#idk why my brain was like HELLO THIS ONE :)

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[deus-ex-mona]

looked through my gallery and found these two images next to each other… w h a t in the world happened in 2k22 man

[mcl-mia]

//zeus week day 6 - offering

to offer one's body and soul - is that not the highest form of loyalty?

[karofsky]

the worst thing about being pretty well adjusted and knowing my working methods and using tools to help my brain through things and deal with mental illness is that it works for the big and the medium day-to-day stuff. but every so often some like, super obscure mental block or aversion comes along and I'm like "this is specific enough that I don't even know how to explain it nor do I know what exactly could help this" 💀

[gothsuguru]

i love muting people on twitter some of you bitches are very dumb

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Boruto things that made me lose my mind (ep 94-119):

I like how none of the kids from the original naruto teams are friends as adults lmao

Chocho: how could my mom love my dad? It has to be his ravenous appetite

Kakashi @ sasuke: lol u r so bad at bonding with ur daughter *proceeds to give him terrible advice*

Kakashi telling sasuke how to interact with his daughter: use a soft and loving voice. When you talk to naruto- (ok stop, let's appreciate your line of throught right there)

Sasuke @ sarada: I wanted to be hokage once (and babygirl that was one of your top 10 most fucking batshit insane moments)

OK the cursed marks apparently use genetic manipulation, which is odd and really interesting. I assume it works like a virus, inserting and expressing foreign... demonic? DNA. Weird.

Why are all anime scientists evil?

Karin: time to torch all these cursed geese 🔥 Sarada: no, stand back, I'll do it myself 😠

The more they say Karin is not sarada's mother, the less I believe it

...a goose they said was genetically incapable of flying flew away... fucking what? Just tying hard in exactly the same way as everyone else is not how you overcome genetic disadvantages like that????

Why all this moralizing abt kindness toward animals? This is a show where kids beat the shit out of eachother and murder ppl. Can we focus on not doing that maybe???

Orochimaru: hm looks like mitsuki is becoming too gay, we may have to delete all his memories 😔

Kakashi: why dont u wanna believe in ghosts? Mirai: if ghosts are real, why hasn't my dad visited me? (Hey kakashi, this would b a good time to tell her abt the time u spent literally dead? No? Ok cool)

THE CULT OF JASHIN?! HAHAHA. Losers.

Why tf do they even hold the chunin exams? Just promote ppl based on merit like they literally just did with shikadai??? (Historically its bc ppl like watching death matches)

The commercialization of the shinobi within the village makes me wanna spit and bite

Houki abt kakashi: the one who nourished lord 7th 😤 (is that really true tho? I mean he did his best but team 7 was a clusterfuck)

Konohamaru: there is no shortcut to becoming hokage! (Yeah sure but there is huge favoritism toward those trained by the previous hokage...)

Boruto: people aren't in love unless they overtly say it (I love to image this is how Boruto sees how ppl feel abt everything and that's y he's so loud and blunt abt things)

Random village: we stave off a demon by joining two bloodlines in an act of incest ✌️

Konohamaru, casually: my grandpa died by entering a deal with an entity beyond human comprehension 🤷‍♂️

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

*dusting off this old blog* Well it's been a while, isn't it?

[that-was-anticlimactic]

guys. i just saw a post about an autism swag tournament and that made me think. i kind of want to do a ts tournament lol like ik it would prolly just be me and the moots but i thunk it'd be funny silly fun times for me personally... i may... i may make one just for funsies...

[ultrasopp]

Game review from real gamer. i am not finished at all but saga of sins. Yeah. Platformer where everything looks like stained glass and u turn into monsters to enter people’s minds and fight sin. U can pet the dog and also enter the dog’s mind (he is free sin)

[keeps-ache]

wha

[bluecookiesabi]

Sometimes it feels like I'm just yelling into the world and no one is responding

[kkotda]

holy hell...

sanemi x f!reader. isekai au. lots of pining, emotional exploration, struggles of being isekai'ed. | divider thanks to @cafekitsune, wc 2.2k

Stranger in a strange land adopts a new meaning when you’re quite literally dropped into a world beyond your comprehension. Tonight, though, you are grateful for the infinite blanket of stars above your head. No light pollution, no city noise to interrupt the serenity of a moonlit night.

A breeze tickles your nose and you scrunch it in response, reminded of the reason you stepped outside in the first place. 

A futile attempt to outrun your thoughts of Sanemi. 

