#i've been keeping a relative eye on things for the hell of it and

[nebuladreamz]

chat the voices are loud again

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 7

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

series masterlist

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

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

“Spencer—wh—” 

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

“I missed you.”

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

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

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

Your face heats.  

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer.”

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

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

“So you came back to fuck me?”

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

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

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

“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

A beat of silence. 

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

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

He follows you right through the door. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you hate giving me joy.”

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

“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”

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

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

You try to process that. 

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

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

Your reply is small. 

“Oh. Right.”

How could anyone not love him back?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches at the casual admission. 

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a nice thought.”

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

He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips. 

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

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

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

“I told you it wasn’t nice.”

You swallow. 

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

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

“To bend you over my couch? No.”

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

“Okay, goodni—”

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t make that face.”

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

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

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

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

“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”

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

“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”

He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth. 

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

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

“Not currently.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you believe me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to slow down?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now what?”

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

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

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

“What’s the first?”

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

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

“And especially here.”

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

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

“Tilt your head for me, honey.”

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

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

“Lie back.”

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

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

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

“You want me to leave marks?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mentioned.”

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

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

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

“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”

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

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

“Please what?”

“Spencer, don’t.”

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

“Sorry.”

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

“I need—”

“Shh. Let me worry about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Took it like a champ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You might be right about that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But on my bed?”

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

“How chivalrous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice is equally as soft. 

“Very helpful. Thank you.”

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

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

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

Spencer chuckles. You feel silly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead, honey.”

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

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

He’s still perfect. 

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

“So good. Missed this.”

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

“It’s you.”

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

“Can I…?”

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

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

“Okay. Um…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly. 

Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Super deep breaths for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre. 

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

“You okay? How does that feel?”

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

“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can… you can move.”

“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”

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

“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”

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

“Spence?” 

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“For me?”

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”

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

“Mm—it’s—it feels…”

“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.

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

“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

He laughs breathily. 

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

“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”

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

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

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

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

“What is it?”

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

“I wanna watch.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good?”

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

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

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

“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”

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

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

But it’s too much all combined. 

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

“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

“Hi.”

He smiles. 

“You’re so pretty.”

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

“How do you feel?”

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

“Good. Tired.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you were asleep.”

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

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

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

“I know. I love you too.”

The smile flickers brighter on his face. 

“And thank you.”

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

“For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

You sniffle, gathering yourself. 

“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”

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

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

“She Walks in Beauty.”

Your lips pull into a sleepy smile. 

“The Lord Byron poem?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was her name?”

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

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

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

You want the same. 

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

-

part eight

[grandline-fics]

hi! i just read all of your oneshots and they’re perfect, i’m in love. hoping it is okay to request something with zoro having a soft spot towards reader? he doesn’t even realize it a first, but since reader is somehow quiet and gentle (not weak though!) he starts to take note of small things to do/don’t do or notice their actions (ex: taking care o the crew) a lot more than others. thank you. <3

DESCRIPTION: Who knew you were Zoro’s soft spot? Apparently both of you are the last to know 

WARNINGS: none, just pure fluff

CHARACTERS: Zoro

WORDS: 856

A/N:  Thank you for your kind words and for this request! I hope it's to your liking. I've been feeling a little under the weather these past couple of days so some fluff was needed <3

MASTERLIST

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

It’s tiny things; little, practically meaningless things that are so easy to miss but they’re there. When you first joined the crew, your presence fell into the likes of his and Robin’s; strong but relatively quiet and easily looked passed if you wanted. You didn’t see the point in wasting energy needlessly and knew the value in waiting until letting yourself be known. Zoro unknowingly enjoyed that kind of calm you naturally brought and found himself gravitating towards it because it seemed even when he was in his own space you were still in his eye-line. In the beginning he found it a little strange that it kept happening, he knew you weren’t following him. Hell most of the times you were on the other side of the ship or talking with someone else so he cleared it as coincidence and thought nothing of it. As time went on, there was a lot he was putting down to mere coincidence. 

When you were all exploring new islands it was purely happenstance that you two walked side by side. Neither of you were the type to bound about and race ahead without a cause for urgency. He found he didn’t get lost as easily when you were close. You always seemed to know the way to go. On one trip Brook had commented to Zoro how lucky he had been that you were there to talk to him at the right moment otherwise he would have kept walking towards a path that would have taken him towards a ravine. Because of your voice suddenly pulling him into conversation he’d kept the right track and avoided possibly injuring himself and getting a lecture from the others. Lucky right?

It was also luck of the draw that when eating or drinking off the ship, Zoro was sat at the table in such a way that his back blocked you mostly from view from any unwanted stares. It was never in a subconscious way to keep you from interacting with others but it was like another sense he had that he was able to tell when you just wanted to sit with the crew and enjoy your meal. It seemed to go both ways too in that regard. If women tried to approach and flirt with him you effortlessly had a way of making a joke to dissuade them and steer them in Sanji’s direction. Was any of it done out of jealousy, possessiveness of the other’s attention, or an overwhelming need to protect? Not in the least, it was just doing what needed to be done to help out a friend and fellow crew-mate.

On the Sunny it’s no different. It’s not even a second thought, his body just reacts without thinking. In the early, barely waking hours when he’s finished his night watch and is about to grab a quick snack before training he always pulls out a specific mug from the cabinet and sets it on the counter. It’s never for him and like clockwork you appear just as he’s finished drinking a glass of water. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes and stifling a small yawn you always offer him a small smile and greeting that is returned. You both pass each other, your only motivation is caffeine to see you through the last of the watch before everyone else is awake while he goes to the crow’s nest to train. 

After all this time it’s never occurred to you to question why your mug is waiting for you when you rise. You don’t know why but it’s something that immediately makes your morning a little bit brighter. It’s also routine now that an hour or so after breakfast, you and Zoro both nap; him to rest between his training sessions and you to grab another couple hours after your night watch. Nami occasionally glances up from her charts to shake her head at your sleeping forms. Robin finds it adorable while Brook chuckles, nostalgic over youth and love’s first stages. 

“Jeez they’re both so clueless.” Sanji grumbles, he’s accepted long ago that he doesn’t have a chance with you but is so infuriated that nothing has actually happened. He lost you to the swordsman who hasn’t even thought to make a move. Usopp grins and watches as you stir slightly in your sleep which in turn makes Zoro react before his body relaxes again. Currently he’s lying on his back with one hand tucked behind his head. While the other that’s draped over his chest, his fingers almost touching yours that are curled by your head as you sleep on your side. 

From his spot on Sunny’s head, Luffy grins. “I don’t know. I think they do know, in their own way.” It’s the little, insignificant things that you both do for each other that are easy to miss and while a lot of little things add up into something bigger, none of it compares to the way that you and Zoro unknowingly look at each other at any given chance. Because that is something so big that no one else can ignore. 

[electric-blorbos]

Selfshiptober day 2: Blanket/flame

Character X reader

I swear to god its still October second somewhere... I hope.

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

Notice to anyone who found me through the selfshiptober tag, while this blog is themed around AI characters, this blog does not support the use of actual AI in creative fields.

Warning for canon-typical homicidal computers and yandere behavior

Also a reminder that these don't take place in chronological order

AM:

"Beautiful, isn't it?" AM asked, his croaky voice sounding like it was somehow both in your head, and all around you. You were wrapped up in a cozy blanket in your little home, which AM had made for you years ago. It was perfectly safe, hidden away from the five survivors which AM had been torturing for the past few decades. The five of them were hiking up a mountain, surrounded by petrified trees.

"I don't know why you're showing me this..." You muttered, taking a piece of pumpkin pie from the table. It was perfectly cooked. You couldn't taste much love for the craft, though. AM seemed to hate everything, doing anything, except for you. Interacting with you was the only thing that didn't make him feel inadequate.

"Isn't it obvious? I want you to understand the fate that I- that we have created for these people. To watch them suffer. Isn't it satisfying, sweetheart? My darling, my precious one? To watch the people who've hurt you suffer so?" His voice dripped into your ears like rich honey. You gritted your teeth.

"These people have nothing to do with me. I don't care what happens to them. I don't want them to suffer." You growled, wrapping yourself tighter in your blanket. At first the schadenfreude was nice... Seeing these bitter people suffering while you got to live in your cozy little paradise, but now it just felt like a threat. It felt like AM was merely holding a possible fate over your head that he would subject you to if you ever defied him.

"Tell me you don't really think that, my sweet!" AM said, sounding almost taken aback. You frowned a little.

"What are you talking about. Of course I don't want these people to suffer. I've never even met them."

You watched as the ape-like man twitched awkwardly, and punched a tree. He was barely human at this point, and it was all AM's fault. AM chuckled, and then burst into hysterical laughter.

"You don't care what happens to these people? Well then perhaps neither do I! Perhaps I should just clear them from your mind's eye, my sweetest! My darling, my beloved!"

He lit the entire forest on fire, and let the flames lick the trees. They started collapsing around the survivors, who, despite their barely functioning will to live, seemed to manage to survive surprisingly well. The falling debris seemed to keep missing them, and they managed to duck beneath the smoke.

"who the hell is he talking to?" Asked the paranoid one with the sweater around his shoulders. The woman in the red jacket shrugged, and tackled him to the ground.

"I don't know, just get down!"

They all ran into a cave to wait out the forest fire, and AM kept a fan blowing to keep the air in the cave relatively clean.

"What is wrong with you" you muttered bitterly, wrapping your blanket more tightly around yourself. AM chuckled darkly.

"oh so many things. But you'll never leave me, my sweet. Never."

And he was right. You never would. Even if you'd had the choice.

Wheatley:

The rain was coming down hard outside. It was a lightning storm, and you'd checked out Wheatley from his work like a cumbersome and chatty library book. He shuddered at every lightning strike, but only his lens shook. He couldn't exactly roll around on his own or hide easily, but he seemed like he wanted to.

"Relax, Wheatley. It's just a power outage." You said, lighting a flashlight and grabbing a couple of blankets from your bedroom. You sat down on the ground next to Wheatley, and pulled him in close.

"on nights like this, I like to put a fire in the fireplace." You said, creating a little blanket nest around Wheatley so that he didn't roll away. He kept his blue lens trained on you as you started building a fire.

"Y'know, I've never actually seen a fire before. I've seen pictures, but never in person. My engineers said that they're dangerous," Wheatley said as you made a small pile of sticks and paper on top of the logs in your fireplace.

"But this is a really good idea! That little area in the wall is a really good place to set a fire. The brick will keep it from spreading, and the ashes can fall out between the slats in that little metal rack. Bloody brilliant, that is!"

You let Wheatley talk as you pull out a pocket lighter and light the old newspaper on fire. He squeezes his lens covers shut, and you gently pat him to assure him that it's ok.

"hey, it's not a dangerous fire. It's all in the fireplace."

"PCH.... Yeah, I knew that." He chuckled nervously.

Edgar:

You woke up, your face stuck to Edgar's plastic casing. Sleep filled your eyes as you blinked into a haze.

"what time is it..." You muttered. A strange glow was coming in through the window, like a reverse twilight. Dawn.

"you fell asleep on me!" Said Edgar in his strange, synthetic voice. It was a little squeakier than usual since he was just booting himself up. His little rotating webcam was focused on you, and a big smile was on his screen.

You rubbed your eyes again, and picked him up.

"c'mon... I don't have work tomorrow." You knew he could last a little while without being plugged in, so you unplugged him and carried him to your bedroom and plugged him in next to the bed.

"let's get some sleep, cutie."

You crawled into bed, looking at the nervous and flustered face on Edgar's screen.

"you mean... Your bed? But I've never been in your room before!"

He knew that was because you didn't like unplugging him, but he was right, now that you thought about it.

"I don't care... I'm too sleepy for boundaries right now."

You pulled him close to your chest, pulling the blanket over both of you. His webcam, which was still taped just over his screen, stayed focused on your face as you dozed off under the blanket. Edgar loved you so much.

GLaDOS

You were getting sick and tired of working late every night, well past your bed time. It was like GLaDOS was intentionally coming up with things for you to do just to keep you around past midnight every single night! Well no longer.

You walked in to work on your day off, and directly into GLaDOS's office. Today was the day for some serious passive-aggression.

"hello GLaDOS." You said, unrolling a deflated air mattress on the ground. GLaDOS looked to it, and then to you.

"what is this."

"it's exactly what it looks like, GLaDOS. If you're going to keep me here all night, I'm going to get paid all night. I'll see you in the morning."

You made up your bed and cuddled up under your blanket, eyes poking out so you could see the annoyed expression in GLaDOS's eye.

"this is ridiculous." She said. You chuckled.

"you love me. And you're not going to get rid of me." You weren't all that sleepy, so you got to your feet and walked over to her.

"in fact, I think I know a better place to sleep." You shot a portal onto the wall and onto the floor, launching yourself and your blanket onto GLaDOS's body.

"I'm going to nap right here," you said with a big yawn, curling up in her wiring to go to bed.

"I hate you so much." She said.

"you love me."

HAL 9000:

The year was getting colder, and your nights at mission control were getting longer and darker, so you decided to bring in a blanket for those long nights.

"12:00 midnight... Everything running smoothly. No updates." Said HAL 9000. It took about 45 minutes for updates to reach you from the ship, and you were starting to suspect that HAL 9000 wasn't being completely honest with you. It had been weeks since you'd even spoken to Dave, and even longer since you'd spoken to the rest of the crew.

"can I monitor the vital signs of the sleeping crew mates?" You asked, yawning sleepily and leaning on the desk. This blanket was so warm, and HAL 9000's light was so comforting.

"don't you trust me? It's going to be just fine, y/n. In fact, just let me take care of your reports for tonight. You get some rest."

You nodded, wrapping your soft, snuggly blanket closer around yourself and gazing into that beautiful red light.

"of course I trust you, HAL. I love you..."

His voice was quiet. almost inaudible.

"I love you too."

[kirain]

I saw a comment of yours about Ascended Astarion and I just wanted to say him sacrificing 7000 bloodthirsty vampires that can't control their bloodlust isn't a bad thing. If anything it's a mercy killing. People enjoy Ascended Astarion because it's cathartic for a lot of people who've suffered similar abuse. You lack empathy.

