#i'm so in love with how this turned out to be

[fushitoru]

seperation anxiety! a (clan head) gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ clan head!gojo x wife!reader

summary ⸺ satoru begs you to attend a meeting with the higher-ups, but not for the reasons you thought. inspired by this art by @/baobei-bu!

warnings ⸺ SMUT, gojo is a warning by himself, VERY public sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, no penetration, fingering, fondling, making out, panty-ripping, exhibitionism, kinda cucking but the only ppl humiliated and humbled are the higher ups, porn no plot, but plot if you squint, reader is a strong independent woman (until gojo charms her, bc who wouldn't turn into a cockslut for gojo?), this took me at least five hours to write for no good reason?, not edited (like always....)

a/n pls enjoy and thank u to the queen for making such delicious art (p.s. go to their twitter for nsfw ver i squirted)

general masterlist

“Pleaseeeee,” Satoru has his face buried in your chest, nuzzling in further while complaining. It’s almost comical how he—head of the biggest clan in Jujutsu—is leaning down to match your height. You, meanwhile, stand firm, arms crossed, regarding him with a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection as he leans down to meet your gaze. “Will you come with me?”

The question comes as the dreaded meeting with the higher-ups looms, a gathering he's been dodging all day. It technically began ten minutes ago, and you barely managed to wrangle him into his formal kimono just twenty minutes earlier. You sigh, fingers brushing his hair. “Satoru, you know what they think of me. I'm not exactly their favorite person.” You’re both standing in the middle of your shared bedroom, you imploring him to be on time for his meeting to avoid getting even further shit from the higher-ups.

Mind you, you’re the more rational one between you and Satoru—in fact, most of the people who know you would agree that you’re a very mature, wise person in general (with the exception of some circumstances, of course). And despite the respect your skill commands, the higher-ups have never warmed to you, not since you refused to play a pawn in their games. Marrying Satoru, the one jujutsu sorcerer they could never control, only amplified their discontent. They see you both as threats—powerful sorcerers bonded in defiance.

At the mention of "higher-ups," Satoru's pout deepens, and his pleading voice grows more insistent. “Pleeeease,” he drags out, practically whining. “I have separation anxiety.”

You feel a pang of sympathy. These meetings are miserable for him—hours trapped in a room with men twice his age, trying to dictate his every move. “I don’t know, Satoru…” you murmur, hesitating.

But Satoru takes advantage of your softening resolve, hugging you tighter, his face pressing into you again. “Don’t make me go in there alone!” he says, his voice muffled. “You have no idea how much you silence them. One word from you, and they all think twice. I’m already one step away from wanting to kill them all.”

A sigh escapes you as you realize he’s not letting up. And while you’re reluctant, you know that your presence, your opinion—one of the few he truly values—might actually give him a sense of calm in that harsh room. “Alright, alright,” you concede finally, hand smoothing the fabric of his sleeve. "But no making a scene." 

His answering smirk is smug, giving you a fat, sloppy kiss on your cheek that you’re not afraid to show your partial-disgust about. You all but have to wrestle him off of you white he’s smothering you in kisses, getting out something about how much loves you, oh so thankful to have such a wise wifey like you as you get ready in a kimono similar to his and head to the limo waiting outside of the manor you and Gojo reside in. 

As soon as you get in, Gojo turns sharply to Ijichi, who’s shifting the gear. “Put the divider up.”

“O-Okay, Gojo-san.” A little intimidated by the commanding tone in your husband’s voice, he quickly presses the button to activate the screen, and Gojo pounces on you, grabbing you and hoisting you up by your sides to put you on his lap.

“Satoru!” you exclaim, surprised as he captures his lips with yours. His hands roam your body as he moans, almost obnoxiously, because he knows you’re always paranoid whenever he initiates anything in public. Your crotch aligns with his thigh, big and stuffed with muscle as he drives your hips to grind on him, and despite yourself and your circumstances, you find yourself leaning into his touch.

“My pretty wife,” he purrs, now trailing kisses down your jaw and into your neck. “So pretty, so supportive.”

Despite his dizzying movements, you try to get a hold of yourself. “Satoru, we shouldn’t be doing this here. We need to discuss what to sa—”

“Fuck that,” he sighs, so breathless that you want to cave in.

“No, but—”

His eyes darken, and his hands start creeping up your legs, going slowly and slowly closer to your pussy. “Baby, you know I value what you have to say,” and his fingers graze your folds, making you leak even more with his teasing, “but I wanna listen to something else.”

He drags his index finger up and down your slit, making you whimper. His fingers then prod into your hole, putting pressure there but not quite delving in. “Satoru,” you whine out, clutching his upper arms as he has his way while toying with you.

“Yea, that’s what I wanna hear,” he groans, giving you a kiss. It is then that he rewards you with inserting his digit in, curling to hit your spot as he fingers you. HIs other arm is around you, holding your panties’ crotch to the side to allow him to touch you. “My good girl.”

As he’s touching you, the squelching sounds fills the enclosure you’re in and you’re desperately praying to God Ijichi can’t hear the lewd things the both of you are doing in the back. You’re just reduced to whimpering, unable to reject Satoru’s dizzying touches, his free hand leaving your panties to grope at your inner thighs, ass, and breasts. It’s like he’s devouring you with his kisses, urgent, as he continues curling his fingers. 

Between kisses, you try to get out a “Satoru—mmph,” smooch, “we shouldn’t be—mm” smooch, “shouldn’t be doing this here!” 

“What,” he drawls, and with the glint in his eyes you know the fucker’s trying to toy with you, knows what he’s doing is mischievous. “I can’t touch my wife?”

Before you could utter a response, however, the limo suddenly slows, and the sensation of using the brakes to stop the car makes you sober up. “We’re here, Satoru we need to go—-” As you’re trying to rip yourself off his lap, he pulls out the finger that was inside you and uses his hand instead to entangle it with the crotch of your panties, pulling and pulling until the cloth is nothing but shreds, falling off your body.

Oh my god, you were not paid enough for this shit.

With his oh-so-irritating eyes—the same ones that you spent despising in your early school years—he looks at you through his pretty white lashes as he makes a show of sniffing the now tattered shreds that were your panties and putting them in his pocket. Under your kimono, you can feel your slick escaping your panties as the cool air wafts through it, landing on your pussy. You look at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

He giggles, giving you a kiss on the cheek while helping you off his lap, putting a hand on your head to make sure you didn’t bump your head against the car’s ceiling. “Let’s go and deal with those hags, my love.”

To be honest, you don’t really understand why Satoru is so handsy today. He’s on some sort of man-ovulation, you think, as you stride into the room. Even ripping off your panties was a bit excessive, if not out of pocket (no pun intended). Breaking out of your thoughts, you grounded yourself in the present, noticing hostile eyes turned towards your husband, and then you. You match their barely-subtle glares with a stink eye of your own, holding your chin up as you walk past them dismissively. Just as you’re about to take a seat next to Gojo—being mindful of your kimono so you don’t flash any of these old bastards—one of them speaks up. 

“Gojo-sama, why is this woman here?”

You continue to take your seat, noticing Satoru’s jaw clenched. But right as he’s about to say something, you cut in for him. “This woman,” and you smile, deceptively sweet, “is the lady of the clan. It would do you well to remember the hierarchy of the Gojo clan.” You don’t need to turn to look at your husband to know he has a proud smile on his face, making no effort to hide his smugness. What shocks you instead is that he swings an arm around you, effectively dragging you closer to him until you’re basically sitting on his lap, and his hands go to roam your sides.

Now, some old grandpa starts talking, commencing the meeting, on their usual bullshit of the need for extermination of Sukuna’s vessel, but Satoru pays them no mind. Instead, what they receive in response is non-committal hums as his hands drag themselves up your stomach and down where your legs are crossed to the hem of your kimono, and then under. 

Any semblance of paying attention to the meeting and responding to their infuriating beliefs leaves your mind as you blank out, panicking that Satoru is trying to commit public indecency with you. As an argument erupts between the higher ups about something, you turn to Gojo to furiously whisper, “What is wrong with you today?! Cut it out.”

In your life, you’ve fought many curses, first grade and even special grade included as you climbed up the ranks of Jujutsu sorcery despite having a non-sorcerer upbringing. What you will never be able to defeat, however, is your husband’s charm. Satoru knows what he’s doing as he lets out a deep moan in your ear, making you squeak and become even more flustered, as he continues to make lewd noises, puffs of his breath fanning across your neck. 

a/n gojo the type to start moaning randomly to make you fold #sorrynotsorry 

The indecency of all of it—-Gojo basically whimpering in your ear sweet nothings like good girl, that’s my wife, gonna let me finger you in front of all these ugly hags, right?—-being loud in your ear but also just quiet enough that you’d only hear made you so wet, heat throbbing between your thighs as Satoru’s hands start rubbing your fold. It’s a teasing touch, one not enough to satisfy you but to stimulate you nonetheless. 

It’s just when his index finger starts slowly circling around your clit that you buck your hips slightly, making him look at you teasingly, peering down at you from above your shoulder. “Oh you liked that, didn’t you?”

“I hate you,” you puff out, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck as Satoru’s circles on your clit get more tangibly, simulating you oh so deliciously. To make sure you hold yourself up, you set your elbows down on the table, Satoru’s arms engulfing you as you’re forced to take whatever touches he’s giving you under the table. 

“She’s so loud,” he whispers, pointing out the noises your pussy was making as his digits roved over your folds. The squelches were tangibly there, audible to anyone who would strain their ears. You could tell your lack of response to the meeting was catching attention, because there were several eyes towards you, waiting for something; it was then you realized that they had posed a question but were simply too fucked out to respond. 

A voice comes out to reprimand your husband sharply. “Gojo-sama, this is hardly appropriate.”

Satoru chuckles, not stopping his ministrations as he picks up a cup filled with water, his smug gaze still turned towards you while observing and appreciating your every hiccup and reaction. “Can’t my spouse attend this meeting? I value her opinion above everyone else’s in this room, after all,” he drawls, lodging his chin in the curve of your neck. “Besides,” and he flashes a dangerous grin to the man who spoke out, “weren’t you the ones who were oh so worried about me not having an heir?” 

At this point, you’ve filtered out all noises, focusing and honing in on the sensation of your orgasm coming. His digits are playful, curling up to hit your g-spot repeatedly, his palm tickling your clit. Each time he hits your spongy spot a bout of electricity runs up your body, pulling you closer and closer to your orgasm. 

“But guess what,” and he gives you a kiss on the cheek, despite the aversion the rest of the higher ups have to any displays of affection, “we can solve that problem right here, right now.” He punctuates it with a harsh sink of his fingers into your plush cunt, and, with that, you finally cream his fingers, a result of Satoru teasing you all day now. You try to temper the shakes wracking your body by slamming your fist against the table, trying not to moan out.

It seems that no one’s seen you riding out your orgasm out so visible, because there are gasps around the room at how obscene Gojo’s suggestion was. “It is shameful of you to be saying such things, Gojo-sama!” one of them sputters out, red with anger and outrage. 

