#im just. very nervous to switch to something new

[du-hjarta-skulblaka]

Got to fulfil a lifetime dream tonight, got to use the kebab meat saw

[duckduckngoose]

Can my dnd character PLEASE stop evading every attempt at me trying to either develop her backstory or just anything

[vatelixx]

On the concept of ‘want’, (part 1):

Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader (written with early-ish seasons Spencer in mind)

part two here.

SMUT!! (and fluff, and aftercare because im not a total hedonist), allusions to both Spencer and Reader being switches (but he’s mostly just down bad), autistic Spencer (the way it should be), mean reader (to everyone but him), reader has a very very high IQ when it comes to everything but a pretty genius— Spencer just wants that cookie so fucking bad.

Warnings: sub spencer (but also not entirely; he talks about human anatomy as he destroys her), maaaaaybe slight corruption kink (what? who wrote that there???), mentions of prior bullying and insecurity, first time (for Spencer, yess devirgin that hot nerd!!— do you think the BAU will get him a cake after?), brief mentions of past hypersexuality for reader, kinda rlly domestic. Some undertones of degradation but predominantly praise. Begging, crying (pussy so good he cried), etc etc

w.c: 5k (I feed)

a/n: Spencer’s first time getting fucked, my first time writing smut (we’re both going through it here). I’ve been watching too much Criminal Minds recently, so i’ve reverted back to my tumblr roots (im home i’m home). This is a new acc so like…. hi!!!

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Right person, right time. It’s a concept that Spencer Reid is more than aware of. Define luck, at surface level, it’s a made-up hypothesis, idealistic, fantastical. Conjured up to aid the desperate (or the delusional). It’s something he refused to humour, obstinate to the notion, well, that was until you came spitballing into his life, sharp features, sharper tongue. You could cut with your words alone, a weapon to the BAU, jagged and fast-thinking, and so entirely unattainable. Rorschach tests, and an endless sea of profilers, it doesn’t matter— he’s not sure anyone is ever capable of truly pinpointing you.

Rocky start— after you became a permanent member to the team, it took months to coerce you into dropping your guard. A year and 14 days, to be exact.

But, it was possible. Hardened words and blunt comments shifted into something more with time. A gravitational pull, perhaps, that led to evolution— you, softer with him, more tender than you’ve ever showcased before.

Maybe it was that night when he told you about highschool, about what they did to him, boys like him, who were too intellectual for their own good. Different, in every sense of the word. Bullying at such a young, impressionable age can have prominent effects, chronic stress inflicted on an underdeveloped brain, they tied him to goal posts, stripped him naked, endless torment that he still carries with him now. Maybe that’s why you lowered your defenses. Put down the sword.

And sure, he never expected anything, nor asked for anything. He was definite that he wouldn’t get to experience cliche-dating. Longing glances and anticipated moments. It’s not like he was ever the most appealing candidate, too nervous, too neurodivergent. It’s hard to grow out of the mentality that no, everyone isn’t making fun of you, not when it consumed the entirety of his adolescence. That you can walk into a room, and not be seen, targeted, as an outcast. He’s just different. But he’s also human, and the chemicals in his brain do make him want.

You apparently. Because, you looked at him softly once, and he was done. Ruined. Gone for good. Or, in Morgan’s personal opinion, whipped.

And illogically, you wanted him too. That wasn’t ever part of the equation.

But theres a pattern now— dates every weekend. Movies, cafes, museums, an endless onslaught of you. Because somehow, thanks to luck, you reciprocated. He’ll never understand why, you’re too beautiful (it’s a hazard), but he tries. He tries.

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December. A haze of christmas markets and blanketing coldness. You kiss him outside and he thinks he might be dying. You make him burn cold. He’s a logical person, so obviously he’s aware that he’s only freezing because your hands are shoved in his pockets, a desperate bid to seek warmth, but regardless, it’s more than he ever expected.

He laughs against your lips, fingers gripping the front of your coat as he draws you backwards so that you’re resting against a wall. “Mm..” he hums, “You should kiss me more often.”

Everyone knows. The entire team is aware of this, an unspoken agreement that your lingering moments and aimless touching are not platonic in the slightest. You work with profilers, secrets are never quite effective. Everyone knows, but it’s taboo, something that needs to be left undisturbed. Do they expect you to break him? Does he? Maybe, maybe it would be worth it— to hurt for you, because it’s always been you. He’ll take anything, he’s not greedy. He’ll live off scraps if he has to, anything to satiate this want that burns solely for you.

“Actually.. you should just always be kissing me,” he suggests, tone soft, “Every day of the week. All the time. And—“ he laughs, “You should also stop stealing body warmth. It’s rude. Hypothermia usually occurs when body temperature dips to around 95F, oh oh but there are so many factors to consider—“

“Is this you trying to imply you’re cold?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Or maybe i’m implying you should be working harder to warm me up.”

You’ve grown soft, he thinks. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this level of affection. But its okay, you justify, mostly because it’s him. Spencer, and his pretty smile, and strange habits (sitting cross legged on tables, drinking coffee with excessive sugar, endless facts and a plethora of soft yearning glances at you when you’re interrogating— as if you’re not tearing an unsub to pieces). It’s terrifying, constant eggshells, because you can’t hurt him. Not like the others, distant fragments of your past.