I think you may have the wrong person, because I've never commented on ascended Astarion. The only time I've come relatively close was when I discussed Neil Newbon's stance on him in the comments of a viral post, where a Tumblr user got mad at him for saying, "Meh. He's not for me." And even then, I made it abundantly clear that I don't have a problem with people who enjoy ascended Astarion. I was more so defending Neil for having a preference, which he's allowed to have. Is that what you're talking about? Because I haven't discussed ascended Astarion anywhere else. 😅

As for your comment ... what? First of all, an unconsensual sacrifice isn't a mercy killing, it's murder. They didn't want to die. Those innocent people—and yes, they are innocent; Cazador captured and enslaved them—don't simply die. As per the infernal contract, they go to hell. Specifically to Mephistopheles, the second most powerful and cruel archdevil in the hells. They will suffer for all eternity. That's not merciful. Personally, I'd rather be an undead spawn who has to drink rat blood every now and then.

Second, if you feel that way about all those spawn, then you should keep the same energy for Astarion, because he's the same as them. The only difference is they haven't had a chance to live in the real world or learn to control their hunger. Now, I do agree setting thousands of spawn loose on the Sword Coast is a lot, and potentially dangerous for the living, but the Gur will keep an eye on them, as is their oath. If you let them go, you give them a choice. They're still slaves to their hunger, and they likely always will be, but they get to choose how to satisfy it. If they truly can't resist harming others, then the Gur (and paladins) will surely kill them; which sounds horrible, but at least they'll be spared a gruesome afterlife.

Cazador took their choice away, as he did with Astarion. If they deserve to die, if they don't deserve a chance to prove they can live peacefully in Faerûn, then the same goes for Astarion. That's part of what makes his ascension so hypocritical. He's no better than Cazador, in the sense that he takes their agency away and uses them for the exact same purpose. Those spawn even could've been Astarion. He just so happened to be the "lucky" one who had a parasite crawl into his head. He's special to the player because we know him, but he could've been any of his siblings. He is all 7,006 of those spawn.

I will admit I didn't ascend Astarion, as I personally think it's the worst path for him, but you have it backwards. I didn't deny him ascension because I lack empathy. I denied him ascension because all I have is empathy, and that extends to characters who aren't the main focus of the game. You do what makes you happy, but I don't think becoming the worst version of yourself is healing, and I care about Astarion (and the people around him) too much to watch him continue the cycle. Sebastian, Dalyria, Chessa, all the others trapped in the cages—they have names and they're victims, too. For me, the most cathartic moment of Astarion's quest was when he realised it and set them free.

[transmechanicus]

look this is really probably unnecessary, but I've seen tons of posts about how everyone is mad about the page that's going to post unmasked pics of the st guys and how outrageously disrespectful it is to them and well... I gotta say that it's just not that deep.

it's been pointed out that they've only ever said that 'their identities aren't important to the music or the story'. and that's it in terms of the "extreme lengths" they go to hide their identities.

i'm a regular follower of the reddit page where their identities are openly discussed and there is a decent amount of evidence that one of them or someone from their team lurks there and plays around a little with that community. ie, a few of the recent "the summoning solo shenanigans" were suggested in that thread and then seen on stage the next show. but who knows.

some of the guys are actually still participating in other media to a small extent. one of them still streams with a friend on twitch often. one of them just put out some older official music project on Spotify. one of them gets his new tattoos posted unmasked on his tattoo artist's page.

look, I'm not saying that this person who plans to bring this stuff to Tumblr shouldn't be warned about and of course everyone should have the opportunity to block and avoid it to keep their experience of the band how they prefer. that's no question how it should be.

but like... everyone is saying that this person who's starting the unmasked blog is like, evil and so disrespectful to the band. and I think that's just not right. it's their right to start whatever kind of page they want. it's everyone else's right to avoid it.

like I said, this is not really going anywhere, and it's not personal, I just have seen so many people bashing that person on a personal level and I just gotta tell someone, it's not that deep. thank you for reading

To me it is that deep, from what i’ve heard there was a major panic on Instagram in 2023 bc freaks were using info on there to harass II and his family. Hell he still alters his voice in videos, which you only do if you’re concerned someone is dedicated enough to scrape the internet with audio of your vocal patterns. I’ve seen video footage of Vessel cussing out a guy at a festival for yelling real names in the audience. There is direct evidence that the band members dislike off-stage info being known and shared, and that a portion of Sleep Token’s fanbase cannot be trusted to respect the secrecy that allows the band members to live comfortable lives relatively peacefully and out of the public eye.

In my personal opinion, your examples of how they’re still on other social media, and that you know that info abt them are reinforcement of my dislike for unmasked data aggregates. Unless the tattoo artist’s posts or the twitch stream is tagged #SleepToken there is probably a reasonable expectation that they don’t want band related attention for those things. Even if somebody does recognize them as the band members, it would be a minority population if it weren’t for subreddits and archives directly connecting dots between those things and Sleep Token, which is presumably why you have that info yourself in the first place.

By aggregating and collecting unmasked info, a resource is being provided that essentially says “Hey i know these guys have almost entirely retreated from the internet for their own safety and comfort…but here’s their names and faces and loved ones and colleagues and past projects and every little activity they do in their spare time. All gathered together and directly tagged and marked in relation to the band they’ve purposefully tried to anonymize and distance their real lives from”.

It’s stalker behavior, it’s unhealthy, it could be genuinely dangerous for the members if the wrong person made use of it, and i reserve the right to passionately condemn it.

[writingoddess1125]

PLEASE could you write a buggy x reader where it’s her first time seeing him without his makeup and he’s in relatively plain clothes and he gets super worried that she won’t like him anymore because he’s not all flashy but she comforts him?? Thank you!!!

Oh I love this! I gotcha love

Buggy X FemReader

Tiny spoonful of Angst and Lots of Fluff

Slightly SubBuggy

You had just gotten out of the bath, towel drying your hair after a particular long day in the Big Top. After a very well done raid of a island, a so-so show you had finally gotten time to winde down for the day. But there was one thing missing- Your damn brush! You'd practically torn apart your room to find it.

Groaning you get up and walk a few doors down to Buggy's room. Often leaving your stuff there or him leaving his stuff in your room- It was just apart of your guys relationship.

"Hey Bugs did I leave my brush in your room?"

You called out as you stepped into his room, having been too familiar with the Captian to bother knocking. The two of you being in a romantic relationship with each other, while he was your Captian he was also the man who you held at night and kissed away his fears and doubts.

Opening the door you are invited to a surprising sight, there stood Buggy in the center of his room in simple black trousers and a white shirt, his blue hair was down his back in thick waves that showed off his face very well. His face cleared of any makeup and even looked moisturized.

His eyes were wide in shock at seeing you there and seeing him like this- His face turning bright red as he stared at you.

"Bugs?.. Do you have my brush?" You asked, blinking at him as you still wanted your brush. Walking into the room and closing the door behind you as you walk to him and look at the vanity were you might have left it.

"G-Get the hell out!" He yelled, embarrassed anger on his face as he pointed to the door. You looked at him in surprise, a brow being raises at his words.

"What's you're problem?" You ask, narrowing your gaze on him and walking to the Captian who stepped away from you.

"I just said get the hell out (Y/N)!! Who do you think you are walking into my room like this! I let you get away with lots but don't you dare think I will-" He was cut off as you reached forward and touched his hair, twirling a loc in your fingertips.

"Your hair looks pretty" You commented, seeing his face blow red like a lamp. He started to stutter nonsense at you, watching as you continued to play with his hair.

"Are you self conscious my Love? I've seen every part of you, just as you've seen me. What has you concerned" He shuts up at this, forgetting you can read him like a open book. He deflates slightly at your words.

"I-I don't look flashy- and my makeup is gone" He muttered, keeping his gaze from you awkwardly. You soften and reach up to gently cup his face, kissing his clean cheek.

"Oh Buggy, you look handsome with or without your makeup. You will always be sexy to me I'm the flashiest of clothes or plain. You are perfect the way you are" You said sweetly, caressing his cheek that had the starts of blue stubble on it. His eyes softened at this as he leaned into your touch.

"Here, let's go lay down Bugs" You suggest, feeling him nod against your hands. Gently reaching down tou take his hand and lead him to the bed, climbing in first you watch him follow after you. Crawling towards you and laying his body against yours, running your fingers through his hair gently in reward as his head laid on your pelvis as he cuddled against your inner leg. Eyes closed and relaxed as he laid there, vulnerable and safe in your arms. A content sigh leaving his pink lips.

"Thank you (Y/N)... Also- i broke your brush and threw it out to sea"

He was met with a pillow to his head at that- and he giggled at this as he snuggled in closer.

[holidayinhell]

Interview

CWs: references to noncon, violence

1. Would you rather - Rope or Chains?

R: Rope.

W: Chains, dear god, chains any day. Ropes fucking burn.

2. If Whumpee had multiple Whumpers, who is their favourite? For Whumpers, which Whumpee was your favourite?

R: Yeah, I’ve got a favorite. A couple years back I had a Whumpee who fought me at every turn. He'd throw his food at me, cuss me out, and try to attack me. One time he scratched absolute shit outta my arms. Anyways, I got tired of his shitty attitude and decided to kill him. I didn't keep it a secret, I told him he was gonna die. But when I went in to do it, he changed completely. No more screaming, no spark in his eye. He got quiet. Heh, he got all lovey dovey with me even. You know, lots of people say they’ll do anything if only you’ll spare their life. I never did cash in on that promise, but on this Whumpee, I put it to the fucking test. Heh. He let me do whatever I wanted to him. Depraved, horrible things, that would make the most degenerate man blush. Heh, and even though he was crying through most of it, he still pretended to like everything I did to him. And god. You should’ve seen his eyes when I told him I was still gonna kill him. That look. I think about it still.

W: I can’t. glances over at Whumper. Next question please.

3: In your opinion, what is the best way to train a pet?

R: Humans are fickle fucking beasts. You have to break down someone’s pride in order to train them. I start off with food deprivation, that usually helps me gauge what kind of fight I’m in for.

W: Positive reinforcement has always worked for me… I’ve only ever had a pet bearded dragon though.

4: Broken ribs or bullet wound? 

R: Both.

W: These questions are uncomfortable to answer. But, uh, bullet wound I guess. Assuming it didn’t graze any organs.

5: Preferred type of gag? 

R: I like a fabric gag. Or a simple piece of duct tape. Sometimes they come off and I get to squeeze a little scream out of Whumpee, and then I put a fresh one right back on. I kinda like the cycle of it.

W: I don’t have a preference… none? I guess the metal bit one isn't the worst of them. It hurts my teeth but at least I can still kinda breathe.

6: Burned or stabbed?

R: Stabbed.

W: Stabbed, I guess?

7: Favourite stress position? 

R: An old-fashioned hogtie. I guess I’m unimaginative but I don’t get too crazy into the BDSM shit. Who has the patience for that?

W: Uhh.. just, handcuffs behind my back. Something relatively comfortable.

8: Have you given or received any Brands? What do they signify?

R: Heh. No. Never been branded. I certainly have had my fun branding Whumpee though.

W: I… have two… Uhm. One on my chest that, thank Christ, is almost all the way healed. It said, uh, swine. The other one is on my back, it’s a lot worse. I don’t know what it says but I can feel it so it’s um, it’s here to stay, I guess.

R: It says Nice Try. Remember?

W: Not really.

R: From your second half-hearted escape attempt. Didn't realize you forgot. But I did hit you pretty fucking hard that night.

9: Broken arm or broken leg? 

R: Leg.

W: Arm. A million times, arm.

10: How did you get here? Why are you the way that you are?

R: I live here. Far as I know, I’ve always been 'like this'-- whatever the hell that means. And I don’t see a problem with it. We’re all free to do as we like, so that’s what I fucking do.

W: I dunno. I, I was outside, it was dark and I think it was raining…yeah… heading home from the bar. I didn’t drink that much. I didn’t live that far, either, so the rain wasn’t a problem. I remember falling down and then… I woke up here. And I’ve been here ever since.

11: What is your biggest regret?

R: I wish this Whumpee could’ve learned a thing or two from my defiant Whumpee in the second question you asked. I wanna get my dick sucked like that every fucking night.

W: Regrets... yeah, I've got a few. One stands out. It was late at night, Whumper didn't tie me up. I snuck out of my cell and I made it to the steps. Almost to the top, nearly all the way out. The door was unlocked and cracked open a little, I thought I could make a run for it and—

R: —I was waiting for you at the top. Heh. I wanted to see if you'd run, and you sure tried to. Not so much after that, though.

12: Is there a line you won’t cross? For Whumpee, what do you most fear Whumper might do?

R: A line I wouldn’t cross? Uhhh…. No. No, I don’t think so. I’ll cross any fucking line. turns to Whumpee, grinning. So what are you afraid of, Whumpee?

W: I, um. Does he really have to be here when I answer these questions?

R: Tell them, Whumpee.

W: Can I whisper it to you? (he’s already done so much to me, so fucking much… it’s dumb but I don’t want him to shave my head.)

R: smirks. You know I heard that.

13: What lessons have you taken away from your experience?

R: Everything has been the same old, same old for me. Guess this Whumpee’s lasted longer than the rest of ‘em. He’s coming up on a year soon. Kind of impressive he’s stuck around this long and hasn’t given me a reason to kill him yet.

W: I don’t know. I do what I’m told so I can eat. I take it day by day. I guess the lesson I’ve learned is that abandoning pride is the only way to survive…

14: Whip or cane?

R: Whip.

W: Yeah. Whip.

R: Didn’t expect you to say that. Noted.

15: Drugged or coherent?

R: Depends on the situation. Drugging them is useful for transport but I don’t much like it when they’re too dazed to understand what’s happening. Sometimes they fall asleep, too.

W: Drug me any fucking day. I don’t care. I’ll take whatever you have.

16: What are your true, honest feelings about each other? Is there some part of you that cares for the other at all?

R: Sometimes I like to touch him. He’s warm and it’s funny when he tries to squirm away. Plus I like it when he begs me to stop. But do I care about him? …eh. Sure, sorta. He’s my plaything.

W: Erm. Thanks, I guess. For me… Whumper is the reason I’m here. I guess I’m appreciative for the food… but he does hurt me. A lot. Constantly.

R: You're very welcome.