Your husband not so subtly rolls his eyes. “Then don’t bring it up all the time, old man.” Satoru knows how touchy and vulnerable you are right after you cum, so he’s running his hands softly up and down your thighs to quell your quivers affectionately. “Actually, what about this? You all haven’t witnessed us consummate our marriage, correct?” He smirks. “What about witnessing the heir-making next time?”

general masterlist

a/n pls see the vision like i want gojo to claim me and rail me into next tuesday while the higher ups just watch uncomfortably like maybe i am a freak like that. like gojo would be so obsessed with how he's claiming you in front of the fuckers that piss him off so much...might do a part two if pookiesa like this :P

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :3

[menagerofmischief]

she's everything, he's max (mv33)

summary: y/n leclerc starts soft launching a man and soon enough there are paparazzi pictures of the two of them except no one quiet believes that the princess of monaco would settle down with ... max!

max verstappen x leclerc!reader -> smau

cw: some google translated french, my first attempt at a smau, inchident jokes, charles gets bullied

a/n: max won over franco by a few percent and I know there was a lot of people interested in seeing this with franco as well. I'd love to do something with franco so feel free to request it.

yourusername: monaco you were beautiful! I'm so proud of my brother for finally achieving his dream and winning home - love you Cha!

tagged: charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari

liked by: arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux ...

comments:

charles_leclerc: je t'aime petite soeur

charles_leclerc: you could have at least posted a picture of me to celebrate my win

-> yourusername: don't be ridiculous cha, I have a reputation to uphold -> carsgovrom: turns out appearing on his sisters instagram is a harder feat than breaking the monaco curse -> lechair16: of course it is, mother has a refined feed

maxverstappen1: he's come a long way since the inchident liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc: get out of here

alexandrasaintmleux: <3

yourusername: <3

user366: anyone else notice that max's been in the likes for a while now

user374: he also commented user366: call me crazy but something may be going on here user422: you're crazy

user993: mother is mothering again

yourusername: celebrating in style

liked by: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux ...

comments:

maxverstappen1: charles_leclerc what's that in the second picture?

charles_leclerc: get out of my sisters comments, sid user778: lmao not charles using the max looks like sid meme user801: he didn't come to play

charles_leclerc: betrayal absolute betrayal!

charles_leclerc: first the redbull picture charles_leclerc: AND THEN A MAN charles_leclerc: delete this

arthur_leclerc: say hi to your friend ;)

charles_leclerc: he knows but I don't!!! I can not believe this blashphemy yourusername: he says hi back! yourusername: alexandrasaintmleux come take him away alexandrasaintmleux: consider it done

userus: do the monaco royals know mother is serving the public more than they ever could

user366: can he fight?

maxverstappen1: yes user366: I'm going crazy

f1wags: last night in monaco, y/n leclerc (charles leclerc's sister) was spotted on a dinner with current f1 world champion, max verstappen. after leaving the restaurant the two were pictures kissing and walking intimately. are we getting a new wag in the paddock?

comments:

user366: and they said I was crazy!

user422: sorry girl

user1020: y'all are believing this? why would she date him?

user7789: I'm supposed to believe max pulled THE y/n?

charles_leclerc: oh!

user880: ariana what are you doing here!?

maxssssv: charles commented, it's gotta be real

userrrr: until mother confirms I refuse to believe she's dating .... him

maxverstappen1: family time

liked by: yourusername, victoriaverstappen, charles_leclerc

comments:

user7741: does he really think he's fooling anyone with that soft launch?

uswws: oh he's kinda cute actually

user7755: this is the guy who dating Y/N LECLERC?!

charles_leclerc: tell y/n to call me back, I'm not mad I just want to talk

alexandrasaintmleux: he's mad arthur_leclerc: don't call him back charles_leclerc: I see how it is

f1addict: charles basically confirmed it, right?

yourusername: another trophy on the shelf and another great race! couldn't be prouder of you or happier to call you mine. je t'aime max

tagged: maxverstappen1

comments:

charles_leclerc: ..... this is embarrassing, take it down

charles_leclerc: you never post pictures of me but he gets a whole post!?

charles_leclerc: don't bother coming over, leo already has a better aunt

maxverstappen1: I love you schatje

user366: crazy! I was crazy once

user122: I know she's astronomically out of his league but they're cute

user1010: no because finally someone said it! I ship it

lechair16: I'm only in the comments to see charles going mad atp

maxverstappen1: happy 1 year, schatje! I love you more than words can describe, you have made every day of my life better since the moment you came to talk to me after your brother ruined my race, and now you're the person I dedicate every race win to. ik houd van je

tagged: yourusername

liked by: arthur_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, yourusername ...

comments:

yourusername: aw max! I love you so much!

arthur_leclerc: my sister's crying now, great job mate

arthur_leclerc: jokes aside, very happy for you two

charles_leclerc: fine! I guess you can stay

charles_leclerc: if you must.... charles_leclerc: but if you hurt my sister I won't hesitate to launch operation inchident 2.0 maxverstappen1: noted

yourusername: here you go - welcome to the feed

tagged: charles_leclerc

liked by: maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux, arthur_leclerc

comments:

user001: be honest, was posting charles a condition for him to accept max?

yourusername: yes

charles_leclerc: hey, we said good pictures!

yourusername: I happen to think you look really good in these pictures maxverstappen1: one would say, you've never looked so good charles_leclerc: you're on thin ice sid

load more comments ...

[hesperisms]

Sylus and reader just started their relationship and she can’t keep up with sylus’s high sex drive

// Relentless Conqueror

"As for what's been keeping you up at night, well, I'm more than enough..."

// summary: you finally admitted to Sylus that you had feelings for him, but you had no idea that getting to see his softer side would also show you how much he deserves his title as a Relentless Conqueror...

// content warnings: 18+ (mdni), dominance, established history, pet names, oral sex, vaginal sex, creampie

// a/n: anon, anon, anon, what have you done to me with this ask! Sylus has been rattling around in my brain since this one came in, begging to be unleashed! hope you're pleased <3

likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!

Sylus' large hands wrapped around your body possessively as you stood at the bathroom counter, his left hand snaking upwards under your oversized shirt to cup your breast, rolling, kneading, squeezing tenderly while his right hand splayed out over your stomach, holding you firmly against him, the pads of his long fingers pressing into your soft skin. "I woke up and you weren't there, kitten...I didn't like it." Sylus purred in a husky, newly awake gravel tone that dripped down your neck as he nuzzled his lips against your ear.

You blushed and reached down to rub your hand over the back of his hand on your stomach, melting into his firm chest pressed against your back. Slipping out of bed about twenty minutes beforehand while Sylus softly snored on his stomach, face down in the pillows, white hair a fluffy tumble was the first peace you'd had to yourself in almost two days. You knew that Sylus was an incredibly driven man, you'd seen his file in Hunter HQ that referred to him as The Relentless Conqueror but you had no idea that would also apply to his sex life. In hindsight, coming to know Sylus and falling for him as you had, you were naïve to think it wouldn't.

Sylus was a man of quiet confidence; you knew anything he committed himself to, he committed himself fully and this newly blossoming relationship with you was something he was giving his all. His passion for you was insatiable, an almost otherworldly hunger had roared to life within him once you'd told him that you wanted to be his. Every deep passionate kiss felt like he wanted to suck the air from your lungs and breathe you in, every possessive shield of his broad chest against you felt like he wanted to meld yourself with him.

Sylus had his other half back.

Sylus was whole again.

The rush that came with knowing that you were his again, that missing piece of his existence slotted back into place had surged his libido and he couldn't get enough of you. He already had a higher than normal sex drive, but the rush of that sweet honeymoon phase that had him so very love-drunk on you had turned his dial into overdrive and your body was struggling to keep up with his appetites.

Sylus had spent a lot of time watching you, studying every little expression and your body language intimately in his time re-discovering you, so he picked up on it in the vanity mirror when you winced slightly as he squeezed your breast. He switched things up and stroked the underside gently instead, kissing your neck and murmuring softly to you as he side-eyed your shared reflection. "I'm sorry sweetie, I know you have a sensitive body," he begins. "Have I been too much for you these last couple of days?"

You blushed, cheeks flushing and you smiled, reaching up to cradle his head against your neck, stroking his hair and he closed his eyes contentedly at the touch. "I know you're making the most of our time together before I have to head back to Linkon tomorrow, but I'm already dreading the suspicious looks I'm going to get from my teammates if I have difficulty sitting down comfortably at the conference table on Monday." You admitted to him with a gentle sigh.

"It's a very large conference table..." Sylus murmurs with a serious tone. "Should I schedule a meeting with your boss so that I have a reason to come ravage you on top of it in front of all of them? You won't have to think up an excuse, that way?" He chuckles wickedly, his warm hot breath fanning over your ear as he teases the idea of outing your relationship publicly. You give his cheek a gentle tap in a mock slap and he huffs, turning you around to face him.

Those hawkish crimson eyes of his glitter with a mixture of mischief, adoration and unbridled lust as he stares down at you, brushing the backs of his knuckles over the side of your cheek tenderly. He slides his hands down under your ass and you instinctively wrap your arms up around his neck, pulling his large frame down into a hug and he melts easily under your touch pecking kisses on the crown of your head, sniffing your hair. "Your scent...I want it to belong to me." he growls as he squeezes your backside and you feel a shiver of anticipation run down your spine.

You bite your lip, tilting your chin up to look up at Sylus, matching that hungry gaze of his with curious eyes. "If I promise I'll be gentle, can I have you again, kitten? I can't smell myself on you strong enough yet, I haven't finished marking you as mine." Sylus whispers, fingertips dimpled into the flesh of your ass cheeks possessively. Your breath catches in your throat at his words and despite the worn-in ache between your thighs from a long weekend of his significant girth stretching you out, you feel your heat start to build, desire stirring in your hips.

Sylus notices your bright eyes darken and your breath adjust. He knows he could carry you off to the bedroom right now and you wouldn't stop him, but he needs to hear your consent; his ego needs you to voice your desire for him, to hear that sweet voice of yours give him authority to lose himself in you. You smile at him seductively and look up through your lashes at him, nodding.

"Take me."

A predatory wolfish grin hits his lips at hearing you voice his claim on you and he scoops you up into his arms, striding confidently back into the bedroom with you and laying you down on the silk sheets of his large bed. You slide the oversized shirt off over your head and toss it at him, aiming for his face. With a cocky grin he flicks the tip of his index finger and a tendril of his evol swirls angry black and red, knocking the shirt away from him.

Sylus slides his silk robe off his shoulders, letting it pool at his feet and he stalks towards you on the bed like a big cat striding down its next meal, eyes locked on yours as he climbs between your thighs, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as he holds his weight above you. "Tell me that I'm the only one you want, Sweetie..." he purrs at you with a seductive, needy tone, fingers brushing your hair away from your neck so he can lean down to sink his mouth on your delicate skin, licking and sucking at your rapidly racing pulse, teeth lightly grazing before his tongue laps the pain away. "Tell me that this beautiful body of yours is mine to worship."

You tilt your head back, closing your eyes and letting your lips part slightly, a soft moan escaping you. He doesn't stop his ministrations on your neck, tongue swirling tantalizing patterns across your throat, but you feel the vibration of an impatient moan he lets out in response to yours.

"Do I need to tell you Sylus?" You laugh with a breathy whisper. "Or is my entire body singing it to you every time you touch me enough?"

His lips burn a trail down your throat, over your collarbones and down onto your chest, your nipples already firm and aching to be touched. Sylus wraps his lips around the sensitive bud, tongue lavishing slow wet curls across it, lovingly kissing it. You gasp in pleasure and close your eyes and as you do, he tilts his face up to watch you while he suckles at you. After a couple of minutes his warm wet mouth swaps sides, making sure he's dedicated attention to both your breasts.

"I'm not quite convinced," he hums, vibrations through your nipple on his tongue making you whimper. "I definitely think I need to hear it if I'm going to stay in control of my urges."

Feeling bold, you reach down and snake your fingers through his thick hair, smiling sweetly and scratching his scalp with your nails. "Do all Crows talk this much, or just mine? I believe I was promised worshipping." You say cheekily, crying out in shock and pleasure as his teeth find your nipple and press down gently in response.

Pulling back from your breasts, he releases your nipple with a wet suck and grins up at you, his devilishly handsome features all angles in the soft glow of the bedroom lamps. He lifts himself up on his knees and makes a show of bowing to you, hand pressed to his heart like he's making a solemn vow. "Let me put my lips to better service of My Lady then" he smirks, dropping himself backwards off the edge of the bed to comfortably rest his head on your inner thigh.

His thumbs rub gently down your delicate folds, your juices quickly slicking them and making their movements sound slick and sinful. Sylus' hot breath tickles your wet heat and he murmurs quietly "so wet for me already Kitten and I've barely touched you...maybe your body is trying to tell me something."

"I think the signs might be there if you squint hard enough." You nod in agreement with him, biting your lip with a soft genuine laugh.

Your laughter stokes his fires of passion for you and it takes all his self restraint not to bury his face in your heat intensely. He had promised you he'd be gentle, that he'd take his time with you, ease the aches he had rut into your body over this past few days and while Sylus is always a man of his word, it took everything he had to keep that promise when you looked so perfect beneath him. He could smell the sweet tang of you and it called to him, made him feel like he was home.

Sylus' tongue explored your soaked heat teasingly, gently, featherlight flickers across your aching bud in a cursive language you didn't comprehend. Jolts of raw desire and need coursed through your walls and deep into your abdomen with his deliberate attentions. You moan his name and arch your back and he presses his large hand flat on your belly, encouraging your coiling orgasm to build more intensely. He's setting such a slow and intense pace that time feels like it has slowed down for you both, you feel like he's been lapping at your folds for what must be an hour when he finally introduces his fingers to explore your needy pussy.

Dripping wet under his tongue, your swollen walls offer his long fingers no resistance, drawing him in with needy clenches as his skilled tongue coaxes sighs and moans from your lips and his fingers slide in and out of you. He feels the subtle tremors, the way your walls begin to firm around his fingers and he knows you're so close to unravelling on his tongue, if he just pushes you a little further...