The wind always makes you think of him, something that would surprise no one if you were to be sincere with them about it. You sigh, kicking your legs out in front of you while they dangle off of the edge of your porch. You’re currently sharing a living space with the other single women who tend to the Ubuyashiki household, mostly maids who have taught you the best ways to stay cool in the oppressive summer heat and how to dab blood stains from the sleeves of your robes. Thankfully, they’re all tucked in their beds. There will be no witnesses to your self inflicted angst tonight.

Your friends have all moved along with their lives since being transported to this era, finding happiness and futures. More often than not, you feel like the odd man out, the only one still remaining poorly adjusted to a world that has welcomed you with open arms. The Hashira and Ubuyashiki family have been wonderful and gracious hosts. You’d even dare say that you’ve become friends with most of the people you have met since arriving no matter the cultural and linguistic differences of being a modern woman transported unexpectedly to 19th century Japan.

The outlier for you is a man. No matter where you are in history, what rabbit hole you’ve stumbled down, this will always be your issue. Your emotions feel heavier when you’re forced to lay down with them in the quiet dark of your room so you’ve decided to work them out within yourself outside and blissfully alone.

You wonder what he’s doing tonight, silently judging yourself for not sticking to your own commitment to being alone in body and mind.

One of the maids, Ritsu, teased you about him being off on a mission while you shot her a lok out of the corner of your eye before heading off to bed earlier. It’s unlikely that he will return here even if the mission has already been completed. It’s miles away from his estate, out of the way and impractical. 

It would probably be a stretch to call any Shinazugawa particularly practical. You know his brother very well, his relationship with one of your friends has been something you’ve taken great pride in being able to watch and support. They adore one another. They’re safe and peaceful and happy and Genya smiles so often you wonder if his cheeks ever ache.

His brother on the other hand. Harder to read. Even harder to shake. He doesn’t glower in your direction anymore, not now. Unfortunately this means you are now always searching for deeper meaning in every glance he tosses your way. Was that a glimmer of something softer? One of those God forsaken rabbit holes you’d like to travel down to meet him beneath the surface and understand him better?

It’s hard to imagine a world where you’ll ever know. You gently push the heels of your palms against your eyes, exhaling loudly through your mouth. If this were your time you’d simply go out. Shake your ass. Scroll your phone. Do anything to distract you from the fear of falling in love with someone you doubt can ever possibly care as much about you in return.

“What are you doing out here?”

Assuming you’ve imagined his voice in your misguided lovesickness, you keep your hands pressed to your eyes and giggle, giving yourself a piteous little head shake. So delusional. You don’t hear footsteps or movement at all, just the same little breeze that tinkles the ornate wind chime above your head. 

“Well?”

The wooden slats of the porch creak and whine slightly, finally encouraging you to drop your hands and look around you, only to be met with Sanemi sinking down to sit beside you, legs dangling in the same way yours are. A surprised smile crosses your face. He fights a twitch of his own lips, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward to create an illusion of some kind of distance between the two of you. 

“The better question is what are you doing here? Weren’t you off on a mission?”

He chuckles. It fills you with warmth even though you wrap your arms around yourself, gently rubbing your hands along your forearms. 

“Keepin’ track of me?” 

You scoff playfully, looking toward your lap to hide a smile but deciding last minute to just let him see it. To show him how happy he makes you by just being himself. Crass and rough and, in his own words, hard. You like him just the way he is, especially when the wind ruffles his messy hair and the moonlight illuminates his silhouette.

“Me?” You raise your eyebrows and point to yourself, still smiling at him, cheeks warm. “You wish. Word just travels fast when you hang out with the local gossips.”

You tilt your head backward, nodding toward the home you share with a dozen other women. They are not merely information peddlers although, admittedly, the thirteen of you have had more than one session of giggling and tittering over the happenings in the Hashira and Demon Slayer Corps as a whole. Dreamily wishing to find someone who loves each of you as much as Tanjiro loves the partner he has found in the second of your friends who was transported here alongside you. Theorizing about weddings and babies and spring breezes and the winter snows yet to come. 

There is some gentle ribbing about the shine you’ve taken to the Wind Hashira and the way you literally light up when he approaches you but you are good at playing it off as nothing, tossing away the talk with an easy smile while insisting that this is just how you are. The teasing happens often enough that you wonder if they know about his late night visits; if they’ve overheard despite the pains you’ve taken to keep your enjoyment of his company quiet and your encouragement of him to do the same. 

Did Ritsu mention him tonight knowing he’d eventually show up, leaving in a flash before you can even come down from the high of experiencing the things his body does for you?

