#i'm not good at the tag things but I'm glad you thought of me

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Vil x Reader -- Body Swap Pt 1

Summary: You and Vil swap bodies near the beginning of VDC.

Word Count: 4k+

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Character Arcs

Author's Note: Merry Christmas. There's more to come. This is what I have so far. It's great. Buckle up and good luck. I'm not going to give you any other context. You're welcome

Tags: @solxamber @marsinrain

You open your eyes to a dark room. You feel strangely alert. There’s no grogginess or desire to stay in bed. It’s unnatural. What time is it? You fumble around the nightstand, searching for your phone.

You click it on. It blinds you for a moment and you squint. 4:01 am, it reads. It’s not your lock screen though. The background is a dark purple with a familiar dripping red apple in the center. It’s framed in swirling gold. It’s a variation of the Pomefiore crest. This has to be Vil’s. Who else would have this lock screen? But why is it in your room? Did he leave it when he checked everyone’s rooms? It seems unlikely given his personality. Either way, you need to give it back. He’ll wake up in a frenzy if you don’t do it now. You’d rather deal with a half asleep and grumbly Vil than an awake and frantic one. 

You sit up and place your feet on the floor. There’s a pair of plush and cozy slippers underneath your feet… You don’t have luxurious slippers. You furrow your brow. Something’s off. 

Nonetheless, you slip on the comfy shoes and shuffle to the light switch. You flick it on. 

The first thing you notice is the mirror. Vil’s reflection stares back at you. You raise your eyebrows. It copies you. You glance at your body. You’re wearing the dorm leader’s expensive silk pajamas. You pinch yourself and wince in pain. This is real. You’ve somehow swapped bodies with the Queen of Pomefiore. You have to solve this.

You spin around on your heels and stride out the door. Your slippers pad down the hall. You knock on a specific door and wait. It doesn’t take long for the occupant to answer.

“Roi de Poison?” Rook questions, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Let me in,” you command.

The vice leader steps aside as you to brush past. He turns on the light, closing the door. 

“You know I’m not Vil,” you state, turning around. 

“Oui,” he confirms, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“It’s [Y/N],” you answer.

Rook raises an eyebrow. 

“Your gait is the same, Trickster,” the hunter tells you with a nod. 

“I’m not surprised you know,” you comment, “Do you know what’s going on?” 

“Non, I’m just as baffled as you are. I’ve never heard of a magicless person and mage swapping bodies,” Rook replies, before looking curious. “Did you come to me because you want to get this sorted before Beautiful Vil wakes up?”

“You’re sharp as ever, Rook,” you confirm, “Yes, he’ll flip his lid once he finds out. I would like to prevent that.”

“I agree, Trickster. It’s for the best. I assume you have a plan,” the hunter replies. 

“Of course, we break down Crowley’s door and demand answers,” you tell him. 

Rook laughs, “Such an aggressive tactic from our lovely Trickster! I’m most honored to see such a beautiful and unique side to you. I will do all I can to help.” 

“Including my hair,” you add. 

Rook lights up. “I’m glad you’ve already thought of that, Trickster. I was going to offer my assistance.” 

“As long as I have a reference photo, I can recreate Vil’s makeup. I’m well-versed in skincare, so that shouldn’t be a problem. That being said, do you have any recommendations on what toner and serum to use for Vil’s skin today?” 

You lean in to let the hunter get a better look. Rook’s eyes widen before he breaks into a delighted grin. 

“Trickster has amazing foresight!” he praises, before examining Vil’s skin. “I would suggest the Shrinking Toner to reduce pore size and the Luminous Serum to brighten the skin.” 

“Perfect. Thank you. Get ready and come to Vil’s room to help me,” you instruct before leaving. 

“Oui!” Rook agrees with enthusiasm. 

You shake your head with a smile, striding down the hall in Vil’s comfy slippers.

——————

“Bang on his door,” you instruct. 

“Oui! Trickster’s suggestions are straight to the point and no-nonsense. It’s so different from how you usually behave. It’s magnifique,” he compliments. 

“Yes, yes, hurry up. We don’t have all day,” you urge.

You wait before the thudding of footsteps is heard. The bird man opens the door with ruffled feathers. He’s wearing dark indigo flannel pajama bottoms and a ratty white t-shirt with black crows and feathers.

“What is all this racket? It’s 4:45 in the morning. Couldn’t this have waited?” Crowley scolds, before pausing to register who’s in front of him. “Mr. Schoenheit and Mr. Hunt, what are you doing here?”

“It’s [Y/N]. Vil and I have somehow switched bodies. I want answers before he wakes up in hysterics. It would be in your best interest to let us in,” you demand.

Crowley is stunned but steps back. You sweep past him with regal elegance. Crowley raises an eyebrow at your demeanor. Rook slips in, standing beside you. The headmaster closes the door and puts a hand to his chin. 

“A mage fueling a magical phenomenon for themselves and a magicless person isn’t unheard of. The caster has to be extremely powerful, but Mr. Schoenheit fits the bill,” he muses.

You stay quiet as Crowley thinks.

“The only thing I can think of is wish magic. Do you have a strong wish?” He asks.

“Yes, I wanted to perform on stage in front of an audience,” you reply.

The headmaster nods before consulting Rook, “Mr. Hunt, you know Mr. Schoenheit well. Is there anything he desires more than anything else?” 

“Oui, Roi de Poison wishes to break out of his role as a villain,” he answers. 

“Everything fits the requirements for this phenomenon to occur,” Crowley murmurs before speaking up with a clap. “I know what happened!

“Sometimes when two people close by have an intense wish that can be solved with one solution, the ambient magic grants them an opportunity to obtain both wishes. Once both wishes are fulfilled, the magic will revert to normal,” he explains.

You’re silent, before turning to Rook. 

“My wish won’t be fulfilled until VDC ends. I want to perform on stage, so I’ll be filling in for Vil,” you inform.

There’s a flash of deep concern before he covers it with a familiar encouraging smile.

“I have no doubt you’ll be able to fill in for Beautiful Vil! I will support you in every way I can. As the resident Vil expert, I can help coach you,” Rook offers with an elegant bow.

You cut his movements off. 

“I’m Roi de Poison for now. I expect to be addressed as such. I won’t tolerate a slip of the tongue. I suggest you start practicing in private. I’m sure you know what will happen if you don’t,” you punctuate with an icy voice. 

Rook jolts with wide eyes. His hands fly up into a surrendering pose. 

“Oui, Roi de Poison, I will heed your command,” he complies. 

“Good, I expect nothing less from my vice leader,” you state, before addressing Crowley. “That’s the most helpful you’ve been since I’ve arrived here. I suggest you get your act together before your negligence is exposed. If people learn of my living conditions, my fans will riot.” 

Crowley looks at you, gobsmacked. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. 

“Are–are you threatening me?” He stutters.

You narrow your eyes. 

“The only thing I’m threatening you to do is your job. If you don’t want your reputation to go down the drain, I suggest renovating Ramshackle Dorm. I’ll even be gracious,” you say, emphasizing his signature word. “I’ll give my portion of the VDC reward to fund the operation.”

The headmaster stares at you in shock. Your eyes sweep the older man’s form, evaluating him.

“You also have… questionable tastes. As a sponsor, I will be consulted before the designs are finalized. It’s nonnegotiable. Thank you for your assistance, headmaster. Rook, we’re leaving,” you command, before sweeping out of the room.

—���————

You lower yourself to the ground, dismounting the broom. You prop it against the wall.

“Trickster, you’re a natural! You fly and handle your magic like Beautiful Vil. It’s elegant and powerful. It’s a beautiful flurry of flowers in a windstorm,” Rook compares. 

You raise an eyebrow before stating, “Thank you, but I’m more concerned about passing as Vil.”

“Oui! You’ll fool everyone!” Rook reassures.

You drop your Vil act and answer with a smile.

“I’ll fool everyone except for you. You’re too observant,” you correct, sitting next to him. “Thanks for helping out. I wouldn’t be nearly as good if you didn’t correct my walk and give me pointers to handle this body’s magic.” 

“Of course, Trickster. You’re a wonderful and talented person to work with,” he answers. 

“You are too,” you return with a smile.

The two of you fall into comfortable silence. Your eyes slip close and allow yourself to breathe. It’s been hectic these last three hours. You finally have time to process. Your breath slows, as you slip into a meditative state. It’s something you picked up a few years ago. When you meditate, you’re less reactive and more grounded. When you finish, you hear an ear-piercing shriek. 

“That’s our cue,” you comment, standing up. 

“Oui!” Rook agrees, following your lead.

A herd of elephants thunders down the upstairs hallway. There’s a muffled shout. 

“Don’t yell in my ear, henchman!” Grim yells.

A door slams open.

“What’s wrong?! Are you hurt?!” Deuce cries.

You and the vice leader arrive at the foot of the stairs.

“I expect you to back me up,” you tell Rook, slipping into your Vil persona.

“Of course, Roi de Poison, let’s give them a show,” he grins with a bow.

You nod and ascend the stairs. More footsteps join. 

“Is everything ok?” Kalim’s voice resounds, “Jamil’s good at first aid if [Y/N] is hurt.”

“Yo, why do you keep staring at yourself?” Ace questions with mild irritation, “Has Vil infected you? Are you freaking out over a breakout or something?”

Epel pipes up, “You’re kiddin’. Ya woke us up for nothin’? I could’ve slept for another 30 minutes if ya didn’t start hollerin’ like a rooster.”

You breach the stairs with a disapproving expression.

“Epel,” you snap, “Watch your language and accent. If you want to reach your full potential, you must speak with eloquence. No cutting corners. You have to practice in private.” 

The group whips around to face you. You stride up to them. They part, allowing you to peer into your room. Vil gapes at you like a fish out of water.

“Close your mouth. It’s unbecoming,” you tell him, before addressing the others. “We’re having an emergency meeting downstairs. I expect all of you to complete the skincare routine I detailed last night. Once you're done, meet Rook and me in the living room.” 

The group shares a few concerned looks, before dispersing. You turn to the person occupying your body.

“That includes you,” you add before walking away. 

Once you’re out of earshot, Rook reveres you.

“That was the most worthy performance! You live up to your namesake, Trickster. You’ve tricked the others,” he gushes. 

You chuckle at the clever wording and sit down on the sofa. Picking up the papers Rook organized, you flip through them.

“Thank you for giving me written documents about Vil,” you voice, “I suspect you know more about him than he does.” 

“Oui, Roi de Poison has told me that multiple times,” he confirms with a chuckle.

You shake your head with a small smile. Rook’s far better than any of your perverted stalkers and hate fans in your original world. At least the hunter has good intentions and is helpful. You don’t mind his strange antics. You skim through the documents while you wait. 

The first one to arrive is the youngest Pomefiore student. You zero in on him, looking for a fault. 

“Your slip up was improper and your attire is too,” you criticize, “Your vest is wrinkled and your bow is crooked. Rook, take Epel to steam his clothes.”

“Oui!” He complies, ushering the boy out of the room. 

You sigh. You disagree with Vil’s methods. They’re inefficient and callous. Thankfully, you only have to play along for a little while. You can tweak his character after you’ve proven yourself. 

The Clown Crew announces their arrival by sounds rather than sight.

“How dare they kick me out?! It’s my room too,” Grim complains. 

He comes around the corner with Ace and Deuce in tow. You skim over the two Heartslabyul students, before doubling back. You stand up and stalk over. The three freshmen freeze as you bear down on them. You grab Ace’s face and click your tongue.

“You should’ve thought better than to forgo my skincare routine. You underestimate my expertise,” you sneer, releasing his face. “You missed toner, serum, and sunscreen. You're going to do it again. What are the steps?”

“Cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen,” Ace lists with dead eyes. 

“So you’re capable of absorbing information. Learn to apply it in the future,” you scathe, “Get out of my sight. When you come back, I expect you to have done it right. I don’t need someone on my team who can’t follow basic instructions.”

Ace backs up, startled. The Scarabia students step in. Your attention shifts to the newcomers, allowing your friend to flee.

“Did Ace get in trouble?” Kalim asks, glancing back at the dashing freshman. 

“Indeed, he decided to skip some steps in his skincare routine,” you confirm with distaste. 

Kalim comments, “I would’ve forgotten too if it wasn’t for Jamil.”

“I’m sure you would have,” you retort with an eye roll. 

Rook’s voice comes around the corner. 