Sylus' deep rumbling moan against your clit makes your nerves explode in pleasure and you buck against his mouth, crying out his name in shuddering shaky breaths as your orgasm cascades in rhythmic clenches of intense pleasure through your body, leaving your thighs trembling with aftershocks and your heart rate pounding like a war drum in your chest.

He pulls away from you and looks up at you, smug satisfaction written across his face as your orgasm drips from his lips and down his chin, glistening. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and sucks on it, savoring the taste of you and offers you his slicked fingers to suck on. You take them greedily, tongue lewdly slurping up your own juices and he watches with an intense stare of love for you, cheeks flushed red, eyes glistening and pupils blown out, feeling so accomplished that he caused you to come undone this way.

"I'm so lucky I'm the only one that gets to see you like this, Sweetie."

It comes out huskily, his emotions getting caught in his throat for a moment, manifesting your pleasure so important to him.

He withdraws his fingers from your mouth and leans over to kiss you passionately, lining his aching erection up against your sopping folds. "I'll take it slow, okay?" he promises again, sliding his tip through your slit to coat himself with your juices before easing the head in gently. Your whole body shivers underneath him and you shift your hips, lifting your legs up and wrapping them around his ribcage to grant his girth more access.

Just as he promised, Sylus takes his time, inch by inch slowly slipping into you until you're so full of him that you feel the ache of your tired walls starting to settle and get used to his significant size. You've never been more full, he's so big and his tip presses insistently up against your cervix in a way that's almost painful if he thrusts too hard. He begins to roll his hips down into you, building a soft but intense rhythm, hitting all your most sensitive spots so very deep inside.

He grinds into you, holding his weight just off you so that he's not suffocating you and you moan deeply as you look down between you to see his length plunging in and out of you, his hips keeping a steady pace. His eyes are closed and his mouth hangs open ever so slightly as he chases your shared pleasure. You cup his cheek and brush the pad of your thumb across his lip and he opens his eyes to gaze down at you, shimmering ruby eyes overwhelmed by blown out pupils.

Sylus moans against your lips as he feels you tensing "if you're close just let go, I'm right here with you my dove" and it's enough to send you keening into your second orgasm, your walls rippling and clenching down, meeting the resistance of his hard flesh. His pace doesn't relent as he strokes you through your pleasure, feeling yourself gushing onto the sheets as the lewd sounds of him slapping into your wetness echo in the room.

As his eyes lose focus and his hips start to hitch, you wrap your legs tighter around him, trapping him deep into you and you slide your arms up around his neck, pulling him down so his head is buried in the curve of your jaw. Your ear is full of his hot ragged breaths and his moans and you lean in, purring back in his ear.

"Gooooood boy....you're everything I want Sylus".

His head snaps backwards with a loud, gutteral moan and his eyes widen in shock for at your unexpected praise as he starts to seize inside you, orgasm flooding your walls in scalding bursts as he tries in vain to keep thrusting. Panting heavily, Sylus lowers his weight down onto your hips a little and props himself on his forearms, staring into your eyes, searching you for any discomfort, kissing your lips gently when he doesn't find it.

"That was a dirty trick Y/N," he laughs, kissing you again. "It was a dirty trick and I loved every second of it."

[jellybeanium124]

if you'll allow me to flaunt my psych minor for a second, I'd like to talk about epigenetics. there's studies that show that if you shock a rat when you let them taste a certain flavor, they will immediately become averse to that flavor. not surprising. what is surprising is that the rat's grandchildren, who have never been shocked when given that flavor, will also be averse to it and afraid of it and avoid it. there's also correlational evidence to suggest that the descendants of people who suffered through famine are more likely to put on weight and keep it on easier, even if they have never been through a famine themself.

trauma gets passed down. the kinds of trauma your parents, grandparents, and so-on lived through is still living in you. even if your parents were the most well-off, loving, best parents in the world, their trauma is still in you.

now if you'll allow me to take a slight turn here: there's a wild rabbit inside every jew.

my dad grew up being called "jew-boy." my mother had a coworker throw pennies at her at her job in the 2010s. and that's just two examples. they both grew up being harassed for being jewish. I wasn't. I'm incredibly lucky. the amount of antisemitism I've experienced in real life has been incredibly minimal. I didn't even hear anyone make an antisemitic joke in front of me until college.

and none of us were seriously persecuted. none of my grandparents were seriously persecuted. but even though nobody's broken my windows, nobody's beaten me in the streets, and I haven't been at any of those horrible protests in person, the fear is there. this deep seated, blood-pumping fear of the ancient jewish rabbit in me telling me to run. to run for dear life, to run as far as my legs can get me, as long as my heart keeps pumping and my lungs keep breathing.

we all feel this.

everyone feels this.

I called my mother yesterday. when I brought up this feeling she paused, and the silence said everything. she told me I wasn't alone. she feels it. my dad feels it. my brother feels it. my nana and grampa feel it. every jew you know, online, in real life, hell, even the famous ones, they feel it. the rabbit is inside us all, and the rabbit knows, because its brothers who didn't flee in the past were slaughtered.

the rabbit is leaping around my chest, all of our chests, chanting run run run run run run run.

I don't know if I can explain it to gentiles. I don't know if this makes sense to you. I don't know how to get across how crystal clear and deep and primal this fear is, and how much all of us are feeling the exact same fear, despite our different lives and different histories and the fact we're different people.

part of me wishes it didn't matter. that I didn't feel like I needed to get goyim to understand my specific cultural and ethnic experiences. because I don't feel like I need to deeply understand everyone else's. I am a white passing ashkenazi american jew, and I will never fully understand what it is like to be anything else. that doesn't dissolve my responsibility to educate myself and practice empathy, but it's ok. idk, maybe other people do desperately wish they could get people not in their specific group to deeply understand what it's like to be them. I imagine that feeling is universal. I guess, it's just like, the left is unified that everyone is a person, everyone is equal, everyone is human, except the jews. nobody is left out but the jews. everyone's word is believed, but the jews. and it makes me feel like I have to beg and plead with people to understand what being jewish means, because we're not included with everyone else. we're the enemy. and I want people to see we're not the enemy.

epigenetics.

[miriani-lavellan]

Ahh, Lucanis. So let me first say, his scenes make total sense and I'm happy with what we got - we all want more from our faves, but they did manage to compact a lot of trauma and resolution in some fairly compact quests. Here's what I think happened that wasn't made explicitly clear though:

Lucanis chooses the pantry to sleep in because he's been imprisoned and tortured for a year, and he's not ready to leave captivity yet, not inside his head. He locks himself in there because it's familiar misery to him, which is easier to deal with than scary freedom.

Lucanis' letter to Rook before he asks Emmrich to bring Zara back for questioning tells us he's suicidal at that point, and probably has been for a while. Spite, however, doesn't see him as a lost cause - he never uses that to take over Lucanis' body entirely. This is so interesting to me, when we know things like that pretty famously happen all the time in Thedas. He's determined to keep Lucanis alive - and he asks for Rook's help in doing so.

We are in the NORTH now BABY! Attitudes towards spirits and demons are different here, especially in Rivain, and it seems with our Rook too, who never expresses any chantry-esque hang ups (that I've seen). Seer Rowan greets Spite as Determination, and that's how he's introduced by Isabela (with some excitement) if you fight in the hall of Valor. What happened to Spite is just as sad as what happened to Lucanis. He was violated, perhaps corrupted, and definitely trapped - and hurts Lucanis sometimes in his frustration. But, I think he likes Lucanis! He's his host's little head gremlin, and I think the relationship they have (that we don't see too much of) is healthier than any of the possessed individuals we've seen before.

Because? Lucanis is not a spiteful person. He wants revenge, yes, and he's angry, but he doesn't hurt everyone around him because he's in pain. One of the first things he does when he becomes part of the team is go shopping for them. And despite how Ilario and Caterina have hurt him - and you can argue all day whether he's right to be like this - he still cares for them.

I think that when we help Lucanis leave the prison inside his head, we are helping Spite to return to his original nature as Determination just a little more. We're determined to help our friend, and you know what? Spite is too. For himself, firstly, because Lucanis's pain is hurting him, but in the end, he's done it for Lucanis too. There's an argument there that Determination didn't get corrupted at all - just hurt, and that Lucanis, with his loving nature, has been keeping him from turning into a mindless demon of pain.

I thought for a long time that when Lucanis breaks away from kissing Rook, it was because Spite said something horrible to him. But actually, I think it was Lucanis himself, remembering how trapped he is. Thinking about the eventuality of killing himself - I strongly suspect that's what he was thinking about before he fell asleep, and that's why Spite was trying to go walkabout - trying to get out from where Lucanis can't. Lucanis got lost in the moment, but of course he doesn't want to drag Rook into that.

Lucanis making dessert for Rook and thinking that's the same as asking them out (but not actually asking them out) is so completely on brand for him I laughed. He has no idea what he's doing. It would have been nice, though, for Rook to reply to one of the companion's 'so you're together?' banters with... 'we are?' Or for Rook to be able to ask him. Unfortunately, we don't get those convos where we can spam ask questions etc like in DA:I - I did wonder if that got cut and we missed some resolution to that.

Lucanis gives no shits about everyone knowing he's Rook's love interest. He's not ashamed of himself or scared he'll hurt them - Rook has helped both him and Spite. And judging by the way Spite's wings come out to embrace Rook as they kiss Lucanis, I suspect that Spite might love them, too.

[uraveragelonelygay]

Lavender

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Nature had always been your life. How fitting that it could now cause your death.

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending!), mentions of vomiting and blood.

a/n: Hello hello! This is perhaps definitely ass, but I really wanted to write for these two because I'm hopelessly in love with them both. Please enjoy!

Hanahaki Disease 花吐き病 (Japanese) is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

The natural world had always brought you peace. The softness of the grass under your feet, the gentle breeze blowing against your skin, the tender feeling of a flower blooming by your hand. You were a green witch, after all.

That was what had driven your family away. You had been 12 when you first sprouted a lily from your hand. You were more curious than scared; you had always sensed there was something that separated you from the rest of your family. Something about the earth’s treasures had always called to you. 

But even at your young age, you knew who you were living with. Sharing your abilities was a recipe for disaster; a sure fire way to have you outcast from your family.

So you did your best to keep your powers a secret, honing them in private, away from the watchful eye of your parents.

When you were 20, the inevitable happened. You were meant to be collecting berries for dinner when you had spotted a Willow Tree. It was worse for wear; you could feel it pleading for help as you approached it with a soft smile.

“It’s alright,” you soothed the tree as you gently placed your palms against the soil where its roots rested, “You’ll be alright.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on strengthening the roots as green magic pulsed out from your hands, through the soil, and into the tree itself, which began to heal instantly.

The snapping of a twig broke you out from your trance, turning your head to see your mother fleeing the scene. Your heart dropped as you quickly stood, moving to follow her.

She was too fast. By the time you had returned to your cabin, everyone and everything was gone. Your entire family had left you.

You fell to your knees in the middle of what was once your home, tears rolling down your face as you stared at the ground. Numb, broken, grieving.

You don’t know how long you stayed in that spot. You didn’t eat, you didn’t sleep, you just sat, staring, longing.

It wasn’t until a cold hand lifted your chin that you realized you weren’t alone anymore.

“Hello, darling,” a voice said softly, and you locked eyes with one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. Her brown eyes were intoxicating, drawing you in. You tilted your head at her in confusion and intrigue. Who was she? What was she doing here?

“You’ve been sat here for a week, darling. No food, no water, no sleep. You’ll kill yourself if you keep up like this,” she said as she looked at you curiously.

Your eyes widened in realization. Death. 

She shook her head at you gently, sensing your fear. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not taking you. It’s not your time,” she said, stroking your hair gently. 

“Thank you, Lady Death,” you stuttered out, in awe of her soft nature, directly contrasting the connotation of her very existence.

She smiled at you in response. “You can call me Rio, sweet girl.” 

There was a moment where you two merely looked at one another before she looked away, taking on a rather stern expression. “But I feel the need to tell you, sitting here and mourning your abandonment will only hurt you. It’s not your time. So don’t let it be. Get up, you’re coming with me.”

You stumble away from her in confusion. “I thought you weren’t taking me?”

She shook her head. “I’m not taking you to the afterlife. I am, however, taking you in. You’ll be staying with Agatha and I.”

You knew that name. You had read about it during your private studies.

“Agatha? Like…’The Witch Killer’ Agatha? That Agatha?” you asked cautiously.

Rio cackled, extending her hand to you.

You took it.

