanour making him instantly noticeable. Then there was Daeron, the youngest, with his hypnotic blue eyes and infectious smile, the picture of youthful charm.

But it was the man trailing behind them, cutting through the crowd with a quiet intensity, who made her heart stutter.

Aemond.

His silver hair was tied back, revealing the sharp, angular lines of his face, the eyepatch only adding to his dark allure.

Gods, did he always look that good?

Y.N mentally kicked herself. Damn it, what the hell was wrong with her? Clearly, the alcohol was clouding her senses, making her thoughts wander.

But when they locked eyes over the dancing crowd, and he smirked—that smug, knowing smirk—and something stirred inside her.

She forced herself to smile back half-heartedly and then, defiantly, turned her back on him.

Y.N threw back her drink, requesting another when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she was met with Daeron’s beaming face, his gorgeous blue eyes crinkled in the corners.

“Good to see you, Y.N.” He kissed her hand in a playful, old-fashioned gesture.

“Daeron, how have you been?” she asked, though her attention briefly flickered to the man across the floor still watching her intently.

“I’ve been good, thanks for asking,” Daeron replied cheerfully, his fingers still holding hers. “Would you like to dance?”

Y.N glanced at Helaena, who gave her a subtle nod of encouragement. Looking back at Daeron’s hand, she replied politely, “Yes, I’d like to dance.”

Daeron beamed, leading her onto the dance floor. His hand on her waist pulled her close as they swayed to the rhythm of the music, and they fell into easy conversation, his charm and humour quickly making her laugh. For a brief moment, Y.N felt light, carefree.

But then, a voice—low, sultry, and cutting—sliced through the noise.

“Do you mind if I cut in?”

Daeron smirked, stepping back slightly as he glanced at Y.N. “It’s up to her,” he said with a shrug.

Y.N turned, and there he was—Aemond, standing tall, his intense gaze fixed on her. He extended a hand, his interest undeniable.

Without hesitation, Y.N let out a small laugh and took his hand.

“-Arse” she heard Daeron mutter as he moved away from them.

Aemond’s fingers brushed against her skin as he pulled her close, closer than she had been to Daeron. His body was firm against hers, his hand resting possessively at the small of her back.

“Look at you” said Aemond, his voice thick with something more than just amusement.

She looked up at him, refusing to back down. “I saw you looking earlier”

“You were always pretty, but tonight-you’re stunning-”

Y.N laughed softly. “I thought I was annoying and insufferable—or at least, that’s what you used to say to me back in school.”

Aemond’s eye gleamed with amusement. “Clearly, things have changed.”

Tilting her head, Y.N smirked. “How’s your grandma? I mean, Alys?”

Aemond let out a deep laugh, shaking his head. “She's with Larys in America.”

Her eyes traced the lines of his neck, landing on his lips. “So-that explains your attention tonight?”

He let one hand go and tipped her chin up, staring into her flustered face. “I’ve always appreciated a beautiful woman.”

Then, leaning in, his breath hot against her ear, he whispered, “And you are beautiful.”

After two more songs, with Aemond's hand firmly guiding her across the dance floor, Y.N could feel the tension between them growing, the air charged with something far more than just the rhythm of the music.

His touch was deliberate, the way he held her close to his body unmistakable, and her pulse quickened every time he looked down at her, his intense gaze burning into her skin.

As the last song ended, Aemond leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. “Let me buy you a drink,” he offered, his voice smooth and low.

Y.N nodded, trying to keep her composure as they made their way to the bar. The crowd around them seemed to blur, the music fading into the background as she focused on the man standing beside her.

As soon as they reached the bar, he gestured to the bartender and ordered two drinks.

“How are things with you and my nephew?” Aemond asked casually, leaning on the counter as he turned to face her.

Y.N let out a dry laugh, downing her drink in one swift motion, grimacing at the sharp taste of alcohol burning down her throat.

“There is no me and Jace” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “Not anymore. He was with some girl from up north called Sara”

Aemond huffed in response, his lips curling into a slight smirk. “His loss,” he said simply, as he downed his whiskey with ease. He ordered another round for the both of them, and Y.N couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, her tone laced with curiosity. “I thought you hated me.”

Aemond scoffed, setting his empty glass down on the bar. “I don’t hate you, Y.N. I never did.”

Y.N blinked in surprise. “Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered. “So why act like you did?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened as he poured the truth out, more candid than she’d ever seen him. “I was a prick,” he admitted, a rare look of vulnerability flashing in his eye. “Too scared to act on how I felt, so I pushed you away. It was easier to be a bastard than to admit I was attracted to you.”

Her eyes widened at his words, genuinely surprised by his honesty. Aemond wasn’t exactly known for wearing his emotions on his sleeve.

“I’m-surprised you’re being this open,” she said, her lips curving into a small smile. “You’re usually all stoic and reserved. Like no one ever really knows what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

He smirked again, the edge of his lips curling into a half smile. “I’ve changed since you last saw me,” he replied, his voice softer than before.

Y.N studied him for a moment, and she had to admit that there was something different about him now.

Something more relaxed, more assured. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was clear that this wasn’t the same Aemond she’d known back in school.

The same Aemond who teased her, the same Aemond she once had a crush on.

She smiled, downing the rest of her drink as her mind began to feel delightfully fuzzy from the alcohol.

She was vaguely aware of Aemond ordering another drink, but before it arrived, she leaned toward him, her words slurring just slightly. “I’ve got more drinks back at my flat.”

Aemond looked at her for a moment, then grinned, a glint of something dangerous flickering in his eye. “Then let’s go.”

Without hesitation, he took her hand, his fingers warm and firm around hers as he led her away from the bar. They weaved through the crowd, Y.N barely registering the other people around them as she focused on Aemond’s touch, the way his hand didn’t let go, even for a second.

He shouted over to Aegon, something about leaving, but she barely heard it.

The next thing she knew, they were stepping outside into the cool night air, the noise of the club fading into the background as they hailed a taxi.

Y.N’s heart pounded in her chest, and she felt a rush of excitement—something reckless, something wild—course through her veins as they climbed into the back seat together.

The taxi ride was a blur, the tension between them thickening with every passing second. Y.N could feel Aemond’s gaze on her, the heat between them unmistakable. As they pulled up to her flat, she glanced at him, and in that moment, she knew there was no turning back.

Y.N fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking slightly as she finally managed to unlock the door. She pushed it open and turned to Aemond, stepping aside to let him in.

"It's not much, but it's home," she said, her voice a little breathless as she closed the door behind them.

Aemond hummed in response, his eye scanning the flat. He didn’t say much, just let his gaze drift around the room, but Y.N could feel the tension building, thick and heavy between them.

“So-what would you like to drink?” she asked, turning to him with a slight smile, trying to keep things light even though her heart was pounding in her chest.

Aemond’s gaze flicked to hers, his blue eye intense and unwavering. “We both know I didn’t come here for a drink,” he said, his voice low and sultry.

Before she could respond, his hand slid to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her toward him.

His lips crashed against hers, and she let out a soft gasp of surprise before melting into the kiss. It was hungry, desperate—his lips moving over hers like he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than either of them could have admitted.

Y.N’s hands roamed his shoulders, before slipping off his jacket and then tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

Aemond’s hands were equally impatient, slipping round her back and partially unzipping her dress, his fingers grazing against her skin, sending sparks of heat through her body.

Between kisses, his voice was low and gravelly, “Bedroom.”

Y.N pulled back just enough to nod, her breath shaky. “This way,” she whispered, taking his hand and leading him down the short hallway to her room.

The moment they stepped inside, the tension that had been building between them snapped, and Aemond was back on her.

His hands cupped her face, pulling her into another searing kiss, and Y.N moaned into his mouth as she felt his long fingers sliding up the back of her neck and into her hair.

“I-I want to see you” muttered Y.N softly.

Aemond slipped his fingers under the strap of his eyepatch and pulled it from his head.

Y.N stood silent she stared at the scar the bisected his cheek, extending through his eyebrow. The sapphire that he’d placed in the eye socket, glinted in the moonlight.

“You are-so-beautiful” whispered Y.N as she leaned forward and placed a number of kisses along his scarred cheek and over the sapphire.

Aemond closed his eye in delight at the tender gesture, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

“Hmmm” rasped Aemond as he ran his thumb over Y.N’s bottom lip, his eye going wide as she opened her mouth and nipped at his thumb before sucking it into her mouth.

“Please-“ moaned Y.N

Aemond’s gaze locked onto hers, his eye dark with desire. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he whispered, his voice rough, filled with a mix of longing and restraint.

Y.N’s heart pounded in her chest as she reached for him, pulling him closer. "Then don’t stop," she whispered back, her voice soft but urgent.

Wasting no time, he pulled Y.N to him, his lips once again claiming hers.

He put his arm around her waist and kissed her passionately, deepening the kiss as she moaned into his mouth. His tongue pushing against hers.

Y.N ran her fingers across his lithe body. His muscles rippled under her fingertips.

She finished unbuttoning the white shirt he wore, placing feathery kisses on his sparsely haired chest as the shirt was removed.

Her fingers toying with the silver cross chain he wore.

Groaning against her creamy smooth skin, he kissed her neck, sucking on the delicate flesh as she leaned into him, enjoying his every touch.

Her dress felt heavy on her. She wanted to be rid of it. She wanted to feel his skin on hers. She reluctantly broke free of his embrace and turned her back to him moving her hair out of the way.

His fingers trembled as he grasped the zip to her dress and pulled it the rest of the way down, the sound echoed through the quiet apartment, and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck.

Using his long fingers, he freed her from the confinements of her dress, and it fell to join his shirt on the floor.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, which seemed to excite him.

Goosebumps appeared where his fingers moved over her. Cupping her ample breasts from behind, Aemond pulled Y.N against his chest. Burying himself in the crook of her neck, sucking on the skin whilst his fingers massaged the soft mounds and played with her hardened nipples.

Aemond turned her to face him. Kissing her again, he trailed kisses down her body and took a rosy nipple in his mouth. Sucking on the bud, he bit down lightly, earning a low moan from deep within her.

He continued his actions on the other breast and kissed past her stomach until he knelt before her. Her fingers in his hair tightened as he ran the tips of his fingers from her stomach down to her core.

Slowly he grasped the lace of her knickers and ripped them from her, pressing the ruined material to his nose and inhaling her scent before standing up.

Y.N reached forward to undo the buttons on his trousers, then she directed him backwards towards the bed.

Her fingers stroked his body, not missing an inch of flesh, admiring the way his muscles twitched under her touch.

Biting down on her lip, she knelt between his legs, and pulled his trousers and boxers down his shapely legs and threw them on the floor.

Gods. His cock. It was impressive.

Y.N wanted to put it in her mouth, to taste him, but before she could, Aemond leaned forward and pulled her onto the bed.

He covered her body with his as he sucked and licked at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Y.N moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Ooo A-Aemond” exclaimed Y.N as he moved down her body, nibbling her at her skin as he went.

“Such a pretty pussy " breathed Aemond, spitting on her pussy before he ran the flat of his tongue up her soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Y.N her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it my sweet. Let me hear you”. 

“YES! It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Y.N.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Y.N, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Y.N. "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh, fuck" whimpered Y.N; her chest heaving.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby,” moaned Aemond, his face pressed between her shaking thighs.

Y.N arched  her back and screamed as her climax washed over her.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at her centre as she squirted all over his face.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Y.N.

Aemond rose to his knees, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth.

Aemond moved up Y.N’s body pausing to grasp hold of her left breast as he ran his tongue over the rosy nipple, his teeth grazing the stiffened peak.

“Oh-yes“ gasped Y.N, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

Aemond then grabbed her around the waist and manoeuvred her body on top of his.

“I want you to ride me-” exclaimed Aemond as he lined up his cock with her entrance and sheathed himself inside her with one hard thrust.

Y.N moaned as Aemond withdrew and entered into her repeatedly.

Faster and faster. Harder and deeper, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

"Please don't stop," cried out Y.N

"I have no intention of stopping" growled Aemond, his feet planted firmly on the bed to allow him to increase the intensity of his thrusts.

A satisfied smile spread across his face as he quickened and angled his movements, so his cock rubbed on that special place inside her.

Aemond seemed mesmerized by the sight of her breasts bouncing in front of him as he surged forward, his mouth wrapping around one rosy bud.

His teeth and tongue teasing the stiffened peak.

“Gods-yes Aemond” shrieked Y.N as she bounced on his cock, her hands coiled in is long silver hair.

“That’s it baby-take it-take all of me” growled Aemond leaning back as he moved Y.N’s hips in time with his thrusts.

“Oh gods-” wailed Y.N.

“That’s it-FUCK Y.N” groaned Aemond as he took hold of her and quickly manoeuvred her onto her back, his cock never leaving the warm wetness of her as he began to pound into her, the sounds of skin slapping on skin echoing around her bedroom.

“P-Please Aemond. Don’t stop. Don’t stop-“ whimpered Y.N.

“Come for me baby-come for me” growled Aemond as he felt her clenching around him.

“AEMOND” screamed Y.N as she exploded, her nails digging into his back.

Aemond held back for as long as he could, but his release was upon him.

With a final hard thrust, he spilled rope after rope of his seed.

He muffled his groans into her mouth as she hung onto him, kissing him fervently.

She held him close to her body, whispering words of comfort and satisfaction while running her fingers down his back.

Y.N was startled awake by a loud, insistent banging on the door. She groaned, rubbing her eyes, still groggy from falling asleep on the sofa.

Straightening her oversized cardigan, she walked over to the door, her heart skipping a beat as she wondered who could be knocking this late.

When she opened the door, she found Jace standing there, his face a mix of uncertainty and determination. “Can I come in?” he asked, his voice tense but soft.

Y.N hesitated for a moment, her mind racing. The last thing she expected was to see Jace at her doorstep.

But eventually, she pushed the door open wider, allowing him to step inside. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead—a gesture that made her stomach churn with discomfort—and she shut the door behind him.

Watching him as he walked around her flat, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for answers, she could feel the weight of his presence growing heavier.

He finally settled on the sofa, looking up at her. "What do you want, Jace?" she asked, crossing her arms as she stood a few feet away.

He patted the space next to him, signalling for her to sit. Reluctantly, she did, keeping her distance.

"I've been thinking about what you said before we broke up," he began, his tone measured, "and I realize now that having a solid commitment is a good idea. I wasn’t ready before, but I’ve been thinking—about us, about our future. I want to fix things. Maybe even-get married."

Y.N’s heart clenched, panic flooding her chest. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "I can't marry you, Jace. I-I'm pregnant."

The words hung in the air, and Jace froze, his expression shifting from surprise to confusion. He blinked a few times before a smile broke through. “That’s-that’s wonderful news,” he said, reaching out to take her hand.

But Y.N quickly pulled her hand back, steeling herself for what came next. “It’s not yours,” she whispered.