You laugh in response to his comment, admiring the sight of him: flushed, with swollen lips and dilated eyes. He deserves to be like this, so thoroughly assured that despite all odds, you’re invested. All cards on the table. “You have a lot of requests, boy genius.”

He smiles boyishly. You’re hard lines, sure, a blade that can draw blood, but somehow, somehow, he’s always left unscathed. “Alright,” he answers, “You want requests? Here’s one, stay the night. Come over, stay over, i’ll cook breakfast and try not to burn it— and, and you can have the good side of the bed.”

“Spence,” you mutter, because of course there’s an underlying intention to ‘staying over’ and you're trying to be good here. To not let this fall into your past mistakes of sex and inevitable self-inflicted disgust. A cyclical cycle that clings to your skin. Everything is so new to him, the intimacy, the affection, and it’s nice being able to witness it— to see his reactions to innocuous touches, always disbelieving that he’s capable of this.

Fresh-eyes, so untainted to the sharpness of modern ‘love’.

You cup his face, god, under the dim shadows of the streetlight he’s beautiful. It’s a little alarming to be honest. More so disheartening really, because despite how much you remind him, he never believes you— obstinately refusing your compliments, as if you’d ever mock him. No, he’s different. He’s tender and disarming, and sometimes it feels unholy to touch him with calloused hands.

But, to Spencer, there is nothing unholy to this; the second you touch him, the entire universe crashes down into a singular moment.

“Just stay the night,” he reaffirms. It’s taken him over a month to get to this point, to be able to voice his wants, to comprehend his wants. Now, his thumb traces its way down the side of your face, tangible, real. “And tomorrow morning, there’ll be coffee and pancakes and—“ he laughs, “And there won’t be any regrets. I promise.”

You’re looking at him, wide-eyed and slightly disbelieving (because he’s somehow stumbled through the minefield of you without any consequences). He leans forward, his forehead resting against yours. “Don’t make me beg. I will beg.”

──────────────────

To confirm, he makes you incautious, irrational, willing to blatantly disregard any sort of control. Of course you end up at his apartment; the moment he mentioned begging, you were already half-way down the street.

Spencer’s place is… well, it’s everything you’d expect of him. Scattered novels adorning the floor, a mess of untidy thoughts, neglected papers on science, endless open textbooks left half-abandoned for other pursuits. It’s so him, clean but discombobulated.

He wants to apologize, make excuses for the lack of order, he probably should. He doesn’t do that though. He only crosses the room, stopping when he’s standing right in front of you, just gazing down. He has no idea what’s to come— for once, there are no patterns, no statistics he can reference.

So, he reaches for you, fingers tugging at the edges of your jacket. “Arms. Up,” he instructs and god, it’s a stupid order, but you follow it without any protest. He folds it over the couch, abandoned. Putting it back on alludes to leaving, and he’s hopeless enough to never want you to leave.

His hands then gravitate back to you and he starts to tug aimlessly at the material of your shirt. It’s been raining, and the fabric is soaked. “Hm,” he hums, “Off. Take it off.”

You laugh at that. Straight to the point. You don’t follow his orders, because one was certainly enough, and you’ve never been the type to obey blindly. Instead, you grip his waist, drive him back towards the nearest surface. An end table, some books go clattering, light damage, they’ll survive. His response is a gasp, a hitch of the breath.

“I was promised the good side of the bed, breakfast, pancakes. But sex? Hm, did you invite me over just to get in my pants? I’m wounded, Reid.” you mutter, pressing a series of soft kisses along the curvature of his jaw.

“No! No,” he retorts, breathless, “I was going to get you some comfortable clothes to change into. Damp clothes breed bacteria. You made this dirty,” Adding, “And not in the way I was concerned about.” under his breath.

You roll your eyes, “Oh, here we go—“ sure, you have the experience he lacks, but you’ve been on your best behavior. Dirty? That’s an insult to the exhausting self-restraint you’ve upheld recently.

“Yes— i’m the dirty one here, clearly.” you scoff, “Just casually corrupting you,” You tug him away from the end-table because you don’t want him bruised in any way, shape or form (it’s actually distressing; when you’re working, you seem hellbent on making sure no one even thinks about laying a hand on him. Unsubs be damned.)

Ego-centric, completely independent, individualistic until he came along.

You push him back against the couch, watching as he stumbles, as he falls. For a minute he just lies there, looking up at you with hazy eyes— pupils dilated and lips parted on a half-pained gasp.

And it’s a sight to see, the brilliant prodigy, the young genius, his normally-composed features now twisted into something stricken. His hands tighten around the material of the couch and he lets out a sound that’s a cross between a whine and a groan.

“Oh—“ that’s just a clear-cut moan, “You can definitely definitely keep corrupting me, in fact I endorse it. Completely.”

“3 PHDS, 2 B.A’s and you’re currently asking me to corrupt you? I don’t know, Doctor Reid, that’s certainly very forward,” you say, moving to sit on his lap, aware that you really should entertain this spot more often, even if you’re at severe risk of deflating.

Deflating. God. When did it come to this?