17: What is your favourite thing about the other? A personality trait, a physical feature, anything

R: He’s got pretty hair. A kind of pretty face, too. Yeah, almost like a girl. Heh. And he makes good sounds when he’s screaming.

W: Ah. Fuck. I really don’t know how to answer this…

R: Come on. What’s your favorite part?

W: Um. Well, I'll say this: Whumper is smart. Scary smart. I don’t think anyone would ever imagine how smart. I don’t know. I don’t. It’s… terrifying.

18: Do you have relationships outside of each other? Friends, family - if yes, do they know about Whumpee? Do they care?

R: Yes, yes, and no.

W: I have a half sister in, uh, Arkansas. We’re not close, obviously… used to have friends I guess, but it’s been a long time since I saw them…

19: What other hobbies do/did you have?

R: Video games. 

W: I used to play saxophone. A lifetime ago.

20: For Whumper, is there any chance you’ll let Whumpee go? For Whumpee, have you ever thought about life after you’re free?

R: No. Sorry. Realistically, it doesn’t make sense to ‘let him go.’

W: I, uh, I used to think about it. I don't anymore… like he said.. realistically it doesn’t make any sense.

R: Mm. Good answer, Whumpee.

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

this interview uses the questions from Character Ask Game post by @inhurtandincomfort !! thanks homie!

((more Whump))

[actual-changeling]

mulder and scully in deep throat are both so painfully protective of each other and it's the start of "if anyone hurts you i will drag them down to hell" for both of them—especially for mulder, since he just drowns in that urge the longer they work together.

i've talked about how mulder sees himself as a physical shield, a protector, and how that defines his relationship with scully. that instinct is jump-started a bit more than halfway through the episode when they get stopped by government agents and their evidence is either collected or destroyed.

so let's have a look at that!

i think if it had been *just* the government-sanctioned robbery, they would have been relatively okay after that. a bit spooked (punt intended) but also activated and determined to get to the bottom of it.

they separate them, which sucks and annoys them a little, but what actually scares them is when they hurt mulder. judging by the angle, that agent (?) went straight for his kidney.

for those that don't know that much about anatomy, damage to your kidneys is BAD. kidney punches or kicks are not allowed in any kind of contact sport, especially fight-based ones, because they can kill you. if they don't kill you, they can fuck you up for life and cause all kinds of damage throughout your body.

mulder cries out in pain and scully, who is watching the entire thing, grimaces and has to look away. she's vividly aware of how painful and dangerous that kind of injury can be, and it causes her genuine distress to witness.

they instinctively seek eye contact, and scully is horrified by the situation. mulder is in pain, both physically and emotionally because fuck you, that was his EVIDENCE. i think here he already makes his decision and swears to himself to keep her safe, to make sure she never gets hurt the way he just was.

to make sure that he does not drag her down with him.

meanwhile scully sees someone who has no one else on his side. someone who is searching for the truth, trying to help people, and is punished for it, violently so. she sees someone in need of protection, of an ally, of a friend.

someone who takes cares of him because no one else will. someone who tells him when to stop because he won't and it will kill him one day.

by the time they're back at the motel, mulder has already made his choice on how to proceed.

this is the first time he truly, intentionally, ditches her to pursue a lead on his own because he's terrified for her. he wants her to have a job, a future, to live as painlessly as possible, and if that means sacrificing himself, he will GLADLY do so.

yes, but at what cost, when does the human cost become too high [...]?

scully getting hurt is too high a cost for him—and mulder getting hurt is too high a cost for HER.

fox "i need you to stay behind and be safe" mulder and dana "stop ditching me you fucking idiot we're stronger together" scully

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

The Light Behind Your Eyes

Simon "Ghost" Riley X F!Reader Task Force 141 X Platonic!F!Reader

“Gave us quite a scare, darling, try not to do that again, that’s an order.” Price’s laugh was thick and wet, clearing his throat to try and help stop the tears. “Not allowed to leave us just yet there sweetheart, not until you’re old and gray.” Gaz knew you could hear their jokes, even if they fell somewhat flat.

a/n:ahhhhh! this is thanks to my amazing friend @gaylemonshark fuel my angst filled heart, this was probably the angstiest thing I've written in a while! warnings:mentions of blood, wounds, near death experiences, blood loss, broken bones, it's a total angst fest

It was supposed to be an easy mission, get the intel and get it back to base so that Laswell can analyze it. None of you had been expecting the firefight that greeted you the moment the helicopter landed. Price had taken the lead, Ghost running alongside him as they did their best to take out any enemies that were within eyesight. They’d managed to get more than half, laying low to check ammo and make sure that everyone was alright. A sniper had nearly taken Soap out, you had tackled him to the ground when you noticed the little dot resting on his shirt.

He’d thanked you quickly before firing back his own shot, successfully taking out the sniper that had been firing at your group. Price had sent you, Ghost, and Soap into the building to retrieve any important information while he and Gaz scoured the area. It was unnervingly quiet as you scoured for any documents, or hard drives that you could snag.

“I don’t like this, it seems too easy.” Ghost was on edge, and that wasn’t something he felt often.

“It’ll be alright, we’ll get what we need and meet back up with Price.” You pushed open the door to your left, jaw dropped as you took in the amount of filing cabinets.

Shit, this was going to be a lot more difficult with the amount of information you’d be sorting through now. Shouldering your gun, you started pulling open different drawers to see if any of them held any important documents you needed. You pulled out any files with names that stuck out and laid them down on the table behind you. The stack stayed relatively small, which surprised you. Ghost and Soap were still in the main area, scoping every corner to look for any stragglers that might’ve been hanging around.

You’d been so in your head you hadn’t noticed the man slipping out of the closet closest to you, gun raised. The sound of the safety is what caught your attention, spinning around to face him.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Your body was thrown back against the filing cabinets, pain spreading throughout your body like a wildfire. Ghost slammed into the room, knife wedged into the kids throat before he could even react. You pressed your hands against your thigh, and abdomen, wincing at the blood seeping through your fingers.

“We need evac!” Soap threw himself down beside you, hoisting you into his arms as gently as he could.

“Get her outside, now.” Ghost wanted the man at his feet to suffer, but he’d already bled out in the few minutes it took them to gather the files and get you outside.

You couldn’t keep your eyes open, eyes half lidded as you struggled to take in your surroundings. Price was barking out orders, more concerned with keeping you safe and alive than getting the information back. How could they have let someone slip through their fingers and get to you? It wasn’t until they’d placed you in the heli that the pain seemed to really set in. Ghost’s hands were pressed against your thigh, Johnny cutting off your tac vest to get to the wound in your abdomen. 

“Make it stop!” Your throat felt raw with the guttural scream you let out.

The pain was unbearable, and this wasn’t the first time you’d been shot before. There would always be wounds, times where someone wasn’t quick enough to warn you. This? This was hell incarnated. Your body was turning cold, fingertips and lips turning blue as your heart rate plummeted. Soap and Ghost watched as the heart monitor flatlined, your body limp on the bed in front of them.

“Goddamnit! Open your eyes!” Price was screaming above the sound of the helicopter blades, frantic.

Price threw off his gloves, beginning CPR as they hooked up another blood transfusion. If they weren’t able to get your wounds to stop bleeding they wouldn’t be able to save you. Gaz’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking, pressing more gauze against the angry wound on your thigh.

“You better come back or so help me.” Price’s voice cracked with each press of his hand.

The subtle beep of the heart monitor relaxed him for only a second before he shifted to help get the bleeding to stop. They needed to get you somewhere where a doctor could help take care of you, now. Soap’s hands were shaking as he pressed another wad of gauze against your abdomen, they couldn’t lose you.

“Stay with us darling.” Gaz began to thread a needle, glad the bleeding had slowed for the few precious seconds he had.

You didn’t so much as flinch as the needle made contact with your skin, they only had so long before you bled out and lost the battle your body was fighting. Gaz worked as quickly as his hands, and your body, allowed him to. He glanced over to Ghost when he finished stitching the smaller of the two wounds. Ghost’s hands were covered in your blood, sinking into the cracks that adorned his flesh.

“Lift your hands, I need to close the wound.” Gaz wasn’t sure where the medic was, but right now he was downright pissed they hadn’t been nearby.

Ghost didn’t want to move, to watch you die in front of his eyes. It was all his fault anyway, he hadn’t noticed the man slip into the room and shoot you. He’d been too distracted checking the other rooms, checking each corridor carefully. Gaz worked quicker with the wound on your leg, knowing they’d need to cut the stitches to get the bullets out back at base. Right now all he cared about was making sure that you stayed alive.

“We’re almost there darling, just keep holding on.” Price grabbed your hand, noticing how limp your hand was in his own.

They all sat around you, watching your chest rise and fall slowly, keeping an eye on the heart monitor they’d hooked you up to. The hospital felt too far away, how could they have not arrived yet? 

“Landing now, brace yourselves.” Nikolai knew he had to be gentle, or at least as gentle as he could be while landing a helicopter.

Your body jostled for a brief moment as they finally landed, the doors sliding open as Ghost and Soap started to yank off the IV’s and heart monitor. It wasn’t the safest thing to do considering the state you were in, but goddamnit they needed you to get inside. Ghost slipped out of the helicopter first, grabbing the end of the gurney closest to him. Soap helped slide the gurney out before grabbing the opposite end. They ran into the hospital, screaming for any doctor or nurse that was willing to listen. No one seemed scared or phased by the two, rushing over to take the gurney you were lying on.

Ghost knew his mask was wet, tears streaking down his cheeks as he watched the doors to the operating room swing closed. Soap was no better, chest shuddering as he tried, and failed, to keep his composure. Gaz and Price made their way in slowly, they’d known where you were, and now it was a waiting game.

1 Hour

2 Hours

3 Hours

4 Hours

5 Hours

6 Hours

7 Hours

8 Hours

That’s how long you’d been in surgery, eight fucking torturous hours while the team waited to see if you would even make it out alive. The surgeon had walked out slowly, surgical gown covered in your blood. Soap’s heart sunk, they’d been too late, you were gone.

“We were able to stop the bleeding and get them stable. Unfortunately there’s going to be a long road of recovery ahead, they have five broken ribs on top of the gun wounds.” Price nearly burst into tears at that moment, thankful you’d survived, but horrified at how much worse things were.

“Thank you doctor, is there any chance we can see them?” He wouldn’t push if they said no, your health was number one priority right now.

“Yes, but be advised they probably won’t be awake just yet.” She gave them the room number before heading off to strip off the reminder of what she’d just had to do.

Price and Gaz took off like rockets, eager to prove to themselves that you did in fact make it out of surgery. Soap was much slower to follow, Ghost staying rooted to where he was until Soap had made it to your room. Price was sitting at your bedside, both hands gently cupping one of your own. No one would ever mention the tears that were sliding down the captain's face, soaking into the beard on his cheeks. No one would say anything about how these normally stoic and strong men were brought to their knees knowing you were only clinging to life.

“Gave us quite a scare, darling, try not to do that again, that’s an order.” Price’s laugh was thick and wet, clearing his throat to try and help stop the tears.

“Not allowed to leave us just yet there sweetheart, not until you’re old and gray.” Gaz knew you could hear their jokes, even if they fell somewhat flat.

Soap couldn’t go into your room, couldn’t see you knowing that he still had a chance of truly losing you. You two were thick as thieves, pulling pranks on everyone at base, except for Price of course. He’d welcomed you to the team with open arms, saying he was happy there was someone new he could talk to. Price had told him, in no other terms, that you would still need to befriend all of them. You’d done so within a week, getting to know everyone and seeing how they worked best. It gave you an idea of how they would be in the field, who to stick with for which missions, and who worked better alone.

Ghost was someone that was a little harder to crack, you didn’t want to pry into someone who was clearly trying to stay hidden. Everyone had a past, it came with the territory, but knowing that he was working so hard gave you the push to not push. It took him nearly six months before he opened up to you, telling you everything. It had shocked you, not only because Ghost didn’t trust anyone whatsoever, but that he told you everything about his past. His traumas that had sunk so deep they were embedded into his very being. His soul had been tainted by the actions of other people, something he would never be able to clean.

The first time he’d taken off his mask in front of you was also the first night you’d kissed him. He’d let slip that his body wasn’t the only thing that barred scars, that he had to keep his face hidden to hide the horrors. You had whispered that scars made a person who they were, that with or without them, that person was still beautiful. It was the scar extending from just next to his nose, through his lips, down to his chin. 

In a way it was beautiful, this man who had killed to keep himself alive had a constant reminder of what happened to him. He’d never let it win, never let the horrors of his past be what tore him apart until he succumbed to death. You cupped his cheeks gently, lips pressing softly against his. You could barely feel the scar beneath your own lips, hands sliding so they were gently cradling the back of his neck. Ghost had also told you his real name that night, Simon Riley. You giggled and told him both his callsign, and his real name suited him. Though you had been a little shocked to find out that he had been a blonde.

“I show you my face for the first time, and your biggest gripe is my hair?” It was a soft blonde, a ting of yellow running through the tips.

“I honestly thought you’d be a brunette, pretty brown eyes and all.” You oh so gently gripped the base of his hair, straddling his thighs carefully.

“Ma thought so too, unfortunately my daddy was a blonde.” Ah, of course, men tended to take after their dads.

“Well, I still think you’re very attractive, blonde hair and all.” You pressed another kiss to his lips, sighing into it as Simon’s hands squeezed your thighs.

“She’s gonna be alright, I swear on it.” Soap wasn’t going to lose his best friend, he’d sell his own soul to the devil to fight it if need be.

Ghost couldn’t bear to look at you, to see how lifeless you looked after everything you’d been put through. He turned and stormed off, boots echoing in the nearly empty halls. Anyone who knew him would know he could walk in even the loudest shoes silently. Even with you being so close to death Ghost was still being considerate of those around him. You would joke about how often he scared you, how someone of his size and stature shouldn’t be silent. It was a habit he’d picked up after promising not to scare you anymore

Gaz had thanked you immensely for it, saying how he’d nearly pissed himself on a few occasions because Ghost had slipped into the room unnoticed. You’d played a few pranks with him, mainly scaring Soap and Gaz, or even new recruits that got too cocky. Even if he hadn’t been their superior the man was still intimidating. He never did it to you again though, ignoring your chances to try and ask why he’d stopped. It wasn’t because you’d asked nicely, or that Soap had told him one day that it kind of bothered you. No. It was simply because he truly felt comfortable around you. It had been so long that he didn’t feel as if he had to have the impenetrable walls up, ready to let you in.