Jace's smile evaporated, replaced by pure shock. His eyes widened as the realization hit him. "What? You-cheated on me?"

Y.N bristled at the accusation. “We were broken up, Jace. It wasn’t cheating.”

Jace stood, pacing the small living room, running a hand through his hair as his temper flared. “And you think that makes it okay? After everything—who is it, Y.N? Who’s the father?”

She crossed her arms defensively. “I can’t tell you that. Not yet.”

Jace’s fists clenched. His voice grew louder, his words biting. “I’ll find out. And when I do, I swear I’ll beat the shit out of him.”

Y.N couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, a short, incredulous sound at the absurdity of it.

The thought of Jace going after Aemond, who would undoubtedly destroy him in any confrontation, was almost too much to handle.

“You think this is funny?” he snapped, his face red with anger.

“No, I think you’re being ridiculous,” she shot back. “We were broken up. You don’t get to be mad about this. And let’s not forget, you went off with Sara right after we ended things. So, it’s okay for you to go and stick it in someone else, but I can’t have a one-night stand?”

Jace’s face twisted in frustration, his voice breaking as he snarled, “That was a mistake! I—"

Y.N cut him off. “Well, so was this. But it happened. And now I’m pregnant, and I haven’t even told the father yet. So, I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself until I do.”

Jace’s face fell into a mixture of anger and disbelief. “I know him, don’t I?”

Y.N hesitated, then nodded. There was no point in lying.

Jace’s fury bubbled over as he shouted, “How could you do this?!” His voice echoed through the flat, the tension palpable.

Y.N had had enough. Her body tensed as she stood, glaring at him with cold resolve. “Jace. I’m done, I want you to leave”

“Y.N-”

“Please leave,” said Y.N firmly.

Jace’s anger wavered, replaced by a sad, desperate look as he moved towards the door, his hand on the handle.

“Is it really over? Is there no chance for us?”

Y.N’s eyes softened, but she didn’t falter.  “It’s over Jace. It’s for the best.”

Tears welled in his eyes as he nodded, slowly opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. He paused, his back still turned to her, before disappearing into the night without another word.

Y.N shut the door quietly behind him, her heart heavy but certain she had made the right choice.

The next morning, Y.N stood in front of her wardrobe, pulling out outfit after outfit, nerves rattling through her body.

She wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but every choice felt wrong. After trying on a casual dress, then jeans, and a sweater, she finally settled on a smart skirt and blouse.

She wanted to look put together—not too formal, but not too relaxed either. After all, she was about to deliver life-changing news.

Her fingers trembled as she brushed her hair and applied light makeup, glancing at herself in the mirror.

She couldn’t stop thinking about how Aemond would react. But one thing was certain: no matter his response, this baby was hers. She was determined to protect and love this child with or without him.

Finally, after a last glance at her reflection, she grabbed her handbag and headed out the door. She hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address for Targaryen Inc.

As the car wove through the busy city streets, her heart raced. She rehearsed what she would say, but each scenario in her head ended differently. She sighed, leaning her head against the window.

The towering skyscraper of Targaryen Inc. loomed ahead, sleek and modern with reflective glass panels stretching toward the sky. She paid the driver, stepped out, and took a deep breath before walking into the grand lobby.

The building was immaculate, with marble floors and chic modern décor. It exuded wealth and power—much like the man she was here to see.

"Good morning, how can I help you?" the receptionist asked with a welcoming smile.

“I’m here to see Aemond Targaryen,” Y.N replied, her voice calm though her insides were twisting.

The receptionist gave a polite nod and directed her to take the lift to the 20th floor. "Someone will assist you there," she said, gesturing toward the sleek elevators at the far end of the lobby.

Y.N thanked her and walked toward the lift, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Once inside, she pressed the button for the 20th floor and clasped her hands tightly around the buckle of her handbag.

The quiet music in the lift did little to ease her growing anxiety. She glanced at the floor numbers ticking upward, willing her heart to steady. This was it.

When the lift doors slid open, Y.N stepped out into an elegant office floor. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne, and the space was immaculately designed—sharp, minimalistic, and cold.

A haughty-looking woman with perfect posture greeted her at a sleek desk.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked, her tone professional yet distant.

“I’m here to see Aemond Targaryen,” Y.N said, mustering her confidence, even as her fingers fidgeted nervously with her handbag again.

The woman raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down, clearly assessing her. “Do you have an appointment?” she asked, flipping through the pages of a file on her desk.

Y.N hesitated for a moment before replying, “No, but I’m an old friend. I’m sure Aemond will make time to see me.”

The woman pursed her lips, her fingers pausing over the file. “Let me see if Mr. Targaryen is available.”

She asked for Y.N.’s name, and she told her, watching as the woman nodded and picked up the phone.

Y.N’s stomach twisted as she took a seat in the waiting area, glancing around at the perfectly curated space.

A few tense minutes passed before the woman called out to her.

“Mr. Targaryen will see you now,”

TBC.

[bg-brainrot]

The Thousandth Time (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Summary: Astarion and Rogue!Tav make love for the thousandth time. In a bathtub.

Tags: Smut, Slice of life, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Spawn Astarion, Post-Canon, bathtub sex, sloppy sex, seriously just sickeningly sweet smut, Spawn Astarion, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Domesticity is romantic, Hand Jobs, Blood Drinking

A/N: Some context-- I wanted to write soft, gender neutral smut. And by the gods is this soft. I tried to look at what it's like to love someone for so long. In my experience, when you've been with someone for so many years, you still find a lot of love in the little things. which I hope I hit? Anyway, enjoy!!

Word count: ~5.3k

The thousandth time you make love to Astarion, you don't know it's the thousandth time.

It's a day like any other, really.

After a long day at the guild, you've arrived home, a sigh on your lips, a furrow to your brow.

"Whatever is the matter, my dear?"

You compose your expression and turn toward your lover. "Astarion," you start, a reflexive wistfulness to your tone. Gods are you glad to see him after a day like today. "Nothing is the matter. Nothing important anyway. Simply glad to be home."

Astarion gives you a look that says he doesn't quite believe you, but knows better than to pry too deeply into issues you'd rather not bring home. "Very well, darling. But you know I'm all pointy ears. Especially if Nine-Fingers has been difficult again."

"Ugh," you say, wincing in annoyance. "Do not say her name right now."

The vampire gives you a bright, toothy laugh. "That bad, eh?" You nod. He walks toward you, arms outstretched. "Mmm in that case, shall we call it an early night tonight?"

You dive into the comfort of his arms, holding him to you, inhaling his fresh, familiar scent. It feels like the day's troubles melt in his cold embrace, and the tension in your body finally relaxes. "That might be nice."

"Dinner first?" he asks, pulling away from you slightly.

You look into his warm crimson eyes, feel that same warmth reflected in your face. Of course, he’d check to see if your mortal needs have been met. "No need, I've eaten. How about you?"

Astarion brings a hand up to inspect your face, this way, then that. It’s as if he’s examining you for injury, not assessing if he can partake in a bit of your blood. "Mmm, you seem a tad tired, love."

"You know I'll manage. Besides, get my blood while it's still boiling with rage," you say, craning your neck for him in response.

"As delectable as that sounds,” he begins, letting go of your face, tracing his fingers along your neck. “I think a bath and bed ought to come first."

You want to argue the point, make sure he's fed to the best of your ability, but the yawn that escapes you is irrefutable. With nary another word, his hand is on the small of your back, guiding you toward the bath.

"Would you like to join me?" you ask him as you open the door. Your expression is calm, the question harboring no hidden intentions. Any other day, you may have raised an eyebrow at him suggestively, begun taking off your armor in a tease– but you're tired, simply not wanting to relinquish the feel of his arms around you.

"Certainly, if it keeps you from falling asleep in the tub…" he trails off, looking at you warily. He appears torn, somewhere between keeping you from drowning and keeping you from resting.

You give him a wry smile. “Imagine that. After felling all manner of beasts and men, finally succumbing to the tub.”

Astarion offers you a reluctant smile in return. “My love, I swear to every god above and below, if you die in any manner even remotely that ludicrous, I shall have to pretend not to know you at your funeral.”

“That’s fair,” you say, holding a hand out to him. “Best to make sure that doesn’t happen then, don’t you think?”

The man can’t argue with that, nor does he seem to want to. After an entire day away from each other, this closeness is exactly what the two of you crave. So he takes your offered hand, and follows you into the bathroom.

It has been years since you had added a tub big enough for the two of you in your house. While the two of you had accrued wealth enough for an entire bathhouse, you’d settled for a more modest setup. At least, modest in Astarion’s eyes.

The floor is made of the finest marble tiles, the walls of intricately laid and patterned brick. And in the center of the room, is the room’s main attraction: the enormous, magical tub. It’s long enough that you could comfortably lay down across the entire bottom, wide enough that you have to extend your arms to reach both sides. The outer edges are infused with enchantments to improve your bathing experience, and the tub itself is made of the highest quality crystal that gold can buy.

Once you enter the room, you activate the heat and water sigils along the basin’s edges and turn back to Astarion. “Would you mind grabbing some soaps from the shelf?”

He gives you a lopsided grin, eyes crinkling with amusement, but still moves to do as you ask. “Would you also like me to bathe you while I’m at it?”

“Oh, would you?” you ask half-joking. You begin to strip your armor off, piece by piece.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, picking out a few of his preferred scents from a shelf on the wall. He’s accumulated quite the collection now, enjoying mixing and matching as his nose guides him. “That could be arranged.”

You’re almost halfway through your armor when he returns, bottles of lemon, bergamot, and sage soaps in hand. “Ah, you know how much I love bergamot,” you say, smiling at it fondly, pausing halfway through undoing your leather straps.

“I know,” he says, placing them next to the tub before turning his attention fully to you. “I also know that you need help with that armor or we may be here all night.”

Holding your arms out wordlessly, Astarion starts to unbuckle each and every strap from the front of your padded armor. As he releases you from its confines, you take a deep, relieved breath and say, “Thank you, love.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he murmurs, leaving a long lingering touch along your now exposed collarbone. “While you strike quite the image in your armor, I think I much prefer you without.”

You laugh, feeling quite light in the now steaming room. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your mind is straying quite far from rest, Astarion.”

The vampire shrugs, beginning to tug at your undershirt and small clothes with each of his hands. “Merely stating fact, my darling.”

With a few smooth movements, he’s taken off the last of your clothing, exposing every inch of you to the warmth of the room and the heat of his gaze. He seems just about ready to bury his head in your neck, begin covering every piece of you in kisses, when you speak, “Excuse me, are you planning to enter the bath in your house clothes?”

Astarion looks down at his own garb, the comfortable satins and silks of a man who spent the day lounging at home. When faced with your words and, ugh, logic, he says with a sigh, “Would you do the honors?”

You need no more invitation before your hands are on his soft, flowing shirt, running along it appreciatively. “Is this new?”

“It is,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “Do you like it?”

“It feels magnificent,” you respond, beginning to undo its buttons. “I may just have to steal it for myself one of these days.”

His lips purse at you. “You know, you could simply ask, darling.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you taunt, pulling up on the shirt's edges, tugging it up and off of him. Now, faced with the plane of his ivory chest, your fingers act on instinct. They trail down his shoulders, trace the line of his pectorals, drop down the center of his stomach to the waist of his pants.

Astarion gives you a low, approving noise before asking you wryly, “Now whose mind is straying?”

“Not mine,” you respond, pulling his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. “My hands are just so tired, I’m sure you understand.”

“Surely,” he responds, as he pulls each foot out of his pant legs. “How is the water?”

The bath is steaming by now, visibly fogging up the room, but still, you bend down to skim your hands along its surface. “Ah, it’s warm,” you say, gripping the edge with one hand. “Maybe too warm?”

“No such thing,” he responds, and one of his hands lands next to yours as he bends down to feel the water for himself. The man gives a happy hum before asking, “Shall we then?” Then his now-wet hand is smacking your butt, his head gesturing toward the waiting water. 

“Excuse you,” you say, indignantly, as you turn toward him. “I'm tired.” But you don't feel tired. Not after running your hands over his cold skin. Not after feeling the quick contact of his hand on your backside.

“Not to worry, darling. I’ll take care of you.”

As in, bathing or–? Luckily you don't have much more time to think about it before he’s lowering himself into the tub. Even with his quick movement, even with the water’s slight obscurity, you easily note that Astarion’s cock has stirred in interest.

Ah. While you hadn’t meant to illicit anything by inviting him… it’s certainly not unwelcome. It’s a good thing that your exhaustion is all but melting away under his loving touches.

Acutely aware of his sharp gaze on the length of your back, you turn to face away from him, grab the edge of the tub, and slowly enter its warmth. As was customary in your baths, he would start with your back, so you take a spot in front of him, leaving just enough room for him to settle behind you as he pleases.

Too much room clearly, as Astarion immediately scoots forward, extending his legs to each side of you. You feel his hardening length graze your backside as he does so and can’t help the smile that curves your lips.

"Astarion, dear,” you start, placing your hands on each of his knees under the water. “Are you certain you want to bathe me?"

“And why wouldn't I be?” He leans closer, planting a soft kiss along your spine.

You debate backing up into his groin to prove a point but instead shake your head. "No reason, I suppose."

He begins by lathering his hands in a mixture of soaps, carefully measured out by eye and feel. All the while, you sit before him, hands on each of his calves, thumbs repeatedly rubbing the ridge of his muscles. While he’d had a nice, calm day today, his calves are always so tight from sneaking about– and it’s the least you can do for the man that’s bathing you.

Then his hands get to work.

At first he drags both hands along your back, once, twice. Once he’s made sure that soap covers every inch of you, he starts massaging you, working the soap into your skin, kneading into your sore muscles.

Astarion knows your body so intimately and, after so many years of tending to each other, he rubs all of your tightest spots. His knuckles press deep into your neck. His fingers work around your upper back. His thumbs dig underneath the edges of your shoulder blades, working out the knots he knows lay beneath. And, by the gods, if you thought you’d been melting under his caresses before, now you’re practically a puddle.

You can’t help the noises that come out at the sensation of his nimble fingers at work. Your shoulders ache from a long day of sneaking, stabbing, and general tension of dealing with people– the relief is palpable in the way you relax into his touch, grip his legs, and release several breathy moans.

And with each moan, you can feel his cock growing firmer against you. After the first few, you can feel him shift closer with every noise he draws from you. Knowing your affect on him has always done something to stir the fire in you, and this time it has you shifting uncomfortably as heat blooms between your legs. The both of you spur the other’s building lust, all the while the fresh scent that Astarion’s concocted permeates the air.

Then, when it’s clear he’s done with your back, thoroughly satisfied with each gasping breath of pleasure, his hands drop from your shoulders. They tail down your back, playing along your spine. And, in an almost leisurely motion, they wrap around your torso, where they finally settle on your chest.