And so began the years you spent with Death and her lover, Agatha Harkness. The two women were vastly different to their reputations that had preceded them. Sure, they both had a fierceness to them. They had to, in order to survive their daily lives filled with corpses and taking souls.

But, with each other, they held such a softness. Rio often came back from a long day exhausted and drained. Death didn’t tend to be a fan favorite, and people made it evident, shouting at her and berating her as she escorted the souls of their loved ones to the afterlife. But Agatha greeted her at the door each evening with a hug, simply holding her for minutes on end, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as Rio visibly relaxed into her hold.

And Rio returned the favor, treating Agatha with a love full of tenderness and warmth. Comforting her after each nightmare, preventing her from overworking herself, giving her soft apology kisses after any arguments.

Before long, you knew almost everything about the pair. You learned about Agatha and her son, and his loss which nearly tore Agatha and Rio apart. How Agatha was only a ‘Witch Killer’ to keep Nicky alive as long as she could. How Rio held such anguish and guilt at having to take Nicky’s soul. How Agatha once held it against her but now loved her as fiercely as ever.

The two were made for each other, and though they welcomed you with a similar softness to that which they showed each other, you chalked it up to them taking pity on a girl who was abandoned by her family. You knew they could never love you like they loved each other.

But that didn’t stop you from falling for them. It happened subconsciously; you never meant for it to happen. But when your heart panged in longing at seeing Agatha and Rio curled up in each other’s arms in the living room, you knew it had happened. It panged even further as you looked down, noticing a red carnation that had bloomed in your palm against your will.

You were determined to ignore it. Surely you could enjoy their presence without focusing on the way your stomach flipped when Rio smiled at you, or how your heart seemed to triple in size whenever Agatha would stroke your hair in affectionate greeting. But what you had to do became evident one morning.

“We’re headed out for a bit, doll,” Agatha said as you sat at the table eating the breakfast she had made for you.

You nodded. “Okay! Don’t stay out too late, I’m making your favorite for dinner, Ags.”

She beamed at you, making butterflies flare up in your stomach so violently they made you uneasy. “You’re a gem. Isn’t she just?” She turned to Rio, squeezing her hand gently.

“Oh, yeah, she’s the sweetest,” Rio replied, winking at you as you feel your heart beat faster.

The two bid you a final farewell before leaving for the day. As soon as they left, you began to feel an uncomfortable itch in your throat. You furrowed your brows, attempting to clear your throat to ease the discomfort, but to no avail. Eventually you began coughing. It was a cough that made you feel sick, made you feel like something was really wrong.

And when you coughed into your palm and saw the petals of daffodils, your suspicions were confirmed.

You had heard of Hanahaki disease but had always believed it to be a myth. Your heart dropped at the realization that your love for these women was going to kill you.

You had to leave.

So you did. You packed up that day and left, traveling solo for centuries as you studied the disease you suffered from. 

Luckily, it impacted witches differently than humans. As your lifespan tended to be a lot longer, the disease was longer lasting; escalating at a slower pace before killing you altogether.

For the first hundred years, it had mostly been a consistent burning in your throat and coughing up various flower petals. Miserable, but bearable nonetheless.

After those hundred years, it began to escalate at a quicker pace as the flowers bloomed quicker and sharper. After 200 years of this disease, you were weaker than ever before. Coughing constantly, a never ending sensation of your insides burning, vomiting flower petals and blood.

Yes, there was the option of surgery, but you couldn’t bring yourself to allow that option to become a reality. You didn’t want to forget the love you held for Rio and Agatha. They had shown you kindness and softness like none other. You would die before you let yourself remove the memory of them from your very soul.

And you were getting close. You knew your time was running out.

And so, after another long day of slowly dying, you stared up at the sky, longing for your loves, even though you knew it could never be.

It was then that you felt yourself being sucked into the ground beneath you, and you let out a yelp at the shock.

Before you knew it, you were clawing your way out of the ground, now in a completely unfamiliar place. You were on a path in a strange, dystopian-looking forest. You could feel the magic buzzing around you as you pulled yourself up from the ground.

“Who is that?”

“I thought we already got a green witch?”

You heard a gasp and looked up to meet a pair of blue eyes you had longed for night after night for the past 200 years.

“Agatha,” you said quietly, tears welling in your eyes before you could stop them.

A familiar voice said your name and you shuddered at the sound.

“Rio.”

The two women stared at you and you stared back, unsure of what to say.

“So, are you gonna introduce us to the new girl, or…” a witch in a pink dress asked and you broke your intense stare-down to introduce yourself by name to the coven of witches. 

“I’m a green witch,” you explained.

“We’ve already got one,” a teenage boy said, pointing at Rio awkwardly.

You knew well and good that Rio wasn’t here as a green witch, she was here on work business, but you didn’t want to blow what seemed to be a cover, and you also didn’t have a damn clue where you were, so you played along.

“Well, you know summoning spells, you never know how many you’re gonna get…” you tried cautiously, still feeling the gaze of your former housemates burning into the side of your head.

“Y/N, a word?” Agatha finally asked, and you gulp before nodding and following her and Rio to a secluded part of the forest.

“Hey guys…what’s up?” you asked with an awkward smile, trying to ease the tension.

Rio narrowed her eyes at you, crossing her arms. “What’s up is that you up and left 200 years ago without so much as a word to either of us. Care to explain?”

You tried to look to Agatha for support, but she wouldn’t meet your eyes. Your stomach turned at the thought that you had upset these women you loved so deeply.

You took a deep breath, staring at the ground. “I had some business to attend to. I didn’t want either of you to get wrapped up in it.”

“Was your business ‘killing yourself?’ You look rough,” Rio said, a teasing smirk hiding her worry.

“Thanks,” you rolled your eyes, some tension releasing from your shoulders at the knowledge that Rio wasn’t angry enough to ignore you.

“You left without so much as saying goodbye,” Agatha said quietly. She sounded so hurt, and you couldn’t believe you had brought this on the pair, but you knew they deserved to love each other in peace, not be burdened at being the cause of your death.

“Ags, I’m really sorry, I should’ve said goodbye, I just-“ you were cut off as a violent coughing fit shook you, causing both women to raise their eyebrows at you.

You turned away from them as you coughed a plumeria flower out of your throat. You quickly slipped the flower into your pocket and wiped a bit of blood from the corner of your mouth before turning to face the two witches again.

The eyes on you were soft and concerned, but you shook your head at them, shutting down their questions before they even asked. “I’m fine, just a cough.”

Rio opened her mouth to protest when a witch sporting orange streaks in her hair interrupted.

“I’m sorry to get in the middle of whatever this reunion is, but I think it’s time for our next trial.”

You furrowed your brows. “Trial?” You began to realize that you had no idea where you actually were.

“Duh, we are on the Witches Road, after all!” The teenage boy exclaimed, leaving you even more confused.

The road isn’t real. You knew all about the song that Agatha had used to lure her victims in. 

“Wait, but-“ you stopped yourself from questioning any further when you saw Rio subtly shake her head at you, a silent plea to not reveal the truth of the road to the group.

You nodded in understanding, deciding to save your questions for later. “Alright, where’s the next trial?”

You looked up to see the group staring at something behind you. Agatha and Rio were particularly fascinated by it.

You turned around and your stomach dropped. You saw a cottage. It’s covered in vines and moss, making it appear worn down. But you thought it was beautiful. Perhaps that’s because it was yours. And Agatha’s. and Rio’s.

You looked at the path leading to the cottage. It was covered in flowers. You took a deep breath.

You just got here and already you were being given a trial.

As you and the rest of the coven approached the cottage, you couldn’t help but turn to the women you desire the most for comfort. 

Rio had an arm wrapped around Agatha’s waist, her thumb gently stroking the witch’s hip bone. Agatha looked up at her, smiling in gratitude, and Rio pressed a soft kiss to Agatha’s forehead.

Your stomach churned at the sight, and you felt bile rising in your throat. You painfully swallowed it back down, cringing at the effect it had on your throat, already raw from the thorns slowly tearing it to shreds.

“You good?” The witch in the pink dress asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.”

The inside of the cottage looked just like you thought it would.

Home.

The same furniture, same pillows and blankets, same decor on the walls.

Your eyes filled with tears as you remembered all the time you had spent here with the women you loved more than anything.

“Doll,” a gentle voice said, and you turned to see Agatha looking at you softly. She approached you slowly, holding a hand out for you, but you took a step back.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing your face and continuing to move through the house.

“This is new,” you heard Rio’s voice from the room resembling your bedroom. 

You entered and were greeted with a tapestry on your wall. It showed 5 flowers. Below the woven flowers was a message:

The words she never spoke will slowly begin to choke. For if they never cared, a life cannot be spared.

“It’s my life,” you breathed out, staring in horror at the plants on the tapestry.

Rio nodded, running her fingers along the tapestry as she identified the plants.

“Lily. Rebirth,” she began.

“The birth of your powers, the birth of you as a witch,” Agatha identified.

“Willow Tree. Loss.”

“The loss of your kin. Being abandoned by those you called family,” Agatha continued.

“Red Carnations. Deep, affectionate love.”

Agatha went silent at this, her brows furrowing.

“Daffodil. Unrequited love.”

Rio and Agatha were visibly shaken by this point. What hadn’t you told them? You were in love? With who?

Rio snapped her head to look at you upon seeing the last flower.

“Plumeria,” she said grimly.

Agatha’s eyes were wide. “What does that mean?” 

Rio only continued to look at you.

“Rio, what does that mean???”

Her question was answered as you began to cough violently again, the sheer force of it bringing you to your knees.

Agatha rushed over to you in a panic. She looked at the rest of the coven in terror. “What’s happening to her?” she cried as you began to choke.

“The words she never spoke will slowly begin to choke,” the teenager said.

“Hanahaki disease,” the witch in pink breathed out.

“What the hell is that?” Agatha was crying now, watching as petals and thorns made their way out of your mouth covered in blood.

“A disease that affects someone facing unrequited love,” Rio said in realization.

As she put the pieces together she knelt in front of you in an instant, anger coursing through her.

“You left because of this,” she said, her voice low, “You thought we didn’t love you, so you left?” she asked incredulously.

“Didn’t want—you to—-see me die,” you gasped out, fighting for air as you began to cough up more and more blood.

“You’re not dying, Y/N. I won’t take you,” Rio choked out, her sorrow getting the best of her. 

“Better this way,” you managed, and Agatha choked out a sob.

“It’s not, doll, we love you, we love you,” she cried helplessly.

The whole coven stood in shock. The two women they feared the most were in the most pain they had seen since they began to walk the road.

Both women hold you tight, desperately trying to convince you of their love.

Rio grabbed your face to look at her. “There’s a reason I took you in that day, mi vida,” she whispered as tears fell down her face, “I felt pulled to you. I knew you would be special to me. Aggie and I love you so much, please believe me.”

She leaned in and pressed her lips to yours, ignoring the blood and petals and thorns and focusing on you. Just you.

When she pulled away you gasped, finally able to gather air into your lungs.

Relief was visible throughout the entire coven. They had only just met you, but seeing how your existence being threatened had brought absolute devastation to two of the most intimidating women on earth had shaken them.

As you began to breathe again, you sagged against Agatha.

“You’re okay, doll, you’re okay now,” she assured you as she gently ran a hand through your hair.

The door to the cottage slammed open, and the rest of the coven took it as their cue to leave, giving you three a moment to recover.

As you laid against Agatha, you looked at Rio with tired eyes. “Sorry for getting blood on you,” you rasped, causing the woman to roll her eyes at you.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” She scolded before taking both of your hands in hers. “I. Love. You.”

Tears filled your eyes at her earnest confession. “I’m so sorry I ran,” you began, your body shaking, “I saw the love you had for each other, and how much you had healed each other, and I couldn’t hurt that. I didn’t want you to see me die. It wouldn’t have been your fault,” you said brokenly.

Agatha shushed you, kissing the top of your head. “You shouldn’t have run. It would’ve saved us all 200 years of agony,” she said, and you hang your head in guilt.

But then you felt a cold hand lifting your chin. And suddenly you were 20 years old again, looking into the eyes of Lady Death herself. 

But this time, instead of looking at you with curiosity, she looked at you with something much stronger. She looked at you with love.

“But we’ve got you back now,” she said, smiling tearfully at you, “so we’re taking you in. Is that okay?”

Your body wracked with sobs as you nodded, and both women were holding you in an instant. Your back was against Agatha’s front as her arms wrapped around your waist. Rio straddled you, her arms wrapping around your neck as she pulled you close.

And out of the cracked wooden floor of that cottage, something bloomed.

Lavender. Healing. Love.