“Oui! Monsieur Multi is one of the most helpful people I know. He truly is a master of multitasking and many skills. He’s deserving of his title,” the hunter compliments.

The vice leader reveals himself along with the shortest Pomefiore student. You assess Epel and deem his appearance acceptable. The sunshine student turns to Rook with a blinding smile. 

“Yeah! Jamil’s the best. He’s way smarter than me and super helpful. He also cooks the most delicious food,” Scarbia’s leader praises.

You tune out their ramblings, returning to the couch to refocus on the documents. 

Vil runs with Jack Howl, his childhood friend, every morning at 6 am. They’ve cancelled until VDC has concluded. 

Vil knew Jack as a kid? That’s unexpected. You didn’t even think they knew each other. They’re in different grades and different dorms. However, you’re unsurprised that Vil chooses to work out and run with him in the mornings. The actor seems like the type.

Your body walks in. You glance up to scrutinize Vil’s appearance. Before you can look very hard, Ace sweeps in front of him. He passes the disguised dorm leader and your focus turns to the redhead. Observing his skin for a moment, you find it adequate and retract your gaze. 

“Sit and let’s get started,” you instruct.

Rook takes his place beside you. The others find a seat. Once everyone is settled, you address them.

“Vil and I have switched bodies,” you state. 

The group pauses.

“What?” Deuce blurts out.

“I said Vil and I switched bodies,” you punctuate. 

“You switched bodies?” Kalim clarifies.

You let out an irritated sigh. “Is that not what I just said?”

Ace speaks up. “Wait, who did you switch bodies with?”

You give an unimpressed look. 

“Who else but the person who screamed bloody murder, waking everyone up?” you suggest, looking at the culprit. 

All eyes turn to your body. 

“V—Vil?” Kalim questions hesitantly. 

The dorm leader nods but doesn’t say anything. He continues to glare holes into everything around him. Rook jumps in to ease the tension. 

“Trickster and I found out what happened!” He exclaims, reclaiming the crowd’s attention. “We broke down Crowley’s door and demanded answers.”

“You broke down the headmaster’s door?” Deuce repeats, stunned.

Ace smacks him upside the head.

“I can’t believe you’ve survived this long considering how dumb you are,” Ace quips.

“Hey!” Deuce shouts in defense.

Your voice cuts across, silencing them. 

“It’s an exaggeration.” you clarify, before launching into a summary of the situation. 

“Vil and I won’t switch bodies until after VDC. With that in mind, I will take up the mantle as leader,” you conclude.

Vil bolts up from his chair.

“You can’t do that! You have no right!” he opposes. 

“If you want me to perform in an important movie instead, then we’ll be here longer,” you state. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Vil growls, “You can’t act as me!”

You raise an eyebrow. 

“Why not?” you question. 

“You’re going to mess up,” he snaps, “You have no credentials! I have a reputation to think about. You can’t just parade around in my body. I have so many schedules and habits. You won’t be able to remember them. I refuse to have my body deteriorate because of your incompetence! Unlike you, I have responsibilities. I’m the head of Pomefiore, the leader of this team, and a third-year student! There’s no way you can act as me. You’re unqualified!”

Vil’s voice grows and grows until he’s shouting by the end. His chest heaves up and down. He glares daggers into you. You stare at him with no reaction.

It starts as a quiet scoff in the back of your throat. Then, a small shake makes its way into your shoulders. A chuckle slips out. From there it turns into a wicked laugh, before crescendoing into a demonic cackle. You double over from the force of your howls. You can’t get enough. He’s playing right into your hand. 

It takes a minute to calm down. When you recover, you glance at the others. They stare with disturbed concern and unease. You chuckle to yourself again. You sit up with a sinister smirk. You stare into Vil’s eyes.

“You should think twice before criticizing someone,” you advise. 

‘Someone who’s in your body,’ you silently finish. 

You wait for the implication to sink in. It takes a moment, but Vil’s eyes widen in horror. You put a hand up to stop his line of thinking. You just want to scare him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t do something so barbaric as threatening your body or reputation. As a former top-charting idol, I understand the importance of a well-maintained public image,” you inform, “As for the third-year curriculum, I’ll allow Ace to confirm my credentials.”

Ace gives a wary look before his mouth quarks in a mischievous smile. He doesn’t mind putting Vil in his place. 

“Yeah, if you haven’t noticed, but by some miracle Leona’s test ranking has gone up. That’s because of [Y/N]. They've been teaching and tutoring Leona, since his overblot. They’re up to date with the homework,” Ace brags.

Without waiting for a response, you gesture to Rook.

“And your evaluation of my magic?” You request.

“It’s strong and similar to Roi de Poison’s. I was surprised at how quickly they picked it up. They’ll have no problems posing as you in terms of magical ability,” Rook details.

Vil is still, staring at Rook. You can practically hear the thought swirling in his head: He’s being replaced. You decide to push him over the edge. 

“I don’t think I have to give my resume for my acting, but I’ll ease your mind. I’ve done a few jobs here and there. I was most well-known for my favorite roles: villains. In light of that, you’re quite easy to play,” you reveal. 

There’s a moment of silence before Vil screams and lunges. On instinct, you grab his throat. Vil halts with wide eyes. You take the opportunity to push him back against the wall. He regains his bearings and slashes at your face. You give Vil’s neck a short squeeze. He gasps and his hands fly to your’s. 

His fingernails claw into porcelain wrists. It stings, but you ignore it. You snatch his hands and raise them above his head. You slot yourself against his body and restrain him. Now, you wait. 

Vil struggles. He attempts to bite, kick, and scream his way out of your hold. He’s not thinking. Vil doesn’t remember there are other people here. He’s just focused on you. You don’t flinch and you don’t react. You wait for him to lose steam. 

He becomes desperate with your unresponsiveness. Vil throws everything he has into fighting back. Tears of frustration and anger stream down his face. He’s loud and messy. It’s so different from the put-together, dignified Vil. All he cares about is lashing out and hurting you. 

By the end of the one-sided battle, Vil is heaving, unable to breathe enough air. His body slackens, falling limp. His head is tucked into his chest, hiding his face. He stills and falls silent. His body is still coiled with tension. You finally speak. 

“How does it feel?” 

Vil tenses beneath you, but doesn’t say anything. 

“How does it feel being on the receiving end of your behavior?” you try. 

Vil’s head snaps up. 

“I don’t act like that!” he growls, gritting his teeth. 

You keep your eyes on Vil but address Epel. Your tone is softer. 

“Epel, is this how you feel when Vil insults and criticizes you, then he forces you into compliance just because he’s stronger than you? Is this how you feel?” you question. 

There’s a brief period of silence. The only thing you hear is Vil’s labored breath. 

“Yes,” Epel replies.

You stare at Vil. 

“This is how you act. You poke and prod people’s weaknesses. You’re annoyed when they become upset and resistant to your advice. So, you strongarm them into submission, citing you’re doing it to help them. The reality is you’re hurting people and accumulating their ire. You wonder why people keep treating you like a villain. Wake up and face your reality, Vil,” you state. 

You let him go, stepping back. You turn to face the others. Shaking off the lingering tension as much as you can, you perk up to address them. 

“We’ll have rehearsal as usual. I will lead the team. I expect the same dedication you’ve demonstrated so far. My teaching style will be different, but still effective. I look forward to working together,” you tell them, before looking at Epel. “Epel, I have a special project for you. I’m going to solve Vil’s problem for him. You’ll have a few adventures in the upcoming days. You’ll miss some regular practice, so I’ll privately tutor you.” 

Checking that they understood, you dismiss them. You pick up Vil’s backpack and place Rook’s notes in it. You call out to the two Pomefiore students. They wait for you. You finalize details regarding Epel’s “adventures.” The two other students seem wary of your body against the wall. You make a point ignore him. 

You escort them out of the Ramshackle Dorm. When you get to the door, Rook hesitates. You place a hand against his back and guide him forward. Vil needs to reflect. 

Afterward, you ask for some bandages from Rook. 

—----------

“Wake up and face your reality, Vil.” 

The words echo and swirl in Vil’s head. He sinks to the ground. Vil sits under the spot where [Y/N] restrained him. His head thumps against the wall and he thinks. Did he become a villain? Did he become the very thing he despised? 

He glances at his hands. They bleed. Your hands—he corrects—bleed down your wrists. He sank his nails into your hands when you restrained him. 

This isn’t his body. You promised not to hurt his. He’s already failing to maintain yours. 

Vil feels empty. A void has opened up in his chest. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not special. He’s a villain and he doesn’t know what to do.

Without his permission, tears slide down his face. He doesn’t have the right to cry. He forced others to feel this way. He didn’t know. However, it doesn’t change the fact Vil hurt others. He caused more pain to them than he feels now. Vil has no right to cry, but can’t stop the spring shower falling from his cheeks. 

Vil looks at his wounded hands and hates himself.

-----------------

Author's Note: Very proud of this one. Let me know your thoughts! If there's any mistakes let me know too. Just make sure to point them out gently lol. I'm working on pt2. Look forward to see some of Epel's adventures in there as well. What are you guys looking forward too?

[trick-starr]

🌸✨💓THIS IS A TUMBLR HUG! 🧚🏾‍♀️ PASS IT ON AND HAVE A LOVELY DAY! ~♡ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

(literally clicked paste and send and just saw what I pasted when it already was clicked)

Thank you Sas you're so sweet ; ;

[delicateartisantrash]

[bylertruther]

some of you never grew up in a small conservative town as a (gay) nerd that was bullied, harassed, and excluded for years on end for not fitting in and for visibly and enthusiastically liking geek things—geek things that then branded you a satanist in everyone's eyes and as something Other, Lesser, and Undoubtedly Unworthy of Basic Human Decency even though you were literally just an actual child with harmless interests and not a satanist or an evil disgusting subhuman thing, and it shows.

you cannot apply modern views and beliefs to a show that is set in the eighties, especially not when it's set in conservative midwest eighties which is a whole other beast. being a socially awkward and nonconforming geek is something that people STILL get bullied for if you don't do it in a way that the majority deems "acceptable", especially if you live in a conservative, religious area.

your experiences are not universal and your inability to relate to a certain motif or story does not make it "lesser" or "bad writing."

[trees-can-draw]

Hm.

[classicsmosh]

hi, im that aro anon you were talking about. you didn’t sound preachy at all, dw, i just wanted to clarify myself because i sent that ask like a week ago i think and i probably could’ve explained myself better.

..which is sort of the hard part for me because articulating my thoughts on love is just as hard as fully grasping haha. it makes sense in my head but writing it never comes out right.

i think you bring up a lot of good points and i totally agree with your thoughts on platonic love, always have, and i’m the last person that treats platonic love as second best to the romantic kind.

what i was trying to say is that the label or line itself doesn’t really matter to me when it comes to ianthony. in real life they’re obviously platonic, but a lot of people see them in a romantic context too for fun, and i understand it regardless so it doesn’t make a difference to me. in my mind, it doesn’t even really require a label. it’s just Love, and that’s why i felt that i could understand it fully in a way that’s usually hard for me.

to quote myself, they are [an example of] my definition of love, and that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s romantic— i didn’t mean it romantically. it just is. my aromanticism felt relevant when talking about this because it affects the way i view all love, but i think that might’ve led to confusion.

you said it better than me: “I’d even say it’s true love”. that’s what i was originally trying to get across, and i think it might’ve gotten misinterpreted a little. but i really appreciate you talking about it because i love discussing things with other aro(aces) like myself. sorry for the essay ❤️

Thank you for the clarification! I also didn't mean to sound like I thought you were devaluing platonic love! That wasn't the thought process, the whole thing sort of came from a misplaced sense of concern, I guess. 😅

[probablyaseamonster]

Both had VERY different Phillips in their lives...

coryn and hunter share the same energy. ah heck, they are just so similar 🥺🦉✨

and I want to PROTECT THEM

[neverendingford]

.

[spencerreidenjoyer]

we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader

You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.

wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit

tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...

a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)

Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.

It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.

You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.

Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve. 

While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it. 

Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.

You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.

And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.

About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly. 

About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar. 

Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you. 

About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp. 

About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room. 

About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you. 

“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.

“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end. 

You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.

“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do. 

Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect. 

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”

Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch. 

You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock. 

He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.

Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.

“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.

The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.

You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy. 

Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.

---

Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.

He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit. 

Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point. 

Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend. 

Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.

Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. 

Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off. 

He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him. 

He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big. 

He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion. 