I don’t think this is a relaxing bath anymore, you think distantly. Yet you’re unable to resist leaning into his palms, arching into his touch.

Sensing your shuffles, Astarion curls further into your back, almost entirely flush to you now. His fingers feel their way to each of your nipples, first gently brushing against them, then thumbing over them each in turn. They respond eagerly, perking up under his delicate sweep.

“Astarion,” you begin, turning your head back to him slightly and raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” Your tone isn’t exactly admonishing– your voice comes out too quiet, desire muffling all other emotions.

His hands trail down your chest, past the surface of the bath water, settling on each of your thighs before he responds, voice low, lips inches away from your ear. “Making sure that every single centimeter of my beautiful darling is clean, of course.”

“Astarion, I thought you would be, ahh… taking care of me," you say, barely holding on to your trail of thought as his hands dip between your legs, brushing your sensitive core.

“I am taking care of you,” he whispers, finally closing the remaining distance between your back, his front. At the feel of his stiff cock pressing against your back, you give an involuntary gasp. He seems to enjoy your reaction, taking a moment to slowly grind the entire length of his hardened arousal along your backside once, before he settles between your cheeks. “Unless you’d rather leave all of this stress pent up, my dear?”

You’d been tired– been ready to bathe and head off to bed. But something about this man never fails to ignite the fire in your heart– or your loins. “I suppose not,” you murmur, releasing Astarion’s calf, running up his leg with your fingers, landing on his arm, gripping it closer to you.

“I knew you would see reason,” he says, taking your grip as guidance. His hand moves down to begin stroking your heat, building up steadily to the fast-paced rhythm he knows you like. In the water’s buoyant embrace, his actions feel a touch more fluid, his fingers more silken.

It has taken time experimenting together to reach this place– one of utmost security and intimate knowledge of each others’ bodies. But now that you’re here, you’ve found that Astarion’s agile fingers are obscenely precise in their movements. Like he knows exactly which pins to tumble to unlock your utmost excitement.

So you can't help the way you buck into his touch, nor the way the water sloshes around you both in response.

"Careful, love," he says, hand stilling. "We don't want to make a mess this time, do we?"

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember the last time this had happened, how the floor had been practically flooded. You should agree with him, make sure that such an incident doesn't occur again. But the front of your mind is wholly occupied, thinking only of how he's stopped moving his hand, how being careful may mean that he takes it too gently. "Mmm, we managed to clean it up well enough," you respond, jerking your hips back, pressing against him with need.

Astarion's laughter rings upon the bathroom's stone walls, before it turns into a groan as you roll your hips once more. His voice is a bit huskier when he responds, "You know we’re going to regret it later.”

You smile back at him, satisfied with the noise you’ve elicited. “Sounds like a problem for later, doesn’t it?” Then your hand squeezes his arm, motioning it back down to your now throbbing arousal. “For now, what was that about releasing my stress?”

“Oh very well… in that case, let’s find where you ache most, shall we?” Astarion murmurs, dipping his head, placing a kiss on the base of your neck. “Here?” Your shoulder. “Or perhaps here?” Then his hand settles back between your legs, fingers touching you in a rather delicate caress. “Or maybe here?”

You hum a noise of approval as his . “Oh, there.”

His fingers close on your swollen sex, rubbing languidly as he whispers in your ear, “Mmm, darling. So much tension…” A bit more pressure. “I must simply…” A bit faster pace. “Massage it all away…”

If anything, his touches cause you to grasp at his legs harder, all of the muscles in your body responding in kind to his ministrations. Your back arches instinctively, earning an exquisite groan from Astarion. So when his next stroke causes you to clench, you lean into it, grinding your ass back into the full length of his erection, sliding easily in the water’s low friction.

His other hand finds its way to your hip, helping you match his pace as you continue to rock into him.

The two of you fall into a beautiful, raucous rhythm, each open and generous with your vocal pleasure, the water’s regular splashes punctuating each movement.

“Yes, yes, gods, Astarion.”

“My sweet, you’re the only divine thing here.”

Then your words begin to lose sense, your rhythm begins to falter, and it’s clear that you won’t last much longer under his caring fingers.

You also know that Astarion hasn’t been tended to nearly as well as you have.

So you move to turn toward him. With how his full length twitches against you in urgency, your own nimble fingers ought to return the favor.

Astarion stops you, placing his unoccupied hand back on your chest to hold you in place. "Ah ah ah. Love, I'm here to help you."

"You are helping,” you start, pushing back against his hand. “But I don’t want to leave you like this.” ‘This’ is obvious as the man clearly exercises every ounce of self control he has judging from the visible veins on his arm, the way his legs squeeze reflexively around you each time he strokes you.

He gives you a reluctant groan, one that does nothing to hide his desire. “Must you always be so selfless?” His hand doesn’t release your chest though, and he begins tracing delicate, wet circles around one of your nipples, as he murmurs, “Fine, just let me continue.”

Staying in place for him, you reach back with one hand to feel for his cock. It’s almost unreal how naturally you slot around him, the way your fingers circle around its girth. The entire length, inch-by-inch, the pattern of his veins, the sensitive lip of his head– they’re all intimately familiar to you now. As is finding just the right grip, the right pace.

When you start to pump him in earnest, Astarion can't help but shudder, his movements losing their steady, pulsing beat. In losing his pace, he takes on a new one– erratic, a bit fumbling, but utterly intoxicating.

You're both stoking each other’s fires in tandem, wildly offset in your desperation to touch each other more and more and more. 

The water feels almost cool compared to your heated core, to the sweet friction you're building together.

Astarion's face tilts into your back, grunting as he strains to right his tempo– his forehead presses against you, his cool exhale grazes your searing skin. His chilled touch is a reprieve in the sweltering fog of steam and heady lust. Hearing your sigh of relief, he seems all too willing to make more contact.

His lips crash onto your back roughly, and his fangs nick your skin. An involuntary shiver runs through your body as you imagine the pleasure his drinking evokes from you. As you imagine the man behind you lapping at your neck, moaning in satisfaction, flushed pink with your very blood–

"Take some blood,” you offer, breathless. Imagining would never be enough, you find yourself craving the real deal. So when you say your next word, it comes out more pleading than you intend, “Please."

“Whatever my dearest desires,” Astarion replies, voice low and rumbling. He removes the hand from your chest and places it on your shoulder, holding you in place as he places his lips at the crook of your neck. His nose rubs gently against your fleshly washed skin. “Mmm, you smell so good.”

Then his fangs pierce you.

When you first began your relationship, you hadn’t intended to enjoy his bites as much as you do, but after years and years of them, the pain hardly registers now. All you feel is close– So very close to the man you would gladly give your lifeblood to.

He draws a gulp, and you feel the blood course through you, into him.

Another drink, and heat builds in you as you feel his cock grow harder in your hand, his veins more prominent.

A third long pull of your blood, and you feel his fingers quicken at your aching arousal.

You jerk into his hand in reaction, trying to seek an outlet for your pleasure. Your mouth emits a whimper– you hadn’t been comfortable whimpering with Astarion at first, but after he drew one out of you, he couldn’t get enough.

He still can’t, and you feel his lips curl into a smile at your neck, his fingers move with more urgency.

All the while you continue stroking his length, fingers sloppy in your own hazy state. It doesn’t seem like you need your usual dexterity though, because Astarion is practically writhing with newfound reactivity. Drinking blood always leaves him especially sensitive.

One last shaky swallow and he removes his fangs from your neck. But not his mouth. His tongue begins lavishing your puncture wound furiously as he struggles to hold back his approaching peak.

With the way he haphazardly tilts his hips into you, it’s all too evident to you that he’s reaching his limit. He’s not afraid to tell you so either.

"My sweet," he all but moans into your ear. "I–I can't last much longer. May I?"

You know what he means, and you honestly can’t last much longer either– you’re positively light-headed from a mixture of bliss and blood loss. So you stop your movements, nod your addled head at him.

He removes his hands from your core and neck, reaching out to your legs. Pulling them out and apart, he shuffles behind you, moving impatiently.

Realizing he can’t do this alone, he gestures, motioning for you to put your legs up.

Still a bit dizzy, you carefully place each leg on either side of the tub’s edges, hooking yourself in place by the ankles. It feels a precarious balance, but you can hardly care when you’re this eager to have Astarion inside you.

Astarion seems just as eager, rubbing his length against your ass hungrily as you get into position.

Perched and ready for him, the man is quick to help once more– his hands grip your asscheeks and lift in a swift movement. You’re particularly buoyant in the water, and you rise higher than either of you had expected. Your hand instinctively reaches out, gripping the edge of the tub to brace yourself, and you hear Astarion give a deep chuckle from behind you.

Holding back your own almost giddy excitement, you try to compose yourself for him. Angling your hips up, you’re almost floating on the water for a moment as Astarion lines the tip of his cock with your entrance.

However, you’re instinctively clenching a second later when a pair of your lover’s fingers tease at your opening. You barely avoid clamping your legs back together at the sensation. 

Recovering from the tickling probe, you look back to see a lust-drunk fanged smile, lips smeared with red. "Astarion, please,” you mutter. “I can't balance like this all day."

"Come darling, I know you’re quite talented," he taunts, easily gliding his fingers back in, curling until you truly do begin to lose balance.

"Astarion," you breathe out, clutching the side of the tub even harder to stay afloat.

Then his fingers slip back out, replaced a moment later by the head of his cock. “No need to worry, I have a seat for you right here.”

His palms cup your backside, his fingers squeeze, as you lower your hips back down, taking in his entire, slick length effortlessly in the water.

“Now isn’t that better?” he asks, grabbing your hips with one hand, the other finding yours on the side of the tub for support.

“Mmm,” is all that you manage, as you adjust to the sudden fullness. You haven’t lain with anyone else in so long, it’s hard to remember a cock other than his. Still, you can’t help but feel like he settles in you just right. Especially when you both slot together neatly, you taking him to the hilt.

Astarion drops another kiss on your back. “Comfortable?”

“Mhm,” you mumble. Now that you’re securely held in place by Astarion’s hips flush to yours, your legs hanging off the tub’s edges, you place your second hand back at your aching arousal. You begin to stroke yourself back into the same fervor Astarion had you in moments ago.

After a small, deliberate thrust of his hips, testing how you rise and fall in the water, Astarion starts moving against you. It’s slow at first, the water rippling out from you both in small waves. Then his hips rock back, only to drive back into you with sloshing force. 

“A–ahh!” Sweet hells, he knows exactly how to hit your most sensitive spot. You had already been so heated, but now, with your lover’s full, hardened length pressing into you? You feel dizzy with pleasure.

Years of lovemaking, and you’re still in awe of how well he knows your body. It’s more than his previous experiences culminating in some kind of skillful paramour. No, this was built through time, trial, error, effort.

So as this gorgeous man you call love bounces you up and down in his lap, you feel yourself coming undone. Your breaths come ragged as you ride his cock, water spilling out of the tub with each and every buck. Your fingers clench the tub, barely holding on as you feel your pleasure coil tighter and tighter.

Astarion places kiss after kiss down your back, and you hear him murmuring, "Gods you're perfect." A harder kiss. "You feel so good." Another thrust. "Each." A nip at your skin. "And every." A thrust. "Time." Another kiss. "I–I love you."

For your part, you’re finding entire sentences difficult. With the feel of him throbbing inside you, the way his lips feel along your back, each roll of his hips, you're truly only capable of a few phrases. "Astarion." A splashing bounce. "I love you–" A loll back of your head. "Oh hells–" A dip of your hips. "I love you too."

When your peak finally runs through you like a shockwave, when you clench around him in ecstasy, those very same words are still on your lips. "I l–love you."

He moans at the sudden tightness, the muscles that now hold him deep within you. "Darling," he breathes. "Oh love. I can't–"

Astarion means to say that he can't hold on much longer. He'd already been so close, holding back only to keep your pleasure going. So you reach down to his fingers on your hip, as best as you can while still hanging on for dear life, and squeeze his hand. A wordless affirmation, a plea to join you, as he always has.

And it’s that silent communication that has his fingers lacing through yours, his neck craning back, his hips stuttering.

When he comes, there's no pretense or performance. There hasn't been for many years. So when you look back at his face in a hazy fuzz of emotion, the expression you see is utterly unbridled.

It's a look of sheer pleasure– his perfectly pale skin flushed a light rosy color, his usually impeccable hair stuck to his face in a mixture of sweat and water. His eyes are shut, his mouth agape as he spills into you.

So enraptured are you by the mundane beauty of his climax, that you’ve strained too far from your precariously balanced position. Your foot unhooks from the tub’s slippery edge and you fall onto Astarion’s lap with a large splash as he finishes. You’re both left panting and wet in the wake of both your and the tub’s peaks.

Water drips down your face, all of the soap bottles have been knocked from the edge of the tub. The high you’d felt just moments ago feels doused in the stark reality of making love in a bathtub. 

However, when you feel Astarion’s breathy laughter on your back, feel his softening cock twitch with his last few thrusts, you know he’s still in fine spirits.

You stay together for a few moments as you both collect yourselves. Water is wiped from eyes, your second leg comes back into the tub, and several deep breaths are had. Once you’re relatively sorted, Astarion pulls himself out of you with a long, happy sigh.

The man falls back from you, sitting against the end of the tub in a tired flop. Then he’s patting the water in front of him, motioning you to join him in some post-coital cuddles.

You don’t need much more of an invitation.

Floating through the now much lower water, you stop just in front of him. Movements relaxed, you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and scoot into his waiting embrace.

"So," you start, looking at the wasteland of water and strewn soap bottles around the tub. "Looks like we made a mess."

"I told you we would," he says, closing his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

"I know," you say, leaning into him comfortably. Your body is truly exhausted now, but your mind is a buzz of joy. "It was worth it though."

He laughs into your shoulder, squeezes you tighter. "Feeling better, I take it?"

"Gods yes," you say, tilting your head into his silver hair. "Thank you."

"Oh my sweet, it was my utmost pleasure," he replies, and you can feel his smile on your skin.

You both lean back, grinning at each other like fools. The smiles stay, even when your lips meet in a soft, wet kiss.

You will need to clean the room, the tub, likely your bodies once again– but all you can truly feel right now is content. Enjoying Astarion’s gentle fingers as they trace a pattern onto your skin, the warm water all around you, you very nearly forget that today was merely a day like any other.

The thousandth time you made love to Astarion, it was messy and wet and silly– somehow, it was sweet, caring, and loving all the same.

The thousandth time you made love to Astarion, you didn't know it was the thousandth time.

Just as you hadn't known your tenth thousand kiss, nor your hundred thousandth 'I love you.' Were anyone to ask you about them, you might not even remember the days or events surrounding any of them.

What you do know is that each individual moment holds no less importance, that the affection shared between you doesn’t diminish with each recurrence.