[parfaitblogs]

making the bed ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your night crumbles around you, and spencer is happy to pick up the pieces. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort  tags: established relationship. (prior) alcohol consumption. reader is semi-drunk (but sobers up). post drinking depression. healthy alcohol information/discussion 🫡 word count: 2.1k a/n: do not read too much into this for you will begin to question why i still enjoy going clubbing. (joke...) 😄 plsss tell me if u liked this or even if u didnt thank u i love uuuuuu

Alcohol is a depressant. 

You remembered the God awful lecture your boyfriend had given you when you woke up one Sunday morning with this feeling of existential dread, and nothing to pin it to. A ramble about how alcohol can temporarily increase the body's production of dopamine and serotonin when entering, causing a worse crash of both chemicals when it leaves. Leaving you, evidently, depressed and anxious after a big night. 

You knew that. 

You also knew how quick you were to seclude within your mind when you were with people. Too many drinks and not enough social interaction tended to lead to your own isolation, sitting on the outer edge of the booth, absentmindedly playing with the charm on the end of your phone. 

The room no longer spun the way it had an hour ago. You missed when it spun. When it spun, you weren't thinking about how little you had to contribute to the conversations your friends were having. You weren't tallying up how many drinks you had already drank, then falling flat when you realised you couldn't remember, and that was a thought more horrifying than knowing it was over ten. You were fun, when the room was a carousel. 

Now, it's simply overwhelming. Loud chattering from both your table, and the surrounding ones. Clinking of glasses at the bar. A sports game on the television across the room. Balls on a pool table being dispersed for the first time in a game. Dancing feet. Music. People. So many fucking people.

Your phone buzzes against the table, and you pick it up before any of your friends could turn their heads to see where the vibrations were coming from. You figured they were too drunk to conclude it was you, anyways. Or to care. 

Spencer had texted you fifteen minutes ago to check in on you, and though it wasn't long ago, you not responding immediately in a flurry of half strung together sentences and emojis was worrying for him. That was probably why his name was now lighting up your screen, a funny photo of him mid-bite of an ice cream as his contact photo, enlarged. 

You hadn't responded for no reason other than the fact that you had no will to. Which should've been a big enough red flag to yourself that you should text him, and you should ask if he can pick you up. Thankfully, he loved to prove how well he could read you, and he was calling you anyways. 

"Hi," you mumble into the phone, angling your body away from your friends, hand held up to your other ear to block out some of the noise the best you could. 

"Hi," he parrots back to you. "You okay?"

An automatic yes manifests on your tongue, but you're quick enough to keep it to yourself before you can lie to him. Instead, you let out a quiet, "No."

He seems to have expected that answer, for he leaves no silence in between your admission and his response. "What can I do to help?" He also seems to be expecting your hesitance at asking him for anything that would require him to move, because he adds, "I can pick you up. Do you want me to pick you up?"

"Yes. Please?"

"I'm already leaving," he tells you, and you can hear his shoes against the wooden floor of his apartment to confirm that. "Did something happen? Are you safe?"

"No, nothing happened. I'm safe," you reassure him. "I started feeling sick so I stopped drinking an hour ago. Now I'm just sad."

"You remember what I told you about it being a depressant?"

"Vividly," you mutter, and while it isn't meant to be funny, you hear him huff a short laugh anyways. It makes you feel a little better. 

"It's important to know," he defends. "I'm sorry I shared important information with you."

"Mm."

Your lack of a verbal response was expected, but he still hated the sound of it regardless. You heard him sigh. "I have to hang up now. I'll be there in forty minutes. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you too."

No matter how much time had passed, your head lifted every time the door — that your group was so conveniently close to — opened, letting in a rush of cool air and sobering you up with every hit of it. 

True to his word, Spencer was entering the bar after forty minutes, face scrunching up at the sudden onslaught of noises and visual stimuli. Same boat as you, only he had not a drop of alcohol in his body. At least you weren't crazy about it being overstimulating. 

"This is why I don't go to bars," he says once he's approached your booth, and you had stood up next to you, his hand finding an automatic place on your waist. 

"It's usually not this bad," you tell him, but he decides not to ask you anything else upon hearing just how exhausted your voice sounds. You're grateful for that.

The goodbye to your friends is quick, Spencer rattling off a lie about him needing you home for he had work early the next morning, and you only had one key to the apartment. Even the friends who knew that wasn't the case didn't comment on it, and you made a pointless mental note to thank them for it later. You knew you wouldn't. 

The drive home was even faster. Silence, aside from the rush of the wind from your slightly cracked window as Spencer drove, that helped the sick feeling in your stomach from the alcohol you had consumed. 

It didn't seem to help the hollowness of your chest, though.

You weren't sure if anything would, really. A chemical imbalance in your brain — even one as temporary as the deflation from being drunk — was hard to fix without medication. It would go away, yes. But then you would make the mistake of drinking once more, and you would find yourself back in this brain peeling predicament. 

You showered alone. Despite Spencer's offer to join you, and your own personal desire for him to be there with you. It didn't help your fogged mind at all, and you were exiting the bathroom feeling like you had retreated further into your bones. Every movement felt clunky, your skin a heavy coat to your skeleton, restricting your movement down to short shuffles and barely lifted arm movements. 

He was reading when you reentered your bedroom, and you've never seen him put a book and his glasses back on his bedside table faster. He looked visibly tired. Keeping himself awake a seemingly difficult struggle, that you could feel your body heading towards to as well. 

"Hey," he says as you climb into the bed, and he's very patient as you figure out what position you want your bodies in. Head on his chest, but next to him, you had decided on, and his fingers entangled into your hair.

"Hi," you mumble, staring up at the ceiling, counting brush strokes of the paint, as if it were possible to.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

You huff at the phrase, tilting your head upwards so your eyes could land on him. "Do you have a penny?"

He pauses, then angles his head closer towards yours. "Okay, kiss for your thoughts?"

"That'll just distract me."

"Is that what you want?"

You should say no. Arguably the last thing you should be doing when you're sad is let intimacy with your boyfriend distract you. But then again, you're not the best advocate for healthy coping mechanisms anyways. 

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" he muses, and his lips brush against yours. Your heart flutters. 

"I don't really know what I want," you settle on telling him, honestly. "I want my brain to shut up."

His body deflates beneath you, and you feel guilt chip away up your spine at the killing of the less depressing atmosphere. 

"Sorry," you mumble.

"No. It's good. Be honest with me," he reassures you, quietly. His fingers tap at your scalp, "What's going on up here?"

"I'll cry if I try to verbalise it."

"Crying's good for you, you know," he hums.

"I'm pretty sure I still have eyeliner in my waterline. I'll just stain your sheets," you retort. 

"Yeah, probably. That's fine."

You're silent for a few moments, gathering your thoughts in your brain the best you could despite yourself, before you sit up, his hand dropping to the bed beside you.

"I just don't like being... here? Out? I don't know. I'm just really sick of being sad every time I drink. Is there something wrong with me? Did you get sad whenever you drank? Everyone else I know loves going out for drinks because they have fun and they're giggly drunks, or they're clingy drunks. And if I drink too much then I'm a fucking sad drunk, and I'm the only person I know that gets that way. I want to be normal."

He's silent your entire rant, and then some, waiting for your heaving chest to slow, having caught the few tears that slipped down your cheeks. You were grateful — you needed that time.

He reaches a hand out, and you let him tug you back down to the bed, slotting your body atop his own, just so he could see you properly. 

"To answer your question, no, I didn't get sad when I drank," he says, brushing your hair out of your face, before his hands rest on either side of your face. "But I wasn't really happy, either. I just talked more."

"You already talk a lot."

His lips twitch. "I do. Double whatever you think my worst is, and that was me drunk. Focus on the part where I said I wasn't a happy drunk, please."

"But you weren't sad. So there is something wrong with me."

"No, there's not. Alcohol is a depressant," he punctuates his words with a kiss to your nose, which you gratefully accept despite your emotions. "Are you willing to give up alcohol as a whole?" 

"My friends will think I'm boring, then."

He hesitates in his response, but ultimately settles on asking, "Do you think I'm boring because I don't drink?"

"No. Obviously not. And you have a real reason for not drinking, so—"

"—and being sad isn't a real reason to not drink?"

Taken aback by his sudden sternness, you go quiet, breath hitching within your throat. He was right, ultimately. No reason is reason enough. You knew that. 

Sensing your discomfort at his tone, he expels a breath of air and lowers his hands down to your hips. His voice drops to something a little less harsh, as he murmurs, "You are allowed to not want to drink alcohol if you don't like the way it makes you feel. If your friends think you're boring for that, then they're not worth it."

You silently nod your head, beginning to curse your emotional regulators. For while you had kept your tears at bay for the vast majority of this conversation, it seemed all it took was the gentle rubbing of circles onto your hip bones, and a fact checked piece of life advice from your boyfriend to make you cry. 

"Sorry," you sniffle, dropping your head to the crook of his neck to hide your newly tear stricken face. 

"Crying's good for you," he repeats his earlier words, and feels you nod your head. "You don't have to decide tonight. I'd encourage you not to, actually. You're technically still intoxicated."

"I'm sober," you protest, weakly. 

"Okay, honey." He's only agreeing with you to wane any further argument. "I don't think your friends will think you're boring, though, if that's any help."

"I don't think they will either."

He nods his head, and you're relaxing against him a little more. 

"Are you just trying to not be the only loser who doesn't drink?" you mumble, voice muffled by his skin.

"You've caught me."

He relishes in the laugh that leaves your lips, and he places the gentlest of kisses on the side of your head, which prompts you to lift it to look at him again. 

"You're not a loser for not drinking," you say, and his lips pull into a smile. 

He leans his head up, brushing his lips against yours, despite the mix of mint toothpaste and alcohol on your tongue. "I know. You wouldn't be either."

"I know."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[my-castles-crumbling]

reputation - November 7th - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 219

"I'm dating Regulus."

The words fell out of James's mouth before he could properly think about them. He'd planned on sitting his parents down. Coming out to them properly and then explaining about Regulus. It was a lot to explain, after all. When he'd left home in January, he'd been presumably straight and still getting over his failed relationship with Lily Evans from the year before. Now? Well, he was neither of those things. But he was so nervous about telling his mum and dad that he'd barely made it five minutes alone with them before he'd confessed.

Effie and Monty, however, just exchanged a strange look before turning back to James. "Oh, honey," Effie smiled, pulling him in for a hug. "We know."

James resisted the urge to gasp, and pulled back from his mother's embrace to give her a confused look. "What? How? Did Sirius tell? I told him not to say-"

"No," Monty interrupted, smiling. "It's just...it's how you act with him. We figured it out within about half hour."

"Potter men have a reputation for being very obvious about their love," Effie added with a smirk, leaning back into her husband as he wrapped his arm around her waist. "In the best way, of course."

"Oh..." James mumbled, smiling to himself. Love. He liked the sound of that.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖?

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 1600+

Warnings: none

Summary: You prank on Alexia by pretending to lose your memory. Her reaction was…well, way more adorable than you were expecting.

While biking with Alexia was always a blast, you had an extra plan for this sunny afternoon. You'd decided that today was the perfect day for a little prank — nothing too mean, just something to mess with her. You grinned to yourself as you watched her up ahead, pedaling easily and glancing back to make sure you were keeping up. You pedaled harder to catch up, laughing to yourself at what was about to go down.

Suddenly, you pretended to lose control and threw yourself to the ground with an exaggerated groan.

"Ahhh!" you cried dramatically, flopping onto the grass by the side of the trail. Alexia, as you expected, immediately stopped her bike, worry flashing across her face.

"Mi amor!" she called, practically jumping off her bike and sprinting over to you. She knelt by your side, her hands gentle as she brushed the hair from your face. "Are you okay? Did you... hurt? Show me!"

You blinked a few times, looking up at her with a dazed expression. "Um... sorry, who are you?" You made sure to sound confused, biting back a laugh at her shocked expression.

Her eyes widened in panic. "Que?" She put a hand on your shoulder, her gaze searching your face with concern. "Amor, it's me! Alexia."

You blinked again, trying to look utterly bewildered. "Alexia? Sorry, I... I don't really know who that is."

She froze, her eyes growing huge. "No... no, no, no," she muttered, now kneeling down so that her face was inches from yours. "I'm... I'm Alexia. Your novia. Your... your girlfriend?"

You tilted your head, looking at her curiously. "You're my... girlfriend?" You let out a surprised chuckle, trying to make it sound half-nervous. "You're sure about that?"

"Si, yes!" She nodded vigorously, grabbing your hands. "We live together. We... we love each other."