“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him. 

You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.

“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”

“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them. 

“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”

You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.

He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his. 

He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you. 

---

Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.

Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer. 

But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.

You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.

You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–

There Spencer is. 

“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”

You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”

You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot. 

Do you make him… nervous?

“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.

No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought. 

Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you. 

You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart. 

So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.

You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?” 

“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”

“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”

“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one. 

“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”

“And what makes you say that?” You hum. 

“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”

“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”

His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”

You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his. 

It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.

“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”

“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”

“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”

“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.

You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”

Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”

“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”

“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame. 

You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”

Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”

“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out. 

“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”

Spencer grins. “Good.”

His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”

“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.

You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. 

“Fuck me, Spence,” you say. 

Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.” 

His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender. 

“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.

You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.

“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling. 

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”

You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.

“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”

You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”

“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.

“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”

“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take. 

“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. 

“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.

The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home. 

[https-papaya]

such a gentleman — max v.

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( masterlist | guidelines | drop a request )

PAIRINGS: max verstappen x fem!reader

SUMMARY: max' best friend breaks up with her boyfriend in spectacular fashion. maybe this is the push he needs to finally admit he's in love with her.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i'm genuinely blown away by the kindness and support i've received from everybody so far. i was really nervous to start posting here, but you've all been incredible! i hope that you guys enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it — WARNING that this smau involves references to infidelity (not max or the reader). have fun and feel free to send me requests!

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, danielricciardo and others

yourusername what better way to take my mind off things. monaco, you were a dream. next stop...?

view all comments

maxverstappen1 Thank you for being there. 💛

liked by yourusername

user2 hope you're feeling better!

user3 You should totally go on holiday somewhere and just forget about him tbh

yourusername that's the plan 😉

user1 ugh i hope max dropkicks him into next year

liked by maxverstappen1

danielricciardo my offer still stands...

yourusername you're just built different 😔 aus is too hot for me!!

landonorris thanks for convincing max not to order in the sushi platter

yourusername anything for my favourite papaya 🧡

oscarpiastri hey.

yourusername sorry osc, he's got the longevity :( give it a few months?

user4 oSC????

yourusername added to her story

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, landonorris and others

yourusername much needed.

view all comments

user2 the second pic???

user4 omg i cant believe max and her went together sdjhfhdj

danielricciardo and here i thought aus was too hot for you??

yourusername 🫢

user1 oh theyre in love ur honour

user7 showing the ex what he's missing fr

liked by yourusername

landonorris without me??

yourusername next time xx

user3 the fact this means max took the first pic has me spiralling

user5 no way her ex isnt seething over this LMAO

user6 his fault for cheating imo 🤷

liked by maxverstappen1

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and others

yourusername another month, another race. glad to be back 💛

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user2 no max in the likes?

user3 its over i fear

landonorris supporting the hometown boys, i hope?

yourusername count on it!

user1 and if i speak-

user4 don't.

danielricciardo was the coffee as good as he says?

yourusername even better i promise

user5 HE???

user6 surely-

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, landonorris and others

maxverstappen1 Didn't get the win this weekend, but I won something better.

tagged: yourusername

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user1 oh my god.

yourusername thank you for loving me ❤️

maxverstappen1 Always ❤️

user4 its so over for her ex BYE-

user3 more affection than her ex ever showed her i know that's right

user2 They're sickeningly cute I can't rn

user5 parents???

danielricciardo fucking finally

landonorris it was almost painful fr

yourusername oh shut up

oscarpiastri no no he has a point

yourusername do you want me to pay for lunch tmr or not??

oscarpiastri i'm willing to take the risk

liked by landonorris and danielricciardo

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© https-papaya || do NOT rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platforms

[kameyyy]

#recs

this didn’t fit anymore lmao😭

try again

part 0.11. HERE TO STAY

“on the other side of the wall, she’s listening to her client with a smile on her face. she’s a professional; she’s been trained to multitask and take notes while still listening and providing feedback to her clients. right now, she’s clicking off a tab back to the one filled with bullet points on things her client has said. she always knows when he arrives. she hears the left door open, which she knows because it squeaks more than the one on the right. he always uses the left door (she thinks it has something to do with the fact that more people touch the handle of the right door on their way in) and his paces are always steady down the creaky hallway. her last sign that he's here is the chair he sits in every time, the one right next to the door into her rooms. the legs are the slightest bit uneven and the back of the chair will lightly tap against the wall as its way of letting her know of her welcome guest. she already has her queue of songs up. she’s always hated her thin walls until he started coming in. a lot has changed in her life since he's come back, hasn't it?"

content warnings: the big finale which isn't that dramatic! i'm sorry for my bad writing! y/n dad reveal! breaking news: her dad is an asshole! tad bit of violence, one mention of blood and also just cursing and abusive fathers </3

he insists on paying and she doesn’t argue with him about it for long; she’ll have countless more opportunities to steal the check from him, she hopes.

she feels better when she's finally eaten after a day of nervous nausea and time spent anxiously bouncing her knee. on top of that, she’d been with him for the majority of the day, distracting her from what had happened in the morning. he even listened to her issues, and she’s finally starting to believe the promise that he’s here to stay. 

they’ve just stepped off the train, and her apartment building is only a few minutes away. he walks alongside her the entire time, their arms brushing each other ever so often. whether it’s on purpose or not, neither of them will fess up.

he’s only distracted from his time spent mindlessly reaching his arm out just the slightest bit more to hit hers ever so often when he feels a buzz in his pocket. he slips out his phone quickly to check its screen:

akaashi’s a moment too late, because they’ve just made it up the stairs to her floor.

she’s already seen him, and he’s already seen her.

she wants to puke. 

he’s there, arguing with iwaizumi outside their door. his sunken eyes and gaunt face make her stomach twist with guilt, but a brush from omi’s knuckles reminds her where she is again. it’s not her job to take care of him. it never was, and it never will be.

"you," the man is pointing a finger towards her, stumbling forward and she immediately shrinks back like a shriveling flower, losing her confidence. omi's already standing in front of her without even thinking about it, putting a barrier between the two.

the old man keeps talking as if he can see right through him, though “you’re a disrespectful worthless piece of shit, you know that? can’t ever in your life put even a single person about yourself. here you are living with a bunch of boys. what are you, a whore? do you suck them off so they’ll keep the bad guys away? they’re doing a shit job at it. i’m standing here after, all, aren’t i?”

“it’s not like that,” her voice is quiet and weak, and she’s not even sure it makes it to the man’s ears.

“you can’t think about anyone else. you're too selfish. you won’t even answer your own father’s calls much less say anything to him at all–”

“i told you to back off!” her voice comes out loud this time, louder than she means for it to, “i’ve told you to back off so many times but you just don’t listen,” she steps out from behind omi, standing next to him instead while the man in front of them stops at the sound of her voice, “these are my roommates and my closest friends. i'm living with them because they genuinely care about me and aren't using me for any purpose, something you can't even dream about. the only reason you’re still standing here is that they have enough self-control and respect for me that they won't beat up the man i regrettably call my father.”

omi’s gaze slides over to hers, trying to see if she’ll meet his eyes. he’s simultaneously trying to communicate how proud of her he is and let her know that he'll support her no matter what happens. 

“take that back,” her father spits, starting to curl his fingers into a fist. she stays silent, and his face begins to flush an angry red. “you’re only proving my point. you’re just an ungreatful little girl who thinks she no longer has to care about anyone else because she's older. i took care of you your whole life and i will not have you ignoring me for the rest of my fucking life!” the smell of beer invades her senses as he steps closer.

“you did jackshit in my life! you never helped me with anything I asked you to. never bought me anything i needed, you've never cared about me. i’ve grown up and moved out. i can do whatever i damn please and i told you to leave me alone. maybe if you respected me i wouldn't ignore you, but that's impossible for you,” she retorts, standing her ground.

“don’t you fucking talk to me like that–” he nears her, only a few steps between them and she starts to feel the panic in her chest, “your stubbornness is the reason your mother left–”

“my stubbornness?” she can’t help but fight back. that’s what separates her from her past self. her younger self ran away, left home as soon as she could to live on her own, but now she’s grown into who she is today, and she won’t let him ruin that. “you treated your wife like shit and refused to change no matter how many times she screamed and argued with you right in front of me about how horrible you were. you've never fixed anything because you’re so stuck up and think you’re so high and mighty that she decided to pack up her bags and leave–”

“then why did she leave you behind too?” 

it’s like her heart stops beating for a second. her blood runs cold before her vision is a blur and the face of the man is crushed right in front of her, sending him to the ground groaning. his hand is covering his nose, preventing her from seeing how badly damaged it is, but she can’t find it in her to care.

“don’t blame her for your faults. grow up and take responsibility for your shit. she deserved better than either of you,” omi is talking down on the man now, and she looks up from her father’s body to the fist of the boy beside her, bruised and a little red.

he’s been by her side since day one, and maybe he disappeared for a section of it, but now he’s back. they're back together, and she stands proudly beside him, “she left me too, but i can’t be mad at her for being sick of you. or us. whatever it is, you’re both selfish and her absence nor yours is something i’m mourning over. i’m happy to have left you too and for the last time, i never want to see you again”

iwaizumi has joined them, standing above the man, no trace of sympathy in his eyes despite the blood that's streaking down her father's face. he tries to get up, only for iwaizumi to keep him down on the ground with a foot on his shoulder, “you heard her. don’t ever show your fucking face around here again. i’ll kill you the moment i lay eyes on you.” iwaizumi’s olive eyes move from the ground to meet hers, slightly softening when he sees her, “are you done with him? i’ll make sure he gets out of here and stays away for good.”

omi’s words from the diner rush back to her head, and she doesn’t feel so bad for relying on her friend. she believes he's willing to help her, and she won’t let her father’s words get to her head. she’s cared for others, unlike him, and developed relationships that she’s earned by giving out her own love. “yeah, i’m done,” her voice is quiet again as she keeps looking at her friend, searching his eyes for any sort of annoyance. but she can’t find any, and she smiles, walking towards him, wrapping her arms around him. “thank you, iwaizumi.”

he has an arm around her shoulders, his foot still resting on her father. “always,” he replies simply before she leaves him embrace, gesturing for omi to follow her. “i’m going to take care of his fist, now.”

iwaizumi only nods, turning his attention back to the man on the ground omi following his gaze as he passes by. iwaizumi will do more than a good enough job at keeping his word, he knows that, but he feels like he should have some part in taking care of the man whose plagued the girl in front of him for her entire life.

but she hasn’t asked him to take care of the man in front of her, and he knows its not his place. she knows she does not resent the man to the point that she wishes harm upon him, she simply wishes that he would leave her alone. and iwaizumi will make sure that wish is honored, and omi should be satisfied with the hit he landed on the man’s nose.

before her hand can even reach the knob of the door, it swings open and she’s pulled inside by the arms of a black-haired man who he recognizes to be akaashi. kita is standing beside him, a hand on [y/n]��s shoulder as they both check on her for any injuries or harm.

he hasn’t seen kita since his days in high school when he was the captain of inarizaki; atsumu told him he had moved out to the countryside but he must have come back after some time. he feels like a weight is lifted off his chest at the sight of her in the arms of his roomates, and he knows that she is cared for. that she has found her people, just like he told her earlier that night, and he hopes that she’s starting to accept his words as the truth.

he’s happy just watching her from afar, but she breaks apart from akaashi’s hug to gesture him in, and kita shuts the door behind him. “omi, this way,” she says with a smile on her face, beckoning him with a hand.

it’s the first time she’s called him by that old name since high school, and he thinks he’s falling even harder for her if that’s possible. she makes him sit on a stool in the kitchen while she searches her cabinets and a nearby closet for medical supplies. she’s begun to apply an ointment to his hand when he opens his mouth, “i can’t believe you think your roomates would ever leave you. look at how they all came to make sure you were okay. mine are one fight away from starting to vote people to kick out of the apartment nearly every week.”

she laughs at his comment, unwrapping a roll of bandages, “i’m sure no one would ever vote for you if that happened, but i guess you’re right, they’re pretty good, aren’t they?”

he nods, watching her face while she’s focused on his hand, “are you doing okay?”

she hums back in response, “yeah. the thing about my mom leaving me behind too kind of stung, but i don’t think life would’ve been any better with her, so it shouldn’t really hurt that bad. i’ll be okay. what you said at the diner really helped, you know. i feel like I can trust myself to say what i'm thinking rather than being scared i'm wrong or selfish. i can trust that it's not egotistical to believe my roomates don’t actually hate me. and that you don’t hate me. so i feel like i’ve finally escaped the weight of my dad’s words always crushing me and playing down anything i do.”

he reaches a hand up with his uninjured hand to wipe away tears from her face she didn't even realize were falling. and then he keeps his hand there, caressing the side of her face. “i don’t hate you, i never have. this entire time…how i feel about you is quite the opposite,” the words are slightly too intimate for him and as soon as they escape his mouth, it becomes hard to swallow and his face feels a little hot, but he doesn’t remove the hand from her cheek. he opts to say something more neutral next, “you did well, talking back down to him. i think you could’ve taken him down yourself.”

she chuckles at that, tying a knot to finish his bandage, “that’s what you think, but i’m sure i’d break my thumb or something. and if i have a hot man to defend me? i’m not lifting a finger.”