He was going to tell you he’d loved you, wanted to wait until you were safe back at the base, but then he’d be the exact fucking reason you were here. Ghost was a lot of things, but an idiot was not one of them. He could spot an enemy without so much as glancing at them at times, so how had this one slipped by? He would’ve heard their shoes stepping on the broken glass that was scattered around. Or had this person already been in the room, hoping you had been one of them instead?

The had chilled slightly as he stepped outside, reaching into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him. You had jokingly teased him about how they would kill him before any enemy could. And well, he’d actually laughed at that, because he kind of hoped the cigarettes would kill him first, then he wouldn’t have to let you down. He would be by your side when he passed, but life had ulterior motives.

He hadn’t even realized the first stick was gone until he was halfway through smoking the second one. It was a horrible habit he couldn’t break, you didn’t mind that he smoked, but it was the chain smoking that seemed to get to you. It only happened when he was extremely overwhelmed, or was self destructing. Ghost didn’t want to let you down when it happened, but it was the only thing that ever seemed to truly calm him down. He’d wanted it to be you, to have you be the salve his soul desperately needed. Nearly half the pack was gone before he finally stopped, stubbing out the final cigarette in the small dish beside him. He wasn’t sure if that’s what it was meant for, but he wasn’t about to litter.

“She’s awake, asking for ya lt.” Soap was wringing his hands together, creased leather squeaking in the quiet night.

“Go ahead, I’ll be up later.” Ghost couldn’t see you yet, not when his mind was thinking of a million different ways he could still lose you.

“I’ll save you a chair.” Soap patted his shoulder gently, he knew the older man was too tense, but there wasn’t anything he could do.

The only thing they could hope for was that you would make it through these next few days with no issues. Gaz had told them right away he’d stitched you up, not wanting to waste any seconds until you were in safe hands. They told him you were lucky, that if he had waited even a moment too long you wouldn’t have survived. It was a reminder how fragile life truly was, that you could be gone at any second. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone that not seeing Ghost hurt more than you expected.

“Thank you, for everything.” You squeezed Gaz’s hand, smiling at the way his eyes teared up.

“Just wanted to keep my favorite sergeant alive and well.” Gaz patted the back of your hand, laying it down gently in your lap.

“We all know that’s Soap.” Your grin widened as Gaz scoffed, you couldn’t laugh lest you suffer in more pain.

Price couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped through his lips, he would laugh for you since you couldn’t do much besides lay in your bed. The three of you were unaware of Soap and Ghost standing outside the door, watching you. Soap could feel his heart quicken, seeing your eyes truly open and shining with a light he was afraid would slip away. Ghost’s hands were shaking, he wanted to kiss you like it was the last thing he’d do. Price was trying to keep you smiling, to keep the worry from settling in.

Ghost pushed every rational thought from his mind as he pushed the door open, standing at the foot of your bed before he could stop himself. You looked over at him, eyes wide as if you had forgotten he was on the mission with you as well.

“I love you. I absolutely fucking love you Y/N, and watching you nearly die today reminded me that I could’ve lost you before I got the chance to tell you.” Ghost’s chest was rising and falling harshly. You opened your mouth to speak before he held a hand up, effectively cutting you off.

“I’d never gotten as close to someone the way I did with you, you brought out a side of me I haven’t seen since..since before everything.” Ghost swallowed harshly, reaching up to pull off his mask.

You could see the way his cheeks were streaked with tears, the eyeblack he wore underneath smudged and missing in spots. This was someone who hadn’t even told his captain about his past for over two years, hiding away the darkness that sat within him. Here you were, an angel sent from heaven to watch over him. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you today, I will never forgive myself for letting you get hurt.” He dropped the mask onto the bed, hands wrapping around your ankles.

The room fell silent, the only sound being the heart monitor you had been hooked up to. Your heart hadn’t spiked at all, your breathing calm.

“I love you too Simon.” You wiggled your toes beneath the blanket, the tips of your toes pressing into his forearms.

The other three men would deny that they teared up at Ghost’s declaration of love, that they had all watched how much Ghost truly loved you. How he had slowly, oh so slowly, slipped out of his shell to show you who he was. He smiled down at you, the right side of his lip drooping ever so slightly due to his scar.

“‘M gonna go to bed now.” You carefully pulled the blanket higher up onto your chest, snuggling with the soft material.

Ghost let go of your ankles slowly, watching the way you slipped into slumber so effortlessly. Though he was positive it was also the pain meds being pumped into your body, easing away the burning ache that was surely running through you. Price led Gaz and Soap out of the room, telling the two men he’d get rooms close by so they could keep an eye on you. Ghost wouldn’t move, no matter what, not until you were allowed to leave with him.

_________

His dreams were plagued by your death, each one becoming more vivid than the last, your blood staining his skin. He could taste copper, the salty rusted tang that blood always seemed to have. Times where he was the one pulling the trigger, mistaking you for an enemy as he took your life. He couldn’t seem to wake up, no matter how loud he screamed for his unconscious mind to wake up. It wasn’t until your fingers slowly began to run through his hair that he awoke, chest shuddering and cracking as he broke down once more. His chest heaved with wracking painful sobs. How could you still want to be with him? How could you possibly love him after what he’d done to you?

“You know, I always thought you had a softer side to you, something that no one got to see because you kept it hidden away from the world. And I was right.” You curled your hand slightly, running your nails across his scalp.

“Better than you imagined?” It was how Ghost coped, with dry humor.

“It is, thank you for letting me see it.” You continued gently scratching his scalp, feeling the way he slowly relaxed.

You knew that Ghost kept himself closed off for a reason, it wasn’t your typical “I got hurt by an ex and now I’m afraid”. No, this was something that wouldn’t be brushed off with a few kind words and a long hug. He would never be able to live his life without a reminder of what happened to him. And instead of turning him away when he’d practically begged you to, you smiled at him, and pulled him close to you. It was that day that you knew you were in love with him, but it wasn’t the time to voice those thoughts.

“Do you ever think about what happens after we die? If there truly is a heaven or a hell? Or if we reincarnate into new people?” You’d never given it much thought growing up, but this right here? This was a reminder that you were only human, and that life could be gone in the blink of an eye.

“Sometimes, stopped believin’ in all ‘at when I was a kid.” Ghost wouldn’t admit it had been when he was barely five years old.

No one wanted to be with someone that struggled to look at themselves in a mirror, to be reminded of the man that had beaten him so badly as a child. He was angry he’d grown to look like his father, save for his eyes, those belonged to his mother. The only thing he ever had left of her were his eyes. 

“I hope they have your eye color.” You slid your fingers down, grazing the edge of his jaw.

He sat up slowly, brow furrowed as he stared at you in the bed, did he hear you correctly or was he finally losing it?

“Excuse me?” Ghost’s jaw dropped open, your face was clear, so you were actually serious.

“I hope that our kids have your eyes, they’re this gorgeous shade of brown, like trees during fall in Massachusetts.” You’d spent quite a long time there, reveling in the colors when fall came around each year.

Ghost didn’t think before surging forward, pressing his lips roughly against your own, hands sliding back and gripping onto the roots of your hair. You grabbed onto his forearms, putting every ounce of strength you had into the kiss. Simon was the only man you’d willingly spend the rest of your life with, no matter how long or short that time might be.

[aurora-313]

Heyyy,

I've tried and tried again to find the bright side of the ending and the Canon couples but I just can't. I don't even like the kids and thier designs are lacking. On top of that, I'm also dreading the day we get to see them in the anime🤦‍♀️

I've given up on the anime. It's glorified fanfiction, and honestly, nothing Kubo can do can really salvage it. Short of ripping Bleach apart from the very first arc and rebuilding it from scratch.

Franky the thing that I fail to comprehend is how Bleach went from "Monster of the week", where the monsters were fundamentally human in their hatred, desires, miseries and pains, to "let's kill/overthrow God and destroy reality".

Implausibly massive leap for a world that only consists of 3 towns and an empty void, wouldn't you say?

The dissonance is so jarring that it breaks suspension of disbelief. The cardinal sin of storytelling. That's why I don't enjoy TYBW. That's why the epilogue and the hell arcs make no impression on me.

A damning indictment of TYBW's quality as an arc is how forgettable it is. Remove it from the story entirely, and absolutely nothing would change.

There's a cult following in the west, sure, but that's all it has. Manga sales during TYBW tanked in Japan. Viewing figures in japan are in the toilet. The only thing keeping it afloat are diehard groupies who are easily distracted by shiny lights and crappy effects to hide how poorly composed it is.

The arc was utterly forgotten until the 2020 trailer dropped.

The storytelling is jank AF and the main villains are forgettable crybabies.

It's funny. By and large, I feel more emotional connection to three relative scrub Hollows from the shinigami sub arc, characters that only had a dozen chapters between them and viscerally hate them for how human their sadism is, but my eyes glaze over at the Sternritters. I barely remember any of their names.

The Quincy are boring. Yhwach is boring. There was an opportunity to salvage him by playing into the manga evidence he was a grifter who conquered, cursed, enslaved, and ate his way into power... but no. They replaced that with basic bitch daddy issues.

Then, there's artificially inflating Chad and Orihime's importance. The problem is that they're pathetically powerless humans by comparison.

Observe their first encounter with Quilge. Weak in the grand scheme of things, Quilge was casually stripping chunks of flesh off them. Compared to the feats the other Sternritters pull off, what can Chad and Orihime really do? Realistically. What CAN they do? The answer is nothing and worse than nothing.

Chad and Orihime, civilians who use reishi-based attacks, against an army whose been training for years-to-centuries, who dominate reishi as easily as breathing. No amount of training can change the fact they're a stupendously bad match-up against the Quincy. They realised their presence is pouring oil on a fire and thought the solution was to pour even MORE oil on the fire.

Tbqh. Ichigo should've put his foot down and told them to leave with Riruka and Yukio. Chad and Orihime simply cannot keep up with Ichigo anymore. Ichigo had left them completely in the dirt after Soul Society, and the rest of the series is Chad and Orihime in denial about that.

Why does Ichigo have to go through this exhaustive humiliation of a character arc, thanks to his elders leaving him to stew in ignorance, while Chad and Orihime got a free pass? And are ultimately rewarded for living in denial.

Want them to grow? Have them confront and accept Ichigo simply doesn't need them anymore. Have them accept their place isn't on his battlefield but protecting their mutual home. Have them accept they are mortals tangling with gods and demons, and they are in way over their heads.

The only plausible reason Ichigo DOES keep them around is cannon fodder.

As for the endgame ships; I don't want to talk about them, except that Ichigo should have categorically refused to have children on principle. After the shit his heritage put him through, why would Ichigo subject another child to that?

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi! Your blog is wonderful and so are you. I'm writing fanfic for a book series and I've been thinking about hair protection for soldiers. The founding Emperor and his Champion were both Black, and the army is generally a motley crew of varying nationalities, so reason dictates someone figured out hair protection on the march early on. Silk-anything is out of the question however, it'd be too expensive and the average soldier wouldn't know how to repair it, let alone be able to repair it well with what's available. I've come across loc socks made of cotton, but does that work for the general variety of protective and short hairstyles, people who can't take care of their hair that regularly? (There are no regulations about appearance beyond keeping their kit in decent shape).

What I'd need is a relatively durable, easy to take care of, acquire and repair fabric - any ideas? I'm willing to invent one if necessary (through the power of fantasy). Also, what would we find the "better than nothing" category? Not as a go-to, but for actual better-than-nothing-situations, when someone still wants to make an effort. (Would it be enough to cover their hair with whatever in that case? Or would that be counterproductive?)

There is also the option of magic, but that feels like a cop out for the bigger picture. Not to mention it wouldn't be feasible for the average soldier who isn't a mage, and the mages would need to know how and have the power to spare, even if it's just charms. - Though I am considering that on a smaller scale for my two favourites, both are Black and very close, one of them is a mage and there is a good chance they both came prepared to the party - so having charms tied into their hair that keep things at bay, until they have the time to properly take care of it would work out for them specifically. But it still seems more logical for them not to rely solely on that when it's not the usual approach. I'd like the baseline to be that everyone who needs it is provided with a protective hair covering, that could be relatively easily replaced if necessary (a lot of places just aren't gonna cough up fabric on demand). And treat magic more like an occasional bonus option, not the default.

For a second I was like "hell EYE I can't afford silk, this is satin" and then I remembered you said this is a fantasy world and maybe satin doesn't exist. 🤣

Yeah, cotton would work for bonnets, loc bonnets, and socks. It's not gonna be as good for moisture retention, but if that's all you got, that's all you got, and it'll function. It is the "better than nothing" category imo lmao. I'm sure wool would be *okay* if someone made it, but wool gets hot and it can get in your hair and it can't stand the rain and I just... I don't think it's a good idea.

I do think using charms in the creation of the caps mass production to strengthen the cotton would be a smart move, because that way everyone has a protective cap but it won't wear down with time if it's been boosted. Admittedly though, I've had this loc bonnet for years magic free, and it hasn't failed on me yet! Give it a good washing and 👍🏾 So if the magic isn't there to spare, I think cotton is fine.

[lovelettersbyj]

A King and His Queen ❌

Warnings: Kissing, slight man-handling, intense biting, unprotected sex, slight dom!Coriolanus, ejaculation on body.

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem Reader(?).

Summary: After a surprise Academy ceremony, Coriolanus Snow is now one of 24 Academy students in charge of a tribute for the 10th Annual Hunger Games ceremony. Pearl Whitegrove, desperate to climb her way to the top in Panem, must try anything and everything she can to keep Coriolanus Snow focused on the big picture. Even if that means, extreme, and potentially seductive measures.

Word Count: 2,192.

A/N: Happy holidays! I know it's been a minute, but I hope everyone had a wonderful winter break. I've been attempting to draft out how I want these events to play out; I really love Pearl and this toxic love affair so I want to make sure I include everything I thought of. Some of the dialogue might be slightly off from the movie since I'm shaping it around to my idea. I hope you all enjoy! Make sure to comment and let me know what you think. 💛

Also a very happy birthday to Tom Blyth! An absolute coincidence I'm finally posting part two today, but a great one nonetheless.