You furrowed your brows as if trying to piece things together. "So... you and I are a couple?" You tried to hold back your amusement as she stared at you, looking absolutely devastated.

"Yes, yes, we are a couple." Her voice softened, her grip on your hands tightening. "Don't... don't you remember me?"

You shook your head slowly, giving her an exaggeratedly pitiful look. "I... I'm really sorry, but no."

The panic in her eyes was almost too much. She squeezed your hands, bringing them to her chest. "I'm your Alexia, mi amor. We met at a game! You... you don't remember this?"

You shook your head, biting back laughter. "A game? Are you... famous or something?"

Her face turned a little pink, and she gave a shy, frustrated nod. "Sí, um, yes. I play football. For Barcelona. And, um... Spain." She said this as if hoping it would jog your memory. "And... you... you make fun of my English sometimes. You... you laugh at me, remember?"

You blinked at her, trying to keep up the confused act. "I make fun of your English?" You let out a tiny chuckle. "Why would I do that?"

She sighed, glancing away briefly before meeting your gaze again, her face soft and concerned. "Because... because you love me. And you say it's cute. My English."

"Oh... really?" You tilted your head, taking in her flustered expression. "Well, you do have a cute accent, I'll give you that." You winked, and she let out a relieved little laugh, squeezing your hands.

"See? I am cute." She tried a smile, though her worry hadn't faded. "And... I love you, a lot. So you must remember, sí?"

You pretended to think hard, then shook your head, looking up at her with a small frown. "I... I don't remember. But you do seem nice. And pretty.”

Her cheeks turned pink again, but she gave you a nervous smile. "Thank you," she murmured, glancing down at your hands in hers. "Maybe... maybe it's, how you say, temporary? Like in movies?" She perked up a bit. "You... you hit your head?"

You nodded thoughtfully, trying to keep a serious face. "Maybe? I mean, everything's a bit foggy..."

She nodded back, visibly gathering herself. "Okay. We... we can fix this," she muttered, more to herself than to you. Then she took a deep breath, looking at you with that determined, captain-like gaze. "I tell you about us, okay? You will remember."

You shrugged, letting her go on. "Alright. Tell me about... us."

She took a deep breath, her face now slightly pink. "Well... we met one year ago. You came to a game, Barcelona against Atletico." Her eyes lit up a bit, a small smile appearing. "You told me you didn't know football very much, but you... you liked watching us play."

You squinted at her as if trying to remember, though you were honestly just mesmerized by how passionate she was getting. "Did I say that?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! You said... how do you say... that we were... inspiring?" She looked at you, hopeful. "You say that, yes?"

"Hmm... that does sound like something I'd say," you mused, nodding.

"Good!" She smiled in relief. "And then we went to... um, what's the place? With the..." She made a motion of eating, clearly struggling to remember the English word.

"A restaurant?" you offered, keeping up the act but feeling a bit guilty at how invested she was in telling the story.

"Yes! A restaurant!" She nodded quickly. "And you told me... you like my smile. And... and I like yours. I think you are very beautiful." Her voice softened at the end, her eyes warm as she looked at you.

You pretended to blush, looking away for a moment before glancing back at her with a shy smile. "You really thought that?"

She nodded, her face lighting up with the sweetest, most genuine smile. "Sí. Very much. And... we laughed, a lot." She squeezed your hands again. "You laugh at my English. And you teach me new words."

"Oh, like what?" you asked, tilting your head with a smirk.

Her cheeks flushed. "Um... cheeky. You say I am cheeky." She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. "And... um, you call me... 'cute'... and sometimes, um, 'lovebug'?"

You couldn't help but smile at that. "I call you lovebug?"

She nodded, her eyes filled with hope and affection. "Sí, it's my... nickname." She reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "And you... you say you love my... 'determination'? Yes, that word."

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing, trying to stay in character. "And... you're sure we're a couple?"

Her face grew serious as she leaned closer. "I am sure. We are... very in love, you and me. And... and you even say I am 'the love of your life.'" Her cheeks turned red again, but she didn't break eye contact.

Your heart melted a bit at her words, feeling a sudden pang of guilt for messing with her so thoroughly. But you decided to push just a little further, if only to see that flustered look one more time.

"Hmm... that does sound familiar," you murmured, reaching out to brush a thumb over her cheek, making her blush deepen. "But... maybe I need one more thing to really jog my memory."

She blinked, tilting her head in confusion. "What... what do you need?"

You gave her a playful grin. "Maybe... a kiss?"

Her eyes went wide for a moment, and she glanced around, as if wondering if anyone could see you two by the side of the trail. But then she gave you a soft smile, her eyes filled with warmth and love. "Sí... of course."

She leaned in, her lips meeting yours in the softest, sweetest kiss. You could feel the sincerity and tenderness in every moment, the way she cupped your face as if she was afraid you'd disappear. When she finally pulled back, her cheeks were red, but she looked at you with a spark of hope.

"Did it... did it work?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

You smiled, letting out a quiet laugh. "Yeah... I think it worked." You couldn't keep up the act any longer, the warmth in her eyes making your heart feel like it could burst. "How could I forget you, lovebug?"

For a moment, she just stared at you, her face a mix of relief and realization. And then her eyes narrowed, her hands still holding yours, but her grip tightening just a bit.

"Wait..." She gave you a suspicious look. "You... you remember me all the time?"

You couldn't help but let out a laugh, sheepishly nodding. "Maybe..."

Her mouth fell open, and she stared at you in disbelief. "You... you lie to me?" She slapped your arm lightly, half-annoyed but clearly relieved. "I think you... you forget me! You... you are so mean!"

You laughed, reaching out to pull her into a hug, grinning as she half-heartedly pushed you away. "I'm sorry! I just wanted to see what you'd say!"

She let out an exasperated sigh, though you could see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Ay, you make me so worried!" But she couldn't stay mad, and a small smile finally broke through. "You are lucky I love you, sí?"

You grinned, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "I know. And for the record, I remember every little detail about you. I just love hearing you talk about us.”

She huffed, crossing her arms but looking a little pleased. "I am glad you... like my English. Even if you laugh at me."

You wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as you both sat back down in the grass. "Laughing is just my way of loving you, you know that."

Her face softened as she leaned into you, resting her head on your shoulder. "Sí... I know. But next time, I prank you. This... is promise.

You chuckled, squeezing her hand. "I'd love to see you try, lovebug."

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[liiixsturniolos]

"Think you can take it?"

matt sturniolo x reader & chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: smut, unprotected, p in v, threesome, oral (male receiving).

¿ what happens when you Matt and Chris get a little too bored, but both of them want you.. you'll have to compromise and fuck 'em both at the same time.

You were sitting in the living room with your friends, Chris and Matt. Watching a movie you've seen before. Nick was out at a space camp meeting, and you all sat there bored without him.

You sit relaxed in the middle of the couch, with Matt on one side and Chris on the other.

The room is uncomfortably silent. Chris and Matt are looking back and forth at you.

"God, I'm so bored." You sigh.

Chris' hand slides up your thigh, "Ya' look so fuckin' good in those shorts.." he whispers

Blood rushes to your face, forcing your cheeks to turn a rosy-red,

Matts eyes focus on your face. He's analysing every expression, watching the way you blush and Chris' hand creeping further and further up your thigh.

You catch Matts eye, and he gives you a jealous glare and aggressively grabs your other thigh. They fight for your attention, like children, it was pathetic, if only they knew you wanted them both.

Chris leans in, pulls up your chin, and kisses you for what feels like hours, fluttering your eyes open and closed as he wraps his lips around yours.

Then he let's go, and turns to look at you, until Matt grabs you, kisses you harder, more intense, his lips pressing down on your mouth, his hands slipping under your top,

Minutes later, you're all undressed, Matt is sitting on the edge of the couch, pants down, and you're sliding off his underwear.

You dont know how you ended up like this, but you knew you didn't want to stop.

“Can you be a good girl and suck my cock?" Matt says, innocently, with the tilt of his head,

“Go on, let him fuck ya' mouth ma'," Chris tells you as he slowly slides into you from behind.

You attach your mouth around Matts head, and he lets you get used to his dick in your mouth before thrusting his hips forward, his tip hitting the back of your throat violently,

"Can I?" Chris whispers slyly in your ear, you whisper back an approval, and he started fucking you fast, and deep, you tried to keep your mouth around Matt but it dropped open,

"Mmm..-fuck!" You cry out as Chris pounds himself into you, hitting your spot, He presses his chest against your back, "Ya' gotta' keep helpin' Matt out to, or ill stop" he mumbles, you agree to this, taking Matts dick back into your mouth happily.

“Shes soaked." Chris chuckles. Rubbing against your clit perfectly, "come for me," he groans in your ear,

Your legs start to shake, and you let out a loud moan with your mouth still wrapped around Matt and come around Chris' dick. Chris comes at the same time, his cum spilling out of you,

But he continues to thrust himself into you, and you let out soft sighs and whimpers as he does, focusing now on sucking Matt off, you run your tongue around him, putting pressure on his cock, flicking your tongue across him, taking him in further of your throat.

"Fuck-ugh..fuck." Matt moans out as he comes into your mouth, throwing his head back in pleasure.

You give him a proud look before using your fingers to wipe away some of his cum that had dripped out of your mouth...

hope you liked this shittt ;)!! Interact if you did, likes, re-blogs and I LOVE comments from anyone. <3

taglist: @matthewsroses @chrislilcumslvt @1-d0nt-w4nn4-b3-m3-4nym0r3 @pvssychicken @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @matts-myloverboy @sturniolo-fann @emely9274

#s

[rosyhoneydew]

A quick love letter to my Bucktommy family in the form of a fix-it <3

Bucktommy | fix-it | Teen | 1141 words | warnings: this is angsty at the start and tiptoes toward addressing biphobia so please care for yourself and don't read if that will exacerbate your hurt.

They're three beers deep when the doorbell rings again.

It's been a fucking night. He hadn't really had much to say to Eddie when he got there, thankfully he hadn't had to, especially considering Eddie was clearly in the midst of his own kind of night. It feels better, not being alone, at least. But the alcohol mixes with his head and twists the moment in his apartment further. How come every time I want to move forward I get pushed back?

He's not even paying attention when Eddie goes up to get the door, just fiddles with the bottle in his hand more, peeling the label into tiny pieces and laying them on Eddie's coffee table for him to pick up later.

"Shit-" Eddie stumbles as he makes his way. And then Buck can feel a little breeze as he goes to tell whoever it is that this isn't a good time.

"Oh thank god-" Buck freezes, determined not to turn around. "I wasn't sure you'd be home but I think I fucked up."

That's Tommy.

"I panicked a little. Evan asked me to move in and I think I freaked out."

"Uhh-" Eddie adds.

"We just got done talking about my ex who I had to end an engagement with and it just- it felt like he was trying to make up for his own freak out about it and-" Buck hears him take a deep breath, "I didn't want to force him into doing something he didn't really want to do, you know? He- he should get to make sure that's what he really wants." He takes another breath. "Are you not wearing pants?"

"Umm-"

Buck's heart rate had steadily ramped up hearing Tommy speak, but it's when he stops that Buck feels tears prickle at his eyes. He whips around then, still nestled into Eddie's couch, betrayal in his voice when he speaks.

"I did!" and shit. He didn't really mean to shout that.

"I'm gonna..." Eddie trails off as he heads into his bedroom.

"Why do you think I didn't make sure that's what I wanted?" he demands. He hadn't thought he'd be so angry, but this felt like something to him, and Tommy's running. Again. "Because that girl hit on me at the restaurant?"

Tommy looks shell-shocked. Like he's still grasping the fact that Buck is here, so Buck just keeps talking.

"Or because I haven't dated a man before? So I must not know what I'm talking about, right?"

"Buck-"

"Don't call me that."

"Evan," Tommy steps a little closer, and Buck leans toward the cushions, petty, but feeling raw still. "That is not why."

Buck levels him with a look.

"Okay, what you said is fair enough," he relents. "I didn't mean to make it seem like you couldn't make your own decisions about this."

"What did you mean?"

Tommy looks away for a moment, a flicker of pain on his face.

"I meant... what I said," he lands on. "You would break my heart, Evan."

"You don't know that." The tears finally crest over his lower lids and make their way to his mouth. "You can't just give up every time you're scared that I'm going to leave you, Tommy. It's not fair, you're not even giving me the chance to stay."

Tommy's lip wobbles a little now too, but he stays and listens.

"I wanted to stay, I wanted you to stay. With me. Permanently. Why would you think I would leave you?"

He cries now, and Buck hasn't ever seen him cry.