“you think i’m hot?” he says with a smile.

her cheeks grow warm under his hand, but she can’t look or move away from him, “i’m pretty sure thousands of people think so. it’s like a fact; newspapers can make money off of just having your face on the front page even if they barely mention you or don’t focus on sports at all.”

“well none of that matters,” he’s smiling softly now, and she’s still looking into his dark-colored eyes, hands holding his wrapped hand, “it just matters what you think.”

“what i think?” she repeats. and maybe it’s the adrenaline from the encounter they just had, or his boldness rubbing off on her in this current moment, but her next words come out clear and confident, “i think i love you, and i have for years. even when you left, i never stopped loving you.”

“i’m gonna make up for those years, you know,” he whispers back, pulling her by the sides to stand between his legs, bringing her closer. “i know i love you. i’d be a fool not to. and i loved you back then in high school too, even if i didn’t know it. i swear, losing you made me realize how much i took you for granted and everything became clear. letting you disappear was the worst mistake i ever made. i’ll make up for that lost time. make it up to you to the the point that you’re sick of me and you forget we were ever even separated for a time in our lives.”

“oh? and how are you gonna do that?” there’s a breathless feeling growing inside of her chest, where her heart beating fast with his confession and the way she's allowing him to pull her face close to this.

“starting with this,” his breath is hot against her lips before he closes the gap between them, and she’s kissing him back. she doesn't mourn or wish for the past, or for anything to change. he's come back and that's all that matters. she's happy with the word again. she likes it better than a phrase like "we fell in love at first sight." instead, she can say, "we met again. we fell in love again.

"we tried again."

it sounds like a story that reminds people endings aren't set in stone. she likes it.

.

.

.

“by the way, have you been playing songs for me in your lounge room when i’m waiting for you?”

“oh, you noticed?”

.

.

.

"the more you love your friends the more their features start to blur until all you remember is a pair of warm, welcoming eyes and laughter that feels like home."

prev. | m.list

extras <3

this is the end! thank you for reading try again <3

that last little quote is something i should've included like two chapters ago but it got lost in my gallery so here it is now <3

y/n's a good therapist i swear!!! she takes like one second to hit a play on a spotify playlist she's not playing games on her computer for entire sessions 😭

this is all i have tbh! i hope you enjoyed a little bit of this story <3 thank you so so much for being along on this ride w me!!

taglist: @eggyrocks @wyrcan @guitarstringed-scars @strawberryuri @violetesensou @kakeru-eem @glmge @heytheredemonsss @mollyrolls @bemebiu @daszy @snail-squasher @0moonii @thiisisntlovely @todorokiskitten @rory-cakes @iiwaijime @iatethemochi @yuminako @savemebrazilhinata @kismyscars @bokutoko @nobodybutnnoorr @wolffmaiden @daisy-room @softpia @lees-chaotic-brain @v3nusplanetofluv @crispchocolates @phoenix-eclipses @hhoneyhan @encrypta @rockleeisbaeeee @cr4yolaas @zombriesworld @localgaytrainwreck @moucheslove @hibernatinghamster @notverymarley @certaindreampost @akaakeis @ciderscape @lucien-luna @strawbrinkofdeath @wave2mia @samuel1004 @01trickster10 @dazqa @cosmiicdust @chemiru

[izacore]

Harries on twitter be like “he’ll do a residency in Las Vegas omg he’s getting richer day by day slay king 😍”

personally I think he should just give some of that money to me

[tbaluver]

Can I request how would each of the L&DS men roleplay for spicy times with the reader pretty please? 🙏🏼 Like, would they go for a Hero/Damsel in distress scenario, a Bandit/Captured princess thing or any other fun trope you can come up with?

Roleplay With Them- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre/ tags/ warnings: MDNI, 18+, suggestive content, all will be tagged below, with each small fic a/n: hihi anonnie ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ sorry this took a while and i'm so srry in advance for what ur about to read idk if i did this justice, some is giving roleplay while some is not. most of these are teasers for my upcoming fics but i do NOT promise you all that these will be good so lmk if you want to be tagged or if you want them to be published on any one of these or all (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ i hope you enjoy reading! any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Rescuer! Xavier x Damsel in distress! Reader

He saves you after a dangerous mission and you must repay him back.

tags: xavier receiving

“No. I must repay you, my hero.” Your hand snakes down to unbutton and unzip his pants before you’re helping him remove his shirt.

“And how do you intend on doing that?” He tilts his head, curiosity sparkling in his eyes while a sly smirk tugs at the corners of his lips.

You kiss down lower and lower, making sure to leave marks of your trail. You take your sweet time on his lower abdomen, your tongue tracing the lines of his abs while your hands work on slowly pulling his boxers off.

His cock springs up, begging to be finally freed with a bit of precum leaking from it. You lean in, kissing his tip softly, earning a twitch from his cock. His breath hitches, closing his eyes when your tongue traces along the underside of his cock.

────୨ৎ────

Prince! Xavier x Princess! Reader

After your question about his life in the kingdom, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He’s thought of the idea of you being his queen by his side, in the kingdom he was supposed to rule. So he decides to show you what it was like to treat and fuck you like the royalty like you deserve.

tags: aphrodisiac used

You can’t quite wrap your head around how he managed to acquire this drink or drug after his long journey to finally find you. But that thought fades away as he gently tilts your head, letting a drop of the liquid linger on your tongue before dropping the same dose of the liquid on his.

“They’ve told me that when you find someone you love, you try this with them. I’m glad to finally experience this with you, my princess.” He sets the dropper down on the nightstand, leaning in to kiss your knuckles gently. He grins softly, slowly getting drunk from the liquid.

It didn’t take long for both of your senses to sharpen and the aphrodisiac washed over your system. Your bodies were aching and yearning for each other’s touch, tearing and feeling each other up.

With quick haste, he clumsily unwraps his robe and helps you remove your slip dress. His mouth finds you again as you whine against his lips. Wet sounds of your lips crushing on his as your tongues melted in this heated exchange.

None of you break contact as he tugs his boxers down his legs, the sight of his cock throbbing in full view. His girth looks desperate and in pain and you’re taking it in your before guiding it into your crying cunt.

────୨ৎ────

Lumiere! Xavier x Reader

This will only be a one time thing between you two.

tags: Rough, jealous sex, Lumiere mask on Xavier beefing with himself

He remembers the way you look at Lumiere. The way your eyes lit up and your mouth curled up over just the thought of him. He hated it. But now with you naked beneath him as he thrusts into you deeper and deeper with his Lumiere mask on, he has to know who you wanted more. Lumiere or Xavier?

Your cunt clenches down tightly and your hands grips his shirt as you squeeze your eyes shut. The bed frame creaks. The sound of his skin slapping with yours bounced off the walls with each merciless thrust makes you see stars dance across your vision. Xavier panted heavily on top of you while the slap of wet skin to skin and the shameful squelch of your cunt accepted him, only him, Xavier.

“x-xavier...!”

He wasn't making it very easy for you. His hands find solitude on the wooden frame for support, his knuckles turning white as he grips it as his hips rock with more depth. His cock hits against your cervix, kissing and caressing the spongy walls.

“Y-You were so happy to see Lumiere, yet you call out my name.” He stammered, struggling to regain his composure, whatever was left of it. His mask hid most of his expression, yet you can see it all through his eyes and his parted lips.

“Who do you like more,” He clenches his jaw, shooting you a sharp look at your disheveled state. “Me or Lumiere?”

────୨ৎ────

Food Play

The only time one of you don't blow up the kitchen but he blows his seed in you.

tags: use of whip cream, xavier sucking ur tits

“Xavier, do you want some?” Tilting your head back while your finger pressing down on the nozzle to spray cream into your mouth. 

You sit down beside him, adjusting his head on your lap. He opens his mouth as you press your finger on the nozzle to spray cream into your mouth, some of it excessively dripping down his chin.

“You did that on purpose,” He pouts, using his thumb to swipe away the excess whip cream and licking it off. You giggle, offering a playful apology. “My turn,” He says, sitting up, a mischievous glint plays in his eyes. 

You tilt your head slightly, letting him spray the whip cream into your mouth. And of course he got pay back as he excessively sprays it down, the whip cream dripping to your chin and lower to your chest.

You giggle, licking it off your lips. “You’ve got some here.” He says softly, swiping the whip cream with his thumb and placing it on your lips. He watches you take his thumb in, your tongue purposely swirling and sucking in the remains of it, not breaking eye contact with him.

His breath hitches when he watches you swallow. “You’ve also got some here too.” He leans in lower to your chest, licking off the remains of the whip cream but he has other plans. He purposely glides his tongue lower and lower while pushing you down gently on the couch.

Zayne:

Doctor! Zayne x patient! Reader

Zayne always remains professional when working with his patients, however when it comes to you he tries, key word try, to keep it professional when his lover visits for a checkup or just a visit in general. Yet each visit is always tempting as the last and escalates to something more unethical in his office.

This type of roleplay can happen in your home. Using this type of roleplay to get your occasional personal checkup with your lover in your shared bedroom.

tags: p in v

“Hi Doc-tor,” You say, knocking lightly on the door while leaning against the door frame. Zayne glances up from his patient report, his attention instantly drawn to that familiar voice. A small smile curls at the corners of his lips as he takes in the sight of you. You step inside, making sure to close and lock the door behind you.

“What brings you here?” He asks, setting his pen down and rising from his seat to greet you properly.

“I miss you and,” you reply, pouting playfully as you step into his embrace. He wraps his arms around you, the scent of your lover flooding your nostrils.

“And?” His brow arches, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Doctor Zayne, I’m not feeling well,” You sounded so innocent, so much worry laced in your words that he knew something was up the moment he heard you by his door. He plays along after missing you during these past few hours. The night before still lingering from his mind.

“And what seems to be the issue?” he asks, attempting to maintain a serious tone but you both know that his composure will soon crumble from just a simple touch from you.

“I need some vitamin U,” You say with a sheepish grin yet your mischievous fingers say otherwise as you toy with the lapel of his white coat. He chuckles, leaning in closer, “If that’s the case, I’ll make sure to give you a daily dose.”

-

The top of your blouse unbuttoned to expose your breasts, peeking under your bra that had been pushed up. Your skirt  pulled up to your hips to have your lower half completely exposed as you bounced on the lap of your lover. 

Incoherent whimpers escape from your lips as you feel your climax rapidly approaching you. You both knew it wasn’t appropriate to leave the hospital to get fucked in the chief surgeon’s office, yet here you both were.

“Z-Zayne-!” You cried as his cock hit a special spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling back. His large palms grip your ass, guiding you up and down on his length. He hushes you, his breath warm against your neck, “We wouldn’t want the others overhearing you getting this special treatment, now would we?”

“Are you close, my love?” He whispers, adding pressure to your nipples to stimulate your orgasm to come faster and harder. You whimper, arching your back as he continues to pound into your cunt, eager to meet his own release with yours.

────୨ৎ────

Patient! Zayne x Doctor! Reader

It was a long and exhausting shift for him. what’s a better way to come home to his lovely partner to come take care of him and his needs?

He's practically melting in your touch the moment he gets home, letting you do whatever you want too him, just please don't tease him.

tags: zayne receiving

“Luckily for you, I have the perfect medicine for that,” You grin mischievously, removing yourself from his lap while his hands instinctively reach for you, sliding away as if he already missed your touch.

He quirked a brow, eyeing your movement. “And what do you plan to do, doc-tor?” Drawing out the last word with a teasing whisper.