You’re unable to quantify your love, nor would you want to. All you really want is Astarion– his soft lips, tender hands, and whispered words of love– until your dying breath.

[roseykat]

TITLE: Venom Biter

PAIRING: Minho x reader

SUMMARY: The end of a relationship between you and Minho turns as sour as it could ever get. A lovers to enemies trope.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

TAGS: breakups, hate sex, post-breakup sex, unprotected sex, swearing, angst, manhandling, push and shove, spitting, choking, oral sex (f!reader receiving), angst, strong hints of degradation, use of degrading names such as 'slut' and 'whore'.

A/N: this was originally meant to be for one of the days I had planned for Kinktober but I was up to my neck in work and I didn't want to post something sort of half-assed so I had to hone down on most of the work for this piece.

MASTERLIST

“Broke up?” Chan’s eyes refuse to blink. “You two broke up!?”

His confused filled stare shoots for the direction of his best friend, Minho, who quietly sits opposite him across the table. He looks slightly withdrawn or…off colour. It can’t have been the gruelling two hour lecture they finished before heading out to lunch. If it were that, Minho would be complaining his head off saying how boring it was or cursing himself for not changing his minor earlier. 

He’s just not his usual self. In other social settings, he could talk until the cows came home. But the entire hour that they’ve spent together at lunch, Chan has been doing all the conversing and only receiving vague one-word answers. It wasn’t until he asked what was up with Minho that his friend dished out the news that he and his girlfriend - you, had split up.

“Why?” Chan proceeds, still swimming in shock.

A sigh leaves Minho’s mouth. He truly doesn’t feel like revisiting this subject. When he even thinks about the answer, all he can recall is the firey shouting match you both had the day things crumbled. 

“It’s messy,” he replies with a cloudy and ambiguous answer. 

“If you talk about it, then it might help you make sense of it all.”

He groans this time, “I really, really don’t want to do that. What’s done is done.” 

“Done?” Chan questions, still not letting up on an interrogation. “You were in a relationship with Y/N, for years. You guys talked about a whole future together. That’s not something you just sweep under the rug and forget about.”

If there’s one thing he almost did forget about, it’s that you were friends with him - not just Chan, but the seven others as well. After all, it was Minho who introduced you to those select people whom he calls his brothers. They would’ve found out eventually if Minho refrained from telling them who you were dating all those years ago.

Though naturally, you became very close with them. 

“We’ve both chosen to do that so there’s nothing really much left to dispute.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrow, realising he left out a crucial question to the situation, “why did you guys break up in the first place?”

Minho feels like he’s going to run out of sighs, “she doesn’t love me anymore and I don’t love her anymore. That’s literally all there is to it.” 

“You’re telling me you both fell out of love - at the same time,” Chan responds, still having a difficult time trying to comprehend his friend's situation.

“Pretty much,” Minho confirms with a nod. 

Chan finds that extremely hard to believe from his friend - the very person who would enter a different realm whenever he was in a five centimetre radius of you. His eyes would glaze over as if he were possessed; always fixated on you, he’d smile more than he usually would, and was comfortable in the space around you. 

There had to be another reason, surely. 

But it had almost been three weeks since Chan dissected the news out of Minho, and it was almost like pulling teeth trying to dive for the details. Each attempt was as fruitless as the next and in the end, Chan just plucked the same answers.

Regardless, it seemed to play out better than expected. Minho saved himself from having to dish out explanations as to why you wouldn’t be around anymore. As a result, telling Chan was the best option and since the others didn’t know, Minho was okay with him telling them so that he didn’t have to. 

In saying that, Minho left out very central details of what happened leading up to the breakup. He never mentioned the constant fighting, the lying, the false accusations, the shouting matches, up until the point where you were both swimming in the toxicity the pair of you created. 

He also absconded from the fact to Chan that not only did you both separate, but you’ve also both come to view the other differently and not through a good lens. Minho shouted it in your face the other day to which you did the same; “I hate you.” And that was that.

But his friends probably didn’t need to know all of that. 

Since that day, you’ve been in the process of trying to find an apartment for yourself which isn’t easy. You want to remain in town and not too far out so that you don’t have a long commute to work, and at the same time, you don't want to break the bank trying to find a nice place to rent in the city. All in all, it was tough, but you were ready to just leave. 

Having packed up the majority of your stuff in boxes, all you had to do was wait for landlords to contact you back about possible vacant apartments. Thankfully Minho was lenient in allowing you to stay until you found a place. 

You slept in the spare room, mainly keeping to yourself and the boxes of things surrounding the space. Occasionally you would have to lock yourself in there and throw on some noise-cancelling headphones whenever Minho brought around another woman to sleep with.

It was his house, you knew that and now that you have no ties to him and he’s letting you stay, it was never your place to question his actions. 

Still, that could never lessen the hurt. It was painful which is why you hated him so much. You don’t know how a person could move on so quickly after so many years of being told how much you’re loved. It was like he never meant it. With that being said, when you eventually managed to find a decent place, you were free from Minho. 

All of your items were ready to be moved out, taking a couple of days to actually get them to your new place. In the tiring process, you also had to factor in your work schedule which meant it would take longer to continue moving your stuff. Nonetheless, you had the majority of your boxes out of Minho's house with only a few remaining that you needed to swing by and pick up.

"Something wrong?" he wears a blank look on his face when you arrive on the doorstep to his house.

"Some of my stuff is still here, can I come in to grab it please?" You ask politely. He gives a silent answer in return by opening his door wider for you to walk in before he goes back to whatever it was he was doing.

You make your way into the spare room where the last of your things remain, but there is one odd detail you notice as you approach the items. What was supposed to be taped down lids to the boxes had in fact been opened; not in the state you had originally left it in. 

"Minho," you call out, hoping he heard you.

Sure enough, he did. Minho walks into the spare room with a puzzled expression, wondering why he's been summoned, "what?"

“Why are these open?” You ask, lifting one box off of the other to check if the rest were open as well. “Half of my stuff isn’t in here.”  

“You were coming back for those?” he replies with a question. 

“What the hell else would I be coming back here for?” 

“That's what I thought when you got here,” he says. “I thought it was for other things that you left behind, not ones in these boxes."

Your eyes never leave his face, tracking any sudden shifts in his muscles to try to figure out if he’s actually telling the truth or not. Even though you and Minho aren’t together, you're sure he wouldn't do anything malicious out of spite.

“So why is half my stuff missing?” 

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, “I thought you didn’t need any of it and that you left it here on purpose for me to deal with or throw out.” 

“So what…” you trail off, expecting his answer. Minho hesitates for a few moments, sitting on the fence about whether he should actually tell you or not. But the least he can do right now is be honest. 

“I told the…girl I bought around the other day that if she wanted anything-“ 

“No you fucking didn’t.” 

“-she could have whatever was left in the boxes,” Minho finishes the rest of his sentence which would’ve been better for you not to hear. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you for leaving them behind in the first place!” Minho argues back, trying to defend himself here even though he knows he’s in the wrong. “You were gone for a few days Y/N, I thought you just left!” 

“I never left them behind! I told you how long it was going to take my things to move!” You shout at him, tears brimming your eyes. “Now my stuff…”

The hurt genuinely sets in. Minho feels a sharp stab of pain in his chest when he sees how visibly upset you are. He knows that he’s been nothing short of a dickhead within the past month and now he’s gone and made things worse. It’s no point in him now to say that it was an honest mistake.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, truly.”

You shove him backwards into the dresser, knocking down some of the empty photo frames that were once homes for pictures of you and Minho, “you’re not sorry. You’re the fucking worst.”

Taken aback by your actions, Minho turns behind him to see the frames flat on the surface then looks back at you, “seriously Y/N, I would not have done that out of spite.”

“But it’s the fact that you still did it!” You raise your voice at him and shove him back again. “You didn’t bother calling or texting me about it when you should’ve!” 

Minho predicts your next move and catches your arms to stop you from pushing him back impossibly further into the dresser. He shoves you back, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed which causes you to land on it behind you.

Before the surprise kicks in, Minho is kneeling on top of you, nearly straddling your lower half as he starts pinning your arms to the side of your head. Yet with a split second of momentum to break free, you struggle but manage to flip the tables and pin Minho on his back. 

You mount his hips before your mouth comes down to kiss Minho so aggressively that it takes him a moment to react. With any other woman that he’s slept with so far, he would allow them to be on top. But because it’s you, and supposedly hates your guts, not to mention his untapped pride, it’s not going to happen. So Minho fights back, kissing and biting nearly every part of your upper body in the process until you’re under him. 

He sucks large, deep, red hickies into the skin of your neck, in places where everyone would be able to see them. Minho would want people to know that you’re just a whore he uses. Especially for the next guy you sleep with who would go down on you and see the myriad of hickies that Minho would eventually put between your thighs when he rips your pants down. 

“Wanna play this fucking game with me,” he rasps before yanking down your off. 

Despite being a dickhead Minho will still eat you out for prep. But it’s not soft and teasing when he does go down on you. It’s tongue and finger fucking you until you’re dizzy from how hard you’re about to cum. It gives you the opportunity to pull and tug on his hair until his scalp starts burning, forcing you to be as vocal as you’ve ever been. 

His fingers curl up into that sensitive spot while his tongue and mouth work simultaneously. He’s always been good at giving head, but unusually better now that he’s relatively angry. In the back of your mind, you supposed it helped having not slept with anyone for a month, making it easier to reach that peak of delicious, eye-rolling ecstasy. 

“Fuck!” you scream out, voice projecting throughout the room as Minho sucks on your clit. “Fuck you…you’re gonna make me cum.” 

Those words are something Minho could never get tired of hearing you say. Even in the headspace that he’s in now, he wants nothing more than to hear how good he’s making your body feel. However, he doesn’t need verbal confirmation from you to know that you’re about to cum. When your walls seize and clamp around his fingers, when you’re trembling around his head, Minho knows what that means. 

The quick drag of his fingers is only light work for him, pumping at a pace that has you panting to try and keep up with it. As a result, it’s not long before Minho brings you to your sweet release; a toe-curling burst of euphoria that has you silently creaming around his fingers. 

He has no patience for you to descend from your orgasm, sucking his fingers clean as he pulls away from your pussy. He gets to unbuckling his belt faster than he can even comprehend that this is still happening. 

“H-Hurry,” you whine, trying to quell the hunger for Minho’s cock while you wait.

His eyes squeeze shut, hissing as he coats his length with your slick, “shut the fuck up.”

Despite being in a haze post-orgasm, you manage to sit up quickly to turn and push Minho down by his shoulders. You find yourself straddling his hips once more, reaching down and behind for his cock, aligning it with your hole. Minho allows you to work for it yourself, watching his cock vanish by the second as you sink down. 

“Mmm…f-fuck,,” you whine, unable to come to grips with how much you miss him filling you out. 

Taking a couple of slow strokes up and down allows you to realise that never in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine hate sex with Minho would be this…rough. Both of you pushing, shoving, and manhandling each other around, speaking to each other with such disregard for the other person's feelings – beyond the point of degradation.

“Come on,” Minho grunts, fingernails embedding themselves into your hips so that the indents remaining become as equally as vibrant as the hickies blooming on your neck. 

You look down at him with disgust before your hand lowers to his throat, choking him out by the sides of his neck. That familiar feeling of restriction to Minho forces him to repress his sick enjoyment of it, even more so when you start really riding him. 

“Fuck you,” you strain out, trying to assert some degree of control even though you’re battling with oversensitivity from your previous orgasm. 

You slam your hips down repeatedly, building up a good pace and rhythm that’s enough for small moans to force their way out of your mouth. With a cock like Minho’s, it’s impossible to keep quiet no matter how much you try. However, as you work for your own orgasm, you don’t want to give him any satisfaction by making him think that he’s the one doing it; yet in reality, he is. 

Nonetheless, you continue to use him just as much as he’s using you until the luxury of pleasure accelerates in the pit of your stomach. In saying that, it doesn’t take long for Minho to find that information out as you continue to ride him. The observation is clear-cut;

“Nobody’s fucked you since me haven’t they?” He asks you breathlessly, watching you roll your hips deliciously over his cock. “Know how I can tell? Because you keep fucking clenching around my dick.”

Your eyebrows furrow, struggling to find an answer for him because he is right and that’s not your fault, “s-so what? Want me to stop?” 

“Didn’t say that, did I?” He argues back, too proud to say ‘no’. “Just…just keep moving.”

A firm hand of yours catches his taut jaw, and while his mouth is open, you lean down and spit right in it. 

You curse right at him, “fuck you.” 

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment, Minho is shocked, but not in a bad way. In that moment you despised him so much that he made you do something a normal person would find disgusting. Although it’s not long before a sick smirk spreads across his face, failing to pretend as if he didn’t just enjoy that, swallowing it back. 

“Course you’d be into that you fucking whore,” he rasps, his body jolting every time your hips slam down. 

“I’m not the whore who’s taking it,” you snipe back at him. 

Your comment riles Minho, resulting in him nearly bucking you off his body before flipping you onto your stomach. He yanks both of your hands behind your back as something for him to latch onto when he pushes his cock back into you, and starts fucking hard and fast. 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut. 

The new angle makes his dick slip in just that extra bit deeper, achieving a sensation which you miss all too much. With the amount of relentlessness that Minho puts behind his thrusts is nothing but a fast, brutal, and unforgiving type of fucking. He’s not holding back with you, no matter how much you hate him and he hates you, he will fuck you to tears.

“Such a fucking slut,” he drives forward nastily. “Needy, loud, slut.” 

Your choked moans and whimpers are typical responses to hearing him call you that name again. In bed, if you weren’t his lover, you were his slut. Minho wouldn’t care less if the bed broke beneath him trying to fuck you like the whore you always wanted him to treat you as. But it was phenomenal.  

Now, that’s only a distant memory clawing to come back. 

“Make me cum…make me fucking cum,” you demand, acknowledging how close you are to the cliff of ecstasy.

Minho's breathing picks up from hearing the pure desperation in your voice, and so does his pace. His only release is not but a minute away, respecting that and also his motive to continue rearranging your guts. 

Yet the possibility of keeping up any longer draws to a short term. Minho’s hold on your wrists behind your back becomes a solid death grip with no chance of escape until the wet heat from your pussy has his hips jumping out of rhythm. 

His head tilts to the sky, the pleasure screaming at him from the base of his cock, “y-yes, fuck I'm cumming.”

At that very instant, Minho’s release rocks him over. His hands let go of yours in lieu of grabbing onto your ass instead. The pain and sting of his fingernails scraping deep into your flash forces strained whimpers and mewls from your throat, helping to push you over the verge of your second orgasm. 

“Y-Yes, cumming, oh fuck-” you cry out with a shaky voice, stiffening while your hole seizes rhythmically around Minho’s length. 