“I wrapped things up early and figured I’d stop by before heading home.” Sanemi’s posture straightens out when he sits up to look at you fully, face turned. Wisteria colored eyes pour over your face, the fullness of your lips and your undone hair. “Wanted to see ya.” You wear a yukata that you purchased during a trip into the city with him a few months ago, loosely tied with one shoulder hanging lower than the other. His eyes land on your exposed collarbone and travel up the side of your neck, lingering on your lips while he scoots an inch closer.

“I might have missed you.” He mutters so quietly you know that it’s meant just for you and the heat in your cheeks makes its way down your neck, your chest and throat warming in response to the innuendo and weight of his gaze. 

Scrunching your nose again, you look away from him and shift where you sit, the sleeve of your yukata working further down your upper arm while keeping you barely covered. “You shouldn’t say things like that if you don’t mean them considering how often you complain about others doing it.” 

It’s easier for you to pretend he’s playing a game then it is to indulge that there may be truth to his words. He chuckles again from beside you, the tone as warm as the first time this evening despite your slippery attempts to pare down his words into tricky half lies.

“What makes you think I’m just saying it? When have I ever said shit to you senselessly?”

Answering a question with another question. The two of you probably know each other too well by this point if this keeps happening. You don’t have to answer one if you create another. Then another. You don’t ever have to take off the mask, another one perpetually beneath it even when your brows are knit together in pleasure and you softly mumble his name against his neck while he’s inside of you.

You have a feeling it’s sort of the same way for him even if he insists he hates pretense. For a quiet moment, you ponder exactly how to respond to him. You can’t outright say he isn’t being honest with no proof but you can play it off.

“You’ve said a lot of shit to me, Sanemi.” you joke. He tosses you a glance from the corner of his eye, not quite annoyed but enough that you understand that the poking isn’t going to work tonight. 

He slides his hand across the porch to gently grab yours, scarred thumb running along the length of each of your fingers as though he’s counting them, ensuring they’re still in place and precious. There’s no doubt he’s rough around the edges, amongst other things, but he values you enough to stop by after a mission to check on you. To talk to you. To not just fall into your bed like he did the first time, adrenaline pumping and still smeared with streaks of blood across his forearms and neck.

You received a few glances for the state of your futon after that one yet you managed to explain it away like you do everything else. It was an accident! You cut yourself while sharpening the small dagger you keep in your room! You started your period! Always explaining away instead of embracing conveniently placed truths in your lap. Sanemi Shinazugawa’s home with you isn’t solely made in your bed. It’s why the fear he will never feel the same terrifies you enough it keeps you up at night counting stars like petals on daisies and asking them if he loves you or loves you not.

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that I like being around you?”

An honest question draws you out of your own mind. You feel one of your masks drop and don’t rush to replace it with another, simply shrugging. His hand slides up your arm to adjust your robe enough to keep you decent, a crooked finger pulling airy cotton over your upper arm and upper breast. Sanemi’s eyes remain locked on your face, his hands familiar enough with your body that he can adjust you without looking.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid that if I let you stay you may not like what you find and will eventually leave.” He raises his brows, fighting off a smile. Perhaps you aren’t the only one letting a mask or two fall tonight. “I’ve been in you and sure fucking liked it,” he jokes and you giggle, gently patting the outside of his thigh. 

Things could be like this always, you consider. The two of you joking beneath the moon who laughs along with you, his hands on your body. Waking up next to him instead of ushering him out of the door as soon as your legs stop shaking for fear of being tied to him in people’s minds.

What if you just let it happen naturally instead of standing in your own way? 

Without taking the time to consider your movement, you lean toward him and gently kiss the exposed skin of his chest, above the scars that crisscross his torso. He wraps one arm around your hips and pulls you closer to him, bodies touching as close as they can without it being obscene.

“Do you wanna come in?” You ask him, lips halfway pressed against his chest.  He glances down at you and nods once, that same glimmer of fondness you have previously thought you imagined reflecting back at you when you meet his eyes. 

“Will you stay tonight?”

Sanemi’s face further softens and he nods again, not bothering to hide his smile this time. 

He lifts the sleeve of your robe over your shoulder, covering you entirely, and holds your hand as you stand up. Rising above him and planting your feet to help him up, the pair of you walk quietly into your adjoining room, careful not to alert anyone who may be looking on. You slide the door shut behind you, the wood gently snapping against the frame that cradles it, and pretend you don’t hear a giggle from the other side of the wall that indicates to you that one of your friends in the house knows what’s going on in your room.

But you’ll worry about that tomorrow. You reach to untie the knot at the waist of your robe while Sanemi closes in on you, cupping your chin and neck between scarred palms and kissing you with enough force you’re helpless to do a thing but kiss back.

Not that you’d want to do anything else.