He laughs, “You’re the only person in this entire world that makes me act without a single coherent thought,” IQ abolished. “So yeah,” he murmurs, fingers tracing mindless patterns across the exposed strip of skin above your waistline. “Defini-definitively corrupt me.”

It’s taken so much to get to this point. So much to unpack, to understand, from Spencer’s perspective. There’s a lifetime of bullying that he has to dismantle, and sometimes he still anticipates the punchline when you kiss him— the biting laughs, not entirely dissimilar to school, when someone would belittle him, fake being his friend just for entertainment value.

So, when you stumble into the bedroom, when you remove his shirt, he knows this is improvement. He’s fighting this internal battle, unsure on how he should act: coy or defiant. Both, really. He wants to cover himself up, to pretend like you don’t disarm him, to fight and fight until you make him bleed. Anything, he’ll take anything from you.

“You are so so pretty,” you mutter when he’s sprawled out across the bed. You’ve never been someone to resort to praise; sex had always been cold and clinical, something to relieve stress, to undermine the burden of work, and the endless weight of sanguinary. But now? If he is the eye of the storm, then you’ll happily commit to the chaos of this.

“Careful, you’ll make me inherit a disorder here.” he mutters. Narcism— he’s the least likely to ever develop such symptoms. “Or cry. I could cry, it’s a potential. Maybe break-down?”

“Or,” he adds, his hands tracing up towards your shoulder blades. “All of the above. The trifecta of issues. It’s very likely.”

He rolls over on top, you’re down to just your lingerie now, pretty lace contrasting against your skin. Removing your clothes had been a whole ordeal, he’s fairly certain he almost died; you’re the epitome of beautiful, and he’s not sure how he ended up with everything when he was so resolute, silently accepting, he would always obtain nothing.

“I want to kiss you, but I don’t know, I feel like my body has lost the ability to function at the moment.” he breathes out.

“You should definitely kiss me,” you confirm, posing it as a choice, one that he has any say over— when in reality, youre already tugging him closer. Lips meeting lips. It’s not sane how the world fades into a nebulous haze the moment your mouths connect; time remains constant, logistically, nothing has changed. But it’s just so much that for a moment you doubt the concept of existence, doubt everything but him.

Genius falling for genius. Only you could laugh when he traces molecules into your skin. Spelling out words with elements: Livermorium, Uranium. LV U, it might not be an exact replica of the three worded phrase, but it certainly gets the point across.

“Spence—“ you bite into his lip, tugging the soft tissue between your teeth.

He groans, whimpers, pulls you closer, eliminating every infinitesimal distance between, slotting his hips against yours. He draws away from your mouth, lips leaving a trail of kisses down your neck as he reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours and pinning it against the bed. His free one is now wandering, slipping beneath your panties to touch.

“Do you know how much I studied about human anatomy after you first kissed me?”

“Weeks.” he answers when you respond with a muffled groan. Your hands are on his back now, tracing the journey of his spine. He’s in over his head, but there’s so much want, so much he wants to do but never thought he would be capable of. And oh, when he begins to draw circles against your clit, slow experimental halos, those soft touches of yours evolve into grasping, gripping. By the time he’s got a finger slotted inside, he’s fairly certain he’s being scratched. Nail indents and faint white lines, souvenirs.

“I know about every erogenous zone the human body possesses, every single one.” He says, because whilst he might lack in physical experience, he has enough intellect to memorize placement, biology. Plus, he’s a fast learner. His finger bends, and both of you moan.

“Spence— fuck, feels good.” you gasp, tangled hands clutching tighter, tighter again until your knuckles are white and you’re trembling.

The human body is something of a fascination to him; the way it reacts, how each nerve and ligament can respond to even the most tentative of touches. But you aren’t every human, you are you, and he has an insatiable desire to discover and catalog every single response your body gives.

He adds another finger, slowly, eyes fixed on your face, gauging the reaction. When he curls both digits, a sharp exhale is your response. “I’m convinced I’ve discovered new anatomy facts in the last few months, just because of you.”

Maybe it’s not fair that he’s so good. First times are supposed to be fumbling and awkward, a mess of hormones and inexperience. To say you haven’t been touched like this before is a severe understatement. The meaningless sex, the onslaught of bodies doesn’t measure up to him, the way he’s so focused on how you respond, on what your body enjoys— it would be endearing (and it is!), but you're currently too preoccupied to voice such a notion.

“Doing so good, holy shit—“ you mutter, blissed out beyond comprehension. You're making art on his back, only vaguely aware of the pain. Though when you realize you’ve scarred his skin, you're drawing away, moving to tangle your hand in his hair instead. But Spencer doesn’t even care, doesn’t even register the inflictions; he likes the physical marks you leave behind, a tangible remnant of all you do to him.

And sure, he’d laugh, usually, at your responses. But it’s hard to laugh, when his own ability to form any coherent sound has been completely destroyed. He’s a mess, his breathing shaky, and his brain is a constant buzz of fragmented musings consisting of you, you, you.

He draws his fingers out, earning a discernible groan, maybe a fuck you (which he does intend to do). But right now, he’s already slotting his face between your thighs, removing those soaked, ruined, panties of yours. He doesn’t have a single thing to compare it to. But he already knows this is his favorite place to be, and he’s fairly certain he’ll be spending most nights between your thighs, learning and memorizing every reaction and noise, each movement, and the ways to repeat them.