The pleasure is throat-gripping, making you forget the words to express how good you feel. Except, in the vapour of your orgasmic haze, you still don't want to accept the fact that it's Minho who makes you feel that way.

He pauses for a moment then thrusts hard back into you, making you keep the warm load that you were so undeservingly given, regardless if your walls are spasming and contracting it out. Then just as he was fast to try to get inside you, he's just as fast when he pulls out and flops beside you.

The air in the room becomes breathable again now that your heart rate isn't racing to the heavens, but picks back up quickly when you decide to hop off the bed and get dressed. You couldn't care less if you were sore and unbalanced. The thought of staying in the room with Minho any longer was suffocating.

“About your stuff,” he starts, filling the silent void with an exasperated voice. “I’ll try to get it back.” 

You zip your jeans up, “don’t bother. I know you did give it away for whatever reason, but for what reason is something I’m betting you’ll take to the grave with you.” 

Minho is up and now following suit by putting his clothes on. If now is the time to get one thing off of his chest, it’s now. Since the day you both separated, there has been no proper conversation. Both of you are too stubborn to admit wrongs and fix rights, but in your eyes, it's too far gone. There’s no going back to a good thing that was once more. 

"I won't if we can just talk it out," he offers the opportunity to you.

“Minho, the nights that I had to listen to you fuck someone else in the next room right after we just broke up was a clear sign that we did not need to talk it out. All it made me do is realise that you didn't actually love me."

“That’s not true,” he shakes his head as you hear a twinge of desperation in his voice like he's pleading his case. "That's not true at all."

"It is though," you correct him. "You were free to sleep with whoever you wanted to because we had broken up at that point, but not a day after that did you wait."

Minho follows through with his explanation, “I was trying to get you out of my head. Spending too long just thinking about you makes me want to lose it. It didn't mean that I never loved you before."

“So you’re just going to continue being delusional? To fuck your way through trying to forget me?” You question, nearly laughing. "I honestly think you're just being pathetic."

He shrugs, “if it means that I don’t have to feel heartbreak, then yes.”

Part of you gets it. Minho’s found a vice and is using it as a tool to deal with his pain. But you’re in pain too, and you haven’t done anything to upset him ever since you split. Maybe it is as bad for him as he says it is. Maybe he doesn’t truly know how to navigate himself out of this like you’re attempting to.

It’s almost a rebuttal to your statement about whether he truly loved you or not; if he’s using other people to drive the thought of you out of his brain because it’s too painful to deal with, then maybe you were more than just a lover to him. 

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I cannot stand being around you anymore because of how much it hurts to know that you're not actually with me. I'd rather try to forget your existence in order to not feel that type of heartbreak," Minho explains, his words coming from a place inside him that must've just opened up.

But he continues, "the second we split, I needed every last memory of you out of this house. But I know that this hurts you too and that this past month I’ve hurt you and that’s no justification to say that my reason is because you mean more than my entire life.”

There’s an ache in your chest that you’ve never felt before, a blend of all the emotional pain that could’ve been prevented had the two of you just talked. But that ache is fuelled by the fact that you can hear the waiver in Minho’s voice, and even though his back is still turned to you while he sits on the edge of the bed, you’re sure he’s crying.

-

A/N: Dare I say that I want to make a part 2 to this where Minho and reader try to rekindle, things are pretty tender but they sort of want to make it work...

[goddessofroyalty]

Fandom: Arcane

Pairing: Jayce/Viktor

Tags: omegaverse, future-mpreg

Still not a prompt fill (I will start on them I swear!) but I’ve been meaning to write Viktor deciding he wants to have a baby with Jayce because of scientific curiosity for a while now. So I am glad this is written.

And yes I did have an image of them both open while I was writing this to compare which features I think Viktor would prefer from which one of them.

----------------

Viktor doesn’t often get to watch Jayce work.

There is nearly always something else that can be done while Jayce creates a new casing or frame-part. Either wiring to be soldiered or a formula to continue working through. So much work to be done and never enough hours in the day.

Not this time. They had hit a point where nothing further could be done until Jayce finished forging the guard that would separate the Hextech core from the external mechanisms. So Viktor had joined him at the Talis’ Forge despite having complete faith in Jayce’s ability to do it right.

Supervising just feels more productive than merely waiting. And Viktor does enjoy watching his partner work on the rare opportunities he can allow himself to.

He will not deny that Jayce is impressive to watch when he is at work.

His shirt has been abandoned from the heat giving Viktor full view of the muscles of his partner’s broad shoulders shining from sweat and golden from the light of the furnace. The alpha’s strength on full display with each hammer fall. The profile of his face defined by the shadows cast by his features.

From the moment he met him Viktor knew Jayce was impressive, both in body and mind.

The physical part was impossible for anyone to miss. Jayce was stunning to look at, the very definition of an ideal alpha. Strong and fit but not hulking. Broad shoulders that taper into a defined waist and warm arms that it is so very easy to imagine being carried in. He is fit and healthy and seems to naturally draw the eyes of all around him.

But it was Jayce’s mind that had actually made Viktor interested in him. The ideas in his notes were genius even if Viktor had seen where they could be improved. Jayce hadn’t disappointed after they started working together. His intelligence may not be the same as Viktor’s, but the ease he could conceive and create the exact tool to fix the problem before them was inspired. Working with him was working with Viktor’s true intellectual equal.

Viktor can hardly blame the fans that fawn over his partner when Jayce makes public appearances. Anyone would want Jayce as a mate. His genetics alone ample reason before adding in his gentle kindness and sweet awkwardness.

All of it traits his hypothetical children could inherit.

Although if Viktor seriously considers the possibility of Jayce and children, then, while Jayce has many traits that would be desirable to see passed down, he is not perfect.

While Jayce’s hands are very skilled at what they do they lack the fineness and dexterity of Viktor’s own. So a child would do well to inherit from Viktor instead in that regard.

Even with his strong square jaw Jayce’s brow and eyebrows always seem to overpower his face. It would be good for a child to have one more like Viktor’s – less prominent and with a lower hairline to soften it.

While Viktor appreciates Jayce’s intelligence far more than the average person he will admit his bias in preferring that his own would be passed onto any child of theirs.

Then there are the things that matter less which way they go. Jayce’s skin may seem to glow under the golden light of his forge or the sun but Viktor’s hardly blemishes apart from a mole here or there. They both have good eyesight and neither possess a particularly outstanding eye colour. The texture of both their hairs is equal in strengths even if different.

Together they could make a glorious child.

Viktor would be remiss not to consider how difficult a pregnancy would be for him before letting his mind follow the thought any further. His body is deteriorating, he knows, and the weight of a baby on his spine would do it no favors.

Hextech hadn’t been easy either though. And it had been worth all the effort and pain and risk it took to create.

He would need only do it once to test his hypothesis.

“What are you thinking about Vik?” Jayce asks, taking off the wielding goggles as he turns around. The rest of his gear already put aside.

“I think I want a baby.”

Jayce stumbles, knocking into the table next to him. Catching himself to lean against it. The muscles in his arm bulging from the force he’s pushing down on it with.

“What?” he asks, free hand gesturing emptily. “Like generally or-“

“No, with you.” Viktor cannot say he ever thought about having a child before. His work always far too important. The idea of having one with someone else is not at all appealing. But with Jayce-

They created Hextech together as partners. The kind of child they could make together actually feels exciting in the way the early days of their partnership did. An unexplored potential that Vitktor wants to see reached.

“Right,” Jayce says, glancing at Viktor then up at the ceiling and then the floor in rapid succession. His hand comes to scratch behind his ear as he pushing himself off the table to stand fully upright. “Like now?”

“Well conception rarely is successful on the first try,” Viktor says, reaching for his cane as he stands up and walks over to Jayce. More to pace as he explains the process than anything. “And a pregnancy takes 40 weeks if it goes to full-term. So in about a year. If we start trying now.”

It is better they do it sooner than later if they are going to. How long before the deterioration of Viktor’s body makes him unable to carry a pregnancy an unknown.

“You’re serious,” Jayce says with a weak laugh.

“Of course. I would not joke about something like that.” It would be cruel to. “So do you want to or not?”

“Yes! I mean, if you want. Are you sure? It’s- You’ll- Us- A baby-“ Jayce stutters adorably. Viktor hopes their child inherits Jayce’s earnestness. “Do you want to start trying now?”

Viktor gives a hum of contemplation.

“We can install that first,” he decides, pointing to the guard that should be nearly done cooling. “But tonight, yes. If that works for you.”

“I don’t have any other plans,” Jayce jokes awkwardly and Viktor notes Jayce’s smile as another thing he hopes they inherit.

[cripplecharacters]

How to go about writing tics? I have tics but I never know how to write them naturally, especially cause I often forget I even have them. To me it's like describing blinking or something? But I of course want the character to notably have tics, even though my internal experience of tics isn't very noticeable to me? If that makes sense?

Hello!

Jerk, California by Jonathan Friesen is a book about a character (Sam) with Tourette's syndrome, written by an author who also has Tourette's. One of the things I really appreciated about the book was that it described Sam's tics in a way that made sense with how they felt as somebody with Tourette's.

In the book, Sam's tics are generally described when they're relevant. Usually, this is either to show that he's upset/otherwise worked up about something or as a way to build tension within the narrative itself. Although it doesn't necessarily mean that Sam isn't ticcing otherwise, it came across as the tics being more noticeable in those moments -- which I felt was a nice touch.

Consider the following passage from the book:

I glance around. My muscles don't jerk, and I close my eyes. I breathe deep, and like the third runner who finally catches up, the overtakes me. Slowly at first–a hard eyeblink. But that's not enough; there's more that has to work its way out, and my teeth grind. Movement spreads to my shoulder, and soon my whole body springs to twitchy life.

Even without the rest of the context of the scene, the description of his tics is enough to convey how he's feeling in the moment.

In the more mellow portions of the book, his tics aren't generally described at all, which helps it to feel more calm.

Another thing I liked it that they're described in the same way as any other action or movement.

This is another passage from the book:

The class groans, Heather swears, and my shoulder jumps. My elbow knocks my textbook to the floor with a thump.

Although the author doesn't explicitly say that Sam is ticcing, we as readers can get that idea from the way it's described. Essentially, this is to say that you don't need to explicitly specify when something is a tic or not – your audience will generally pick up on it.

With verbal tics (Especially ones that involve speech), it can be a bit harder. There's a kind of balance you want to strike between showing the tics and still making sure that the dialogue is readable.

While discussing verbal tics that occur outside of dialogue (i.e. Not interrupting the character's speech), I'd suggest marking the tic as such through dialogue tags. Words such as "blurted" or "exclaimed" can imply an unintentional aspect to the speech.

You could also describe how the character is experiencing the tic themself (If it's from their POV).

This is another passage from Jerk, California:

"No thanks, Jace. I'll stay with Sam." "Hah!" The word fires from my mouth. I purse my lips and bite my swollen tongue, but my vocal cords are locked and there's nothing I can do. "Stay with Sam! Stay with Sam!"

If you're writing in the POV of another character, you could describe how it looks from their perspective. Though I'd be careful with this, as it can come across as mockery if it's not done well.

With verbal tics that do interrupt dialogue, be careful to ensure it's not too frequent as it can make it difficult to read. I'd also suggest using some sort of formatting to identify tics vs general dialogue.

An example could be: (Note: This is not from the book)

"You know, I don't think–hey!–that would be a good idea."

That said, you would have to establish that the character has tics beforehand (And, ideally, establish this speech pattern as such), otherwise it can look more like an interruption or something similar.

I'd definitely suggest taking a glance through some books about characters with tics, just to see the format that other authors use. There's a wide range of options out there and the book I referenced here is just one of many ways to do it.

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

[lovelybee666]

FLUFF ALPHABET DOGDAY

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

I already published it in one of my first writings but so that they don't bother to see it, they both play hide and seek, tag, maybe truth or dare, etc.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He thinks everything about you is beautiful, from your eyes to your your toes (if you even have toes or feet).

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

If you are sad he tries to cheer you up either by giving you physical or verbal affection, drawing, talking, watching something, whatever cheers you up.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

It sounds strange but he would like to have a family (he knows he can't 😞) he would like to see you and him with his little children but since he can't, he use his stuffed version as one and depending on how you are, you will play along or try (don't even think about telling him that it's stupid of him or I swear I will come to your house with a gun 👹 /j)

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He's in the middle 👍 there's not much to say honestly

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Look, I don't know what happened but it was probably your fault😒(just joking) their arguments probably don't go beyond a few raised voices, the second the discussion ends there are two options, the first is that he run to you and apologize or that he is lecturing himself with his tail down.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He is VERY grateful and even thanks for things he shouldn't(I'm sorry this is short, I couldn't think of anything)

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Imagine there is a door, that door symbolizes honesty now look at Dogday's door that door is so open that the door flew away and the frame too.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

I'm already doing a hc of him jealous so this will be more summarized and shorter, It's difficult for him to get jealous since he trusts you TOO much but if he is jealous he will try to get your attention hugging you and saying your name over and over again.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

The first kiss was okay although he had never kissed so at first it was a little awkward, as time went on his kissing skills improved(he definitely didn't ask Bubba, Cickin and Bobby for advice☺️ DEFINITELY)

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

He was nervous, he asked Catnap if he could come and support him, he complied as a good friend and he was a little far away but behind you with a sign that said "YOU CAN DO IT, DOGDAY!" or said what Dogday was supposed to say because he probably forgot(I promise to make a more detailed version soon in the not too distant future).

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He wants to marry you but since you and him are toys you can't but still in some creative way you got married, they used a fabric that they found with the help of Crafty and they got married, it was actually something funny and adorable to see (YOU DEFINITELY WORE THE SUIT AND DOGDAY THE WEDDING DRESS‼️‼️) by the way, the ring was some donut-shaped gummies.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

I already made a post about it but I wanted to make a little update here by adding "angel" and "star"

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

It's VERY obvious, just watch him for a few seconds and you'll see how when you're close he moves his tail and seems happier, he stops what he's doing and comes to greet you giving you a hug while his tail moves at a thousand miles an hour, he's not sure if he's in love, he confuses his feelings and thinks maybe he just loves you as a close friend (spoiler, it wasn't)

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He's a big fan of PDA and even once probably shouted from somewhere quite long how much he loved you(a worker or Miss Delight scolded him because the children were supposed to be sleeping at that time), He loves to hold your hand and kiss your nose, he probably emphasizes 24/7 that you're dating him, he is very proud to know that you are dating him, If you are not a fan of PDA, he respects it and when you are alone he gives you a lot of kisses on the cheeks and hugs you.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

There's not much to say but technically you're second in command for dating the guy who's the leader👍 IDK MAN

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He is cliche AND creative, He likes to do very cliché but very creative things at the same time, They are going to have a date with red petals and candles, yes, but instead of candles they will be candles with fun shapes, the petals will be daisies (clearly I don't get them from a destroyed Daisy) and the chairs are chairs of frogs, he likes to do the same things that are romantically cliché but at the same time add things that have nothing to do with it or make it chaotic.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

ABSOLUTELY YES, it will help you in anything, believe 100% that you can achieve any goal you have.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Every day he do something new with you, one day you are looking some ants working and the next you are creating a base to protect yourself from a non-existent deadly virus that he created with you.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Depending on who you are, he probably knows a lot about you and is quite empathetic (I couldn't think of anything here, I'm sorry)

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

For him you are the most important thing in his life, his top is probably

3. Humans

2. His friends

1. You

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

When you give him the cold shoulder after an argument he goes to Catnap and Catnap has to deal with his best friend crying because you don't listen to him

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Y E S He is very affectionate although obviously there are days when he is less affectionate.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He will be looking for things that remind him of you and hugs them while waiting for you to appear.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He is willing to do almost anything for the relationship, his only limits are attacking or killing someone for obvious reasons.