[cursivebloodlines]

"not even the poets could properly describe what you mean to me." - for zoe

There's a pause as Zoe peers across at him, slurping through the straw of her blue raspberry slushie. She doesn't break eye contact as she somehow manages to suck the sludgy liquid extra loud for the extra pizzazz. Sluuuuuuuuurp. She could practically feel the pissed-off stares of others sitting around them, the intensity of their horrified looks burn into the back of her head but she doesn't care. Her eyes are only on Eric, unable to help the way the smile tugs at her lips. Especially when he's spouting cute shit like that, stuff she has yet to master the art of replying to.

Finally, after a few extra long seconds to spite the people giving her weird looks, Zoe pulls away from the straw, allowing the flavoured crushed ice to swirl around in her mouth a bit longer. It is then she swallows in one big gulp, the chill knocking the back of her throat as it goes down. Brain freeze hits, causing the brunette to grimace, her nose scrunching up. Her shoulders relax, and she lets out a shuddering sigh as she recovers, perching both elbows against the table. Her fingers clasp together and she rests her chin on top of them. "You are...so bizarre," she finally speaks, the smile on her face growing wider, her lips stained blue. As if that whole fiasco wasn't proof of her being equally weird. It's her own way of saying 'same,' 'ditto,' or 'I love you too.' It's her expression of love and he knows that, she's sure. She always admires how he makes everything sound cute, even though it's cheesy as hell. It's...nice... Different. She never will get used to it.

"I don't care how poets would describe me. The only person whose opinion I care about is yours," she admits then, quietly, almost bashfully. As though she's sharing a secret with him. "Unless you decide to become a poet suddenly then...I may or may not be interested. That's the only special exception. The only one." Zoe flashes him a grin then, ducking back to her straw, drinking the slushie as obnoxiously loud as the first time. As though she never said anything at all.

PROMPTS FOR YEARNING...LOTS OF YEARNING. | Accepting

[clockwayswrites]

One birdritch, two stones.

part idk, 10? I'm so tired. masterpost

“Mr. Drake-Wayne, do I want to know why you’re here?” Lucius drawled without looking up from his desk.

Tim plastered on a smile anyways. “Well, in an effort to learn the business as part of my internship, I thought that it was about time that I took a proper look at R&D.”

“Yes, it would be good for you to see R&D,” Lucius said as he signed something with a flourish before he folded his hands and looked up at Tim, “but you are not going to.”

“No?”

“No.”

Tim let the door close behind him and came to flop into the seat across from Lucius. “Uncle Fox—”

“That worked much better when you were small and doe-eyed.”

“Okay, let’s be honest,” Tim said with a sigh, “I’m still small and doe-eyed. None of them will let me live that fact down. I have to use what I have, Lu.”

Finally Lucius cracked a little bit of a smile. He leaned forward and pressed a discrete button on his desk. Tim knew that the button would make the office soundproof, an effect that Tim felt in the back of his ears.

“Danny Fenton— and let me be clear, it is Danny, not Daniel— Danny Fenton is one of the best people I have in R&D. I will not have you all losing me one of my best because you lot do not know how how to be subtle.”

“Lucius, we can be subtle!” Tim said, honestly offended. “We do subtle all the time. You know how well I do undercover.”

“Exactly,” Lucius said severely.

Tim tilted his head.

“Undercover you is subtle. Tim Drake-Wayne you is a menace,” Lucius said. “That last name is a pox upon common sense.”

Tim opened his mouth to argue before he slowly closed it and slumped back into his seat.

“I had been considering bringing him as the engineer for the other side of you all,” Lucius said, almost idly, “but whatever happened spooked him. He booked the end of the week off. Mr. Fenton never takes time off. Whatever you are after it will wait until after he returns, understand?”

“Understood,” Tim said with resignation.

-

The only reason that Danny didn’t screech and drop the component he was holding was because he was used to ghosts. The person who had appeared sitting on top of Danny’s cabinet like they had always been there wasn’t a ghost, but the behavior was close enough. Danny took a steadying breath and set the part carefully on one of his work benches.

“Hello.”

The off person smiled cheerfully and brought their right hand up into an almost salute.

Danny tilted his head for a moment before he brain kicked in and he repeated the motion back before pointing to the person then tapping his index to his chin and then next to his ear while purposefully screwing his face up into confusion.

They shook their head and brought their hand to their throat, turning it like they were locking a key, before making a so-so motion with their hand.

“Oh! Okay, I’m Danny,” he explained as he pointed to himself and brought his right hand in the sign for d up along his flat left hand.