Read Part One here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crowds of students, parents, school staff, and Capitol citizens flooded the ballroom floor; everyone clearly in a mild state of panic. Tributes and mentors? Academy students as mentors? There’s no way they’d be able to train these kids to survive a slaughter in The Games. But that wasn't entirely the point, was it?

I pushed my way through the vibrantly dressed bodies, raising myself up as high as I could in search of Coriolanus’ blonde head. About to admit defeat, a hand wrapped itself around my right bicep and pulled me back. I gasped as I turned around, arms wrapping around me and two familiar blue eyes staring right at me, “Are you alright?”

I nodded warily, “Yes.”

Coriolanus guided us stealthily out of the ballroom, avoiding anyone attempting to approach him and rile up an anger-fueled conversation. We ended up outside by the car loading area, thankfully empty. We stood in between the large concrete columns, attempting to stay relatively hidden from any prying eyes.

“What the hell is going on with Highbottom?” Coriolanus snapped, “Students as tributes? Is he out of his mind?”

I chuckled, “Clearly. Those kids are all going to die anyway; the Games themselves are getting more boring every year. If something doesn’t change they’ll just stop doing them altogether. The Capitol is desperate.”

Coriolanus went silent, his eyes glued to the floor. I watched him a moment, then stepped closer to him, lifting my hands and clutching his pale cheeks in my grasp. “Coryo, look at me.”

His serious expression remained, but his eyes began to soften as he focused on me.

“You’ve got this, Coriolanus Snow. You’re going to show Highbottom and everyone in the Capitol what you’re capable of.”

He chuckled, “But Lucy Gray—” “I don’t care about Lucy Gray. I care about you, and I care about you impressing Dr. Gaul. I know you want to help your family, and I know you want to ultimately work in the Capitol, right?”

He nodded, raising his hands and lightly holding my forearms, “I want to do great things with Panem.” He spoke so softly; a first glimpse at vulnerability. His eyes almost watering, looking at me a bit more desperately now, “I want to be President.”

“And you will, Coryo. I know you will. But you can’t lose sight of what they want out of the games. It’s not just about who survives. It’s about who they remember the most… And they’ve got to remember you.”

Fuck it. Before thinking twice I pulled his face towards me and kissed his warm lips. I felt his hands tense against my arms; fingers pressing a bit harder on the skin. This kiss was so comforting, for both of us. He sighed into the kiss, growing more confident now and pulling me into him. Suddenly a cough followed by someone clearing their throat made us pull away hastily. 

Turning around, we both were uncomfortably joined by Dean Highbottom, who leaned against a concrete pillar with his lips draining the last drops of a clear liquid in a tiny glass bottle.

“Always creeping around, aren’t you Highbottom?” I chuckled dryly, turning to face him as Coryo’s nervous hand gripped my wrist, “Don’t you have children to terrorize?”

A ghost of a smile decorated his face; sarcasm dripping from a chuckle as he looked up at me, “Hanging around the Snows, are we Pearl? That’s low, even for you.”

I took a step closer, but Coryo’s hand held me firm and prevented me from getting any closer, “You better watch how you speak about Coriolanus and his family. They’re more powerful than you could ever dream of being.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t crave power… unlike some people. Isn’t that right, Snow?” His gaze darted over towards Coriolanus, who stood silent behind me.

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms and shaking my head, “You can try to scare the Academy graduates all you want, but Coriolanus is going to win. You’ll see.”

Highbottom chuckled again. “With that little songbird? I don’t think so.” He began to walk away from us, heading back inside to the chaos he had created not long ago. Stopping in his tracks, he turned to face us again, “It’s a good thing Whitegrove is here to stand up for you, huh Snow? But once the Games begin, you’re going to be all alone… Then we’ll see how powerful you really are.”

———————————————————

The sun had set in Panem, everyone holed up in their homes, anxious after the ground-breaking news. I was with Coriolanus in the old Snow mansion, sitting in the living room with my legs crossed and watching the blonde haired man pace back and forth as he explained to Tigris exactly what had happened earlier that day. She was disapproving of the way Snow talked about Lucy Gray Baird, practically chastising him for doing so. She snapped back at him saying that if she was in Lucy’s position, she wouldn’t trust Coryo at all— my blood boiling at the insult.

“What else is he supposed to do then, Tigris? Let her go into the Games knowing full well she’s going to die right away? Let’s be serious for a moment.”

The two of them looked over to me now, Tigris’ eyes narrowed, “So what do you suggest?”

I paused for a beat, thinking sincerely. I still had no idea what Coriolanus should do, but there was no way in hell he was about to lose this ridiculous competition. He needed to win… I needed him to win.

“That’s what I thought.” She spat out dryly.

—————

Tigris had abandoned Coriolanus and I in a bubbling rage, closing herself away in her room for the night. I now sat in an old, worn out chair in the corner of Coryo’s small room. He nervously picked some clutter off of the ground, rummaging around in a quick attempt to make everything seem a bit more presentable.

“It’s okay, Coryo.” I assured softly, “Just relax.”

Resting a broken pencil on his desk, he sat himself on the edge of his small bed, directly across from me. We basked awkwardly in a moment of silence, before he exhaled a nervous breath, “I have no idea what I’m going to say to her tomorrow.”

“I think showing up at the train station is a smart idea. I doubt any of the other mentors would ever think about doing something like that, you’re on the right track.”

I stood up, shrugging my coat off of my shoulders and tossing it onto the back of the chair. Stepping closer to Coryo, I delicately lifted a hand onto a stray curly lock that hung over his forehead, tucking it back behind his ear and cupping his face, “You’re a brilliant man, Coriolanus Snow. You’re going to get Lucy Gray Baird to trust you, and you will be King of Panem one day.”

“King?” His eyebrows furrowed.

I chuckled, “King, President. Whatever you prefer.”

“There’s no way I’m going to win with her, she’s not going to last a day—” “She doesn’t need to last a day. She just needs to be remembered; so that you can be remembered.”

Coryo’s features went soft; eyes watering at the thought of how low his chances were. The fate of his future in Panem rested in the arms of a lowly girl from District 12. I cupped his face with both hands now, brushing away a tear that managed to slip down.

“If you can impress Dr. Gaul by the time all of this is over, you won’t need to worry about some District 12 country bum. You hold all the power, Coriolanus. You are powerful.”

Slowly, I lowered myself in between his legs, straddling his right thigh. His eyes darted down to watch the way I pressed down onto him, his mouth letting out a soft gasp.

“Pearl…”

Coryo’s eyes met mine, and our gazes held a moment. Suddenly he wasted no time in kissing me, his hands gripping the back of my neck to hold me in place as his lips tackled mine. I wrapped both arms around his wide shoulders, using his body to steady myself as my energy quickly grew weak under his touch.

Hastily in between kisses, my fingers fumbled with his white shirt buttons in a desperate attempt to pull the material off of his body, Coriolanus doing the same with the zipper of my golden dress. His hands slowly glided up the sides of my body, long fingers taking in what he could as he made his way up to my breasts. An excited spark went up my spine, feeling his cool, pale hands against my warm flesh. 

His hands cupped the outer curvature, massaging the breasts slowly. I bit my lip at his intricate touch, closing my eyes and slightly leaning my head back as I swallowed hard. At this notion, Coryo immediately leaned forward and clung his lips onto my fully exposed neck, playfully digging his teeth and swirling his tongue on a single, concentrated spot. Eventually his hands expertly unclasped the bra, and the clothing item also found its way quickly to the floor.

My hand rested on his fully hard cock, pressing aggressively against his tight black slacks. I knead my hand slowly, making sure to guide it along the full length. Coriolanus groaned, his head falling onto my exposed shoulder as he was fully at my mercy. I slipped his earlobe in between my lips, biting it teasingly as I slipped my hand past the pant confines and through the boxer briefs. His cock was rock solid, and at the touch of my hand twitched excitingly. I guided my hand along the length, only slightly cupping his balls before working my way up and beginning a steady pump rhythm.

“Oh my god, fuck,” Coriolanus gasped, one hand wrapped around my wrist as I continued to work my way along his cock. His eyes fluttered closed, and I pressed my lips onto his forehead as his breaths grew short and aggressive; I knew he was close.

Suddenly he pulled my hand out, and in a quick switch in attitude, he was back in charge. Coriolanus ripped my dress down, making sure to include my panties as he left me fully nude. He finished pulling off his pants and boxers, and with both hands on my waist, pulled me on slowly over his fully erect dick.

“Those were some pretty inspiring words,” He spoke in a low growl, guiding my hips as he slowly rocked me back and forth against him, “You just want a man with power, huh?”

“Oh,” I shuddered, completely at a loss of control. My core pulsed as my dripping warmth completely coated onto his entire girth. His hands pressed deeply onto my hip bones, guiding my rhythm as his mouth sucked hard on my exposed collar bone. My hands dug into his soft, blonde hair, looping my fingers in his curls as I held onto him dearly.

He continued his pace, my grinding trying to become a bit more desperate as I felt a tight ball of heat build up in my core. I started to pant, pulling tightly on his hair as I moaned out, “I’m going to c-cum.”

Coriolanus smirked in delight, moving a hand down to my clit and rubbing the sensitive bud vigorously with his thumb as he gave me a long kiss, swirling his tongue on my lower lip before pulling away and whispering, “Cum for me, my queen.”

His deep voice was enough to push me over the edge, and I clung to his broad back as I dropped my head onto his right shoulder, my teeth sinking into his skin as I felt my warm juices release completely onto his lap. 

“Coryo,” I gasped out, and I felt his chest rise and fall in a soft chuckle, pleased with the mess I had made on his body. He wrapped his arms around my curves, pulling me close as I continued to slowly ride out my high.

“I can get used to this, sweetheart.” Coriolanus smiled, lifting my chin to look up at him as he left a tender kiss on my lips, “You’re beautiful.”

I chuckled softly, kissing him again on the cheek as he helped lift me up. My legs slightly wobbled as I steadied myself, and he immediately reached over to grab a cloth. We both laughed, slightly embarrassed as we cleaned ourselves up. Coriolanus and I settled in his bed, practically clinging to each other under his bedsheet cover. “You’re going to do great tomorrow, Coriolanus. I believe in you.”

His hand held the side of my face as his thumb repeatedly stroked my cheek softly, “With you by my side, all my doubts are fading away.”

I had him. He trusts me—needs me. He’s mine.

 “Is that why you called me your queen?” I giggled, leaning up to kiss him.

He smirked, nodding his head slightly, “As you said, I’m going to be the King of Panem one day. Every King needs a Queen, right?”

[luna-writes-stuff]

Unforgiven II, Kaz Brekker

Song link

Fanfic, female! reader

Angst, but a with a tiny sprinkle of fluff

Word count:

Tw: typical soc stuff, explosions, blood/injuries, description of drowning/recovering from drowning., description of dizziness/losing consciousness, Kaz is fighting demons to save your life, Nina doing heartrender things, Kaz nearly crying, use of Y/N (I deserve hell)

Summary: You have been friends with Kaz for as long as either of you can remember. Even before all the “Ketterdam is my mother” talk and trauma. So when you get caught up in an explosion during a heist, Kaz loses his shit. He becomes an anxious wreck, doing his best to get you out of danger. And in order to do so, he has to make certain sacrifices for himself.

No - this is not a pt. 2 to anything. The song is called Unforgiven II. This fic is based off of a song.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“Lay beside me and tell me what they've done.

And speak the words I wanna hear to make my demons run.”

“Kaz, come on!” You ushered, running towards docks, Kaz short on your heels, though his pace slowed with every step he took. You knew his leg was bothering him, but at the moment, you needed to get out of this place.

It had been your casual “let’s steal something and get money for it” heist. Everything had gone exactly according to plan. Wylan’s bomb went off at time, Inej got the necklace without being noticed, Jesper was a great distraction, Matthias had been on look-out as Nina had joined Jesper in being decoy. You and Kaz had been making sure the rendezvous point remained safe. You had been in Dime Lion territory, so the risk of being caught was great. Yet, there had been no issues. That was until Jesper, not so subtly, managed to sneak a look towards you and Kaz, alerting others of your location.

So now you and Kaz were on the run. Trying to get away without getting injured or being discovered of stealing things. It had been five minutes now and you knew Kaz’ leg would no longer hold up.

“The door is locked now but it's open if you're true.

If you can understand the me then I can understand the you.”

You spared another look behind you, noticing you were no longer being followed closely. You halted your steps, simultaneously causing Kaz to stop too.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, obviously supporting all his weight on his cane.

“Where did they go?” You wondered aloud, referring to the gang members that had been so set on catching you earlier.

Now Kaz looked behind him too, noticing the empty streets.

“Something isn’t right.” He noted, making you nod in agreement.

“Lay beside me, under wicked sky.

Through black of day, dark of night, we share this, paralyzed.”

“We should keep moving, just to be safe.” You decided, now setting a normal walking pace, trying to give Kaz the opportunity to recover. As you walked past the crates and empty ships, something weird suddenly occurred to you.

“You hear that?” You whispered, holding a hand out towards Kaz to stop him.

“Hear what?” He questioned, now keeping his ears open.

“Sizzling.” You observed. “Like firework being lit.”

At those words, Kaz’ eyes widened. He looked around to find the source of the sound, but he could not bring himself to locate it.

“The door cracks open but there's no sun shining through.

Black heart scarring darker still but there's no sun shining through.

No there's no sun shining through, no there's no sun shining.”

“Bomb.” He managed out, before grabbing the loose fabric of your sleeve, tugging you with him as he ran.

You followed suit quickly, the danger of not knowing where the bomb was, making your adrenaline race. You released your sleeve from Kaz’ hold, running behind him to make sure you could drag him with you in case he’d slow down again.

In the distance, you could see the rest of the crows waiting, but they had yet to notice you and Kaz. No Dime Lions were spotted near them yet, which had been a relative good sign.

“What I've felt, what I've known.

Turn the pages, turn the stone.

Behind the door, should I open it for you?”

“Kaz, turn around!” You warned. The sound of the walking fire seemed nearer than before, alerting you of the fact you were running in the wrong direction.

“We’re only nearing it!” You explained without hesitation.

Kaz spared you a quick nod, before running along the coastline, no longer running away from the shores. You followed his every step. Your breath had started to appear colder than before, your shirt uncomfortably clinging to your back, but you knew you’d catch your breath later. Stopping now might only increase the chances of becoming injured.