“Just sit back,” You slip between his legs, his legs opening to welcome you. You reached for his belt, unbuckling them before unbuttoning his pants. He lets out a breathy chuckle, lifting his hips to allow you to pull them down. “and let me take care of you.”

You looked so pretty kneeling in front of him, your hand pumping the base of his cock while you tried your best to fit the rest of his length inside of your mouth. His tip hits the back of your throat, earning an embarrassing whine escaping his lips.

Your hand starts stroking his cock faster, and he could feel you switch from darting your tongue across his leaking slit to closing your lips around his tip and sucking to your heart’s content. Your pacing was quickening and his knuckles were turning white as he fists onto the cushions of the couch for his dear life.

────୨ৎ────

Cooking/ Baking Role Play

Your lover, the sweet tooth, would stay extra late to help you clean up the kitchen but he can't help but get a quick taste before doing so.

tags: slight food play ? zayne a feen for ur boobs

He joins your lips and wraps his arms around your waist to help pull you up on the kitchen table. His tongue dances in sync with yours while his hands travel up and up under your shirt before fully taking it off. He lets out a lowly breath at the sight of your hardened nipples, pinching them and receiving a filthy moan from you. Pushing you down gently on the table, he hovers over you, thinking about all the things he could do.

With a quick swipe of his finger, he scoops up the leftover whipped cream and places the cold substance on your neck. His tongue traces and tastes the curve of your neck, making you arch your back, begging to feel more of him.

He continues placing more of the cream down further your neck to your collarbone and down to the valley of your breasts. His tongue follows the trail he makes and places a couple needy kisses further down.

Reaching towards your breaths, he grabs them gently while his thumbs rub against your hardened nipples and are replaced by his lips.

────୨ৎ────

Tutor! Zayne x Med Student! Reader

credit for this concept!: @deusfoundry ᯓᡣ𐭩

Nothing seemed to help you grasp this topic, so he knew he needed to come up with a different approach to make it stick.

tags: reader receiving, p in v, fingering

He grips waist, marking you, using you as stability to thrust into you just a bit more deeper. You’re both covered in sweat and saliva and you feel hot. Your head is spinning while your heart pounds in your chest. You don’t know how many rounds it has been and you don’t know how many questions he’ll keep up.

He reaches under you, brushing your sensitive clit with his fingers, rubbing and working you up as he plows right into you. “And what is this?”

“C-Clit-” His warm breath fans against the skin of your neck, holding your bare sticky back to his chest. “That’s it,” He coos, reaching his free hand to your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index.

“And this?”

“M-mammary papilla...” You stammer as he groans into your ear, “Good girl,”

Rafayel:

Art Teacher! Rafayel x Student! Reader

watching your boyfriend teach little kids how to paint was an adorable site to watch. After they’ve all gone home, it was just the two of you alone in the art room where it becomes a private lesson between the two of you. You're his student and he’s your teacher, teaching you things like ceramics to sketches to painting your face white.

tags: fingering, p in v

“And this is called a wet on wet brush stroke.” A soft tone yet a mischievous glint plays in his eyes. Of course he chooses this stroke for this next topic.

He hums, resting his chin on your shoulder while watching you struggle to paint. His free hand slips down your skirt to massage your clit, preparing you for his entrance. A quiet whimper escapes your lips, trying your best to focus but you knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t make this so easy for you.

He licks his fingers and inserts them into you again, gently stretching you out while you instinctively lean back into him.

“Something on your mind, cutie?” His hot breath fans against your neck as he leans in closer, tilting his head on your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your reaction, clearly amused on how you’re trying so hard to keep yourself composed.

“R-Raf....” He feels your hands tremble against his as he gently guides yours across the canvas. A playful smirk spreads across his lips at the sound of your stutter.

His free hand that was previously on your clit slips up to your sweater, gently kneading your breasts before giving your nipple a light squeeze. He’s slowly pushing into you, burning slightly but disappears into complete pleasure.

He clicks his tongue, watching you fumble the brushstroke. “It seems my pupil is distracted again. Should I remind you what happens when you don’t pay attention?”

────୨ৎ────

Artist! Rafayel x Muse! Reader

You always try to help Raf with his paintings. Whether it was helping him take art supplies to the beach or coming alone with him to travel to new places to get inspiration or being his nude model

Rafayel steps closer to you, his height towering over you. He reaches out with his free hand to trace your jawline, ever so delicately and longing. He murmurs sweet praises, memorizing the angles of your face and how he could possibly recreate it on a canvas.

“Beautiful.” He whispers, his thumb swiping your lips to the corner of your mouth. “Art needs to be messy to truly spark creativity. Are you willing to dive into that with me?” You nod, while his other hand pumps his cock, glossing it over with his precum.

“Go ahead,”

He lets his eyelids flutter shut as he focuses on the movements you made. The way your tongue rubs the underside of his cock, and how your lips wrapped perfectly around his girth.

────୨ৎ────

Servant! Rafayel x Royalty! Reader

tags: reader receiving

“I serve you, master” He draws out the last words with a low tone, each syllable dripping with the intention of arousal. He gently grasped your hand, bringing it to rest against his cheek.

“I only serve you.” He nuzzles against your hand, keeping his gaze locked on you.

“Show me,” You whisper, your hands tightening on him while your eyes are filled with desire and curiosity. “Prove it to me that I’m the only one.” He smirks, giving your knuckles one last kiss before sliding off your lap, never removing his gaze on yours.

A smirk plays at the corners of his lips as he kisses your knuckles one last time before sliding off your lap. “If that’s your wish.” His nebula eyes locked onto yours as he settled between your legs.

He places a soft kiss on your clothed core, the dampness clearly evident. His lips travel down your thighs, peppering small kisses and small licks while fluttering his long lashes at you before moving back up to where you wanted him the most.

“Please Raf...” You whine, your fingers tangling with his soft locks. “Please what, master? What is it that you need?” He toys with the waistband of your panty, amused when you lift your hips up, practically asking to fully remove them off of you. 

“I only listen when you use your words, master.” He peers up at you from underneath, a cunning grin stretching across his lips, waiting for your command.

“I need you Raf”

His fingers slid beneath your panties. “Here?” He pulls them down, slowly peeling the thin material from your pussy down to your legs. “Or is this better?” He lifts his gaze from your crying core, mouth just inches away from you. Your eyes clenched shut as you nod.

Dragging along a maddening lick across your pussy, hitting each and every nerve you possess, earning cries of desired pleasure flooded your system.

────୨ৎ────

Bandit! Rafayel x Princess! Reader

It has been hours days since you both have spent time together and he misses you dearly. With a mischievous plan, he dresses up and sneaks into your home to take you away.

tags: slight knife play but no gore or blood is drawn, only used for anticipation

The candles flicker to life, casting a warm glow through your entire room. You catch sight of your lover, sitting by the bay window where he playfully flips a familiar dagger in his hand.

“I’ve been waiting for you, your highness,” His voice teases and with a swift motion, he removes his mask, revealing a smirk. He tucks the dagger away, approaching you slowly.

“Raf?...I-What are you doing here?” You stammer in surprise as he gently cups your face, his gaze lowering to meet yours. “I’ve come to take what belongs to me.”

“And how do you intend on doing that?” He lets out a breathy chuckle as he pulls out his dagger, causing you to swallow nervously.

He gently glides the tip of the dagger along your shirt, tearing the fabric open and making sure that it doesn’t come in contact with your skin.

Sylus:

Boss! Sylus x Subordinate! Reader

Your lover has been busy with work in your own shared home and yet you miss him and his touch so much.

You knock gently on his office door in your shared home, hearing a muffled ‘come in’ from your lover on the other side of the room. As you enter, he looks up with a warm smile before returning his attention to the paperwork scattered before him on his desk. “Sweetie, do you need something?”

You step into the room, wearing one of his long sleeves that was way oversized on you. You were there to remind him about something but seeing him like this makes you lose your train of that thought entirely. Replacing your original intentions with a new wave of something else in mind.

“You’ve been busy lately, boss,” you purred. “I’ve barely seen you....” You trailed off, biting your bottom lip as you settled yourself on his lap.

He lets out a huff of a chuckle, looking up at you and placing a hand on your back. “Ah, is my subordinate looking for trouble again?”

-

His office was filled with faint echoes of your lips smacking and shuffling of bodies on his office chair. His kisses were slow and passionate, something you’ve missed while he was busy. He pulls away to admire your disheveled state he made of you. Your hair messed up, your clothes wrinkled and a couple purple marks that he left on your neck to your chest.

────୨ৎ────

Interrogator! Sylus x Suspect! Reader

You have been taking things from Sylus to gain his attention but it seems like your plan worked a little too well for you.

tags: reader receiving, fingering

“I see my kitten has learned how to swipe things from me lately. He says, leaning casually against the doorframe of your shared bedroom, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I would never take anything from you Sy.” You reply, avoiding his gaze. He lets out a soft, breathy chuckle and pushes himself away from the door, approaching you. Before you can even think to escape, he uses his evol to pin you in place on the bed, his frame hovering over you.

“I’m giving you one last chance to confess, sweetie.”

You squirm against his evol, even though it’s no use. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You protest, earning a scoff from him. Crimson swirls around your body, making you sit up against the headboard and in one swift motion, he cuffs both of your hands to the frame.

“Then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I do an inspection?” 

-

“Sy-Sylus...!” You beg, your voice now hoarse.

“Nothing seems to be in here...” He pumps his fingers harder, earning an eye-roll of pleasure from you that he finds pleasure in. Your thighs are spread out on the bed, while he’s knuckle deep. Curling his slender fingers up into a gummy spot that only he knows that makes you shudder. 

He’s so much bigger than you, in any way. His fingers reach so much deeper than yours and so much more harder.

────୨ৎ────

Masseuse! Sylus x Massage Client! Reader

one way or another you'll lose stress

tags: reader receiving, fingering

Gently he removes the towel and pulls it down just above your ass. You can feel the tips of his fingers dance across the canvas of your bare back as if he’s mapping you out. “You’re still tense, sweetie.”

Your eyes roll back the moment you feel him working on the knotted muscles of your neck. He makes his way down your back, curving his hand as you become putty on the bed, earning a deflated moan from you.

“Am I that good?” He chuckles, his fingers tracing down a line to your waist and hips. “That’s what I like to hear anyway.” If you’re lucky, he might not even notice the wet patch of arousal on your panties.

His hands glide over to the curve of your ass, the towel completely pulled down. Spoke too soon. Slowly, his palm feels the roundness of your cheeks, constantly swapping between each cheek.

With a wicked grin, he eyes the wet patch but he keeps you anticipating. His eyes never leave your crying cunt, licking his lips hungrily as he travels up your legs. Sylus murmurs sweet nothings as he caresses each swipe, threatening to creep closer and closer to your cunt.

With one swift motion, he removes your panty down your legs. “You’re so wet,” He groans, two fingers slipping up and down your slit and shifting his attention between your sensitive bud. His touch remains soft yet stimulating. Your back arches while your ass lifts higher to feel more of his hand.

────୨ৎ────

Master! Sylus x Maid! Reader

You knew you shouldn’t have made such a bold bet against Sylus after pathetically losing so many times at Kitty Cards. Now here you are meeting your own consequences, wearing a maid costume and cat ears?

tags: reader receiving, fingering, p in v eventually but i tease that hehe

“My, don’t you look adorable,” He stands behind you, his height towering over your reflection in the mirror. You catch his gaze through the glass, a teasing smirk playing on his lips that makes it clear he’s enjoying this

He loves how the short skirt compliments your figure. It was small enough that if you bent over, he would get a full view of your lace panties. His eyes lowered to the frills and the lace that sat on your chest, smirking on how the kitty ears are placed on the top of your head.

-----

“Look at yourself.” His hand cups your cheek, gently pushing it to where the mirror was standing. Your face becomes flushed at seeing your disheveled state. “Naughty girl. Don’t look away.” A playful smirk curls on his slips as you writhe against his hold, slightly tossing your head aside to give him an easier opportunity to leave more wet kisses on your neck.

“You’re doing so well for me, did you know that sweetie?” Sylus proceeds to slowly rub your clit, waiting for a pleasant reaction. He continues, stroking and rubbing at your clit in such delicious patterns, preparing you for his lengthy entrance.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

I'm not over Price's Widow, so I'm subjecting you all to it as well. Continuation to this right here

"Was he alone?" She asked quietly.