I FINALLY FINISHED THIS, now I will have to do other pending things

[thedevilspearl]

do you think mammon seeks out his human if he’s feeling particularly down? maybe a comment really rubbed him wrong and then boom, you’re stuck in bed with him clung to you, head on your tummy while he talks about it? maybe lightly scratching his head to comfort him? i think about it often, too often.

-☽

➛ put your head on my shoulder

a/n: moon nonnie i’m convinced you can read my mind because i think about comfort with mammon all the time and this in particular is just >>>

tags: 0.5k words, mammon x reader, comfort and fluff

on days like this, mammon tends to find his way to the one place he can feel comforted.

and it’s not the fall, where he can temporarily drown his insecurities in demonus and loud music, nor the casino where he ignores his anxiety with a game of poker.

no, he needs a long–lasting remedy which can easily enter his bloodstream and heal all of the bad things inside of him.

and the only place he can find such a thing is wherever you are.

he trudges through your doorway, closing it quietly behind him; knocking isn’t a norm, the great mammon enters as he pleases. but you notice something which isn’t the norm, and that’s mammon entering quietly instead of barging in with a “hey, where’s my human at?!”

“mammon,” you shove your textbooks to the side, making room for him on your mattress. “i haven’t seen you all day, where have you been?”

his head hangs low, and his shoulders droop in the same direction. concern covers your face and you pull him closer to you.

slumping against your body, he rests his forehead on your shoulder. the weight of his body pressing against you feels heavier today; he’s had a difficult day.

“come on,” you shuffle backwards, giving extra care to not losing contact with him or else he might break from the loss of your touch. moving towards the pillows, you lay flight while mammon collapses against your torso. his head buries itself deep into your tummy and his arms hug your hips like they’re the only solace he finds in this world. “is that better?”

nodding slightly, he snuggles further into your body and you lower your hand to him. his face is hidden even when you brush his messy bangs away from his face, and a long sigh escapes him — a whisper of how profoundly bad his day was.

“wanna talk about it?”

mammon remains still and silent for a few moments. the only sound filling the room are the gentle scratches of your nails running across his scalp and your synced breathing.

before long, he exhales into the quiet.

“no…not yet.”

your heart swells for him; very rarely do you see him like this and it makes you swear to destroy whatever it was that caused him to feel so disdained.

alas, you stay in place because the only thing you can do right now is comfort him.

“that’s okay,” you whisper. “we can stay like this for as long as you need.”

the discreet flex of his arms around you almost goes unnoticed, but you know it’s his acknowledgement — or thanks — for consoling him until his demons go away. you return his tightened hold with one of your own, imprisoning him in your protection, both physical and emotional.

and mammon feels it — your power seeping through his skin and finding home in every one of his cells. he feels your magic work like the sole spell for any and all of his ailments.

you never fail to make him feel better, be it on a good day or bad.

you’re his cure.

[neysaadept]

🫶🏻💫CONGRATULATIIIONS ON 175!!! 💫🫶🏻

For my request (if you’re comfortable with it!!) :

Reader has been struggling with her mental illness, sometimes weeks go by without any issues but lately it’s been definitely more on the worse side and she tries to put on a brave face but somehow Emily gets through that barrier and to readers surprise isnt disappointed/leaves but stays and offers comfort?

Prompts 18 ‘I’ve got you’ and 20 ‘you don’t seem like yourself tonight’ made me think of this (and maybe my own shitty mental health lately and a hug from Emily would fix so much)(a very self indulgent request)🫣🥹

I know we talked a bit and I hope you enjoy what I came up with. Thank you for celebrating with me and being my first request! I hope you like it,

It's Okay Not to Be Okay

Emily Prentiss x Female BAU Reader

Tags - No use of Y/N, swearing, angst, mental illness themes. Set before anytime Emily faked her death. Minors DNI

Summary - Please refer to the ask for summary!

AO3

Word Count: 1.5k

It’s been rough these last few weeks. With the weather shifting colder and the nights getting longer, your thoughts become difficult to rein in as they quietly turn into a self-imposed emptiness that is near impossible to shake this time of year. You love the Fall leaves, the magical colors of orange, red, and yellow bring a smile to your face on the drive to and from Quantico and it briefly blocks the struggle you’ve become proficient in hiding all these years. And man has it been a challenge the last week to keep it from the BAU. Just had to go and get yourself a job with the best profilers in the country that can sniff out any emotional turmoil. It’s been amazing to learn from these people in the last few months, but one slip up and you’re going to be hounded by questions you really don’t want to answer right now.

So far, so good. No one has guessed you’ve had sleepless nights with masterful use of makeup, and you are skilled in looking busy while getting the minimum work done. You’re clever enough not to rouse suspicion as to why your concentration is off during this downtime. There are piles of paperwork to catch up on since there hasn’t been a case in a while. Not a bad thing, but you know it’s only a matter of time before Hotch will be quickly going over a case and saying, ‘Wheels Up’ and JJ is giving you all the basics on where you’re going.

Currently Hotch is the only member of the group besides you who had declined to go out with the group for dinner. You provided a half-truth that your orientation modules are due soon, gesturing to the screen when called out on this fib, showing six of them unfinished. With the case load the past month, you had no time to complete them and refused to do them at home. HR was fine in pushing back your due date over and over again with Hotch’s approval.

So, did you have to complete them right now? No. But should you? Yes. And was it a brilliant excuse to be anti-social when you just wanted to be alone? Hell yeah.

What you didn’t anticipate is a certain dark-haired profiler that supposedly had left with the team but was walking right into the bullpen. Your brows furrow with confusion but it’s plausible that Emily had forgotten something at her desk. You smile politely which she offers a scrunch of acknowledgement, seemingly pleased you took notice.

What you realize is she was not going to her desk but striding over to yours with cautious purpose.

“Hey,” she offers simply while still heading your way.

What the fuck is this? Your mind startles, panicking why this was happening. Maybe this is work related? But that made no sense. Why the hell would she want to talk about work since everyone was adamant not to do that and go out for a casual dinner with the group. You think back if you offended her in some way but that’s a joke. You’ve been getting along well with everyone despite the current arms-length approach you are taking right now. Before your mood shifted, you were trying to get on Emily’s radar more often since you were low key crushing on her. Who wouldn’t? She was an attractive woman with intelligent brown eyes, and it was a privilege to hear her mind work during a case – piecing all the intricate puzzles together for the profile. She encouraged you to be the best at work and made this place feel less like a job and more like a home away from home.

Okay, okay. Relax. Just breathe.

You lean back in your chair and play it cool despite the spiraling thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to dinner?”

She takes a half seat against your desk and crosses her arms as she faces you. “Took a raincheck on them and came to collect you.”

Your confusion is evident, and you point the pen in your hand at the computer screen. “Nothing’s changed. I still have modules-“

“-to do, yeah. I know.” She tilts her head studying you. “But I thought I could entice you out anyway.”

You felt your chest briefly clenching with the realization that Emily stayed behind for you. It’s only been a couple of months since you two first met. Why the hell would she have a reason to give a shit about you. You don’t deserve this kindness, and you certainly don’t want to bring her down with your bullshit.

It was difficult to maintain contact with the sincerity in her eyes, but you fight through it to put up a wall of feigned strength. “That’s really nice of you, but I’m good.” Her eyes widen in challenge and you half smile. “Really. You should go.” You wave off towards the elevators. “Catch up with the team and have a nice night.”

“I could, and I will,” she says, you start to believe that she’s going to take your suggestion. Yet that isn’t what happens at all. “But I think I’ll have a better night hanging out with you.”

You lock eyes with her and are unable to quell the quickening pace of your breathing.

Fuck.

“I … I uh, don’t understand.” Your attempt to cover up your anxiety fails.

“I think you do.” She softly speaks your name with gentle eyes. “You don’t seem like yourself tonight.” She watches as you deeply frown and knows she touches a nerve as you cross your arms. “Or if I’m being honest? For quite a while.

Your response is jumping into action and shutting down your workstation with haste. You wanted to get out of here, run away and not have to deal with feeling so raw because of Emily.

Fucking profilers.

But before you can stand, a hand touches yours still on the keyboard and you freeze. You don’t dare look up because you’re too focused on Emily’s hand atop yours. How the weight of it was so light, but so profound, that it kept you grounded.

“You don’t have to be alone in whatever you’re going through.” Her voice is a source of comfort trying to halt your escape, coaxing you to stay and listen. It works perfectly.

Then in another shocking move, Emily squeezes your hand. You tentatively shift your eyes towards her which elicits a smile from Emily. “And I don’t even have to know what’s going on. But at least consider coming with me. Maybe forget what’s going on in your head for a bit. Or if you want to talk, we can.”

You try to fight and fail the trembling of your lips. Your eyes begin to betray you, wet with unshed tears that you are trying valiantly to force away. The simple kindness and lack of judgement makes your heart ache that Emily was doing this for you, that you were undeserving of her attention. She should be out with the rest of the team, not wasting her time here with you.

The guilt hits you hard and you choke back a sob, forcing your free hand to cover your mouth with embarrassment.

“Hey …” Emily says your name again as she slides closer to you and begins stroking the top of your hand with her thumb. “It’s okay. It’s okay to feel this way …”

Your laugh was joyless, and you respond crankily. “Sure, it is.” You want to push her away. You deserve to be lonely, yet you allow Emily’s hand to slide up your arm before it squeezes your shoulder. Your chest clenches when you look away and your eyes clamp shut as tears dare to break free. Your teeth grind to stave off the rumble threatening to erupt into a scream. You feel you’re going to lose the fight and break down when Emily stands up from the desk and tugs you up with her.

“Come here,” she coaxes gently.

You sigh and finally look up at her to find nothing but patience in those brown eyes. In your moment of weakness, you allow yourself to lose yourself in them. You feel undeserving of her time, but also feel lucky that someone like Emily was trying so hard with you. So, you stand and immediately when you are on your feet, she pulls you into an embrace. The hand on yours slips under your arm to connect with the other that goes over the opposite shoulder. She tests the waters and tightens the hold when you don’t tense or try to pull away.

“It’s okay,” she says again as you start to sag into her arms, pressing your bodies together more fully. “I’ve got you…”

And as you ultimately give in to vulnerability, perhaps Emily does have you, and she will help you find a way to dig yourself out the depression that has resurfaced. And maybe, just maybe, you won’t have to keep struggling by yourself this time around ... or the next.

[n0thingbutlov3]

need you now | 2 |

in which readers true feelings are revealed.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings/tags: angst again (whoops) miscommunication (it’s short dw) fluff, reader is hungover lol, spencer is handsomely disheveled (moans) mentions of blueberry muffins being readers favourite type of muffin (sorry for not being vague but also if you don’t like blueberry muffins??? why) some tears, some swearing, some kissing, suggestiveness at the end of you squint (WHOOPS *evil smirk*) no use of y/n!! wc: 2.1k a/n: call me slim shady because i am back!!! i procrastinated writing this because i was scared everyone was secretly judging my writing and actually hated it and a second part would be a stupid idea but THEN i realised that was a little bit silly so im here B) part one got over 1000 notes (INSANE) all the support has been so so lovely—every note, reblog, and comment means the world to me, thank you!! i hope this part is okayy, feedback is always appreciated :) i hope you enjoy it you choose to read!!! <3 p.s kissing scenes are so difficult to write, i think i done absolutely awful!!!so let’s ignore that…. if you haven’t already and you’d like to, you can read part one here!

Your eyelids twitched as the early morning sun filtered through your bedroom. What was usually a calming wake-up call now felt like being blinded.

You burrowed your face into your pillow, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to dull the throbbing in your head. This is why you didn’t drink often.

Asides from the obvious headache and nausea, you always seemed to wake up with a sense of dread; ‘hangxiety’—a friend had called it once. It was creeping up on you now, and even though you weren’t sure exactly what you had done, you knew it was bad. You flipped onto your back, fixing your gaze to the ceiling as if it could tell you what irreparable mistakes you had made last night.

It couldn’t, of course. The only thing you had realised is that you should probably coat it in a new layer of paint soon.

“How’re you feeling?”

You shot up, eyes widening at the sight of a man in your doorway. A man whose sleepy voice and disheveled hair threatened to make you melt, but a man who should not be in your doorway, nonetheless; Spencer.

Your brain was quick to supply you with information then, your memory coming back in hazy remnants. You were upset so you…called Spencer for the first time in months. Yikes. He didn’t answer so you turned to a bottle of high end whiskey instead—yikes, again—and passed out on your couch, only to wake up to your ex-boyfriend in your apartment. Cue more sobbing, a pathetic attempt at asking—no, more like begging—him to get back together with you, and that was it. Well, mostly. There was also the promise of discussing your breakdown in the morning. The morning, which was now.

What the fuck.

“Like I’ve been napalmed.” You weren’t sure you were just referring to your raging hangover.

That prompted a raspy kind of chuckle from him and Jesus Christ—you really shouldn’t have called, because it was going to be infinitely harder to watch him leave when he inevitably told you you were sad loser who needed to get a grip and move on—except, he’d be a lot nicer than that, wouldn’t he? Because even if things were over between you, he was still the sweetest person you had ever met and he’d never say anything to intentionally hurt you. Maybe things would be easier if he did. If he wasn’t so sickeningly perfect—if he just insulted you in the way you were certain you deserved, then maybe you’d get over him quicker.

“So, I-ah-uber’d breakfast—“

Your inner turmoil came to a screeching halt at those words.

“You uber’d? You?”

He scoffed, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“The team’s been very into it lately and I always finish my paperwork first so it only makes sense that I—stop laughing! I can uber!”

“Sorry! I just can’t imagine the great Doctor Reid stooping to the levels of a fast food delivery app. Do you ever order to the wrong place?”

“No.” he said, unconvincingly. “Well, only once—“

You were laughing again.