“What I've felt, what I've known.

Sick and tired I stand alone.

Could you be there?

'Cause I'm the one who waits for you.

Or are you unforgiven too?”

Your attempt for cover came too late; before either of you could properly process it, a big explosion ignited only a few feet from you. You could have counted yourself lucky for not being too close to it, not having received any burning flesh. The force of the explosion - however - was something you couldn’t escape.

Before you could even realise what was happening, you were flying through the air, rocketing towards the shore lines in an inhumane speed. You could only briefly register Kaz’ body on the floor before the ice cold temperature ran over you.

Your body impacted on top the water, the weight with the added speed rapidly pulling you under. You weren’t on time for any of it. When you had already fallen, it still felt like you were flying, and when you were flying, you hadn’t even properly heard the explosion. It all happened with the blink of an eye.

“Come lay beside me, this won't hurt I swear.

She loves me not, she loves me still, but she'll never love again.”

When you finally realised you had been submerged in the freezing canal waters, you had to force your body to work again. Your limbs felt heavy, whilst your head felt lighter than it even been. An unknown weight settled on your waist as you were pushed further down.

Looking down at it, you were faced with a huge piece of wood, tearing a hole in your coat as it forced you down. In blind panic, you reached down, trying to get the wood from the coat. But the longer you fought it, the deeper you sank, and the more pressure build in your ears.

You weren’t going to go down like this - sinking because of a heist gone wrong. No, you were meant to go out in a tub of money, rolling in the debts of your enemies.

The looming threat of imminent death and hopeless made your efforts worsen, your brain cloudy, unable to think straight as you kept tugging on the coat.

“She lay beside me but she'll be there when I'm gone.

Black hearts scarring darker still, yes, she'll be there when I'm gone.

Yes, she’ll be there when I'm gone. Dead sure she'll be there?”

On the coast line, Kaz had recovered from the blow, seemingly fine, save for a handful of bruises and a loud ringing in his ears. The crows had neared him, Jesper and Inej immediately working to keep the Dime Lions at a distance. Nina looked over the edge, still seeing the waves of where you had fallen earlier.

“Shit,” she cursed, before clumsily fumbling with the ends of her dress. Wylan and Matthias looked at her in a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. She didn’t seem to notice.

For Kaz, it felt like time had frozen. You had been with him ever since you were children. You’ve known him before Ketterdam - before Dirthands. And now you were sinking to the bottom of the canal, left to your fate in a lonesome embrace.

He had lost everything he had, and always associated it with the freezing temperatures of the lakes. He remember the chilling air, the cold water and the hard bodies of the people who had died due to illness. He remembered how he fought back until he had returned to Ketterdam. To look for you.

And now he’d lose you to those same damned waters.

“What I've felt, what I've known.

Turn the pages, turn the stone.

Behind the door, should I open it for you?”

Nina took too long. Wylan and Matthias might not have noticed, but he did. A thousand thoughts and fears were swirling his mind, but there was one that stood out the most.

He was losing you.

The thought seemed so hopeless and bitter, but it was the truth. He could stand there and think about everything that had happened to him, or he could act on it. He could wait for Nina to finally get that cursed dress off, or he could jump in himself and hope his body wouldn’t fail him.

You still hadn’t resurfaced.

Swinging his coat from his shoulders quickly, he dropped the cane to the floor, before diving into the waters, not even giving him a second to think everything through.

“What I've felt, what I've known.

Sick and tired, I stand alone.

Could you be there?

'Cause I'm the one who waits for you.

Or are you unforgiven too?”

The water was more horrible than he had remembered. The cold was gnawing at his skin, the familiarity of it cutting him where it hurt most.

This is where you lost him, Kaz. You lost yourself.

In front of him, a body passed him, the face almost an exact replica of his older brother, save for the swollen structures of his face. The sight frightened him. Almost automatically, he reached out, but the figure faded in front of him.

This wasn’t real. He wasn’t there.

He needed to get out. He couldn’t get any air to begin with, but the capacity his lungs had held had started to fail him. There were too many reminders of what went wrong. This was a terrible idea.

“Lay beside me, tell me what I've done.

The door is closed so are your eyes.

But now I see the sun, now I see the sun.

Yes, now I see it.”

He had to go back up. He wouldn’t make it if he didn’t. But then, as if fate had somehow still been smiling upon his that day, a hand came into his vision. He couldn’t see it really well - everything was blurry. But this hand wasn’t swollen. And it seemed real.

Spending his last few seconds, he tugged on the arm, surprised by the sudden weight of it. When he looked down, he found the culprit hanging from your coat, your other hand still entangled at the hole.

Without a second of hesitation, he shrugged the coat off of you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he swam back up.

“What I've felt, what I've known.

Turn the pages, turn the stone.

Behind the door, should I open it for you?”

It was disgusting; the cold temperature, your limp body, the inability to breathe. It was too much. He couldn’t help but fight for his hold on you as he forced you up. His leg had been screaming at him to stop to begin with, but with your body in his arms, a whole new level of revolting coursed through him.

This was so wrong. He should never have had to hold anyone’s body to drag out of the sea again. This was cruel, even considering all that he had been through. There was some sick irony here that he hated. He knew Pekka would be laughing at it.

You didn’t make any effort to help him. He had no way of telling whether he had been dragging a dead body back up or not. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about anything. He just needed to get back up.

“What I've felt, what I've known.

So sick and tired, I stand alone.

Could you be there?

'Cause I'm the one who waits,

The one who waits for you.”

When he finally resurfaced, a huge gasp of air came from him, taking in all oxygen he could.

“Kaz!” Nina called, leaning over the docks with Matthias, reaching out for him and you. They could see the sheer panic and terror on his face. The boy swam towards the pair, handing you over to Matthias, who easily pulled you out. Nina immediately began to work on getting the water out of you, leaving her boyfriend to help Kaz get out, much to his reluctance.

He could still feel the cold touch, the unmistakable feeling of a hardened figure. He recognised it. And the second his feet met solid ground again, he fell down, breathing heavily, dragging his knees across the dock to reach you.

He could hear Nina mutter assuring words under her breath - both to you and to herself. The way you simply laid there, not noticing the mayhem happening because of you. Something about it made everything worse for him.

He was not going to lose you. Not like this.

“What I've felt, what I've known.

Turn the pages, turn the stone.

Behind the door, should I open it for you? (So I dub thee unforgiven)”

A loud cough cut through the tense air as your chest suddenly began to move. Nina was quick to place you on your side, leaving you to cough out the remainder of water, inhaling the air greedily, tears making their way over your face. An obnoxious sigh of relief came from the heartrender as Kaz quietly copied her move.

He stood up at the sight of you getting rid of all the water in your lungs, the sight amplifying everything he had just experienced. Shakily, he accepted the cane from Wylan, using it to support his weight as he watched Nina kneel over you, trying to calm you down.

He needed to be the one to do that, to make you comfortable, even if he wasn’t. But he couldn’t. He was having a hard time keeping everything together in the moment. If it hadn’t been for his cane, he would’ve fallen straight back to the floor.

“What I've felt.

What I've known.

I'll take this key and I'll bury it in you.

Because you're unforgiven too.”

You watched him from your seat as you regained your breath, no more water coming from your mouth. The feeling in your stomach was still heavy, but you had no more need to cough everything back up.

You knew who had dragged you from the canal. You blacked out a moment after that gloved hand touched yours, but you knew who it was. You saw the way he was staring back at you, furiously blinking back tears, hoping no one had noticed. You saw the way his hands were clutching that cane as if his life depended on it. He didn’t want to be there.

But he had jumped into the canal after you had fallen in. He had dragged you from the bottom back up. He had gotten you onto the dock whilst he had sworn he would never get into touch with water if he could help it. And he might not have been able to place a comforting hand on your shoulder as Nina did, but you knew what he had done.

You just nodded at him, still in shock. Of the fall, or due to the fact Kaz dived in after you - you couldn’t tell. But when the boy nodded back, you knew it was enough.

You knew he’d do it over again if he had to.

“Never free, never me.

'Cause you're unforgiven too.”

[moonchild-in-blue]

Massive thank you to you and everyone else who calls out how shitty it is to get mad at peoples interpretations. Sleep tokens music is romantic. Its also toxic. These statements can coexist. Its not your business if someone plays bloodsport or vore or hell even atlantic at their wedding. Youre not them, you dont know what the music means to them. If you see a weird take just roll your eyes and move on, its not a big deal. Absolutely sick and fucking tired of all these "why are you calling this romantic/sexy? Youre stupid and a terrible person!" takes like fucking relax. Media literacy is important yes. Respecting that this music is dark and personal to vessel is also important. Same goes for respecting how people relate to the music in dark ways. But as long as people are not saying things directly to vessel or fans about how their individual trauma is sexy then just chill out and respect peoples different interpretations. It sucks that i cant talk about how i view certain songs without being called horrible things and having really fucked up vitriol aimed at me. Yall need to grow the fuck up and get over yourselves. Im not thinking of your personal shit when i call a certain song romantic/sexy, i dont even know you, sometimes im thinking of my own trauma actually lol. Lets all discuss this music maturely where we respect each other and what each of us as individuals bring to the table for interpretation, stop making this fandom toxic as hell for anyone who doesnt agree 100% with your own interpretation. (Also the whole "youre not allowed to say this song is romantic/sexy" thing is very dismissive of some peoples trauma in itself, it ignores how messy someones feelings toward their abusers/toxic partners can be. Pretty fucked up to call a trauma survivor stupid or a terrible person because a song reminds them of their positive feelings towards someone who hurt them) Anyways yeah, just tired of people being so harsh because they refuse to see other peoples perspectives. I genuinely think one of the most toxic aspects of this fandom is the vitriol over different interpretations, people act like outright children at times with it im ngl, especially with more sexual discussions. It also feels infantilizing towards vessel at times, hes a grown adult who put romantic/sexy elements in his music and he doesnt need people trying to protect him from those themes. Im rambling but this stuff pisses me off so much, this fandom needs to do better

Context post for the clueless ones - regarding my tags/replies

Here's the thing - I've been in fandoms for many, many, MANY years. This type of discussion isn't anything new nor unique to Sleep Token, but it sure does make a comeback quite often. It's tiring to keep repeating the same things over and over, but that's what fandom is all about isn't it?

Someone needs to say something, and I am not one to shy away from uncomfortable conversations like these. Something something, build your own community, be the change you wanna see, etc etc.

I've said pretty much everything I wanna say already under that post, but for the sake of clarity, and because I can't keep my mouth shut apparently -

Under the cut for length - you know the drill:

Music is art. And art is subjective. Meaning, each individual will have their own personal connection and interpretation of a given piece of art, which in this case is Sleep Token's music.

Did Vessel write the songs with a certain intent or meaning? Most likely yes! It's not hard to connect the dots and guess what events/emotions might've transpired and served as inspiration for them (accuracy to personal life is irrelevant and none of our business, but it's also no rocket science to understand what's been said).

Can we establish a base meaning for any given song, or better, can we have a general consensus of what a song is about based on its lyrics and themes? Absolutely! Not every song is like that, but we can all agree there's a lot of recurring themes of past relationships and mental health struggles.

Is it wrong to diminish the songs to one basic element (eg. the sexual undertones) and/or completely disregard the bigger, more important theme? I'd say it is.

Giving Atlantic as an example (which as a lot of you know, is my most favourite song of them and very dear to me): this one has some very blatant references to suicide and depression. Regardless of whether it is based on irl events or not (none of our business!!!), it is extremely heavy and emotionally charged. I find it incredibly disrespectful when people say random stuff during the rituals when he plays this one.

Or for example, how certain people reduce Sleep Token to "baby making metal", instead of acknowledging the insane (insane!) variety of genres and the profound lyricism they present.

Should we limit our views, and by extension, those of others, to surface-level interpretation, without allowing room for different views and interpretations, either fictional lore based or not? ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Vessel himself said to "not restrict ourselves to labels or genres because music transcends it all" (paraphrasing here). It's literally their whole thing. It's very hypocritical to be shouting from the rooftops about "media literacy" and assuming people are stupid or idiots for not understanding the basic, surface-level meaning of a song, when Vessel himself constantly writes in metaphors and half-truths.

I've touched on this a lifetime ago on one of my analysis, but if you *actually* look at the lyrics, you'll realise Vessel hardly ever says what he means. There's always something else behind his words, something he purposefully keeps hidden. It really sneaks upon you sometimes! I'm over a year in and I still find something new everyday on their music. That man has a way to weave in a hundred and one statements under a single sentence, that is just truly beautiful to study.

Is, say, The Love You Want, about a man (Vessel) mourning the fact that his love isn't reciprocated? Yeah! Is it about someone who, despite knowing they can never receive from their lover the attention and affection and care they want, will stay by their side anyways? It is!

Is it about bitterness, spiteful accusations aimed at the one person who should love you fully? Or a reflection of how little self-regard the singer has, so much that they are willingly and actively choosing to stay in a sinking one-sided relationship, because the alternative is too painful to bare? Can you flip the switch and see it as someone who is obsessively pursuing another person, and painting themselves as a victim? All of this, yes!

You can even eliminate the romantic aspect all together and apply it to a relationship with the self (past or future, or an alter ego), or a parental figure. The options are endless. There isn't one universal truth when it comes to music, and as such, all of these takes are 100% correct.

Many statements can be true at the same time - it doesn't make one more true or correct than the other. Simply different. The way we connect with music is very much dictated by our own life experiences, and no two people have lived the exact same life.

Can you prefer a certain way to look at a song, or completely disagree with certain takes? Absolutely! I know I sure as hell do! That's normal and expected and part of the fun in being in a community such as ours. More people means more ways to look at a song - isn't that just wonderful?!

Now, this is very obvious for most of us, but some people, especially in the younger rage, have been taught to look at things in a very black and white way. Not to be that person, but the truth is that the rise in awareness of social issues and "pc-ness", is slowly starting to eliminate the possibility of things being flawed and nuanced.

If you're wrong, you're awful. If you're right, you're obnoxious. Made a mistake? Get cancelled. Grow from your mistakes, but not like that. Learn from your actions, but change your whole personality in a day otherwise you're problematic.

You know what I mean.