He runs his tongue along your clit, savoring just how wet you are, a mess that he can bury his face into. You’re looking down at him with something akin to shock now, and he can only laugh, blow air against your clit, then drag his tongue back over the sensitive bud, drawing it into his mouth to suck.

His movements are tentative at first, unpractised, but soon gaining confidence. He doesnt need to do this, you're aware— you could take him now. And yet, hes here, between your thighs for no reason other than want. Your reaction is visceral, because it’s always been about efficiency in the past, quick touches to get you there before the other person can derive their own pleasure from the act.

He’s not like that. God, hes not like that at all.

“Oh,” is all you can say, gripping his hair down to the root, instructing each movement until he gains incentive, finding repeat patterns that your body reacts to. Then, you can only arch and moan, noises filtered out into the air. He’s back to opening you up now, two deft fingers pressed inside, working diligently to tear you apart.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say to me? Oh?” he retorts.

“Shut up,” you huff, “Put that mouth of yours to work.”

“Mhm— I plan to. God, you’re so perfect.” he mutters, voice distorted, muffled. “That’s it—“ he fights the urge to explain exactly what’s occurring in your body every time his fingers abuse that spot. Instead, he keeps his mouth busy.

He’s certain he’s memorized most areas of your body from years of pining, and that’s what brings him an unrepentant sense of satisfaction. Because he was memorizing your body, you, long before he even got the chance to touch or taste you.

“Wanna stay here,” he says, and he’s being petulant now, because there’s something so good about being reduced to movements. To follow the pattern, to take care of your body, mindless to anything else but you. Pussy-drunk, to put it less eloquently.

“Shit,” you buck up against his mouth, watching as he buries his face entirely into you, as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, nose bumping bumping your clit, consuming his senses entirely.

“Use my face, yeah. ‘M all yours anyway.”

“Fuck, fuck fuck— Spence. Gonna cum—“

When you fall apart, inevitable, he doesn’t stop— not until you’re boneless and spent beneath him. Back arching, stars burning through closed eyes. Pretty constellations that have you blissed out beyond belief. The pleasure is white-hot, feverish in intensity.

And then he’s moving, shifting his body back over you. He’s all soft touches and languid kisses against your mouth, not bothering to break contact as he settles himself fully over you, the weight of his hips pressing into yours. He’s hard, dick pushing up against his boxers, his sexual libido had always been low until you came into his life. Now, his wants seem to fight for release constantly.

“My turn, I believe.” he grins, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Not that you have to, of course. It’s not an obligation, uh— more so a beg?”

“Of course it’s an obligation,” he goes to protest, to say you don’t owe him anything, so you sigh. “A thankyou, maybe?”

Fumbling hands, still shaky from pleasure, undo buttons. Unclasping his belt, removing loose fabric until he's bare before you. There’s something nervous to his gaze, something unspoken, lingering in the air. “Hey, hey. I’ve got you, yeah? You’re okay,” you promise, before your eyes shamelessly look down. He’s straining, pre-cum lingering at his tip, dick pressed up against his stomach now. “Fuck, okay— yeah. Good. Great even.” first time you've ever stumbled over a sentence in your life.

There’s so much to be concerned about. The fact he’s naked, that you could destroy everything with a few serrated words, years and years of rebuilding, reconstructing. But you don’t— and he can’t help but laugh nervously. “Glad to be up to your standards. I’d uh, hate to disappoint.”

“Always the over-achiever,” you respond, shifting away from him— there’s amusement to your expression when he groans, pitifully, when he rolls onto his back, draping an arm over his face.

Predictable. Condoms in his bedside table. At least he's prepared. You open the wrapper with your teeth, discarding it somewhere amongst the tangle of limbs and sheets, too hellbent on finding him again.

Oh, in this position, you have full, unrestricted view of his body. Endless planes of skin, begging to be marked, sentenced indefinitely to your touch. By the time you straddle his hips, hes a flushed mess beneath you. “I— um, you look really really pretty right now.” he stumbles, idiot.

His dilated eyes take you in. Every contour and curve, the way your hair hangs over your face, eyes up eyes up eyes up. He fails when you run your hand across his dick, thumb brushing against the tip. By the time you’ve slipped the condom over him, hes gone. Bucking and moaning, and so so much better than his hand could ever be.

He wants to be inside of you, but it’s hard to think right now, let alone vocalize the words. I want, he thinks, I want everything, with you.

Your name is on his tongue, muttered and repeated, a reverent prayer of sorts. He needs to gain back his control here, to return to equal footing.

“Yeah—“ he breathes out, “So much of an overachiever, considering I had you making all of those noises—“ his words falter, die out, when you sink down. When you take him. Wrapped around, tight. Warm heat that sets alight every nerve in his overstimulated body. He has half the mind to apologize for his comment because you’re about to ruin him, he knows.

“I thought you wanted me to corrupt you, hm?” you retort. The pace is slow, mostly for his own sanity. Though, the feel of him, the way he slots into you, warm skin pressed against warm skin is intoxicating, and it’s a battle to keep your composure. To not just fall apart under the weight of him.