They repeated Danny’s name sign with a cheerful smile before they pointed to themselves and moved the cupped hand of C over their flat left hand. They repeated the point before finger spelling out ‘Cass’.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Cass. I’m rusty at ASL, but if you can go slow for me, I’ll try my best.”

“Thank you,” Cass signed with a bright smile.

“Are you lost, or do you mean to be up there?” Danny asked.

Cass shook their head. “Comfortable. What is that?”

“Oh, what I’m working on. Well… nothing yet, not if it doesn’t work. It’s supposed to be something for improved water filtration though.”

“Explain?”

“Sure. Tap twice on the cabinet if you need my attention or have a question and I’m not looking your way, okay?” Danny asked. He waited for a nod before he grabbed what he was working on and started explaining the idea.

Thankfully the fact that WE was working on a way to further reduce industrial water pollution was no secret so as long as Danny didn’t get particularity technical, he shouldn’t get in trouble with with his NDA. Besides, whoever this was was inside a secure part of WE and did have a badge, even if it wasn’t colors that Danny recognized off the top of his head.

Cass was oddly fun to chat with and the two of them got into a rhythm of him explaining something and following it up with a question of his own. Cass did give verbal responses or reactions occasionally, but mostly Danny settled into a position where he could both work and watch them sign in his periphery at the same time. He wasn’t perfect at understanding what Cass was talking about, but they seemed happy enough to repeat things for him or finger spell when he was really lost.

“A lead role? You should be really proud of yourself, Cass! That’s amazing,” Danny said with a bright smile as he fought a stubborn tapper.

“You will come?”

Danny blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“The recital,” Cass finger spelled out before repeated, “You will come?”

“I don’t know, Cass honey,” Danny said, the endearment slipping out without him thinking about it. “That would really depend on what your adults have to say about the idea. I don’t want them to freak out because you’ve decided to befriend a random R&D flunky.”

“Luckily Cass is a very good judge of character,” said someone from behind Danny.

Fucking hell, what was it with people just appearing today? Danny gave himself a second to close his eyes before he set down his tapper and turned around.

Ancients that’s Bruce Wayne.

“I hope she hasn’t been bothering you. Cass was supposed to wait in my office while I dealt with the emergency,” Mr. Wayne said with a pointed look at his daughter. “Even if it did take longer than expected.”

Right daughter, because Danny had been talking with Cassandra Wayne for the last few hours.

“Oh, no, not at all Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Bruce. And don’t worry, she’s great company,” Danny said.

Mr. Wayne— Bruce chuckled and stepped into Danny’s office. He’d hardly moved before Cass was flinging herself off the cabinet and into her dad’s arms. As soon as she was set down, she started signing rapidly at him and Danny looked away to give them some privacy.

“Well, that is up to your new friend,” Bruce said in that sort of tone that Danny knew he was being included in the conversation now.

“Danny Fenton, but just Danny is fine,” he said.

Cass signed Danny’s name sign.

“Or that,” Danny agreed with a nod.

“Well, Danny,” Bruce said with a smile that made his eyes crinkle a little, “if you’d like, Cass would love to have you at the opening so you can see what she’s been telling you about, but if you’re busy we’d understand.”

Cass’ pout said otherwise and Danny caved quicker than a paper cocktail umbrella in a tornado. “If you can send me the date and where to buy a ticket, I’ll be there.”

“Nonsense, the ticket is on me,” Bruce said. “I’ll be sure to send you the date and time, I doubt Cass will let me forget.”

“No,” Cass signed with an overly angelic smile.

Danny chuckled and couldn’t help but wonder if all of Bruce’s children had him so thoroughly wrapped around their finger like that, or if Cass had only daughter privileges. “Well, I look forward to it. And it was very nice to get to meet you, Cass.”

“Yes! Goodbye, Danny,” Cass signed.

“Goodbye, Cass,” Danny signed back and returned the little nod Bruce sent him before they left Danny’s office.

Danny waited until they were out of sight to let out a breath. Ancients, well, that was something. Who would have thought that the first time he actually spoke to the owner of the company would be because his daughter decided water filtration was interesting an that Danny needed to learn all about ‘Swan Lake’ in return?

-

“Cass, darling,” Bruce said with a pointed look at his too smug daughter.

“He’s nice,” she explained with a shrug.

Bruce just sighed and shook his head. At least that did seem true. Bruce had watched some of the exchange between Danny and Cass and he was patient, respectful, and attentive even despite the occasional communication issue.

But that hardly answered any of what was going on.

“Just don’t overwhelm him, alright?”

Cass nodded and crossed her heart.