"No, we were with him till the end, ma'am." Kyle says softly as he sits next to her. He's turned fully facing her. He wants to cry himself but knows that won't do her any good.

She closes her eyes, her hand clutching onto his hat. Her tears kept falling silently, and she stopped her gut-wrenching, pain filled screams and cries only twenty minutes ago. Kyle can still hear them echoing in his thoughts. Such a mournful sound, it's going to stay with him more than the echoes of gun fire and bombs. Her hand, the one trying to self soothe by rubbing her stomach, is trembling.

Simon is still as statue. He won't come further into the cozy living room. He blames himself for Captain not coming home, and he doesn't feel like he has a right to be here trying to comfort his friend's widow. It doesn't matter if he's told it's not his fault and it doesn't matter that Mrs. Price insisted he could sit down in the living room with them.

JoJo has taken a liking to Soap, and the kid is completely oblivious to the life changing news that was just dropped. Little baby keeps pulling on his mohawk and babbling nonsensical words. It then dawns on all of them, really, that Mrs. Price is going to be raising Jojo and the new baby by herself. She's going to be alone during her pregnancy and suffering through grief and post-partum, a time when she's most vulnerable by herself.

None of them can have that.

Her voice cracks, "I'm glad you were all with him. I know you three were his boys. He talked about you so much, he loved you all so much. If there's anything you need, please let me know."

And the lump in Kyle's throat feels like it's closing up because of course Mrs. Price is a good woman, a doting wife, and cares for the three men who couldn't get their Captain - her husband - help in time. She's offering to look after his team during their time of grief, too, despite being thrown head first into a reality that was talked about but never thought to be a true possibility. He briefly wonders if John told her he'd be back before she could miss him. He knows the cup cakes on the kitchen counter with the pink and blue sprinkles were supposed to be his welcome home present. Captain John Price was supposed to be surprised with news of another baby. The man was robbed of this reality, and his wife left with just his hat and dog tags and the date that his body would be at the morgue.

"Thank you for stopping by." She moves to get up, but her hand is gently grabbed by Kyle's. "Yes?"

"Would you like us to stay for a while?" He asks. He's hoping she lets them stay, even if she only wants them on the front porch the second she becomes angry that they couldn't bring her husband back safely. He doesn't want to leave her alone with Jojo, alone to grieve by herself. They promised they'd take care of her, that promise is the only thing keeping all three of them steady.

So when Mrs. Price nods her head she looks at all of them. "Stay for as long as you need."

[nysus-temple]

Uuuuhhh can I save this for a thesis? Because holy shit.

Odysseus was afraid the entire year on Aeaea in the Odyssey.

Content warnings: Rape, Sexual Coercion, Sexual assault, Sex Work, power dynamics, this will also be long as fuck as I talk too much. This is NOT a "Circe the Goddess Hate Post". I call her out but that's it. I tried to keep this neutral but still making a point (Let me know if I gotta put more)

Lots of lovely folks on here have written great essays on what Calypso did to Odysseus as it's soooo blatantly obvious there. It literally states how he cried every day and how he flinched from Calypso, very straightforward on how he was explicitly raped.

But I've noticed that a lot of people are always iffy about Circe's situation (understandably so, it's not so in your face.) She's usually always mentioned in the "Odysseus never cheated! He was raped!" posts but then the evidence is only ever given against Calypso, and then mentioning how you can't say no or disobey the orders of an immortal and how it was in exchange for freeing his men.

WHICH IS ALL CORRECT!!! But!!!

There ARE immortal/mortal couples who genuinely love each other. Dionysus and Ariadne, and Eros and Psyche are examples. Apollo and Hyacinthus. It's true that Psyche becomes immortal eventually and in some versions, both Hyacinthus and Ariadne do too (depending on versions). But even while mortal themselves, their immortal lovers still remained respectful and loving towards them and definitely doted on them. There are definitely power dynamics at play here but there's some nuance.

Odysseus and Circe's relationship, however, is very different. We all know he slept with her at the very least once. And that was in exchange for his men being returned to humans. That was the only time it was explicitly stated. With Calypso, it tells you every night he was enchanted and slept beside her. It was the narrator speaking but Odysseus is the narrator now and it's his story. If you think he lied, this probably won't change your mind anyway.

But even if it was a one-time thing, (which isn't the only interpretation and I will have points that talk about others) then why did he stay a year? What was he doing?

I'm doing a deep dive into the year he spent on Aeaea based on evidence in Book 10 and then the beginning of Book 12. Step by step, and honestly I'm writing this for Tumblr, not as a thesis so I will be a bit more casual but still using sources. To me, it's very obvious that he was uncomfortable throughout the text simply based on the language that is used. But it's very subtle and not an outright statement of "He's been crying every day."

BTW, just so we're clear, this is not a "Circe is the root of all evil, etc." type of post.

This isn't meant to villainize her. She's an immortal being and in mythology that changes things. Everybody is morally gray. I genuinely think if we were to ask her feelings on it, she'd probably be like "Oh, yeah! Turned his men into pigs! Strange little man he was." I don't think she gave a flying fuck.

I just simply get pissed tf off when people think Odysseus was fine. It honestly disturbs me how often I'll go on other websites YouTube and see everyone call him a whore and a womanizer. It's sexism at its finest because 1.) "MaN AlwAyS wAnTs sEx" and 2.) women can't rape/coerce. THIS IS SIMPLY TO LOOK INTO HIS FEELINGS ABOUT IT.

This is also only for Homer's Odyssey, using different translations. If you want to discuss this, (I'd be happy to! Just be nice!) DON'T BRING UP ANY OTHER WORKS.

With all that out of the way, come yell with me 🤗

I've read multiple translations, as I know there's going to be bias depending on who's translating. And having done so, each one has basically the same situations described the same so that's nice for consistency. Also, there are some parts in the story that are vague and that we'll never have answers to.

Odysseus first simply sees the smoke from her chimney and then sends his men in, after drawing lots Eurylochus leads half of the men to check out the house. I mentioned here vaguely how the 2 immortals he sleeps with are both introduced while singing and weaving, which could be seen as an enchantment (which to me is most likely. They both possess magic and are goddesses). So I'm just gonna move past that. Just take a peek and come back or just know that enchantment was likely.

Next, I'll see people often joke on Tumblr about how

"Odysseus says that Polites is his best friend yet only mentions him once!"

I think Odysseus mentions his best friend, the one to jubilantly go in first, to show WHY he would go through with this. How much these comrades mean to him. That's his best friend, and there are approximately 20 others who are now pigs as well. Could you knowingly leave one of your best friends to live a life like that knowing you could've done something?

[...]Circe—and deep inside they heard her singing, lifting her spellbinding voice as she glided back and forth at her great immortal loom, her enchanting web a shimmering glory only goddesses can weave. Polites, captain of armies, took command, the closest, most devoted man I had: ‘Friends, there’s someone inside, plying a great loom, and how she sings—enthralling! The whole house is echoing to her song. Goddess or woman—let’s call out to her now!’ So he urged and the men called out and hailed her. She opened her gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting them all in, and in they went, all innocence.

(Fagles, Book 10)

In the Odyssey, it's never mentioned why she turns people into animals. I think they were turned into pigs because, throughout the Iliad and Odyssey, Odysseus is often associated with boars. His men are associated with him, therefore: 🐖 Piggy. From what we know, the lads were just eating her food. With how much Xenia and hospitality are a large part of the story, they probably thought they were safe. They were GUESTS. This is especially welcome after the Cyclops and the Laestrygonians. And it literally says "All innocence". They were simply naive.

Then Eurylochus runs back, so terrified that he couldn't speak at first. He then begs Odysseus to just leave the men behind. Odysseus has shown that he does TRY to save his men when it is truly not reckless to do so.

But I shot back, ‘Eurylochus, stay right here, eating, drinking, safe by the black ship. I must be off. Necessity drives me on.’

(Fagles, Book 10)

Then the famous warning from Hermes. I've seen folks bring this up when talking about this. YES, he is literally commanded by Hermes to not refuse her if he wants his men back in basically every translation. It sounds like Circe was warned as well. When? We don't know, but it sounds like Hermes didn't pick "sides" here.

Strange that he was still like, "Sleep with each other" to both, because he could've been like, "Circe, there's this guy named Odysseus. When he comes to this island, change his men back." But who knows, maybe it was Circe's idea from the beginning and Hermes went along with it. Just food for thought.

Now here’s your plan of action, step by step. The moment Circe strikes with her long thin wand, you draw your sharp sword sheathed at your hip and rush her fast as if to run her through! She’ll cower in fear and coax you to her bed— but don’t refuse the goddess’ bed, not then, not if she’s to release your friends and treat you well yourself. But have her swear the binding oath of the blessed gods she’ll never plot some new intrigue to harm you, once you lie there naked— never unman you, strip away your courage!’

(Fagles, Book 10)

But that doesn't explain why he was there for a year afterward! Nor if he himself was okay with it, which is what I'm trying to delve into as he wasn't.

Also the knife thing? She's still immortal. It was meant to startle her. Her dad is Helios. Odysseus would've been toast, literally.

Also note this exchange wasn't a "Yippee! Hermes says I'm going to get laid!".

...just approaching the halls of Circe, my heart a heaving storm at every step, paused at her doors, the nymph with lovely braids— I stood and shouted to her there. She heard my voice, she opened the gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting me in, and in I went, all anguish now …

(Fagles, Book 10)

Another translation by Ian Johnston, (they all say the same thing essentially but trying to make a point.)

I continued on to Circe’s home. As I moved on, my heart was turning over many gloomy thoughts. After I had walked up to the gateway                                                of fair-haired Circe’s house, I just stood there and gave a shout. The goddess heard my voice.                      She came out at once, opened her bright doors, and invited me inside. I entered, heart full of misgivings.

HE👏WAS👏SCARED! The tone is solemn and suspenseful. He was just told that without Hermes' help with the root, he wouldn't be able to survive and bring back his men. Circe was dangerous.

He made her swear not to harm him.

Straightaway she began to swear the oath that I required—never, she’d never do me harm—and when she’d finished, then, at last, I mounted Circe’s gorgeous bed …

(Fagles, Book 10)

Please note that she NEVER promised that to his men. His comrades did NOT have moli in their systems. He had no way of truly ensuring their safety in any way from Circe.

He then refuses to eat until they get turned back. I don't think Circe is "Evil" so maybe it slipped her mind. Or yes, she could've thought, "Hey, I got what I wanted. He's handsome enough. Homer never shuts up about how hot this guy is He hasn't brought up the pigs yet. I'll just let this play out. Maybe HE forgot. I don't have to do anything." We don't know. But Odysseus probably felt like he got deceived. Funny as that's what he tends to do.

"Hey, I did my part of the deal. I slept with you. Now do yours."

She pressed me to eat. I had no taste for food. I just sat there, mind wandering, far away … lost in grim forebodings. As soon as Circe saw me, huddled, not touching my food, immersed in sorrow, she sidled near with a coaxing, winged word: ‘Odysseus, why just sit there, struck dumb, eating your heart out, not touching food or drink? Suspect me of still more treachery? Nothing to fear. Haven’t I just sworn my solemn, binding oath?’

So she asked, but I protested, ‘Circe— how could any man in his right mind endure the taste of food and drink before he’d freed his comrades-in-arms and looked them in the eyes? If you, you really want me to eat and drink, set them free, all my beloved comrades— let me feast my eyes.’ So I demanded.

(Fagles, Book 10)

He doesn't trust her despite what she had told him that he should when they sleep together. He has figured out that while she will not hurt him, his men were not a part of that oath, the men he was trying to protect in the first place.

She is then moved by how they rejoice when they see one another again. While turning people into animals for funsies isn't cool and coercion is fucked up, I think she comes to see this group as not quite friends but I think she did find them entertaining in a way.

This is very strange but I've seen some folks say that since Odysseus was pissed at Eurylochus for still not believing him about Circe is proof that "Oh he was trying to defend her!". Which??? Uh, Eurylochus was literally questioning his leadership as a whole. Calling him reckless and shit. He is captain and he's the King, he can't let that shit slide. The text literally says "Mutinous". Also if I had to sleep with someone I did not want to especially if it was to save my friends and I got called names afterward I'd get fucking pissed too.