“What’s that, pretty boy? Struggling? Because you were so egotistical a few seconds ago? Where’s all that ego gone? Straight between your legs, I think.”

A whimper. It’s a whimper, a pained thing ripped straight from his throat. He’s making indiscernible noises now, messy sounds pooling from his swollen lips. The praise, the strained undertones of degradation? It’s too much. But god does he love you for it, because that’s you through and through. Sharp, and brittle to everyone but him, he wants to look, he does, albeit he has to turn his head to the side, bury half of his face in a pillow because he’s gone. At this point, he can only take it.

“I— um, mhm. Yeah,” he slurs. He’s almost incoherent at this point; he’s been reduced to nothing, just a mass of skin, bone, and flesh at your disposal, to own and use and he can’t find it in himself to feel humiliated about it, not when it’s you.

“Can’t— um, I was wrong, you’re— oh god,” the sounds of your body hitting his, back arching as your pace picks up. “Oh, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry —baby, can’t, can’t take it. That’s…”

It’s a lot for his first time, that’s for certain.

“Yes, you you can. I know you can, Spence.” you mutter, interlocking your fingers, letting them hang near your hips. “You feel so good— so so fucking good. Look at you, so brain dead for me. Taking it all so well, love.”

Love?— oh he wants to be buried with that one. He’s a mindless disaster, impenetrably devoted to you alone.

He doesn’t even know how he’s saying words at this point, it’s as if his brain-to-mouth connection has been severed by your very presence itself. It’s not possible to form a coherent thought when you’re riding him like this, taking him so deep that he’s seeing stars. There’s tears pooling in his eyes, he looks pretty when he cries. Especially when it’s derived from pleasure, when he can let go of the burdens, everything he’s endured, when it’s just sensation. Nothing more, no more thoughts.

There’s safety here, an element of home, home home bliss, that has him keening. He wants to stay buried here forever, where nothing can ever hurt him again. When it’s just you, and your pretty words, and your exploitative power to destroy him. You never do, anyway. Even when you could, you restrain.

“Can’t, ’m gonna…, Please, please, don’t stop.” he whines, “Pleasepleaseplease— oh, can’t— I can’t.”

He grips you tight, rolls you over, mostly so he can feel you closer. The sight of you riding him was excruciating, but this is worse because now there’s no gap separating you. Now, he can bury his face into the crook of your neck, burn himself in the warmth of your touch.

“Spence..” you mutter.

“I know. I know—“ hes ruined, sloppy thrusts, whimpers catching against the stifling air. “Feels s’good.”

He doesn’t know what to do, how to breathe, so he just runs his thumb over your clit, watching your prominent reaction, watching as you gasp, moan— oh, and then you’re clenching around him, tightening the pleasure, and yesyesyes.

You’re too gone, moving still, and he can only cant his hips forwards, buck and squirm until he’s sobbing under the weight of your ministrations, releasing so hard that he can barely remember his name, no cognitive function, in the haze of his orgasm.

“There’s my boy— so pretty for me.” he can vaguely hear you saying, and if you’re talking him through it, he can only hear snippets of praise now anyway.

“Mhm— mhm. Yours, yeah.” he mumbles, body sinking against the sheets, a few little whimpers escaping his lips as you milk the rest of his pleasure from him.

Tangled limbs and sweat-stained skin. “You okay?” you ask in the aftermath.

“So okay,” he agrees, shifting closer, back pressed against your torso— sue him for being little spoon.

──────────────────

The next morning, you wake to an absence of Spencer. It’s unsettling, to say the least. So, you're quick to fumble over the buttons of one of his shirts, fabric creased, matching the tousled nature of your hair, disheveled, remnants of the ruination of last night.

For a moment, you consider that he might’ve left — but there he is, in the kitchen, attempting to make breakfast.

“Hey,” you mutter, leaning against the counter to watch.

Scratches adorn his back, indent marks from your nails, crescent reminders, stain his waist, and he’s content to wear them. If anything, he can’t wait to add to the budding collection.

Pancakes. The good side of the bed. Coffee. All of his promises from last night are being thoroughly met, even if he’s burning the food, and shit, he didn’t realize the coffee would be finished so soon. For all his calculations, he’s fairly off-center today.

And then, you come padding across his kitchen, embellished in only his shirt, unbuttoned near the top to expose your collarbone, and he’s fairly certain the last remainders of his IQ disappear.

“Hi! Hi,” he says, wide-eyed, “Um, making.. breakfast. You look, wow yeah.”

Breakfast lays forgotten.

[ellieslob]

★ellie got sick

+idea: ellie gets emotional when you take care of her

ways to help palestine !!!

you knew, deep down, under all the toughness and her act of being completely independent, and solitaire, ellie yearned for touch, but not just anybody's touch, your touch.

the first week after you guys got together you were both hesitant to touch each other, to be near one another, too nervous and definitely too worried of messing up, ruining everything and ending up alone again, so for the first weeks, you guys practically were just friends that called each other “babe” and “honey”.

that was until ellie got sick, it was nothing to really worry about, nothing but a cold, “it didn't matter” as she said, but at the same time, she had spent all of her weekend inside her bed, texting you about how her tummy hurt, her head hurt, her pinky toe hurt, your girlfriend switched from being the strongest and toughest woman you ever met to such being a pretty cry baby. you two were on your nightly call, when she heard the ring bell “oh no, wait babe, god, how do i get up” you heard her covers moving as she growled and whined.