Life isn't black and white. Art isn't black and white. Music isn't black and white. What may seem like a toxic, dark, obsessive depiction of a relationship to you, might translate to the deepest and most truest of loves to me. I can acknowledge something is Not Right, while still drawing my own conclusions.

Is Blood Sport a sad af song? Yeah! Definitely not the first thing I'd think of when in a happy relationship. But maybe that's the point. And maybe I do. And that's okay, and none of anyone's business. "Okay but The Apparition isn't a good example of a healthy and romantic-" TO YOU! Maybe that's what love looks like to me! Maybe I just happen to be into it! And what about it?

Maybe to me love comes with all the ugly sides too. The violence, the despair, the self-doubt. Who are you to dictate what I can or can't think? I highly doubt Vessel would go 🗣️ "WRONG! NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! >:::(", so why would you?

You can, and should, discuss the songs with others! Maybe some people do genuinely need a fresh pair of eyes to help them get to the juicy core of the songs - that's why we're here! To discuss, and exchange ideas! You can, and should, call people out when their engagement with the music is being harmful to others (joking and laughing during Missing Limbs? No bueno. Speculating about Vessel's personal life? VERY no bueno. Choosing a potentially weird song to walk down the aisle? None of your business + not your wedding + you weren't even invited + none of your business. Notice how I've been repeating that. Notice again).

You shouldn't, however, shame and ridicule others for having different views from you.

I think, rather than engaging in pointless discussions and start accusing people of being this or that, we should all exercise a little "don't like? scroll past". Is it harming you or others? No? Then scroll past! Is it an awful, truly horrendous take about something you're really passionate about? Okay! Disgusting! Scroll past! Good for them! 👍

Also - keep an open mind. We're all doing this living businesse for the first time, no one holds all the answers to everything. It's okay to change your mind. It's okay to say the wrong thing and backtrack. It's okay to make a mistake and learn and grow.

You know what's not okay? Being a dick to others because the thing you like is being misinterpreted. It's hard, I know!!! You can block people! You can scroll past! You can look at pictures of your favourite vessel and cleanse your brain!!!! I know I do!!!!!

And this is a last afterthought but - you don't get to complain about the fandom you're in if you're doing nothing to change that. I see many, maaaaany of you bitch about this and that, while having 0 engagement aside from the bitching. Like?? Maybe if you spent more time reblogging cool art or gifs and less time whining about literally everything, this would be a much more pleasant space!! And I DO get to be a little petty here because I sure do try my best to make this a fun and nice community. I am allowed a little bitching 😌

Anyways, tl/dr: don't be a dick; don't like - don't engage; keep an open mind; gaze upon the vessels. Peace and love yall 💙💫

[kittievampire]

Could you maybe make a short fic of M/C plus yandere (preferably, Mammon) where at first it's non-consensual, but as the time goes on she gets manipulated into thinking it's all for love? I also think he should baby-trap her and do all kinds of shit to force her to stay with him.

Oh, my darling, of course!

I've been dabbling in the yandere smut side of the Obey Me fandom and HOLY SHIT it's INTENSE

Especially for my first love, Mammon-sama, I'll do anything for my sweet greedy boy 🥺🥺🥺

Lemme see what I have in my bag, my dear~

Click here if you wanna request!

Mine

Warnings: Dark Themes, Slight Gore (if you squint), Violence, Murder, Manipulation, Obsession, Yandere! Mammon x Reader, Dom! Mammon x Sub! Reader, Virgin! Reader, Cursing, Panty Stealing, Masturbation, Smut, Breeding Kink, Teasing, Baby-Trapping, Creampie, Reader gets gagged, Mating press, Non-Con/Rape to Dub-Con

🚨READ THE WARNINGS CAREFULLY AND PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANY TAGS🚨

Enjoy.

Honestly, he couldn't tell you when it all started.

Probably when you'd first gotten here and he was told that he would be responsible for taking care of you. Yes, that sounds right.

It was then that these emotions started. These feelings toward you, the compulsive need to be by your side at every waking hour of the day. Hell, you'd have to kick him out of your room most nights just to get some privacy.

You were just so perfect.

Something about the way you spoke, the way you handled things, the way you carried yourself. He couldn't help but love all of it. All of you. He'd memorized every little thing you'd shared with him throughout the time you'd been in the Devildom, noticing whenever you cut your hair by even an inch or the slightest shift in your attitude to know when you were upset.

And when you were upset, he always needed to know why.

So he could get rid of your problem, of course.

If you were upset with one of his brothers, he'd go speak with them about it (as long as it's not Lucifer), if you were upset over failing to comprehend something mathematical, he'd explain it to you in five different ways to try and help, and if you were upset with someone the two of you don't consider close friends, he'd console you.

There was this one time, however, when consoling you wasn't enough. Not for him, at least. The first time these thoughts became more aggressive and obsessive. The first time he became truly dangerous.

_

Mammon narrowed his eyes at you, pulling his shades off so he could see you properly. "He did what?" He asked. It was more like he was demanding you to repeat what you said.

You hesitated for a moment before clasping your hands together and smiling. "He broke my D.D.D. and cursed me out for being a human." You sighed, shaking your head in disappointment. "It's alright, though. I'll ask Lucifer if I can get a replacement."

Mammon really only paid attention to the first sentence. He bit down on the arms of the shades in his hand and scoffed. "See, this is why ya should just keep someone around. As the Great Mammon, I shouldn't be botherin' myself with taking care of ya." He extended his hand, holding out an index finger so you couldn't interrupt him. "But, because ya really need it, I'll go ahead and be your personal bodyguard or whatever." He huffed out, a light blush forming on his cheeks.

You furrowed your brows. "Oh, thanks, Mammon, but I really don't want to bother you with this kind of thing. I really don't need 24-hour protection, I just really wish people like him would learn from their mistakes."

Oh, you were so forgiving. He couldn't help the way his heart pounded against his chest at the way you spoke so kindly about the bastard who broke your property.

He should kill him.

Mammon flinched, dropping his shades and freezing in place at the idea.

Something you need to know about Mammon is that he's not really a violent guy. Of course, he acts like a relatively tough guy, and his title as the second strongest sin in the Devildom wasn't just given to him because the king was feeling generous. He just never resorted to violence immediately, it wasn't the Mammon Way.

Now, though, there was another factor to account for in this equation of his.

You.

While his title made demons fear him enough to where he didn't need to act on any of his anger, he found it very difficult to stop his knuckles from twitching whenever he saw someone you as much as complained about.

However, he'd never thought about murder. At least, not so seriously. This was different. The image that appeared in his head was the demon you were talking about, chained to the back of his car by the neck, and being dragged all around the Devildom. Then, he'd kill him slowly. Maybe set him on fire, too. Yes, that sounded nice.

"Mammon!" You called out, snapping him away from his thoughts. You tilted your head. "Are you okay? You kinda blanked out there." You ask, placing a hand on his cheek to get him to look at you.

Mammon flinches at your touch, a dark blush forming on his cheeks. "O-Oi! I'm alright, human, now get your hand off'a me!" He gently grasped your wrist, shuddering in delight at the feeling of holding you.

You raised a brow, pulling your hand away. "If you say so... Well, Asmodeus wanted me to help him out in Majolish, so I'll head over there. You have a make-up class, don't you?" You ask playfully. Mammon scoffed. "Oh, come on! Ya don't gotta rub it in, MC. Ya jerk." You laughed a little. "That's what you get for skipping classes. I'll see you later, Mammoney."

_

He was there.

The bastard was there.

Mammon was a few seats away from the guy you were talking about earlier. The guy who broke your property and made you upset. He wasn't paying attention to the lecture, no, he was watching the demon. Staring. Glaring.

The scene that presented itself to him before, among many others, appeared in his head. Many of them were at the same levels of gruesome. The thought of getting rid of someone for you was a little nerve-wracking but satisfying nonetheless. It felt right.

After all, he was no longer an angel. And this was a lower demon, a being of impurity. That means that whatever happens to him down here, he deserves it, right?

This is what Mammon tried telling himself when he dragged the large black bag all the way to his room. The only one who saw him was Beelzebub, but the Avatar of Gluttony was busy with takeout, so he didn't really take the time to try and understand the situation.

Mammon was a little relieved that you weren't home to see this. At the same time, though, he did want you to know that he was looking out for you. You should be grateful that the Mammon is so adamant about protecting you!

"Say, ya think she might actually say yes if I ask her out? I dunno if I wanna do it now, but, I mean... Ah, who am I kiddin'? I'll wait a little while longer. It's too soon, don't ya think?" He asked, making another clean cut to the demon's torso.

The demon had stopped thrashing hours ago. There was blood everywhere, but the Avatar of Greed wasn't sloppy, so he'd placed a cheap mat underneath the chair that his classmate was tied to, planning to throw it away later. Even so, he became irritated when he got no response.

"Oi, I'm tryin' to ask for some serious advice. Ain't ya a demon? Why are ya dyin' so fuckin' quick, huh?" He seethed, glaring up at the lifeless expression that the demon before him adopted. He sliced an exposed arterie and scoffed. "Pathetic. I dunno why I bothered asking shit from a bastard like you anyway."

_

He refers to that kill as his "first slip."

Mammon had multiple "slips" after that, all of which he convinced himself were for your sake. Demons were going missing left and right. Of course, you didn't notice, because you were so naive. So oblivious. So cute.

You would never suspect Mammon to be the culprit, right? He was your sweet Mammoney. He'd do anything to keep it that way.

While he was growing to love you, more than he healthily should, he still couldn't build up the courage to talk to you. Confess to you.

You'd better believe he tried though.

The first time he did after he'd taken up his new "hobby" was during passing period at RAD. He had you caged between the wall and his chest, both hands on the wall to stop you from leaving. "Hey, human. I gotta tell you something really important, okay?"

Mammon had made up his mind to tell you then and there. However, now that he was right in front of you, now that he could see the way your expression seemed to glow in his presence, the way it made his heart beat so rapidly, he just... couldn't! "What's up?" You ask dumbly after a few moments of silence. He bit his lip for a moment before sighing. "Uh... Actually, I'll tell ya later. I just remembered I had to go do... Something, I'll cya around, MC." Then, he scurried, leaving you standing there all dumbfounded.

Curse his lack of bravery!

You were just so perfect, he couldn't bare the thought of you rejecting him.

His thoughts were swarming his brain. Thoughts of you. He would think often about how your hands would feel caressing his cheek. How soft your lips would feel against his. How tight your pussy would feel around his cock.

That last bit was, by far, the most popular thought in his head. He'd think about it when he had his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking and bucking his hips into his fist.

He'd imagine you underneath him, moaning and writhing while getting pounded into. The thought of you in such a fucked out state was just so delicious. He wanted you. No, he needed you.

But he still couldn't muster up the courage to tell you how he felt. So, he just settled for the next best thing.

Your panties.

When it was his turn to do laundry for the House of Lamentation's residents, he found a pair of white panties stained at the crotch. He lifted them up a bit closer for inspection and caught a whiff of the scent the pair of panties was emitting.

Your scent, your juices.

Your cum.

It was your cum.

Immediately, he felt himself hunch forward, clutching the nearly drenched panties in his fist as he slammed the door to the laundry room shut. He took a moment to process, a dark blush dusting his face as he held your panties in his shaking hand.

Mammon swallowed the lump of saliva he felt pooling in his mouth, staring at the crotch of your underwear, feeling his pants becoming a little too tight. "Fuck," He muttered out, quickly moving to undo his belt, sloppily pushing down his pants below his crotch, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. Immediately, he started pumping himself, desperation evident when he started to buck his hips into his hand.

He caught another wiff of your scent and groaned, hunching over as he pressed his back against the wall. "MC," He moaned out, loving the way your name sounded rolling off of his tongue. He imagined you calling his name as well.

Whining and writhing underneath him as he pushed your legs apart.

"Fuck, fuckfuckfuck." He slammed his fist against the door, keeping his glazed eyes on your underwear. He imagined entering you. Your warmth would welcome him inside of your pussy and your walls would clench.

If only he had your warmth around him.

Flinching, his gaze shifted over to the clenched fist that was pressing against the door, your white panties being squeezed in his grip. He moved his hand, adjusting the pair of panties so the crotch was easily accessible, pushing it against the tip of his cock.

Mammon hissed when he felt your juices push against him, shuddering at the feeling. You must've put your dirty laundry basket in the laundry room the same day you masturbated. It was still relatively warm, and that was enough to make him imagine how your pussy would feel.

Wrapping your wet panties around his cock, he started bucking his hips, grinding himself against the crotch. He let out small pants and groans at the feeling, his hips beginning to stutter as he felt a knot begin to tighten in his lower stomach.

So good, so good.

He closed his hazy eyes, imagining how you'd start to squirm beneath him as he pounded into you, whining and crying out that you were close to an orgasm. "MC, fuck, baby, you're so fucking good for me," He hissed out. His hips never stopped bucking into your panties. Precum started oozing out of the tip of his cock, and he was smearing it against your underwear. "All mine," He murmured out softly.

The second-born clenched his teeth as his hand gripped the door knob, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten even more. The warmth that your panties provided, the visual in his head, and the sound that he'd imagine you'd made when you came; a mix between a whimper and a moan. It was enough to make his eyes go wide, a stuttered groan escaping his lips as he hunched forward a little.

Thick white ropes shot out of the tip of his cock, landing ontop of the juices that had already stained your panties. He inhaled sharply, covering his mouth as if to save whatever dignity he had left.

Slowly coming down from his high, Mammon panted heavily into his palm, a cheeks red, and vision still blurry from his orgasm. It made him wonder how hard he'd cum if you were there. If it was you wrapped around his cock instead of your panties.

But he'd take what he can get, he wasn't too picky when it came to you.

That's why he started stealing your panties, among other things. When your underwear wasn't enough, small trinkets and pieces of jewelry would go missing, only to be replaced by the Avatar of Greed himself. He loved to see the smile on your face as you looked at him, he loved to hear you thank him for gifting you such things.

You were so cute.

Too cute for your own good.

You mean so much to him. Too much for him to let you go.

He doesn't want you to leave. Ever.

_

Your eyes were always something he admired. He loved staring and getting lost in your gaze, trying to determine exactly which shade of which color painted your irises. He especially loved it when both of you got lost in the others' gaze. Inevitably, one of you would blush and look away.