Only Eurylochus tried to hold my shipmates back, his mutinous outburst aimed at one and all: ‘Poor fools, where are we running now? Why are we tempting fate?— why stumble blindly down to Circe’s halls? She’ll turn us all into pigs or wolves or lions made to guard that palace of hers—by force, I tell you— just as the Cyclops trapped our comrades in his lair with hotheaded Odysseus right beside them all— thanks to this man’s rashness they died too!

They stay a year. Again it's never stated that Odysseus slept with her that whole time. You could interpret that. (Honestly, I feel Circe would get bored with him? She's a goddess, she's got more important matters than mortal men. And she definitely doesn't love him.)

His men DO have to bring it up that "Odysseus has forgotten his native land." Maybe they thought they could sneak out without her knowing??? I am fucking REACHING but hold on as Telemachus did because he knew Nestor would well, be Nestor and try to coax him with "Have a meal with us! Let me tell you about how badass I used to be in my youth." But to sneak away from a goddess? Without her permission? That won't end too well. Aeolus in the beginning kicked out Odysseus when he tried to ask for another bag of wind. If she didn't want him around, she could literally boot him out. While she didn't force him to stay like Calypso did, she didn't "release" him either.

We don't know if they've been asking for a long time. Odysseus does say to Circe that they have been begging him nonstop, but he could also be saying that to try and convince her. He's good at persuasion. I think while he knew he could rely on her for food, shelter, and good advice, he still didn't feel...SAFE with her. I think he was possibly avoiding her personally.

I think HOW he asks her to leave is important to know as well.

...but I went up to that luxurious bed of Circe’s, hugged her by the knees and the goddess heard my winging supplication: ‘Circe, now make good a promise you gave me once— it’s time to help me home. My heart longs to be home, my comrades’ hearts as well. They wear me down, pleading with me whenever you’re away.’

(Fagles, Book 10)

Throughout all of Homer's works, the characters grasp another's knees when they are desperate and are literally at the other person's mercy. Priam did when begging Achilles for Hector's body back. The man who literally killed his son and was defiling his body by dragging it around. Leodes grabs Odysseus' knees to beg for his life before Ody kills him. If he saw her as a friend, and not a captor, WHY DID HE FEEL THE NEED TO BEG IN ORDER TO LEAVE?! No one, who is in a healthy relationship, has to BEG for permission to leave. Or to "Break up", if you interpret them as still sleeping together.

And even Circe acknowledges that he is there against his will!

‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, old campaigner, stay on no more in my house against your will.

(Fagles, Book 10)

[...]Odysseus, man of many resources, scion of Zeus, son of Laertes, don’t stay here a moment longer against your will

(A.S. Kline, Book 10)

This is probably another reach that you can ignore but the whole "they wear me down", could be trying to appease her. "Look, you're REALLY cool, it's actually my crew that wants to leave hahahah please don't kill them"

I mentioned before how Telemachus snuck away from Nestor but that was simply out of necessity because he needed to go home now. Not rest for the night. NOW. Nestor is just everyone's grandpa. Menelaus kind of talked more but Telemachus is very straight up in "Please I have to go now" and Menelaus immediately got things ready for him. He never has to beg and clasp his knees. Telemachus was never afraid. Menelaus is a fun uncle and Helen is your cool auntie.

Back to Circe! She tells him instructions for the underworld, they were in her bedroom. But that might've been the only way to speak with her. As even Penelope is usually away from the suitors when they are in her halls, Circe may have done the same. The text never states she played hostess physically. If she was hosting in the halls during the day, why did Odysseus wait until night to talk to her? He could've just asked her while she was on her throne in front of everyone. (He did so with the Phaeacians)

Or maybe he went alone because she only swore an oath to not harm him and so he didn't want his men near if she decided she didn't want to let them go. I could be missing something here so feel free to say something. Idk if this was a pride thing on how "I don't want others to see me beg".

This is also where I think there might be interpretation differences. A lot of folks say "She had the info he needed to go home." and she did. BUT HE DIDN'T KNOW THAT. She actually gives advice of her own volition it seems!

She gave him new fine clothes and put on pretty clothes herself but that doesn't mean they had sex. Nausicaa gave him nice clothes as well but he never slept with her.

Then he leaves. Immediately. Not even doing a headcount as he didn't realize one of his men had died. (That was negligence on his part but he wanted out) He booked it, to the UNDERWORLD BY THE WAY. Circe even had to sneak the animals he needed for the sacrifice. Odysseus even basically said "She's a goddess. She can do things mortals can't" at the end of the book. And it almost feels...Numb? Solemn? Neutral? Gives a "It is what it is" vibe.

But Circe got to the dark hull before us, tethered a ram and black ewe close by— slipping past unseen. Who can glimpse a god who wants to be invisible gliding here and there?

(Fagles, Book 10)

She’d slipped past us with ease, for who can see a god move back and forth, if she has no desire to be observed?

(Johnston, Book 10)

She's a goddess. She has magic. She can do whatever the fuck she wants.

NOW ON TO BOOK 12!!! That was long! GET A SNACK AND WATER! LUCKILY THIS'LL BE SHORTER!

In Book 11, Odysseus swears, upon all his loved ones in Ithaca, to Elpenor that he'd give him a proper burial as he's been "unwept, unburied". So in Book 12, he sails back to Aeaea to fulfill his promise.

But you know what's funny to me?

He didn't tell Circe he was there.

He didn't even go to greet Circe himself. He sent his men to go get Elpenor's body.

The biggest clue that he didn't love/trust her is that if she was his "Affair partner" then why not go see her for "one last night together"?

SHE came out herself and pulled him aside to know what happened and then gave more advice.

I dispatched some men to Circe’s halls to bring the dead Elpenor’s body. [...]

Nor did our coming back from Death escape Circe— she hurried toward us, decked in rich regalia, handmaids following close with trays of bread and meats galore and glinting ruddy wine. [...]

But Circe, taking me by the hand, drew me away from all my shipmates there and sat me down and lying beside me probed me for details

(Fagles, Book 12)

In every translation, it talks about how he sits, and she lounges/lies down. That's not sex 🙃 In some translations, it even says he tried to be with his shipmates but she pulled him away!

So we lay down and slept beside our ship’s stern cables. But Circe took me by the hand and led me away, some distance from the crew. She made me sit, while she stretched out beside me on the ground. 

(Johnston, Book 12)

Then, she gives advice about the sirens, Charybdis, Scylla, and her father's Cattle. He tries to ask if he could save all his men. She scolds him for even thinking he could try. He again books it out of there.

I think we all know it wasn't "love". But I think a lot of people think Odysseus was willing and happy with whatever this was. "Friends with Benefits", if you will. I guess you could see it that way but I will say that makes me feel itchy with the whole power dynamic and fear. I don't think folks who have that arrangement have to beg on their knees to ask if they can leave though.

I mean the entirety of Book 10 gives me the vibes of "Laughing uncomfortably because you don't want to upset the other person". To just grin and bear it.

A lot of this was just putting the text here and picking it apart step by step. What you do with this is up to you. It's rambling while banging pots and pans together.

Maybe you see him as drugged the entire year and still sleeping together, as the moli "wore off". Even then, just because her magic can't affect him, there are plenty of natural concoctions that can be created that can affect mortals.

Maybe you see the entire year as sex work in exchange for shelter and food.

Maybe he was just alongside his men the whole time under her roof and was avoiding her after the exchange. After he got asked by his men to finally leave, he would start to walk up to that room only to freeze and turn around, thinking "One more day won't hurt. Should wait until I know she's in a sympathetic mood".

I beg of you, however, PLEASE understand that there was fear and coercion throughout his entirety on Aeaea. He wasn't staying to get laid. While there is so much going on and too many things that are left vague to really know exactly what happened, it is consistent that he was scared/numb. Lots of people go through with things they don't really want to do just to appease others. There are plenty of situations of sexual trauma where one person goes through something and the other has no idea the other person isn't okay. ESPECIALLY WHEN SOMEONE CAN HARM THE PEOPLE YOU CARE ABOUT AT ANY MOMENT!

Sexual trauma is a very complicated thing and while he was scared, he definitely wasn't as traumatized by her as he was by Calypso. Calypso was a torturous hell while Circe was a year of walking on eggshells. Not comparable but I still think it should be acknowledged. It's wild because I read the Odyssey and kept thinking "Y'all are calling the sex slave a cheater? The guy who slept with a goddess to get his men back? The ultimate simp apparently doesn't love his wife??"

Things I'm adding that shouldn't affect the argument as it is not in the Odyssey but I want to mention as it's a "fun fact": Odysseus' dad was an Argonaut. Laertes probably met Circe as well, (or knew of her) with the whole purifying thing and maybe Odysseus heard his dad tell stories of her. Later myths also have Circe with the habit of turning her crushes (or their lovers) into something with Scylla and Picus.

In conclusion, Yeah, he was afraid of her. At least to an extent. And don't pull the whole "Ancient men didn't get raped". Male victims exist and deserve compassion for what was done to them and women are capable of sexual abuse. If you think otherwise, you are not a true feminist and Fuck you. I said in the beginning this'll be casual and I don't wanna write a fancy ending. You can still think Circe is neat but you have to know that this was fucked up.

If you think a lot of this is bullshit or wanna give more context or wish to yell with me but still know he wasn't alright on Aeaea, cool. If you want to point out mistakes or something I should keep in mind with interpretations then feel free to say so but give text evidence. If you try and bring up the Telegony and/or Madeline Miller's Circe, fuck clean off. This is Homer. If you call Odysseus a whore and not the malewife he canonically is I'll start biting. 😤

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eighteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Over the next four days, you find yourself panting in exhilaration each morning you spar with Ghost. Every slam of your hand into his ribs feels strangely better than the last. He goes harder on you. He'd been holding back, too, apparently— an unfortunate fact for your ribs. The pain seems to motivate you more, even if he is still beating the shit out of you.

Blue also motivates you. "Hit his nose again!"

Of course, that is the one part of him you purposely avoid.

The sun returns and sweat glides down your face. You knee his stomach. It's less vulnerable than swinging a kick, but still, he attempts to grab you by the waist. You quickly skirt away, the ground firmer beneath your feet, only for his hand to latch onto one of your braids, instead. A sting pulses through your scalp as he tugs hard, wrenching your ear close to his mouth.

"Quicker. Good. But don't get too cocky."

"I thought you wanted me to be more confident," you retort between ragged breaths. 

"Yes, but you can't forget who has the advantage here." There is the slightest bit of arrogance in his voice that makes your teeth grit.

"How could I ever forget?" Your head tilts and he releases the braid. Suddenly, the thought of smacking his nose again doesn’t seem so bad.

His eyebrow quirks. "Get some water, Twix. You need it."

The water caresses your tongue as you gulp it down without abandon. Unsurprisingly, Blue has disappeared somewhere in the treetops. The lack of more broken bones has waned her interest.

When Ghost lifts his mask to drink, you steal a glance at his nose, noticing that the swelling has gone down significantly. The fact he is still wearing that thing with a broken nose upholds your theory that he is at least slightly insane— as if the fact that he once shoved a gun into your fresh wound wasn’t already evidence of that.

Out of nowhere, he materializes beside you and places a hand on your stomach. Your sore muscles spasm under the surprise of his touch, his long fingers stretching from one side of your ribs to the other.

"Your strength starts here,” he explains in a hoarse murmur. “Keep it tight and you will deliver more damage."

You purse your lips to hide a wince and tap your nose. "Don’t I already deliver enough damage?"

"The nose is fragile. You may be landing more hits on me, but I still hardly feel a thing from them."

He allows you to pry his hand off, but the pressure of it seems to linger. Ghost studies you in a way that turns you translucent before demanding, "Lift your shirt, Twix."

Exhaling through your nose, you hesitate before peeling it up, revealing the collection of bruises you have earned from him. A myriad of pink, purple, and yellow skin flares up under his gaze. They have been giving you a hard time lacing your boots and tying your hair in the morning, but once you get moving, the ache becomes easier to ignore.

He has already seen your stomach and more, yet, your skin itches from the exposure. You shove the shirt back down.

His expression shifts. "You should have said something."

"They're just bruises. I'm not bleeding or anything."

"Still."

"Still what?"

He looks irritated. "You need to fucking communicate."

"I don't see why it matters. No coddling, right?"

"That doesn't mean I'm interested in breaking you."

You jerk your chin up to meet his stare. “You won't."

Blue swings down from a tree, plopping between the two of you and unintentionally—thankfully—putting an end to the subject. "I'm glad you two are finally getting along. It's good for the team." She nudges her dad. "But are you done with her yet? You can't just hog Twix all to yourself."