“don't worry honey, i'll get the door” she looked at her phone confused, you hung up and left her even more confused, were you high? or…

the knocking stopped an the door opened showing that it was you at her room, with a soft smile and a little basket in your hands “hi baby. okay, okay, so i brought you a soft blanket, some chocolate, and yes, the milky one, not dark. i bought soda but i bringed tea, because you need to stay hydrated” your hands pushed her back to the bed, tugging her with the little blanket, and then checking her temperature by softly pressing your foreheads “oh and i made you chicken soup, i know you don't loove vegetables, but baby you-

you stopped yourself completely, her face was now drowning in tears, her face all covered in blush and her hands were grabbing her new soft blanket with a very tight grip “ellie, w-what's wrong?”

she got up from the bed, still her movements were slow and silly, but she managed to get to you, your worried look, the little basket, the homemade tea and soup, the little and soft voice you used just to talk to her. she knew it.

she almost tackled you into a hug, starting to cry even harder, her deep voice turning into whines, her sobs were loud and strong that they moved her hole body, she was clinging onto your shirt, hiding her face in your chest, you didn't know what to do, you had yourgirlfriend weeping desperately in your arms and she didn't answer your questions or stop shivering. you caressed her cheek, trying to wipe her tears a little “ellie?”

“thank you, i… i was so exhausted, i am really, but even with all my whining and complaining, god it must have been so boring to hear me complain about everything but still you.. you”

“i love you ellie, i love your face, your little freckles, your voice, your bad jokes, your complains, i love them because i love you, way too much, i’d say, you should be scared, like seriously, you should call the police” you started attacking her with little kisses all around her face.

“stop” she laughed like a kid, making you chuckle a little, her tears finally stopped, leaving her eyes shiny and loving “and you say my jokes are bad” she holds your waist, pulling you closer to her.

“well i guess that's why we are together honey, you'll have to endure”

“i love you”

“i love you more” and as cheesy as it sounded, your voice, your words and your kisses were all that ellie needed to get better.

🥣masterlist!

🫐nat: im back😭 im so sorry for all the time that has passed, this is not my best work but i wanted to make a little something to officially come back, love yaaall so so much

[mythicalmaven]

Beyond Boundaries - Oscar Piastri (PART TEN)

Masterlist

IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. My health has just been crap, had two hospitalizations for my chronic illness that got a flare up, but I'm back to writing now, with a long chapter!

↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!norris!reader ↳word count: 6K ↳chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten ↳chapter warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, angst, bestfriend!reader, fluff, tortuously slow smut scene, seduction, smut, 18+ (MDNI!), handjob (m!&f! receiving), oral (f!receiving), making out, dirty talk, sub!oscar, dom!oscar, switch!oscar

↳series summary: Since Oscar joined McLaren as your brother’s teammate, you two have quickly become best friends. Recently promoted to be Oscar’s physiotherapist, you both relish the opportunity to spend more time together. However, as the new role brings you closer, you both realize you might be feeling more a little more for each other than just friendship

Oscar and Lando walked into Zak's office, the atmosphere immediately feeling thick with an unspoken tension. Zak stood by the window, looking out over the track before turning to face them with a serious expression.

"Take a seat, both of you," Zak said, his tone firm but not unkind. Oscar could feel his stomach twist with apprehension, Lando beside him shuffling awkwardly in his chair. Zak took a deep breath, folding his arms. "Alright, boys, let's cut straight to the chase. Oscar," he began, locking eyes with the young driver, "you need to watch out for your image. I understand things happen—you're young, life's fast, and sometimes emotions get the best of you. But kissing someone in public that you're not publicly dating, especially when that someone is a co-worker... it's not a smart move."

Oscar opened his mouth to speak, but Zak held up a hand to stop him. "The media's already catching on. Whispers are starting to circulate, and we need to get ahead of this before it turns into a full-blown story." Zak walked around to the front of his desk, leaning against it. "That's why we've discussed the subject within the team and have a proposition for you" he started, taking a breath "The idea is to put you in a publicity stunt—a fake relationship with a girl. Someone from outside the company, someone who can help steer the narrative away from... well, from the internal complications."

Oscar blinked, feeling a mix of surprise and disbelief. "A fake relationship?" he repeated, his voice almost a whisper. Zak nodded. "It's the best way to simmer down the talk. Give the media something else to focus on. You don't have to like it, Oscar, but it's probably what's best for now. We can't afford any distractions right now." Oscar nodded gently to his words, before Zak spoke up again "Or is there anything that we should maybe know about? Something more to the whole ordeal?"

The young Australian swallowed audibly, getting a little nervous "N-No, it's fine"

Lando noticed that Oscar didn't know what to say, visibly uncomfortable about it "He already got the lecture from Sophie" he said, taking a deep breath "I'm pretty sure he's aware that it was a very stupid mistake" Zak wordlessly agreed with Lando, so he continued on without more lecturing words. He looked at Oscar "So, what do you say?"