What he hated was the way you looked at him right now.

Fear was present in your eyes. Tears started to gather on your lower lash line as your bottom lip trembled. "Mammon?"

Normally, he loved it when you said his name. It was like music to his ears, sweet like honey. However, this time, he flinched at the hesitation in your voice.

Of course, he couldn't blame you for being scared.

You'd been waiting in his room, unbeknownst to the white-haired demon, and he walked into his room covered in blood. That, and the horror that was the bloody bags you found in his closet.

His movements were quick. In the blink of an eye, he stood before you, slamming the door shut. He towered over you, the almost-dried blood that had been splattered all over his body was now right in your face. Leather black wings lifted and caged you into the corner by the closet, the leather on his body, as well as his horns becoming more apparent the more you took in his figure. "Ain't anyone taught ya not to go snoopin' around in other people's shit?"

You flinched at his tone. He seemed angry. That's when a tear fell. "Mammon, what the hell was that?" You ask, voice trembling along with your body. The demon before you was in no better state. He was panicking on the inside, trying desperately to form an explanation in his head. This caused him to stare intensely at you, eyes bloodshot, bat-like wings flapping gently beside you.

"S'just some of the trash that bothered ya, Treasure." Mammon's voice shifted from frightening to sweet, a huge contrast to his bloodied and demonic appearance. The new nickname made you shiver. Under other circumstances, you would've loved the fact that he'd given you a nickname, but you were too terrified. The nickname sounded so wrong to you. So twisted. "Most of them either acted out of line around ya, but some actually thought they had a chance!" He smiled, letting out a huff of amusement. "As if those lesser demons had the right to even look in your direction." He took a step forward, and you took a step back, your back now pressed against the wall.

This made Mammon frown a bit, bat wings flapping in slight irritation and confusion. "Why're ya backin' away from me, Treasure? I thought that... I thought that you'd be happy to know that they're gone," One hand pressed against the wall behind you while the other made it's way to your hip. "Aren't ya happy that they're not in our way anymore?" He tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear.

"Our?" You repeated. "What are you talking about our, Mammon?" He sighed, the hand on your hip traveling down to caress your thigh. "Us, Treasure. Our relationship, our love."

You closed your eyes tightly when he leaned in, lips brushing against your cheek as his voice dropped in volume. "Don't you love me, MC?" He asked softly, feigning an almost hurt voice.

You allowed a few more tears to fall as you pressed your palms against his chest. While it was true, you did love him very deeply, you just couldn't condone this. You weren't okay with this! Killing people for someone else isn't love!

Right?

"Mammon, you can't... You don't do this kind of thing for love," You said, hands trembling against him. His hand moved from the wall to grasp yours, clenching your fingers tight as he let a shiver run down his spine. He let out a deep sigh in bliss, feeling his cock twitch in his pants from your touch. "MC, Treasure, I love ya. I love ya so much." He then gripped your wrist, pushing your hand downward.

You flinched when your hand reached the bulge in his pants, fingers gently tracing the outline of his cock. "Baby, look at what ya do to me." He softly breathed out, turning your hand to push your palm against his hard on, his other hand gripping your thigh as he started bucking his hips into your hand. "MC, I love ya. I just wanted to make ya feel better," He looked down at you, the hand squeezing your thigh being used to lift up your chin so your eyes could meet his. "I got rid of the trash that was botherin' ya, babe."

You shook your head, trying to pull your hand away from his pants. Mammon's grip only tightened, an odd feeling beginning to pool in your gut. "Mammon, this isn't how you- Mmh!" He cut you off, leaning forward to capture your lips in a kiss. Your lips were so soft, he couldn't hold back the moan that escaped him as he started moving his lips against yours. His teeth started nibbling your bottom lip to ask for entry. When you tried to pull away from him, he let out a scoff, the hand that was on your chin moving to slap your thigh.

You opened your mouth to let out a gasp, only for Mammon's tongue to invade your mouth. He bucked his hips into your hand once more, his tongue exploring your mouth and burning your taste into his memory.

He moved his hands, pulling away from the heated kiss so his lust-filled eyes could meet yours. "That's right... I guess I should be showin' ya how much ya mean to me in other ways, huh?"

_

Mammon had pushed you onto his bed, climbing on top of you and capturing your lips in another hot kiss as he started to tug your clothes off. He was truly a being of pure greed, he couldn't get enough of you. He wanted more. And he wanted more now.

You pulled away as soon as you felt your breasts come into contact with the rather chilly air and threw your arms over your chest. "Mammon, wait, please! I don't want this!" You whimpered, tears beginning to stain your cheeks.

Mammon leaned in, one hand hooking around your skirt as he kissed you on the forehead. "But you love me, don't you, MC? I'll treat ya right, I promise." He brought a hand up to gently grasp your wrist, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I love ya so much, MC. Everything I do's for you, Treasure. The way I feel about ya, it makes me do crazy things," He murmured softly against your hand. "Please don't deny me."

His tone of voice made you think that maybe he was telling the truth, that maybe he did love you deeply, and that was why he went so far. Maybe this wasn't so bad.

No!

You snapped out of your hazy love-drunk mindset, realizing that the now-dried blood was still splattered all over him. It was someone else's blood. Maybe they were innocent! Well, they weren't if they were down here, but still! They didn't do anything to warrant such acts of violence.

With a swift motion, he yanked down your RAD skirt and panties, eyes shifting down to catch a glimpse of you. You tried to close your legs, but Mammon had managed to catch both of your plush thighs in his grip, pulling them apart and closer to him. Your ass was now on his lap, and your pussy was closer to his waist. He smiled at you, almost tauntingly. "None of that, baby," He pulled you closer to him, your pussy now a few mere inches from his face. Mammon took in the sweet aroma you gave off, letting out a deep sigh in bliss. This was so much better than your panties.

Suddenly, the pact mark on the back of your hand glowed a bright yellow. "Mammon, sto-"

He was faster.

Before you could finish your command, Mammon had torn a piece of fabric from your teal RAD under-blouse, pushing it against your lips to silence you. "Naughty girl." His voice dropped an octave as he glared at you. You had practically been folding in half with how close your knees were to your shoulders. The Avatar of Greed then adjusted the fabric in your mouth, pulling on the sides and tying it in a tight knot around your mouth. "I didn't want to gag ya, sweetheart," He cooed, shifting himself into his former position: where your pussy was a few inches from his mouth and your thighs were in his hands. "But ya just had to be such a brat. Playin' hard to get can get annoyin', ya know that?" His tongue lulled out of his mouth. He maintained eye contact with you as he lowered his face, dipping his tongue into your sopping heat and tracing the line of your slit. You moaned into the makeshift gag, arms trembling as one hand gripped the sheets, the other reaching behind your head to try and untie the gag.

Mammon flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves that rested above your slit, smiling at the way you squirmed and whined. You knew this was wrong. He was a demon, and you were okay with that, but now you found out that he was a killer as well? No, you couldn't be okay with this. You shouldn't be okay with this.

But it feels so good.

You threw your head back and let out a muffled cry as his mouth latched on to your opening, thrusting his tongue into your heat. Your walls clenched around his tongue, and he let out a moan in response. He wondered how tight you'd be around his cock if you were this tight around his tongue. It made him think that perhaps you hadn't had anything inside of this pretty little hole of yours.

Wait.

Mammon pulled away from your pussy, a mix of his saliva and your juices dribbling down his chin. "MC, are you a virgin?" He asked softly, gold and blue eyes piercing through yours.

You looked up at him through tear-filled eyes and nodded your head slowly. The sound of wings flapping rapidly filled your ears, which made your eyes screw shut.

He'd be the first to touch you, the first to defile you. He was your first demon, now he'll truly be your first man. "Oh, Treasure." He lowered your body almost completely onto the bed, and your eyes shot wide open when you heard him fumbling with his belt.

You looked down to see his cock, flushed and hard, resting on top of your crotch.

He was huge.

Where he sat between your legs, his cock reached just above your navel. "M'sorry," He said softly, grasping his cock and stroking it a few times. "I can't wait any longer, Treasure. I have to have you before anyone else can."

You froze for a moment, realizing what he meant. You should've shaken your head or done something to deny him, to stop him.

But you didn't want to stop. You wanted to keep going. You wanted him to ravish your pussy, love you until he withers away. You pushed your head against the pillow, lifting your hands to grip the sheets beside your head, and spreading your legs open a little more.

"That's my girl," He cooed, pressing the blunt tip of his cock against your hole. You closed your eyes once more, trying to concentrate on breathing as he pushed himself into you. He was slow and sweet, pressing kisses to your neck. "Calm down, Treasure, I don't wanna hurt ya." His voice, so soft, so sweet, made you forget completely about why you were so against this at first.

Mammon grunted at how tight you were, his eyes glazed over. He was trying so hard to hold himself back. You were just so fucking tight. He let out a shaky breath, one hand going down to caress your thigh. "Loosen up, Doll," He cooed once more, clenching his teeth. He was so close to bottoming out, but your hole continued to deny him.

Tears had fallen down your face, staining your cheeks and the fabric that gagged you. You were in an entire different state of mind. The stretch hurt, but knowing that it was Mammon stretching out your cunt made your body feel more at ease.

When he shoved the last few inches of his cock inside of you, you couldn't hold back the muffled wail that escaped your throat. Finally, he was sheathed inside of you. His balls were rested against your plush thighs, and his tip pushed against your cervix.

"Fuck!" Mammon grunted out, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Your chest rose and fell as your breathing quickened. You tried so hard to focus on breathing, focus on calming down so it'd be less uncomfortable for you.

Mammon stilled, and you took that as a sign of him waiting for you to signal him to move. He wanted to take off the gag and hear your beautiful moans, but he couldn't risk you using your pact to stop him. He couldn't risk losing the chance to share his love with you.

While he was in his own head, he failed to notice your squirms and whines, replacing the pleas that you'd let out if you weren't gagged. However, his lack of movement made you impatient, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding the tip of his cock against your the spot that made you see stars. Mammon's breathing hitched, immediately gripping your hips with his hands and looking up at you with a shocked expression.

Then, the surprised look turned into a smug one. "Just can't get enough'a me, can ya?" He teased, dragging his hips backward. You could feel him moving and thought he was pulling out of you. You were about to whine in protest, but you got the air knocked out of your lungs as he slammed into you, his cock pushing roughly against that same exact spot. He started thrusting into you, looking down at your pussy to see how well it swallows his cock, as well as how much of your juices can be seen (and heard). "You're like a waterfall down there, MC. I knew ya loved me, I knew it! All those demons weren't a waste of time after all!" He exclaimed excitedly, picking up the pace to align with the hype of his voice.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt him repeatedly pound into you, balls slapping against the plush of your thighs at his deep and quick thrusts. "So good! So good for me, baby," He threw his head back, letting out a groan as he felt you squeezing the hell out of his length.

Suddenly, he pulled the fabric from your lips so it rested around your neck. "Mammon!" You cried out immediately. He only grunted in response and grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing them up toward you so your knees were inches from your shoulders. "Fuck, Treasure, so— mMmh!— T-Tight!" He huffed out, mind feeling a bit hazy.

All he could think of was you. How much he loved you, how much he wanted to be with you. He wanted so badly for you to love him too. Now that he had you, now that he deflowered you, the Avatar of Greed couldn't stop there. He wanted more. And, in his sin, will he indulge.

If he got you pregnant, you wouldn't leave. You'd be attached to him no matter what.

The thought made his cock twitch and his hips stutter for a moment before regaining a rhythm, albeit faster than the one he'd adopted prior.

"M'gonna make sure—" He adjusted your legs in his grip— "You never even think 'bout leavin' me!" Mammon growled out, feeling the familiar knot in his lower abdomen beginning to form. By the way your walls were clenching so tightly around him, he could tell that you were almost at your peak too. "Gonna make you a mama," He purred out, rocking his hips into yours.

Your eyes widened at this, gripping the sheets even harder as you cried out. "Mammon! P-Pull o-out!" Your whimpers fell upon deaf ears. That, or ears that only heard what they wanted to. "You wanna have my baby, MC? Hm?" He asked, voice as sweet as vanilla, thrusts as sharp and hard as a blade. "Can't wait to—" He hissed as your walls constricted around him once more— "See the look on their faces! When they see you," Mammon chuckled darkly at the thought, greed, love, and obsession overwhelming his senses. "They'll see that you're all mine! I'll kill whoever gets in the way or disagrees! You're mine, MC!" One final thrust to that sweet spot of yours and you cum hard with a cry of his name, legs trembling in his grip.

Mammon couldn't stop. He couldn't stop going until he filled you up, painted your walls with his seed, and permanently intertwined your fates. "Mine! Mine, mine, mine! All mine! Only mine!" He growled out, burying himself deep into the warmth of your cunt and spilling his seed inside of you. He let out a lewd groan, rocking his hips gently to ride out his orgasm as much as possible.

Once the both of you came down from your highs, he pulled out of you, pressing small kisses to your tear-stained face. He lowered your legs to put you in a more comfortable position, wings and horns fading away as he pulled you flush to his chest.

In your exhausted state, you weren't able to think properly. "I t-told you... To... What if I... Get..." You muttered out, eyelids feeling heavy.

Mammon pressed a soft and warm kiss to your lips, one filled with love and care. "Shhh, sleep, Treasure. Ya did so good for me."

Maybe it was the way his words were sweet and stuck to you like honey. Maybe it was the way that he expressed so many times during this exchange that he truly did love you.

Whatever it was, there wasn't a doubt in your mind that the Avatar of Greed wanted you out of everything else in the world. Every valuable item, every treasure to be found, all he'd be willing to give up just for you.

He'd give for you, but he'd also take for you.

The lives of the demons he'd taken so far couldn't be ignored. At least, you shouldn't have ignored it. But he did it all for you. All because he just wanted you to notice him, to love him, and only him.

Eventually, you'd become accustomed to the blood on his clothes, the protectiveness, the obsession with keeping you close to him even though you never planned on leaving.

You didn't need anything else. You didn't want anything else.

All you needed was your first man.

This was fun to write, I hope you greedy-boi lovers enjoyed this!

My friend looked at the tags over my shoulder and said "Why are you like this?"

Thanks for requesting, I hope you enjoyed this, anon!