"I don't know," he gets out, choked and soft. "I see you, sometimes. With the 118 and everyone's families and I... I don't feel like I fit, Evan. I don't get how I fit into that."

"You fit into it because you're my boyfriend. My partner."

"I am?" he asks, treading closer ever slightly to the couch.

This time Buck leans his way. He sets his bottle down and looks down at his hands.

"Did you mean what you told Eddie? You fucked up? Because I fucked up, once, at the beginning of us, and you gave me that second chance and I'm so glad you did, Tommy, because these last few months have been better than I could've hoped. I don't want to let that go because of this so... yeah you can be, if you want."

Tommy rushes to the couch, he sits as close as he can get and grabs Buck's hands firmly. Warm and sure.

"I want that. I want us again. Please."

"You can have it," Buck whispers, resting his head on Tommy's shoulder. He squeezes Tommy's hands. "Just don't leave again, please."

"I won't, I won't."

Then there's a kiss at the crown of his head, and Tommy's other hand rubs soft circles over his back. He murmurs sweet nothings in Buck's ear all the while.

I'm sorry. I'm glad you were here. I missed you as soon as I walked out the door. I'm staying. I'm staying. I'm staying.

They sit like that for a while until a throat clearing from the hallway has them both lifting their heads to find Eddie, fully-clothed.

"What were you guys doing before I got here, by the way?" Tommy asks, humor back in his voice.

"Well, I was drinking my sorrows away. I don't know what Tom Cruise was doing."

"Ha ha," Eddie says, making his way to the couch, no qualms about forcing them to scooch over to make room. "We can talk about my shit tomorrow. You guys worked it out I guess?"

Buck looks up at Tommy, smiles, and kisses him with a loud peck just to make Eddie huff and roll his eyes.

"Yeah," Tommy says, looking at ease. "Although..." he starts.

Buck turns to him, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know that moving into your place is going to work," Tommy admits.

Buck sits up a little, mouth just opening to speak when Tommy cuts him off.

"I want to live with you, Evan, but your place is barely big enough for one person, so maybe we can workshop location, yeah?" he smiles a crinkly smile, the kind that always lets Buck know he's feeling fond, feeling secure.

It's Buck's turn to huff now. "It gets good light," he grumbles.

Tommy kisses his temple again, Buck gets the distinct feeling that he will be getting kissed quite a bit in the near future, and he chances a quick look at Eddie to see if they're being annoying.

Instead, he sees Eddie smiling too, he's looking on like he's proud and it makes Buck want to tear up again. Eddie gives him a nod and Buck nods back.