He whined, turning on his heel.

“Just take your aspirin and hurry up!” He grumbled petulantly as he left the room, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

After a quick freshen up and taking the pills placed on your bedside table—as per his request—you padded through to the living room, joining Spencer on the couch.

You gasped delightedly as he pulled out muffins from a brown paper bag. To be more specific, blueberry muffins; your favourite.

“Did you know that blueberries are good for fighting hangovers? They’re rich in vitamin C, which helps break down and metabolise blood alcohol. Muffins too, they—what? Do I have something on my face—“

“No! No, sorry,” You had been caught staring—ogling, more like. “I just missed…that.”

“What? My incessant rambling?” He was joking, but you could hear the insecure twinge in his voice—the one that told him he was too much. Over the course of your relationship, you had showed him that he didn’t have to think like that around you—that he was never too much; he was perfect in your eyes. You hated that he doubted that now.

“Yes, actually.” You tried to keep your tone light, unserious. But there was nothing unserious about just how badly you had missed the man sitting beside you. How you could hear his voice in your mind when you drove late at night, giving you statistics on accidents. Or how on other late nights, you swore you could feel his hands ghosting over your skin—only to find out it was your imagination.

If he could see how truthful you were being, he didn’t acknowledge it, turning his attention back to the coffee table.

“I’ll, um, save you the facts on how beneficial coffee is for hangovers, anyway.” He smiled awkwardly, shuffling a paper coffee cup to where your muffin sat.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, “for the coffee, not the withholding of information—i’m a real fiend for coffee facts…especially when they’re related to curing hangovers!” You said a little too cheerily, trying to alleviate the awkward tension. Although, that only seemed to make it worse.

Spencer just huffed out a little laugh in response, taking the wrapper off of his muffin.

The rest of breakfast went by in silence. Not the comfortable silence you always seemed to have with Spencer—when you were together, you reminded yourself—but a strained one. The kind of silence that occurs when there’s something left unsaid, and you’re just waiting for someone to spit it out.

Spencer broke first.

“So we should probably talk…about last night.”

You finished the remainder of your coffee, setting the empty cup down before turning your whole body to Spencer, tucking your legs up underneath you.

“Right, yeah…”

A beat passed, Spencer’s eyes darting around your face—assessing you.

For someone who had imagined this conversation in your mind countless times, you certainly weren’t saying much.

“I—uh…was very drunk.”

Something in him shifted, like he was putting up imaginary walls.

“So you didn’t mean…any of it?” His brow furrowed, his nose twitching slightly.

“Well no, but I—“ You what? Meant every word you said and more? You couldn’t just say that. You had just got a small part of Spencer back and you didn’t want to ruin it by coming on too strong.

He waited for you to add something, anything, to show him that maybe, maybe there was a tiny part of you that still wanted him as badly as he wanted you. But you didn’t. You just sat there, playing with the fabric of your—his—t-shirt.

He couldn’t do it.

He was so tired of loving people only for them to leave like he had meant nothing to them. Was that all he was to you? Someone you could call when your inhibitions were lowered, looking for comfort? He would do anything to be back in your life again, but he couldn’t be a person of convenience; someone you only wanted when you were lonely.

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing down the tightness in his throat.

“You were drunk and you got carried away, I get it. I think I better go though—“

“What? No, I—“ You bobbed your mouth like a fish, trying to find the words necessary to keep him here. There were too many of them and yet none at all. None except for three. Three words that you wished you had the courage to say months ago, or weeks ago, or last night. But you never claimed to be a courageous person, and you weren’t about to spill your heart out again only for it to end up in rejection.

Spencer stood, making his way to your bedroom to grab his shoes and coat. He didn’t care about his other clothes, he could buy more—he just needed out before he broke.

You sat dumbfounded on the couch, willing yourself to do something, say something. It was like you were frozen. And you stayed frozen. As Spencer shuffled around your bedroom, as he returned to the living room—completely avoiding your gaze—even as he searched for his keys. You hadn’t realised he had driven over here. He didn’t usually drive unless he had to get somewhere urgently. Were you someone worth seeing urgently to him?

He picked up his keys, heading for your door and only then did you realise how dire the situation was. If he left now you weren’t sure he would ever come back.

“No—wait, Spencer!” You stammered, lunging off the couch to try and stop him. He unlocked the door, moving to leave when you grabbed onto his jacket sleeve.

“Please don’t—I love you!”

“What?”

He turned to face you and you noticed just how wrecked he looked—not at all dissimilar from how you had for the last few months. Had he looked like that the whole time?

You must’ve been staring because when you came back to your senses he was calling your name exasperatedly.

“Do you mean it?”

You were fed up living like this; harbouring so much love for someone and not being able to express it. Even if he didn’t love you back, even if he was over you, you couldn’t go another moment without at least telling him how you felt.

“Yes,” you heaved, “I love you—I never stopped loving you, I was just…” You knitted your brows together, unsure how to phrase what you were feeling.

“I’ve never loved someone the way I love you and that’s…terrifying. I thought the way I felt was wrong, like—when you were on cases, I missed you so much, more than I thought humanely possible and—well, I never wanted to be the kind of girl to base her happiness on another person because that’s how you get hurt. So, I thought the only way to combat that was by…distancing myself. I thought if you weren’t in my life anymore then I’d be able to get a grip and become more independent—“ you huffed, trying to stop the wobble of your voice. “but it didn’t work, because then I was just missing you twice as much, except I couldn’t see you at all—“

“You could’ve answered my messages, we could’ve—“

“So you could return your key? Then things would actually be over. Why do you think I ignored your messages?”

“Why do you think I kept messaging? Angel, I was never going to return that key—at least not willingly—I just wanted to see you, to see if you were doing just as horribly without me as I was without you. You know, I couldn’t even focus on cases—Hotch even suggested I take some time off.”

You frowned, your voice impossibly small. “I’m sorry.”

He took a step toward you, cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“Don’t apologise, you were dealing with your emotions in the best way you knew how. I just wish…” he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I wish I hadn’t let you go so easily.”

His eyes were shining and—God, you wished you could take it all back. All the pain you had caused him, caused yourself, just because you were too scared to talk about your feelings.

“I wish I hadn’t left.” You blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes. “Y’know, I read a book on astrophysics because it reminded me of you. I didn’t understand any of it but I couldn’t put it down. I still—“ you let out a watery chuckle. “still have it in my bedroom somewhere.”

Spencer smiled, swiping under your eye at a tear that must’ve escaped.

“Yeah? Maybe I can read it to you—help you understand it.”

“I’d like that.”

You didn't know much about celestial bodies or the ultimate fate of the universe, but you could've sworn you'd seen the stars pictured in that book in Spencer’s eyes when he looked at you.

“Say it again.” He mumbled, tilting his head down so that your faces were just inches apart.

“I love you.”

And then his lips were on yours, impossibly soft and everything you had been missing since you had broken up. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed and all you could do was sigh into him because you knew the feeling.

He leaned back all too soon, resting his forehead against yours.

“Well, I should probably go—“ He smirked, but you cut him off before he could continue his teasing.

“You’re not funny.”

He narrowed his eyes, sucking his teeth.

“I don’t know, I—“

You pressed a firm hand on his chest, bunching the cotton of his t-shirt into a fist.

“Stop. Stay—we can have a pyjama day and maybe for dinner, you can show me just how tech savvy you’ve become and uber us some food—“

He rolled his eyes, kicking the door shut before pressing his lips to yours with more force this time.

“Stop talking.”

[antimony-medusa]

One of the things that I think sometimes gets lost when we talk about what's appropriate in fandom spaces is the notion that things can be appropriate in one space, but not for another. And that doesn't mean that the thing that's inappropriate in that setting is wrong, it just means that it's rude in that space. I think people want a single set of rules that's appropriate everywhere, but the thing is, you have to be able to assess the situation, and adjust your behaviour accordingly.

So an example. I have a fairly popular text post that was me asking about c!phil and religion in all innocence, and someone said "the only thing I have to say about c!phil is that he worships on his knees, thank you and goodnight". And I reblogged it like "I can't believe I forgot about how this fandom does phil analysis", cause it was at the height of the dilfza memes.

Anyways that's obviously a phil-is-happily-married/oral sex joke, in an oblique innuendo way, and on this site, where Phil is not here, and his friends are not here, with it being clear I was talking about the block man character, and we make jokes about sex and profanity (a very popular url scheme for a long time was "[name]shugecock" (or smalldick, depending on the joke)— that's a fine joke to make. I'm an adult, I can make sex jokes about fictional characters on the sex joke fictional character social media site.

If I was to make that joke in Philza's twitch chat, a) in his face, b) with his wife modding, c) in an enviroment where people aren't prepped for sex jokes, d) with it being not clear if I was talking about the cubito or about the real guy, that would be wildly inappopriate. I would be banned in every chat Philza mods in and I would deserve it.

That doesn't mean that it's inappropriate to make the joke in the first place though, just because I wouldn't do it at a Phil meet and greet. It means you gotta learn to read the room. (And like, sometimes it's hard to learn to read the room, but you can do it by pure brute-force memorization. I did.)

This is the same theory that underlies the fact that you can call your friends a bitch in a friendly way, because you are friends and you know each other's boundaries, but if you call your boss a bitch, you will be fired. There are rules about workplace appropriateness, and there are rules about what's appropriate in front of kids (I teach teens, I do not swear in front of them, I swear a LOT in front of my roommate), and there are rules about what's appropriate in different fandom spaces. Participating in an exchange about pregnancy and babies with your favourite blorbo of the moment? Great. Showing the actor gift art you got of him pregnant? No. Bad. Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

The thing that concerns me is that I think there are slight signs that as we get more comfortable with sexy jokes and offcolour remarks as a MCYT fandom (QSMP is the big banner example but it happens with other smps), we're taking what's appropriate in one space (tumblr, home of the brain worms, where I have seen the blog "philzaswetpussy" on my dash), and we're bringing it into places that it's not appropriate (sure, slimeariana is clearly canon, but maybe don't put the actual dicks-out fan art in the art tag on twitter that slime checks). Cause we can obviously tell that the rules twitter is going with are silly for here, so it's full speed ahead for roier/spreen etc, but the trick here is that it's full speed ahead HERE, or in fandom servers, and not necessarily in the streamer's faces.

We have a bunch of situations where creators have said that it's not their place to weigh in on shipping or nsfw etc, and people have taken that as a go ahead and that's fine, but thats still something where I'd like, caution people that just because they said "not gonna look at it not my deal", that doesn't mean that like, you should make it difficult for them to avoid looking at it. Talking about scitties is an honourable tradition, but telling scar that he makes you question your sexuality in his TTS— I made a horrified noise in real life and the cats came to look at me.

And I'm talking about the shipping, but this is also a thing with like— sometimes I see a streamer and I go "my friend you just vividly described neurodivergent symptoms" but it is ABSOLUTELY not my place to say that in their chat. It might not even be appropriate to make comments about it on my blog, with the amount of followers I have. I have to keep the "streamer just described the ADHD experience again :pensive:" comments for the group chat. And we all nod and go "yeah sounds like streamer", and we do not put it in his face, cause that's inappropriate.

We get to have fun with the fictional characters, including off-colour fun, but we still have to remember that there are real people who don't know us who are steering those fictional characters around, and it can be profoundly weird to see some of the (stuff that is appropriate in fandom spaces!) just up in your face in the regular fan art tag.

Just think about the space you're in, and who you're in front of, and if a CC notice is actually likely, and if a CC notice would be Very Bad actually with what you're doing, and keep the "world's sluttiest absent father" bracket (with associated slutty fan art) for here, not with the streamer tagged on twitter.

[saturnville]

bite, l. hamilton

pairing: he (lewis hamilton) x black best friend oc (anvika dawson) content: in which two friends cross a line people have been waiting for them to cross. warning: 18+ content song: bite by njzoma an: y'all know I don't write smut fr, so ntm. but I hope y'all enjoy it. wc: 2,498 tags: the girlies who were hyping me up to post this @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites

“Just because we’re attracted to one another doesn’t mean we need to sleep together. I’m off that. Plus, we’re friends.”

Anvika prided herself on being a woman of self-control and discipline. Though it did not come easy, years of abstinence grew dreary and at times, very lonely, her hard work was not something she was willing to risk. Her decision to step into abstinence wasn’t one she took lightly, nor was it one that she planned, but once Anvika began the journey of healing from a heartbreak, intimacy with another man wasn’t the priority. Though that had been over four years ago and she was well over the situation, she could admit that while it was difficult to maintain her self-control, not having to worry about anyone’s snot-nosed son brought more peace than she could ever imagine. 

“Even more of a reason to let it happen. Everything happens better when you have a solid foundation first. Everybody thinks you two are together anyways. He truly cares for you, in more ways than one.” 

Anvika hummed and rolled her eyes as she brought the slender champagne fluke to her full lips. The liquid went smooth down her throat. She shrugged. “Then let them think that. Lewis is a good man, a good and attractive man, but…”

Her friend, Onyx, sighed and downed her drink with a wave of her hand. “I don’t know how you do it! I would’ve lost my mind by now. I commend you.” Onyx bowed playfully which pulled a light laugh from Anvika. Though she was joking, she couldn’t help but sense the truth behind her words. 

Though swearing off men and intimacy had become a more common practice among women, many people found it taboo and unrealistic. She soon began to ponder--what if she’d never find anyone that could give her what she wanted because of how she chose to navigate her dating life? She shook it off internally. That would be a problem, but none that would be hers. 

Before she got the chance to respond, her phone rang against the glass table that held their expensive lunch on it’s back. LH flashed across the screen. She smiled softly which caught the attention of Onyx, who gave a teasing smirk. For someone who was insistant on keeping a strong boundary between herself and her closest friend, she surely smiled like a fool whenever he called. 

“I told you I have a lunch date with Onyx today,” she reminded the racer lowly, using her index finger to draw doodles in the condensation her water glass sweat off on the table. “Everything alright?” 

“Everything’s fine, angel,” he spoke smoothly. “Just wanted to make sure you were still wanting to join me for the event on Friday.” Anvika hummed and nodded as though he could see her. He was attending a gala in London and of course, offered his plus-one to Anvika, as he had done since their friendship had begun years prior. What was his, was hers, including access to rooms and events that would grant her opportunities to further her career as a branding and marketing consultant. 

“Yes,” she replied excitedly. “I still haven’t found a dress. What color are you wearing?”

There was shuffling in the background before he spoke again. “Blue. Don’t worry about it,  I’ll handle it.” Her heart fluttered. “Enjoy your lunch. Tell Onyx I said hello and call me later, alright?” 

Anvika’s teeth trapped her bottom lip. “Alright. Talk soon.” 

“Bye, love.” 