He clears his throat and the air between your bodies breathes wider. "If you're getting bored maybe we need to find something for you to practice."

"Nope!" she says quickly. "Not bored at all." 

He nods to a tree. "Go on. Practice your knives. You haven't done that in a while. Then, you can have her."

With a groan, she trudges away. 

The sparring continues.

Ghost's fists soften by a smidge.

"He annoys the shit out of me sometimes."

Blue rips up a tuft of grass as you inch back to admire the swipe of color on her eyelids. It was her idea to use the bold-colored flowers for makeup— just like the models in her magazines. You did your best to mash the petals and mix them with some creekwater, but the result is kind of patchy and not nearly as smooth as the stuff you used to put on years ago. 

"Hold still. I'm doing your cheeks next."

The sun highlights the splash of freckles on her cheeks and you try to recall if Ghost had them. Her nose is nothing like his. A dainty button. Another trait she must've gotten from her mom. 

"Did you used to wear makeup?" she asks curiously, eyelashes fluttering down. 

"Sometimes. Especially when I went out."

"Went out where?"

Concentration nudges between your brows. "To clubs and stuff. It's where people would... dance."

Her lips spread as she cocks her head to the side in a manner that emulates her dad. You have to remind her again to stop moving. “Oh. Sorry. You danced?"

"I mean, not good dancing. Just dancing for fun,” you murmur, shrugging at the faint memories of being sandwiched between strangers, alcohol flowing through your veins rather than fear and adrenaline. Back then, mornings were spent nursing a hangover before class rather than earning bruises from an ex-lieutenant. 

Humor dances in her eyes when they reopen. "I don't think Ghost ever went to a club. I cannot imagine him dancing."

The images in your mind morph into something utterly laughable— him standing there like an immovable tank as people try to dance around him. "No, probably not."

"He never really tells me about his life before shit happened," she says thoughtfully. 

This piques your curiosity, but you keep your voice light. "No?"

"Well, he tells me the simple stuff. Mostly about his job. But never... never the small things, you know? Like I have no idea what he used to do for fun or what his life was like when he was a kid." She pauses a moment before adding, "He had a brother. That much I know."

You glance up. "Had?"

"He died before the virus. His mom and dad, too. But every time I ask how they died, he just says," she deepens her voice, "'Doesn't matter how, kid. Dead is dead.'"

"Oh, um, yeah, that sounds like something he would say." You tap your fingers under her chin. "I can put some on your lips, too."

Her eyes close again as she puckers her lips out. When you're done, she continues. "He also never talks about my mom." Her face twists. “I think he thinks talking about her will hurt my feelings."

For a few seconds, you struggle to find a response. The rare mention of her mom always makes your heart stutter, but this time, your broken, callused hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's okay to feel hurt, you know."

Blue shrugs and looks up at the cobalt sky. "I don't think I remember her enough to feel that hurt anymore. She feels so... far away. I remember small things, like the sound of her voice and her old apartment where I lived, but sometimes I wonder if I am making up those memories, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." A terrible urge sits on your tongue to ask her more about her mom, about what exactly her relationship was like with Ghost, but Blue changes the subject before you can.

"Does the makeup look good?" A shy blush clouds her cheeks.

You stand up with a faint smile. "I think I did pretty damn good. Come on. I want you to go look in the mirror."

Music.

It pounds so hard you feel it in your chest.

Neon walls enclose you as someone touches your backside, dancing against you. There is a man's voice in your ear that you think you recognize but it's hard to hear him through all the laughing and chatter. Your hair falls in loose curls down your back, free of braids, and you swipe it from your sweaty skin before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You push through the people. The narrow hall is shrouded with different doors... so many doors. Where is the bathroom? It must be a Friday night on Oxford Street with how fucking crowded and stuffy this place is. Someone knocks into you roughly and your footsteps quicken. A sense of urgency drags you into the next door you come across, a large one made of grey oak.

The smell is horrendous but you feel relieved to see urinals and stalls. Immediately, you press into the granite counter and grip the edge as you catch your breath. The scratched, warped mirror houses a face covered in makeup. Youthful eyes. Flushed cheeks. How much have you had to drink? You need to go home. You will pee and then go home, you tell yourself. Over and over, you repeat this as you relieve yourself in one of the graffiti-doused stalls where condom and tampon wrappers crinkle beneath your heels.

When you're done, you try for the large door you came through, but it doesn't budge. The muffled music outside has faded. Panic sears your chest. You press your back against the door. The bathroom has changed. The stalls are gone. The walls feel like they are closing in, and the smell of piss turns into something even worse. You are alone. Where is the man you came with? You look down. Dead bodies. Strewn limbs. You're standing on a pile of them.

You start screaming. Banging on the door. Digging your fingers into the wood until the flesh rubs down to bone. 

It's not a room anymore, but a box. The fluorescent lights replaced by sheer darkness.

The edges of the door disappear.

A sickening silence replaces your screams.

And then—

"Twix."

You sit up, wild-eyed. You grip onto something—fabric—and a foul taste travels up your throat without warning. You heave several times, your entire body shuddering. 

When awareness settles in, you wipe your mouth and blink up. Ghost. He is... here. Hovering over you. His shirt is tightly bunched between your fingers and you have just vomited into it. The realization smacks you awake and you recoil sharply, staring at his moonlit mask with an expression that must be just short of mortified.

"I... Fuck. I am so sorry. I don't know why— I just..."

When you dare to look at the mess you've left on him, you nearly vomit again. Hands shaking, you rub at your clammy face and begin to ramble unthinkingly as his stare flickers between you and his soiled shirt.

"I've been trying so hard not to hold back like you said, but I think it is fucking me up a little and letting out some things— memories, I guess. I was pretty good about keeping it all in my box because I've been too tired to even think about it, but now I just..." You trail off, realizing your words must make little sense. 

"You've certainly let something out," he rasps.

Your hands drop against the sofa and you cringe. "I'll wash it for you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

You inhale. "I just fucking threw up on you."

"I'm aware."

Ghost straightens. He pinches the collar of his shirt and carefully hoists it over his head. Then, you're looking at his bare chest. Slivers of moonlight caress rigid brawn and mountainous scars that capture your gaze for a few heartbeats before you tear it away. 

"I'll, um, hang it outside and... wash it in the morning." 

Your legs are unnervingly steady when you stand up and take the shirt from him, carefully grabbing it by a dry spot. You are relieved to get away from him, draping it over the porch and swallowing gulps of fresh air before you go back inside, praying he's gone back to bed.

Luckily, he has. When the empty living room greets you, you sink to the sofa and palm your eyes. Then, you notice something left on the pillow. A cigarette. You pick it up and recall the few times you smoked whenever your friends offered one. The taste never sat well with you. 

You rummage for your lighter. The first inhale burns terribly, but you cough into the pillow and try again. It starts to calm you down after a few times, and only when you've gotten to the butt of it do you go back to sleep.

"No wonder you're not getting stronger if you throw up like that every night."

Not even five minutes into training the next morning he brings it up. The rest of your sleep ended abruptly when he got you up at an unearthly time, probably to avoid having Blue as an audience. You are too winded to even scowl, your fists held tight in front of your face as you try to predict where he will aim next.

"I told you. That was the first night in a while." 

"Right. Something about a box, huh?"

"Can we just forget about it, please?"

"Hard to forget when my shirt still smells."

"I washed it the best I could."

The next dodge has your head flying down fast enough to undo one of your braids. Hair slips over your face and you huff, holding your hand up. "Hold on. Give me a minute."

As you undo the other one and opt for shoving your hair into a tight bun instead, he watches you strangely. The feel of his stare ignites a spark of irritation and you flash him a sideways glance. "Look, thank you for the cigarette and everything else you have ever done for me, but you can stop looking at me like that. Like you... pity me. I'm not going to break, I'm not going to ask you to kill me again. Everyone left in this world has nightmares and mine probably aren't the worst of them."

"I don't pity you," he says. "I am just trying to understand you."

"Why?" You finish the bun and drop your arms awkwardly at your sides. 

"It's important to understand your ally."

"Oh. Is that what we are?"

His eyes narrow. "Obviously. I wouldn't bother wasting my time with this every day if we weren't."

"Good to know you aren't doing it because you owe me."

"You know what I mean, Twix," he growls. 

"No, I don't." You throw your arms up. "I don't know what you mean and I don't know why you never killed me because you had every reason to, and I definitely don't understand you, so I guess we make terrible allies, Ghost."

"What is with you?" He cocks his head to the side, tone mild with curiosity. "So talkative all of the sudden."

"I have no problem talking when the other person isn't blatantly ignoring me."

His brows lift. "Fair enough."

A deep inhale flares your nostrils before you spread your stance. "I'm ready now."

Despite your claim of readiness, he quickly backs you into a defensive position that has you frustrated once again. You don't understand why, but your progress slips. You keep having to adjust your stance and all of your attempts to hit him fail. It's not long before he locks you against a tree with a tattooed forearm against your neck. 

"You aren't focused today," he accuses.

"Damn, you're observant," you breathe out. 

"Jesus fucking Christ. If I wanted to listen to someone mouthing off, I'd get Blue out here." He presses a bit harder and your throat twitches. "I'm not going to threaten you anymore, but clearly, you think straighter when you channel your anger, so whatever you were dreaming about last night— get it out of your head."

He's right. You breathe deep and try sorting through everything in your head, focusing on just the anger, but it's like fishing in murky water. When he releases you, more of the same happens. This time, you end up on your butt. Ghost glares down at you, circling like a vulture.

"You were doing good the past few days. What the hell is this?"

"I told you," you say through your teeth, brushing off the dirt from your jeans. "Letting out my anger means letting everything else in the box out and it is... confusing me. Making my head fuzzy, I guess."

His chest expands with a deep breath and his pointed stare turns meticulous. "Explain this box to me."

You hesitate for a moment. "It's just... where I put away all of the shit that would otherwise make me insane."

"And what is wrong with being a little insane, Twix? This world is insane. Might as well match it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle for an answer and rub your temples. "I don't know. Being insane means losing myself completely. I mean, I have already changed so much in the past five years. Like I said, I was never meant to be this person."

"What person? A person who survives? A person who does what she has to?"

"A person who hurts others," you grit out. "A person who kills." 

"You've killed people, right?" he roughly asks and you nod. "Then you're a killer. You were always meant to be a killer. End of story." His words strike you, and you begin to shake your head defensively, but he continues before you can muster a reply. "The past five years haven't changed you, they have revealed who you are. Now—" he raises his fists, "—open the stupid box and turn everything you feel into anger. All of it. It is valuable fuel that will continue to keep you alive."

He swings.

A kaleidoscope of long-ignored memories flashes through your brain when he hits your sore stomach. Your family. Your friends. The life stolen from you. 

And then— you recover your footing and slam a boot into his knee. It loosens his stance just enough for you to throw yourself at him, effectively knocking him over. The ground welcomes your bodies again, but this time, you grip his shoulders and wind up on top, practically laying all of your weight on him. A few harsh breaths expel from your nose before you become fully aware of the position, the heat from his chest pressing into your breasts.

Quickly, you splay your hands flat against him and sit up straight, thighs spread over his narrow hips. Ghost could easily flip you over and pin you if he wanted. But instead, he crosses his arms behind his head. 

"Comfortable?" you ask him breathlessly, raising a brow.

"Quite. Though, if this were real, I suggest an elbow to the neck once you've got them down."

"So you admit it, then. I got you down."

"I allowed it."

"Sure." Your teeth snag on your lip and you lightly brush a finger over his masked nose, detecting a tick in the hinge of his jaw. "Then I will 'allow' you to keep this for now, but next time, I might do more than just break it."

His eyes widen imperceptibly before he quickly recovers. "Ah. So you are a person who hurts others, then. Someone was trying to tell me otherwise."

Your lips twitch at the corner on their own accord. "Shut the fuck up."

He simply stares at you for a pregnant pause before clearing his throat. "I did allow it, but that was good. You focused on the anger, didn't you?"

You nod. "Yeah, I did. Is that what you do all the time?" you ask curiously. "Just get angry and kill people?"

"Pretty much."

By the tone of his voice, a deep brass that reverberates through all the places your bodies touch, you are certain he's joking. Realizing that you are still on top of him, you push off his chest and swing a leg over, careful not to knee his face or let him see the deep flush that crawls over every inch of your skin.