Bruce didn’t believe her for a moment.

---

AN: I did my best to describe the signs right/use the right ones but my knowledge is only very, very basic conversational skills so if I have anything wrong, please let me know! (I write Cass very to the point response wise when she verbally speaks, so kept that same sort of cadence here.)

Oh, since someone asked Danny is just slightly older than he would be it canon time continued normally, so late 30's. Bruce is early 40's.

[nereidprinc3ss]

relax

in which spencer helps university student reader de-stress after a particularly exhausting assignment

18+ (smut) warnings: fingering, overstimulation, happy crying, lowkey softdom spencer, slight d/s dynamics, reader is referred to as a girl, ????idk i've never had to tag for smut before lols wc: 2624 a/n: been doing some insane literary cooking. lots of smut AND more fluff in the works (all uni reader... lol... ). idk if i love this but again need to fucking get it out of my word doc so here u go, PLEASE lmk if you like it!!

You don’t even realize the room has gone completely dark until Spencer comes in the front door and flicks on the light. 

“Why did you do that?” you snap immediately, looking up from your laptop screen for the first time in potentially hours, blinking hard as your eyes painfully adjust. Your boyfriend gives you an odd look. 

“Hello to you too...” 

“I’m sorry. Hi. How was dinner?” 

“It was good,” he says, crossing the room to the couch that has been your entire world for the past five hours. You sigh, releasing some of the tension in your shoulders when he leans down to kiss your head and set down a to-go box on the coffee table. “Have you moved since I left?” 

“...no,” you admit, moving your eyes dejectedly to the keyboard.  

“You made progress,” he appeases, leaning over you to angle the laptop upward. Immediately you wrench it away, holding it protectively against your chest. 

“Stop! I don’t want you to read it yet!” 

“I could help you with it though,” he pleads, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch. You look up into his hazel eyes, where he’s definitely playing up the puppy dog factor. His tie brushes your stomach, and he smells like lavender and clove and-- 

“You need to go away,” you realize, snapping back to reality and shrinking into the couch, away from him—trying to escape his all-encompassing sensory presence.  

“Wh- I just got back!” he scoffs, straightening. 

“You’re distracting me,” you accuse, throwing him a baleful look. 

“I’m literally offering to help you.” 

“And I’m respectfully declining because I care too much about your opinion to show you this essay until it’s less terrible. I really just need a couple more hours to finish it, please?” 

Spencer sighs, regarding your pitiful state before moving to sit down next to you. Automatically you move your legs out of the way before settling them in his lap and damn it he’s supposed to be going away. Your iron grip on the laptop involuntarily loosens a little as his hands begin to run back and forth over your legs. No—you must stay focused.  

“Spencer,” you whine, flopping your head back. You let the implied complaint hang in the air. 

“You’ve been writing all day. Your brain is exhausted, and your synapses aren’t firing at a rate that is intellectually productive.” 

“What is the point of having a brain if I can’t even use it half the time!” you almost-shout, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes until you see fireworks.  

The couch shifts and you feel the warm, robotic weight of the laptop unpin you as Spencer lifts it from your lap. “Don’t read it,” you beg, watching through parted fingers as he sets it on the coffee table, and relaxing slightly when he settles back into the couch.  

“Come here,” he says, holding out an arm. Too mentally exhausted to do anything but comply, you pull yourself up just enough to fall into him. Immediately he wraps his arms around you, one hand slipping under your shirt to rub your back in hypnotizing passes. “I think you burnt yourself out,” he mutters. 

You nod into his shoulder, surrendering yourself to his warmth, letting yourself sink into a lavender-clove fog, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into it. The darkness behind your eyes glows an inviting amber, threatening to pull you under...  

But the essay... 

“Stop thinking about the essay,” he demands. 

“But I have so much to do,” you sigh against his jacket, the words coming out muffled. 

“The best thing you can do now is give your brain a rest. I promise you you’re not making that paper any better if you’re exhausted.” 

“I am not exhausted,” you insist, although your eyes are still closed, “I’m just really stressed.”  

Spencer hums, continuing to rub your back.  

“Do you need me to help you relax?” he says innocently. 

Oh? 

One of your eyes opens to peer up at him suspiciously. He sweeps some of your hair out of your face. 

“Because I would be happy to.” A moment passes—him looking down at you fondly; you wondering if you’re picking up what he’s putting down. 

“And how would you go about doing that?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Orgasms reduce tension and stress and improve brain function.” 

Damn. Why did the nerdiest, most un-sexy pickup line ever just turn you on?

You groan, burying your face further into his shirt—mostly to hide any trace of a blush. 