Lando shifted in his seat "Before he answers that, uh, why am I here, exactly?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Zak turned to him, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Ah, well. We kinda had a similar proposition for you as well. If you'd both agree, we would set yours up in about 2 weeks after Oscar's" Lando's eyes widened. "What? Why?" Zak chuckled softly. "Come on, Lando. You haven't exactly been subtle with your... escapades with Daniel." Zak's tone was light, but his expression remained serious. "You've been trying to be, but it's starting to look pretty obvious." Lando flushed, glancing sideways at Oscar, who raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. "I'm not against it," Zak continued, "Not at all. But you need to think about what you're doing. If the media catches wind of it... if anything goes wrong... it'll bite you in the ass, hard." Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. "So, you want me to fake-date someone too, just to throw them off?" Zak nodded. "Exactly. We need to control the narrative before the narrative controls us." Oscar exchanged a glance with Lando, both of them feeling the weight of Zak's words settle on their shoulders. "Understood," Oscar finally said, his voice steady. "I'll do it if it's necessary." Lando hesitated for a moment, then nodded as well. "Yeah... me too. Whatever it takes." Zak smiled, clapping his hands together. "Good. Glad we're all on the same page. Now, let's get to work."

"So, any details on how we're supposed to do this then? Like, for how long? And what do you expect from us regarding those girls?"

Zak looked at the two boys "Well, at least a month, I guess. I think that'll do to simmer down the suspicions "We'll find a girl for you that looks a little like Y/n, just so people think that the girl in the press picture was that girl" 

Oscar nodded, shifting awkwardly in his seat, not really knowing how to act about this.

"From there we want to start with her joining you in the paddock during a race. Maybe hold her hand, give her a kiss, pretending to be subtle, while you actually just want the cameras to catch on to it" Zak explained, leaning back in his chair "Just do couple-like stuff with her. Share a picture of you both on social media, or don't. That's up to you. After a month, you can just give a short explanation on your social media about how you were dating, but mutually decided to break up and are better off as friends" 

Lando shook his head "Do you have any idea how complicated this sounds?" he explained "I'm a formula 1 driver, not an actor. How do you expect me to fake being in love with someone?"

Zak sighed "I understand, Lando. You both don't have to do this if you really don't want to, but we all think it might be the best way to fight off the suspicions, in both of your cases" 

Oscar shifted his eyes from his lap back to the man in front of him "So you even want us to kiss the girls in question?" he asked

"I'm not forcing you into anything, but I think we both know that the media will have a hard time believing that you're dating someone if you refuse to kiss them" 

Later that day

Oscar was sprawled out belly down on his bed in his hotel room, replaying the conversation in his head over and over again. Lando was lying on the couch opposite Oscar’s bed, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Fucking hell, mate,” Oscar muffled into his pillow, his voice heavy with frustration. “How am I even supposed to tell her this?”

Lando chuckled lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “I guess using words would work,” he sassed, earning a glare from the Australian driver.

Oscar rolled his eyes before grabbing the nearest pillow and launching it across the room. Lando puffed out an exaggerated “Ooff,” then tossed the pillow back. “Hey! I was just trying to diffuse the tension.”

Sitting up against the headboard, Oscar sighed deeply. “I know, but I honestly don’t know how to break it to her.” His voice softened as he admitted, “I know it’s weird talking about this since she’s your sister and all, but I honestly don’t want to hurt her.”

Lando offered a sympathetic smile, sensing the weight behind Oscar’s words. “It’s okay, I’m fine with talking about it. I know you mean well,” Lando reassured him.

Oscar’s shoulders slumped as he pulled his knees toward his chest. “It’s just… I felt like things were finally going in the right direction. And now this shit happens. You know how much that sucks? I thought I finally had a chance to win over the girl of my dreams.” His voice trembled slightly, the frustration clear in his tone. “And now I have to pretend I’m in love with some random girl and kiss her in public… with her right there.”

Lando noticed the glint of emotion in Oscar’s eyes, his usually calm and collected friend on the verge of tears. “I honestly don’t know what to say. It just sucks so much,” Lando admitted, sounding defeated himself. “Maybe you can just tell Zak you don’t want to do it if it makes you feel this bad.”

“I’m not doing this for me,” Oscar mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m doing this for her. I don’t want her career to be ruined because of me.”

Lando sat up, his tone more serious now. “It’s not your fault, Osc. It takes two to tango.”

Tears started to fall down Oscar’s cheeks as he shook his head. “It is my fault. I should’ve suppressed my feelings. I shouldn’t have bothered her with them. She’s my best friend, your sister, and my damn trainer.”

“Look, Osc,” Lando said gently, "Osc, your her best friend as well, you're her client, you're her brothers teammate. She’s just as responsible as you are. It’s not all on you.”

Oscar’s voice cracked. “I just don’t want people to think less of her. I don’t want the press to call her a gold digger or say she’s using me. If fake dating some random model stops all this crap, I’ll do it.” He rambled on, not realizing how much he was pouring out his heart. “You know, if the drama would be just about me, the decision would be easy. I wouldn’t even consider the PR stunt, I couldn’t care less about my career when it cones to her. Hell, I’d even quit racing for her. She's all I think about. When I close my eyes, all I see is her. Lando, I am so in love with her it hurts”

Lando’s eyes widened, the weight of Oscar’s confession hitting him hard. After a brief pause, he spoke softly. “Mate, you’re not going to lose her over this. I know she’s not going to think less of you or let this ruin things between you. I mean, it’s obvious you care about her so much, and even if you’re not officially dating… it’s there. Anyone can see that. You should go for it.”