A weight lifts off his shoulders then. In the arms of the man he's growing to love and accepted by his family.

~~~~

I want to say a quick thank you to everyone who read, commented, shared my fics, sent me nice messages about my writing for these two, and to everyone who created content for them while they were canon. I'm thankful for every minute of it :)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Antiusurpation and the road to disenshittification

THIS WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Nineties kids had a good reason to be excited about the internet's promise of disintermediation: the gatekeepers who controlled our access to culture, politics, and opportunity were crooked as hell, and besides, they sucked.

For a second there, we really did get a lot of disintermediation, which created a big, weird, diverse pluralistic space for all kinds of voices, ideas, identities, hobbies, businesses and movements. Lots of these were either deeply objectionable or really stupid, or both, but there was also so much cool stuff on the old, good internet.

Then, after about ten seconds of sheer joy, we got all-new gatekeepers, who were at least as bad, and even more powerful, than the old ones. The net became Tom Eastman's "Five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four." Culture, politics, finance, news, and especially power have been gathered into the hands of unaccountable, greedy, and often cruel intermediaries.

Oh, also, we had an election.

This isn't an election post. I have many thoughts about the election, but they're still these big, unformed blobs of anger, fear and sorrow. Experience teaches me that the only way to get past this is to just let all that bad stuff sit for a while and offgas its most noxious compounds, so that I can handle it safely and figure out what to do with it.

While I wait that out, I'm just getting the job done. Chop wood, carry water. I've got a book to write, Enshittification, for Farar, Straus, Giroux's MCD Books, and it's very nearly done:

https://twitter.com/search?q=from%3Adoctorow+%23dailywords&src=typed_query&f=live

Compartmentalizing my anxieties and plowing that energy into productive work isn't necessarily the healthiest coping strategy, but it's not the worst, either. It's how I wrote nine books during the covid lockdowns.

And sometimes, when you're not staring directly at something, you get past the tunnel vision that makes it impossible to see its edges, fracture lines, and weak points.

So I'm working on the book. It's a book about platforms, because enshittification is a phenomenon that is most visible and toxic on platforms. Platforms are intermediaries, who connect buyers and sellers, creators and audiences, workers and employers, politicians and voters, activists and crowds, as well as families, communities, and would-be romantic partners.

There's a reason we keep reinventing these intermediaries: they're useful. Like, it's technically possible for a writer to also be their own editor, printer, distributor, promoter and sales-force:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

But without middlemen, those are the only writers we'll get. The set of all writers who have something to say that I want to read is much larger than the set of all writers who are capable of running their own publishing operation.

The problem isn't middlemen: the problem is powerful middlemen. When an intermediary gets powerful enough to usurp the relationship between the parties on either side of the transaction, everything turns to shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

A dating service that faces pressure from competition, regulation, interoperability and a committed workforce will try as hard as it can to help you find Your Person. A dating service that buys up all its competitors, cows its workforce, captures its regulators and harnesses IP law to block interoperators will redesign its service so that you keep paying forever, and never find love:

https://www.npr.org/sections/money/2024/02/13/1228749143/the-dating-app-paradox-why-dating-apps-may-be-worse-than-ever

Multiply this a millionfold, in every sector of our complex, high-tech world where we necessarily rely on skilled intermediaries to handle technical aspects of our lives that we can't – or shouldn't – manage ourselves. That world is beholden to predators who screw us and screw us and screw us, jacking up our rents:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/yes-there-are-antitrust-voters-in

Cranking up the price of food:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

And everything else:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

(Maybe this is a post about the election after all?)

The difference between a helpmeet and a parasite is power. If we want to enjoy the benefits of intermediaries without the risks, we need policies that keep middlemen weak. That's the opposite of the system we have now.

Take interoperability and IP law. Interoperability (basically, plugging new things into existing things) is a really powerful check against powerful middlemen. If you rely on an ad-exchange to fund your newsgathering and they start ripping you off, then an interoperable system that lets you use a different exchange will not only end the rip off – it'll make it less likely to happen in the first place because the ad-tech platform will be afraid of losing your business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

Interoperability means that when a printer company gouges you on ink, you can buy cheap third party ink cartridges and escape their grasp forever:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Interoperability means that when Amazon rips off audiobook authors to the tune of $100m, those authors can pull their books from Amazon and sell them elsewhere and know that their listeners can move their libraries over to a different app:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/07/audible-exclusive/#audiblegate

But interoperability has been in retreat for 40 years, as IP law has expanded to criminalize otherwise normal activities, so that middlemen can use IP rights to protect themselves from their end-users and business customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

That's what I mean when I say that "IP" is "any law that lets a business reach beyond its own walls and control the actions of its customers, competitors and critics."

For example, there's a pernicious law 1998 US law that I write about all the time, Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the "anticircumvention law." This is a law that felonizes tampering with copyright locks, even if you are the creator of the undelying work.

So Amazon – the owner of the monopoly audiobook platform Audible – puts a mandatory copyright lock around every audiobook they sell. I, as an author who writes, finances and narrates the audiobook, can't provide you, my customer, with a tool to remove that lock. If I do so, I face criminal sanctions: a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for a first offense:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

In other words: if I let you take my own copyrighted work out of Amazon's app, I commit a felony, with penalties that are far stiffer than the penalties you would face if you were to simply pirate that audiobook. The penalties for you shoplifting the audiobook on CD at a truck-stop are lower than the penalties the author and publisher of the book would face if they simply gave you a tool to de-Amazon the file. Indeed, even if you hijacked the truck that delivered the CDs, you'd probably be looking at a shorter sentence.

This is a law that is purpose-built to encourage intermediaries to usurp the relationship between buyers and sellers, creators and audiences. It's a charter for parasitism and predation.

But as bad as that is, there's another aspect of DMCA 1201 that's even worse: the exemptions process.

You might have read recently about the Copyright Office "freeing the McFlurry" by granting a DMCA 1201 exemption for companies that want to reverse-engineer the error-codes from McDonald's finicky, unreliable frozen custard machines:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

Under DMCA 1201, the Copyright Office hears petitions for these exemptions every three years. If they judge that anticircumvention law is interfering with some legitimate activity, the statute empowers them to grant an exemption.

When the DMCA passed in 1998 (and when the US Trade Rep pressured other world governments into passing nearly identical laws in the decades that followed), this exemptions process was billed as a "pressure valve" that would prevent abuses of anticircumvention law.

But this was a cynical trick. The way the law is structured, the Copyright Office can only grant "use" exemptions, but not "tools" exemptions. So if you are granted the right to move Audible audiobooks into a third-party app, you are personally required to figure out how to do that. You have to dump the machine code of the Audible app, decompile it, scan it for vulnerabilities, and bootstrap your own jailbreaking program to take Audible wrapper off the file.

No one is allowed to help you with this. You aren't allowed to discuss any of this publicly, or share a tool that you make with anyone else. Doing any of this is a potential felony.

In other words, DMCA 1201 gives intermediaries power over you, but bans you from asking an intermediary to help you escape another abusive middleman.

This is the exact opposite of how intermediary law should work. We should have rules that ban intermediaries from exercising undue power over the parties they serve, and we should have rules empowering intermediaries to erode the advantage of powerful intermediaries.

The fact that the Copyright Office grants you an exemption to anticircumvention law means nothing unless you can delegate that right to an intermediary who can exercise it on your behalf.

A world without publishing intermediaries is one in which the only writers who thrive are the ones capable of being publishers, too, and that's a tiny fraction of all the writers with something to say.

A world without interoperability intermediaries is one in which the only platform users who thrive are also skilled reverse-engineering ninja hackers – and that's an infinitesimal fraction of the platform users who would benefit from interoperabilty.

Let this be your north star in evaluating platform regulation proposals. Platform regulation should weaken intermediaries' powers over their users, and strengthen their power over other middlemen.

Put in this light, it's easy to see why the ill-informed calls to abolish Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (which makes platform users, not platforms, responsible for most unlawful speech) are so misguided:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

If we require platforms to surveil all user speech and block anything that might violate any law, we give the largest, most powerful platforms a permanent advantage over smaller, better platforms, run by co-ops, hobbyists, nonprofits local governments, and startups. The big platforms have the capital to rig up massive, automated surveillance and censorship systems, and the only alternatives that can spring up have to be just as big and powerful as the Big Tech platforms we're so desperate to escape:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/23/evacuate-the-platforms/#let-the-platforms-burn

This is especially grave given the current political current, where fascist politicians are threatening platforms with brutal punishments for failing to censor disfavored political views.

Anyone who tells you that "it's only censorship when the government does it" is badly confused. It's only a First Amendment violation when the government does it, sure ��� but censorship has always relied on intermediaries. From the Inquisition to the Comics Code, government censors were only able to do their jobs because powerful middlemen, fearing state punishments, blocked anything that might cross the line, censoring far beyond the material actually prohibited by the law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos

We live in a world of powerful, corrupt middlemen. From payments to real-estate, from job-search to romance, there's a legion of parasites masquerading as helpmeets, burying their greedy mouthparts into our tender flesh:

https://www.capitalisnt.com/episodes/visas-hidden-tax-on-americans

But intermediaries aren't the problem. You shouldn't have to stand up your own payment processor, or learn the ins and outs of real-estate law, or start your own single's bar. The problem is power, not intermediation.

As we set out to build a new, good internet (with a lot less help from the US government than seemed likely as recently as last week), let's remember that lesson: the point isn't disintermediation, it's weak intermediation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/07/usurpers-helpmeets/#disreintermediation

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en (Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

[rametarin]

This approach is so tone deaf that I'm facepalming.

They keep acting as if those evil evil boys are being brainwashed by Andrew Tate and Alex Jones because of weird mind-perverting fascism rays shooting out of their smartphones, and that's why they need to mandatorily shine counter-propaganda into their faces while banishing "harmful" figures from the algorithm. It's utterly psychotic. On par with the state trying to banish LGBT themes for fear it'll "turn the kids gay."

Except, ideologically, the people trying to own the pillar of progressivism, are demanding everybody bow to one specific interpretation of how anti-racism, anti-sexism and anti-gender bigotry works, under what pretense, and if you don't conform to that specific model, you're just in favor of concentration camps and white supremacism. To the tune where if you disregard their absolutist vision of privilege theory, class struggle their and other self-masturbatory old wives tools of "analysis" (nothing of the sort), then they declare you to just be a bigot.

The election results do not even show that the country is getting "more right wing." At least, not really. The results show that the very un-liberal people using beliefs and standards rooted in Marxist dialectics and philosophy are trying VERY hard to express dominance over the party and how it drafts legislation on what grounds, and many otherwise liberal, progressive people rejecting that, leaving them without a home.

It's showing that while not being democratically elected so much as appointed and sneaking around democracy in the democratic side, the hard-left are alienating many young men by telling them THEY are the problem, whatever they do, and that they shouldn't get a say or be treated like equals because "their demographic oppresses women." They get shouted down and shut out of any discussions among leftists based on this, purely on the basis of, "YOU'RE PRIVILEGED, NO SPEECH FOR OPPRESSORS. SHUT UP. CONFORM OR GO SIT WITH THE REPUBLICANS."

Not only does it drive young men away from the left, it leaves them feeling like maybe the only place for actual anti-discrimination is the right wing. How do I know? SURPRISE SURPRISE, THEY'VE BEEN DOING THIS BULLSHIT SINCE THE 80S, BY MY WATCH!

And then they have the audacity to twist and spin these figures this way to make it seem like maybe American boys are just going "HRMM THIS FASCISM THING SURE SOUNDS GREAT I LOVE WHITE SUPREMACY AND HATE MINORITIES."

This gap they could conceivably be falling through, which is a fraction of the size they're describing it as, is a gap of their own making, specifically to poison the well of just whom and why they have opposition. And full impunity to characterize those whom disagree with them.

And this is why Trump&Co. continues to win, and why the liberals will eventually kick these hard-leftists out of their avenues to affect the party. They're revisionists and biased, borderline liars, deliberately cooking the figures trying to make their echo chamber fantasies about Nazis growing like fungus on every surface, every wall, in every corner.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Self-Aware Sylus x Down-bad!Player

Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]

Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.

Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.

Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.

Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”

Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”

Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”

Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”

Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”

Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..

[clrasecretdiary]

Late night confessions | Spencer reid x Fem!Reader

only fluff allowed in this house

In which Spencer can't believe how oblivious you were.

Warnings: Pretty sure none!

Content: Love confessions, reader is oblivious, really cutesy, petnames (stuff like darling...)

--

It’s a Saturday night, and you’re getting ready to go out with your friends from the BAU. Somehow, you guys got lucky enough to have this day off and decided to go to a bar and have some fun. Hotch and Rossi both said they’re “too old” for this and decided to not go, which honestly left you relieved, you really did not want both your bosses to see you in the outfit you had planned for the night. Besides them, everyone was going, and you were excited to see the team outside of work – particularly excited to see a certain genius. 

You and Spencer are the kind of friends that everyone perceived as “suspiciously close” and everyone that didn’t know thought you guys were a couple. Actually, there was a bet amongst your friends as to how long it would take you two to actually get together.

At first, you and Spencer found it uncomfortable and got awkward every time they made a joke about you two being together, but after some time, you guys started to join in a bit. Now, the irony of it all is, between all the flirty jokes, the way Spencer became so comfortable with you being clingy to him besides his germophobia and the way he cared so much about you…  You fell in love with him. 

Arriving at the bar, you spot your friends all sat at a booth and head over to them.

“Hey guys” 

“Hi sweetie, you look gorgeous” Garcia says, giving you a kiss on the cheek 

“Thanks darling, you look stunning too” You say, taking a seat between Spencer and Penelope. 

You talk to your friends, occasionally making eye contact with Spencer, who has been blushing ever since you came into the bar. You had always found it cute how no matter how many dates he had, he still would get flustered around girls he found attractive. 

You spent the night dancing and gossiping with Penelope and Emily. Later, the group was starting to leave when you felt a hand on the small of your back, when you turn around you see Spencer standing there smiling at you

“Hi Spence, wanna dance with me?” You say, putting your hands around his neck and smiling back, voice coming out a bit dragged

“Not now darling” He said, softly laughing at the way you were, not that usually you were super uptight but at this moment you seemed so relaxed and carefree he loved seeing you like that “Did you drive here?”

“Nop, but don't worry, I'll take a cab back home” 

“There's no way I'm letting you take a cab alone this late at night. C'mon, let's say goodbye to everyone and I'll take you home” 

You roll your eyes at him, but the way he was being so protective over you made your heart flutter. You thought about contesting him, something about you being a “scary FBI agent” but you knew he was right and decided to just go with it. 

You say your goodbyes to the rest of the group and go on with him to the parking lot. On the way to the car, Spencer is holding you by your waist to prevent you from stumbling, you're fully aware that you don't need it, you didn't even drink any alcohol, still you let him do it because there's no way you would ever shy away from being this close to him.  

Back at your house, Spencer goes with you in the elevator, stopping at your apartment's door 

“Alright, here you are, safe and sound” He says, smiling at you 

“Thanks Spence” You reach out to give him a hug, and it lingers for more time than it normally does

All you wanted to do right now was kiss him. 

“Do you want to come in? I'm not sleepy at all, and I would feel guilty with you driving alone this late at night, we can make some tea and talk maybe”

“I don't know, you really should rest…” Just as he began reclining your offer, you gave him the look you knew he would never say no to “Alright, I'll come in” 

“What's going on in that pretty brain of yours Spence” You say, leaning on the counter top 

You smile at him as you walk into your apartment, getting rid of your shoes and stepping into the kitchen. Spencer sits in one of the stools near the counter top and watches as you start to make tea. He watches every move you make, as if memorizing it, and maybe it's all in your head, and maybe you're just seeing what you want to see, but he has this look in his eyes, different from before.

“Not much” He smiles, and it feels like the world stops for a moment. 

 “Now that's a surprise, when have you ever not thought about everything all at once” 

“You tend to have that effect on me” His gaze lingers on you, as if he was trying to tell you something. You can't help but feel a flutter in your stomach. 

“What's that supposed to mean” You think you might know, but there's no way he reciprocates your feelings… right? 

“You know exactly what i mean, there's no way you're that oblivious” He smirks at you, and god you think you might pass out right then and there. 

“If I knew, I wouldn't be asking you, Spencer” 

He laughs and stands up, getting close to you "Alright, what i mean is when i'm close to you, that's all I can think about… You. I've been in love with you for… honestly, I don't even know how long anymore” He takes a step closer, placing a hand on your waist and his voice drops to a whisper “I've made it pretty obvious too, maybe you took the ‘don't profile each other’ too serious. How did you not notice?” 

You're shocked, you can't even process your thoughts right now. Your best friend, whom you've been in love with for years, just confessed to you. You did notice his change in behavior towards you, you just didn't believe he could ever be in love with you 

“I noticed you treated me different, but I thought it was just…” You lose your words when he reaches out and cups your jaw, you look into his eyes, and you can see the love in them, and it makes you feel something inside. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and all you can do is take a deep breath and lean into his hand, feeling your heart flutter. You give him a small nod and close your eyes as he gently presses his lips against yours, and at that moment, you know that this is real. 

 He gently pulls you into his arms and kisses you on the forehead as he whispers “I love you” 

“I love you more” You say, looking up, smiling at him.

“Impossible” He says, smiling back at you.

[stoopidpigeonxx]

⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ 𝑶 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝑴𝒚 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏. ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆

CAPTAIN CURLY SMUT HEADCANNONS !! NSFW under the cut. MDNI.

(These are all completely random, not tied to any prompt. I just want more stuff about this guy cuz I love him) Fandom/characters: Mouthwashing, Captain Curly, other characters briefly mentioned.

Content warning: Smut (obviously), p in v, curlys packing, title kink, thigh-riding, face-sitting, size difference, manhandling, reader is AFAB, creampie, multiple rounds, riding, cursing, J*mmy.

-He's a grower, not a shower.

I firmly believe Curly is a distinguished gentleman, unlike J*mmy who would most likely brag about how big he is and end up only being like, 5 or 6 inches. Curly, however, will not mention his size until you see it for yourself. And when he sees your face, he panics. "Oh-shit, uh- i-is it gonna be too big for you? It's okay if it is, I should've warned you.."

He's four inches soft, uncut. I think he keeps himself decently groomed. He's not completely bare, but it isn't a forest. He's got a little v-line that's only visible when he wears sweatpants that you go absolutely feral over. When he gets hard, whoo boy. 9 inches, throbbing. He's got a cute little vein near his tip that you like to attack when you're sucking him off because it makes his thighs shake. He's got a little bit of a mushroom tip, maybe more rounded. Perfect for hitting all those good spots inside you. In short, he's big. (he tucks it, that's why he doesn't have a bulge in his sprites. Also I'm sorry trans-Curly headcannon people ;-;)

-"Need a seat? I'll volunteer."

VEEEEEERRRYYY into face-sitting. Very. Like, the first thing he wants when you guys get freaky is for you to sit on his face. He's not exactly sure why he likes it, to be honest, he just loves the feeling of you absolutely lose yourself on his tongue. He isn't worried about suffocating or anything, since he's a lot bigger than you, so don't be afraid to ride his face! he can handle it! But seriously, use this guy as a seat. He'd give you a few licks up your slit at first to warm you up (again, gentleman) before going for your clit. And when he gets it, he sucks. Hard. He'd also probably sneak a finger or two inside you to add extra stimulation, because he really wants you to come on his face. He desperately yearns for the sound of you screaming his name as your juices cover his face and tongue, letting you ride your orgasm out before lifting you off his face and setting you down. "Alright, sweet-stuff, my turn. On your knees, please."

-Save a Polle, ride his big ass thighs.

So... we've all seen his sprite. He's thick as fuck. He's got a booty and bigger tits than me. But he also has deliciously large thighs.. so use that to your advantage, because he's totally down with it. He likes using it as foreplay to get you wet enough to take him, and he just likes the feeling. He'll probably give himself a hand while you're doing it, or he'll just watch and leave the touching to you.

He isn't much for public sex, but if you're really horny, he'll let you get high on his thigh over his uniform and gently praise you when you come. It gives him a little buzz to be doing something like that in a risky situation, like while he's in the cockpit sitting at the control panel, or even in the commons of the ship with Daisuke in a few rooms away. When you do come, which isn't that long after, he'll kiss you all over your face and head and twirl your hair in his fingers, using his other hand to rub your ass or back.

"There you go, sweetheart, that's a good girl. Good job."

-Sir yes sir.

I know, I know. He gets called 'Captain' and 'Sir' for his job. But if its coming from you when he's balls deep in you.. It's an entirely different reaction.

"D-did.. you just call me- mgh..- Captain?"

It makes him ferociously horny to hear that title slip from your lips, so pray you'll still walk tomorrow. "Ooh, fuck, yeahhh. Call me that again, baby. Call me that again.. Uh-huh. Captain takin' care of this pretty lil' pussy, huh.."

He doesn't dirty talk that explicitly, but you calling him captain gets his creative juices flowing. Oh, also his come. Yeah..

Its also perfect teasing material. You two couldn't even be getting it on, you'd just sneak up behind him and kiss him on the cheek and say "Morning, Captain!" In that tone you know drives him wild. Boom, hard. Poor guy.

-Yeehaw!

favorite position? Cowgirl. For many reasons. One, he loves looking at your face while you ride his cock. The noises, the facial expressions you make, the way your tits bounce up and down with your hips.. He wishes it was a renaissance painting to look at every morning. He also just likes being able to hold you easily. When you're on his lap, its easier for him to snake a hand up and hold your hair out of your face, or to give your ass gentle love taps (he would never spank you, unless asked to). He's a very hands-on guy and wants to touch you, everywhere he can.

Of course, he doesn't mind the occasional doggy, or missionary, or hell, even a Full Nelson, because you KNOW he's able to hold you like that. Manhandling comes naturally with Curly. Gently, of course. He would never hurt you.

-Gets a little messy.

Curly's no one pump chump. He'll go for hours. Even if he's came inside you at least five times, he'll keep going. He's got hella impressive stamina. His motivation? Seeing your cunt leaking his seed when he pulls out. He wants you to still find it in your underwear 3 days later. No hole goes unfilled. He's not exactly a breeder, per-say, though he definitely wouldn't complain about getting you pregnant, he just likes seeing you in a state. He thinks of it as artwork, leaving you so stuffed to the brim. The next day, he'd pull you aside and give you a quick finger-orgasm, just to see if his come's still in there. When it leaks onto his fingers along with your own, he's a very happy man. "Ahh, look at that. Still got it in ya. Should fill you up even more later, hm?"

oof. my hands hurt. ;-;