“You know what else would reduce stress and improve brain functioning? Taking an Adderall and finishing my fucking essay.”  

“Angel, you're such a smart girl, and you are fully capable of doing whatever you set your mind to—but I will lock your laptop in my gun safe before I let you look at that essay again tonight.” He speaks so softly, and his fingers are still gently combing through your messy hair... all in all, you put up a good fight, right? Maybe you should just listen to him...

“... fine.” you say eventually, reluctant to give in too quickly even though the idea quickly has filled your stomach with butterflies. 

“Fine?” he says, pausing his motions as you turn your head just enough to look up at him. “Sounds like you don’t really want it, baby. Maybe we should just go to sleep. Or I could take you back to your-” 

“Spence,” you whine, gently grabbing the front of his shirt. Now he’s going to make you beg? As if it wasn’t his idea? Those puppy dog eyes of his are deceiving. 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he sighs, hand moving from your hair to your outer thigh. 

“Please?” you whisper, dignity forgotten as you look up at him imploringly. 

“Lean back, sweet girl,” he says, helping you adjust your position til you’re lying against his chest, legs sprawled across the couch. Your head lolls on his shoulder, intoxicated by his close proximity. “Perfect. Such a good listener.” 

Normally, you’d be quick to make a defensive remark, but with the way he’s slowly hiking your shirt up, running his hands over your sides so lightly it gives you goosebumps—you're really in no position to argue. Your eyes flutter shut as his hands grow bolder in their explorations, crossing your stomach, fingers just slipping under the waistband of your shorts and skimming over your hipbones before coming back up. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs, and you nod lazily, apparently losing access to your language facilities after running them dry all day. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem good enough for your boyfriend. “Do you remember when the last time I touched you like this was?” 

Through the hazy blur of your exhaustion, you try to think back. Was it... two days ago? Three? More? 

“Almost a week ago,” he supplies the answer for you when you take too long. What? That can’t be right. 

But when you think about it harder... it is right. It was right before finals week started.  

An errant hand straying up your torso distracts you. “Do you remember what I did?” 

You flush. 

“You... yeah,” is the best you can offer, too flustered to say exactly what he did to your body. That stray hand moves over your breast. Your back arches just slightly at the stimulation through the thin fabric of your bra.  

Thankfully, he lets you off the hook.  

“I made you cum three times, right?” 

“Mhm,” you hum through closed lips, tense with anticipation as he finally slides both hands down to your shorts and wordlessly directs you to lift your hips so he can pull them all the way off along with your underwear. 

“You’ve been so busy lately, huh. Working so hard.” 

You unconsciously drop your bent legs open, brain too foggy to be insecure about how utterly bare you are—allowing him to slowly rub up and down your inner thigh. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good, honey. I don’t think three times was enough for such a stressful week.” 

You gasp when his fingers finally brush your clit, whimpering slightly when they just barely skim your entrance before tracing the wetness back up.  

“Give me your hand,” Spencer says, taking his own from between your legs and holding it up. You don’t even think about it, releasing your grip on the arm he now has wrapped around you and holding it out for him. At this point, you’d do anything he tells you to without hesitation.  

He takes the proffered hand, gently guiding it back between your legs. Your fingers meet slick, soft warmth. “Do you feel how wet you are?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, seeing how your fingers glisten when you pull them away. His remain, running slowly up and down your clit. Your brain seems to be vibrating in your skull as warmth spreads throughout your body. 

“Who’s that for?” 

“You, Spencer,” you whimper. He hums in approval before the room falls into silence as you both watch his teasing intently, your breath baited as you try to be patient. But your body isn’t with the program, you keep twisting slightly, your hips cant upward. “Please, please,” the words escape on a held exhalation as you finally break, arching your back against him as your search for more friction.  

Without warning, he sinks two fingers inside you. The slight stretch after not having taken anything in a week scratches an itch you didn’t even know you had, and you let out a broken moan. 

“I know, honey. You’re so good, I know.” Spencer kisses your head as he speaks over your cry, barely moving his fingers for a few moments while you get comfortable. 

Still you’re not ready for it when he withdraws and pushes back in. 

“Look at that,” he breathes. 

“Oh, fuck,” you choke, watching how your arousal completely coats his fingers as he slowly, slowly begins to fuck you with them. 

Again you feel the vibrations in his chest as he laughs slightly—probably at your earlier insistence that you didn’t desperately want this. The laughter fades as you both become entranced by the sight of his fingers disappearing into you, and your stomach twists with pleasure. His pace remains languid, and he seems to delight in the filthy, wet sounds his hand is producing between your legs.  