Anvika turned her phone on its face and looked up, catching Onyx’s playful eyes. Her thick eyebrow touched her forehead. “Friends, right?” Anvika gave her a look. Onyx raised her hands in defense, “My bad, my bad.” 

-

Lewis Hamilton was a gentleman. Sure, this was universal knowledge, but something about him being gentlemanly with her made her heart flutter and her stomach clench with desire. And it almost made her question Onyx’s point, “he truly cares for you; in more ways than one.” It’d typically be something she’d deny, but as she stood in front of the mirror with her hair done by a hairstylist he arranged to come, her nails done by a nail technician he’d flown out, and a dress he arranged to be custom-made to suit her body, how could she deny it any longer? 

“Don’t think too deeply into it,” she scolded herself, slipping out of her robe. She walked toward her dress, pulled it off the hanger, and carefully slipped into it. “You’re friends. Close friends who care for one another. That’s it, that’s all.” 

They met at the paddock six years prior. She was invited to her first Formula One race through her consultant agency, which took her team on an all-expense paid trip for their hard work. She wasn’t aware of Formula One, just of familiar names. Then, at the end of the match, she had the chance to put a face to the infamous name of Lewis Hamilton. 

“You raced well,” Anvika noted, taking in the slightly disheveled appearance of the raceman. “I’ve never been to a Formula One race; good job on giving me a reason to come back one day.” 

The man’s eyebrow raised in interest. He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscular build on display. “Is that so?”

Anvika nodded. 

“We can make that happen whenever you want.” 

It was Anvika’s turn to raise an eyebrow. A smirk played on her lips. “Is that so? Tryna be my friend, Lewis?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. Friends wasn’t too bad. Anything to get to know her. “Any man would be a fool to refuse that opportunity, Anvika.”

That marked the beginning of an inseparable union.

Anvika continued to mumble and grumble, doing whatever she could to keep her mind eased. Her self-conversations were halted by a knock on her door. Lewis. “Coming!” Holding her dress to her chest. She turned the doorknob, and the familiar scent of his cologne filled her nose. “Are you…oh. Oh.”

Closing the door behind him, Lewis’ eyes were trained on her, the most beautiful woman he’d laid eyes on. The dress, complementary to his suit, was perfectly designed and tailored to her. She was a fan of long-sleeved dresses, so that’s what she got. It was constructed with a heavy, luxurious velvet material and it hugged every riff, edge, and curve on her body. The neckline showed the swell of her breasts and her beautiful collarbone. The mermaid-like tail further accentuated her shape. 

Her hair was parted to the side and curled to perfection. The makeup complimented her features--thick eyebrows, full lips, and a round nose. And her scent, goodness, it suffocated him. The jasmine and almond notes filled his nostrils and he wanted to nuzzle his face in her neck and inhale like she was the air he needed to breathe. 

“You look beautiful,” Lewis managed to speak. His voice was so low that she almost didn’t hear his compliment. With a bashful smile, she thanked him and led him to her room where she wandered toward the bathroom, which had a series of jewels across the counter. “Help me pick a necklace?” 

Anvika turned to face the jewelry and fought hard to ignore the heat that radiated from Lewis’ body as he moved to stand behind her. From over her shoulder, his eyes followed the line of jewels the stylists brought. His eyes landed on a silver necklace; a thin chain with a multi-carat teardrop diamond. “This one.” 

Lewis took the necklace in his hands and placed it around her neck. Anvika lifted her hair to grant him easy access and shivered as his cool fingertips brushed against her skin. She inhaled deeply. “Stunning.” His breath was warm against her neck. They locked eyes in the mirror ahead of them. The tension was thick. Suffocating. His brown eyes, usually so full of love and warmth, were filled with something she couldn’t quite identify, but it made her body heat like wildfire. 

“I’m ready,” she announced, careful not to let her voice waver. She turned, purposefully ignoring the groan he released when she brushed against him. Her lips quivered as she tried to give a steady smile. What the hell was happening between them? Anvika placed her hands on his chest and soothed the non-existent wrinkles on his suit jacket. He was so handsome. “You look great, darling.” 

“Thank you…” his words came out as a whisper. He was too distracted by her. Six years of friendship and what he felt from the time he met her at the paddock all those years ago had reached a breaking point. He’d boiled over. 

Anvika tried to smile as she pressed a kiss against his cheek, but with how he reacted, her lips landed at the corner of his lips. She took a step back. “Let’s get ready to go, yeah?” 

Lewis swallowed thickly. He held his arm out for her, which she grabbed instinctively, and together, they were out the door with a million and one thoughts swimming between them. 

-

“And that beauty you’ve brought?” an older man questioned Lewis, who had his eyes on Anvika as she danced through the siloes of people in the room. The gala was nothing short of a popularity function, a random event on a random weekend for the host to flaunt their money and connections, Truthfully, his desire to attend dwindled once he saw her in that dress. She was the only thing on his mind. 

“Anvika Dawson,” Lewis said, nodding in her direction. “One of the best branding and marketing consultants in the industry. She’s amazing at everything she does. You’ve got a business, don’t you?” And that’s why he was a good friend, Anvika noted as she began to walk over, hearing him advocate for her in front of the man. 

“You flatter me,” she said with a smile as she took a position under Lewis’ arm, which slid around her waist. “Anvika Dawson, nice to meet you.” 

The older man, who had went by the nam Eli, shook her hand firmly and nodded in interest. “Well, pardon me, but the two of you would make a wonderful couple.” The young adult chuckled lightly; the comment was nothing new to them, but it seemed to bring them both discomfort given the fact that they had a very intimate moment just an hour before their arrival. Before Lewis could speak up, Anvika thanked the man sweetly then they were whisked in another direction. 

They were joined together at the hip for the remainder of the evening. And, on the rare occasion that they were apart, they stole glances from across the room like teenagers in a romantic sitcom. Soon, the event wrapped up and they were in the backseat of the car, sitting in a thick silence. 

Anvika sat at the right of the car, her knees turned inward and her legs crossed. With every bump in the road and swerve of the car, the tip of her heel brushed against Lewis’ leg. His breath hitched. She said nothing. 

The car came to an abrupt stop and the doors were opened for them. Before her foot could touch the ground, Lewis’ hand was awaiting. “Thank you,” Anvika said softly, and allowed him to guide her into the hotel. 

He still hadn’t said much. The walk to the elevator was quiet, yet, he hadn’t let go of her hand. What was he thinking about? If it was the sudden shift in their interactions, it didn’t go unnoticed by her either. 

The elevator doors peeled open and Lewis guided her in. He pressed the button, 10, that would send them to the floor their rooms were on. The elevator ride seemed slow as each ding indicated they’d entered another floor. 

Anvika cleared her throat and decided to speak up, “I enjoyed tonight. And again, you looked great. I love blue on you.” 

He couldn’t remember what happened between her compliment, her back against the elevator wall, and his lips on hers.  The only thing that forced him to key in was her hands pressing against his abdomen and his name falling from her lips. “Lewis…” What he’d heard time and time again in his dreams had finally become a reality. His stomach churned; could he get her to say it again? “What are you…” She cut herself off when she fell victim to the wonderful feeling of his lips against her jaw. 

“I just…” Lewis settled his face in her neck. “One night, Vi. Let me have one night with you…” Her heart pounded in her ears. What the hell was happening? 

“Lewis…” Her hand slipped and fell just above his belt. She extended her arm just slightly. “We can’t do this. I-I don’t want to mess up our friendship and you know I’m not going all the way with anyone--” 

Lewis hummed. His eyes sat low as he looked at her. She looked completely worn out as if he’d done to her what he truly wanted. Her forehead glistened with sweat, her lipstick was smeared, and her chest heaved. “Nothing will change for the worse, angel. And I don’t want to go there with you, just want to make you feel good…always have.” His left arm circled around her waist and his large hand palmed her backside. She whimpered. “Can I?” 

“Someone might see...” 

He ignored her. “Can I make you feel good?” His tone was stern as he repeated his question. Suddenly, the gala was out of her mind and the only thing that clouded her thoughts was him. Him and him only. Lewis Hamilton had infiltrated her mind and she finally stopped fighting it. 

The elevator dinged. “Yes…” 

-

“Should I…?” her hands reached for the necklace that shone beneath the dim lights of the hotel suite. Lewis shook his head and peeled his jacket off his shoulders, revealing a crisp white wife beater. He shed that too. Anvika’s breath hitched. “Keep it on. Lay back for me, angel.” 

Anvika looked like an angel surrounded by the comforter. Her undergarments were long discarded, save for her underwear which he kept in the pocket of his pants. The pure white of the sheets were a stark contrast to the richness of her complexion. Her hair was sprawled against the pillow with a few strands covering her face lazily. The look on her face was one of comfort, relief in one way or another. 

She welcomed Lewis’ body between her legs as he crawled on the bed and his lips against hers as he hovered above her. For the first time that night, Anvika’s hands didn’t tremble when she touched him. She welcomed the feeling of every ridge of muscle, every raised scar, and every mature tattoo. 

Their hands moved frantically over each other’s body, and it felt amazing. She hadn’t realized how touch deprived she was until she heard his chuckle in her ear. Her face warmed. She felt like a teenager. “It’s okay…” his lips ghosted against the shell of her ear. “Make all the noise you want.” 

Anvika didn’t respond--her mouth wouldn’t allow her to. As Lewis moved down her body, she sat on her elbows, watching and waiting. God, he was so handsome like this. His head was dipped between her thighs and his tattooed glistened under the dim lights. Slowly, he lips created an intentional trail from her belly down to the treasure just centimeters away from his mouth. 

Her fingers clawed at the bedsheets as the anticipation rose. She was becoming impatient. He was giving attention to every other place except where he wanted her. She huffed. “Lewis…” 

He hummed, clearly unbothered by her frustration. He glanced at her, “Yes?” She whimpered. “Talk to me.” He was amused, very amused. She was desperate for him. It was evident by the way her arousal seeped onto the bed. He gathered some on his fingers, using it as a lubricant as he finally began to touch her. 

Anvika gasped. His movements were slow and meticulated but they were enough to set her over the edge. He brought his lips to hers again, which she accepted sloppily. Her jaw fell slack as he continued to work her to her first release of the night. It came quickly, quicker than she would have liked. When his fingers hit that spot within her, her hips jerked and she squeaked his name. 

Lewis chuckled, “That’s it?” He prodded that spot again. “Right there?” Anvika nodded. He removed his fingers. She groaned in frustration, “Lewis, please!”

“Please what?” He brought his fingers to his lips and moaned at the taste of her on his tongue. If this was just the beginning, he couldn’t imagine how mad he’d go in the coming moments. “Tell me what you want.”

She clocked it. He wanted her to beg. Anvika wasn’t the begging type. She may have been far removed from having sex, but she always got her way, especially with Lewis. Her hands trailed down the muscular planes of his stomach. Her fingers hooked in his belt and pulled him forward. Her fingers curled around his neck and her nails toyed with the faded hair there. She brought her smeared lips to his ear, her tongue dancing against the shell of it. He shudder. “I want you to make my legs shake and rock my world. Can you do that, Lewis?” 

Her voice. The way her voice dropped in octave but increased in seduction had his head spinning. There were a few moments of silence as he fought hard to gather himself and the more she spurred him on, the most difficult it became. But then, she heard it, “Yes…”

-

“Right there, right there! Oh my…” He was a lover of music. Being in a studio, creating melodies to go with lyrics, was his favorite pastime. But this took the cake. She created her a song better than he could have ever imagined, and was it addicting. 

Her moans, cries, and screams were melodic and his name was the only lyric she knew. He hated repetition in music, but loved hearing hers. So addicting. So well created. So beautiful. 

Her legs trembled around his head and her hands were buried in his braids. He fought the urge to bend her over when she whispered out the faintest, “Baby, please…” She’d used terms of endearment before, but in this context, it was different. “I’m close!”

Her body, damp with sweat and covered in bruises created by his mouth, jumped and jolted as she grew closer to her peak. Lewis sat up, replacing his tongue with his highly skilled fingers. He used his arm to stabilize his body as he hovered over her. What a sight.

Her hair was completely sweated out, pooped and frizzy at the roots. Her makeup stained the pillows and her lips were swollen from her biting and his intense kisses. Her neck was dark with love bites. Her eyelids were hooded but he could see the fire behind her eyes. If only he could capture her and keep the picture in his pocket forever. 

“Doing so well for me,” he whispered, kissing against her cheek and jaw. His fingers made quick work of the huddle of nerves between her legs. “Taking it like a good girl.” Her moans grew louder, higher in pitch, and full of air. It was becoming too much—her hands pushed against his arm, trying to run. “Don’t run now. Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

“Lewis, I’m—“ she cut herself off with a high pitched scream that seemed to ring on forever. Lewis chuckled lightly and worked her through her orgasm. “That’s it, baby.” Her body shook as she tried to come down calmly.

He spent a few minutes between her legs, caressing her gently as an act of comfort. Her loud noises had diminished to soft whimpers as she came down from cloud nine. When she finally opened her eyes again, he asked, “You okay?” 

She was better than okay. Though they didn’t cross all the lines, Anvika had gotten the best orgasm she’d received in her life from a man’s mouth and hands. She’d deal with the consequences later, but in that moment, she felt amazing. 

She nodded and smiled lazily. “I’m okay. Are you…do you want me to…?” Her eyes fell to the evident bulge that strained against his pants. He shook his head.

“I’m okay. Let’s get you cleaned up…”

-

What was supposed to be a shower to clean her up resulted in her on her knees giving him the most intense release he’d experienced in months. It left him panting, shaking, and whimpering like it was his first time all over again. 

Once again, she looked angelic with her now curly hair flat against her back and big brown eyes staring at him as she worked him like the expert she was. He came in her with with a groan, his fingers in her hair. She stood to her feet, smiling innocently as she showed him there was no remnant of him left in her mouth. 

“You’re nasty,” he announced, grabbing her jaw to place a sloppy kids on her lips. 

“Mhmmm, just the way I like it.” 

They migrated to her bed shortly after, laying together in a comfortable silence. Anvika’s head was against his bare chest and herfingers traced the tattoos on his body. Lewis’ arm was around her waist and his hand massaged her plump bottom. 

They were tired, exhausted even. But, they fought sleep like children, internally afraid of what the morning would bring. All actions had consequences whether good or bad. It was a mutual hope that what they’d done wouldn’t bring on the latter. 

“Lewis?” Anvika called after some time. 

“Yes, angel?” 

“Are we gonna be okay?” Her voice trembled slightly. They’d crossed a line--a big one. She had wobbled on her boundaries. There was a lot to discuss and a lot to consider. It was an amazing experience, she couldn’t lie, but her biggest fear was that she’d lose him as an important person in her life if reality didn’t set in the way they intended. 

Lewis gave her a squeeze and brought his lips to her forehead. Sensing her worry, he reassured, “We’ll always be okay.” And she believed it.