“You okay, baby?” he asks after a moment, seemingly snapping out of some trance. 

“Uh huh,” you whimper. One particular drag of his fingers at just the right angle has you dizzy, and then he’s speeding up. Your jaw drops at the change in pace and your hips chase his hand, wanting even more. 

“So pretty,” he mutters as his other hand moves to spread you open.  

You attempt to shut your legs around his wrist, but instead he just ruts his fingers deeper into you, palm pressed against your clit. You attempt to twist away from the extreme stimulation, but he doesn’t allow it. 

“Too much,” you squeak, bucking your hips inadvertently. 

“No it’s not,” he states, like you’re talking about the weather. 

“Spencer, I really c- ah- can't!” 

“It feels like a lot, huh?” he asks soothingly, not letting up one bit. 

“Yes!” you cry, eyes stinging as tears begin to well. 

“You’re okay, angel. It’s just been a while.” 

You are so completely fucked. Each stroke of his hand feels like an electric jolt through your whole body. It is too much, but at the same time, pleasure is pooling deep in your stomach and at the base of your spine and you never want him to stop. You throw your head back onto Spencer’s shoulder, eyes screwed shut.  

“Relax,” he mutters, carefully bearing down the pressure across your waist with his arm to try and keep you from squirming. 

A rhythmic whine breaks through the barrier of your sealed lips as you focus all your energy into taking it, when the all-consuming need to kiss him hits you. You twist your neck to look up at him, observing the furrow of his brow and the way he’s tucked his bottom lip into a bite. Thankfully he notices your movement—his eyes dart from your own half-lidded gaze to your lips and he understands what you want. 

The kiss is messy and the angle is awkward and you’re moaning into his mouth half the time anyway, but it feels so good to have his lips moving on yours that you don’t care about any of it.  

“I—ah,” you cry into him, unable to form a coherent thought as your stomach drops like you’re mounting the peak of a roller coaster. 

His fingers again change their angle and he finds the spot inside you that makes your legs spasm. Attempting to hold in whatever noises you were making is now futile—the whimpers and pants turn to full-fledged keening moans interspersed with taut silences as you fail to breathe properly.  

Your wrench your gaze and lips away from Spencer to watch through a blurry haze the rapid movement of his hand between your bare legs, the way your hips buck and twist and the way your leg bends as he hooks his free hand under your knee and hoists it toward your chest. 

“You’re doing so well, honey. Being so good for me.” 

Moisture spills over from your eyes, tracing down your cheeks and down your neck as you begin to come with no warning and a desperate, broken cry. 

A string of praise from Spencer underscores your pleading moans, but you can’t focus on anything other than the buzzing warmth emanating from your core, the bright, pulsing white that blinds you and the feeling of stardust flowing through your veins. 

Your boyfriend continues pumping his fingers slowly in and out of you for a blissful few moments, before sensing the tail-end of your orgasm and bringing his fingers up to rub lazy circles over your clit. Aftershocks resonate from the hypersensitive area and make you clamp your legs shut around his hand as your toes curl and you attempt to squirm out of his grip. 

“Done! I’m done,” you squeak, rocking your hips back and forth to try and escape his toying. 

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, relieving the pressure of his hand between your legs and moving it to run over your stomach as you come down. 

You lie in silence for a minute, enjoying the liquid sensation weighing down your muscles and basking in the warm afterglow of your orgasm.  

“Shit,” you breathe shakily after a moment. Spencer chuckles. You manage to turn yourself over, laying your cheek on his shoulder and slipping your arms under his waist. He looks down at you as he moves on to massaging your back and bare hips, eyes full of warm adoration.  

“Feel better?” 

You hum an affirmation, wiping your eyes on his shirt. 

“Oh, honey, did I make you cry?” 

You laugh into his chest and nod, a few stray tears leaking from your shut eyes. “It’s okay. Not sad tears.” 

“What kind of tears?” 

“Orgasm tears,” you mumble, a tidal wave of exhaustion you’d been fighting all day finally washing over you. 

“That makes sense. Orgasms can be cathartic or even therapeutic depending on your head space. Major losses and life changes are often associated with sexual dysfunction but the opposite is actually just as if not more common. A spike in libido can—” 

Spencer pauses, looking down to see that you’re either asleep or close to it, and smiles to himself. You’ll probably be mad about it when you wake up, but he had to get you to stop thinking about that paper somehow. 

[glitterrosesnzz]

OH MY GOD???????

A late birthday gift for @glitterrosesnzz ft. our Phantom Thief Disaster Duo — in that scenario where Renard is trying to do Vân's makeup 😏

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