Oscar shook his head, his expression filled with uncertainty. “But I don’t want to risk her losing her job because of this.”

Lando leaned forward, his tone thoughtful. “But what if people don’t react the way we think? What if… instead of weird reactions, people actually love seeing you two together? A lot of drivers get shipped with each other, and the media loves my sister. Why wouldn’t they love you two together? Maybe we’re afraid of reactions that won’t even be there.”

Oscar hesitated, his brow furrowing. “But… we’re not even dating, Lando. I don’t even know what we are. We don’t have a label or anything. It’s all so uncertain.”

Lando grinned slightly. “Mate, the only reason you two aren’t official is because of your jobs and what other people might think. But even a blind person could see how in love you both are. You’re holding back for the wrong reasons. Don’t let that stop you.”

Oscar looked down, his emotions swirling inside him. “I just… I don’t want to make things worse for her.”

“Talk to her,” Lando urged. “She’ll understand. She’s smart, and she knows this whole fake relationship is just business. Nothing between you and that random girl means anything. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Oscar remained quiet for a moment, processing everything. “I’ll talk to her,” he muttered, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

“And don’t give up on her,” Lando added with a soft smile. “You care about her more than anyone else. My sister deserves someone who loves her as much as you do, and I know you’ll treat her well. Don’t let this fake PR crap get in the way of your own happiness.”

Oscar nodded, still uncertain but feeling the weight of Lando’s words sink in.

“If you need me to talk to her too, I will,” Lando offered. “A brother-sister chat might help clear her mind. Just keep communicating with her, Osc. You’ll get through this.”

The two drivers continued discussing the situation, with Oscar ultimately deciding that, for her sake, he didn’t want to risk going public yet. But he knew Lando was right—she would understand. It wasn’t ideal, and it sucked for both of them, but they had to keep talking, keep trusting each other.

“Yeah, it sucks,” Lando sighed, “but you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Oscar smiled "Enough about me now, what about you and Danny, are you okay?" Oscar then asked.

Lando nodded "It sucks of course, but I think it's for the best, you know. Danny will understand. He knows how this world works" he explained, playing with the string of his hoodie as he spoke "Besides, Danny is well aware of my feelings for him. Things have been going steady between us for a while now, it's just that we both aren't really in the mood to drop the 'We are both bisexual and dating our former teammate' bomb, yet. So if this is the solution for us to continue under the radar a bit more, then I'm sure he's fine with it" 

"That's good to hear" Oscar replied, a soft smile sporting his face. 

"So, you're not grossed out about me dating a dude?" Lando asks, a little nervous, even though deep down he knew the answer. 

Oscar shook his head immediately "Why would I be? Wouldn't make a difference if it were a boy or a girl, now would it? As long as the person makes you happy, I'm fine with anything" he says with a smile

"Besides, it was quite obvious you were into both men and women from the start. I think everyone within McLarens has the suspicion" Oscar chuckles.

A few hours later

Oscar had invited you to his hotel room for a cozy movie night before the chaos of race weekend officially began. That’s how you found yourself now, nestled comfortably in his arms on the soft bed, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The movie was playing, but neither of you was really paying attention. Instead, your focus had shifted to the weightier topic Oscar had brought up—one that hung in the air between you both.

He’d already explained the situation. Told you what Zak had proposed. He’d kept the details brief, just covering the essentials. There was going to be a PR relationship—a fake one—with another girl. Zak thought it was best for both your images, and Oscar had agreed, reluctantly, explaining that there didn’t seem to be much of a choice in the matter. He looked torn as he spoke, clearly not on board with the idea but unsure of any other way forward.

You weren’t happy with it either, though deep down, you’d expected something like this. The media had been buzzing for days, and the rumors surrounding you both were becoming harder to manage. Agreeing to the plan felt like the safest route for now, despite the unease that settled in your chest.

Oscar sighed softly, his breath warm against your hair. “But… what about us, though?” he asked, his voice laced with hesitation.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his eyes. “What do you mean?”

He averted his gaze for a moment, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I mean, I’d understand if you didn’t want to… try things with me anymore. If you have to watch me kiss someone else, even if it’s fake. I can imagine you wanting to call it quits.”

You could feel the vulnerability in his words, his uncertainty over how you felt. Slowly, you removed yourself from his embrace and shifted your position, climbing onto his lap so you could face him directly. His wide eyes followed your every movement as you settled on top of him.

"It’s not like you're kissing her by choice,” you said softly, your hand lifting to cup his jaw. Your thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, and you leaned in closer, lowering your voice to a teasing whisper. “I'm assuming she's not the one making you feel like this, now is she?”

Without waiting for an answer, you leaned down, your lips brushing against the side of his neck in a slow, deliberate kiss. The moment your lips touched his skin, Oscar let out a soft, guttural groan, the sound almost desperate as his hands instinctively gripped your waist. Encouraged by his reaction, you trailed your lips higher, finding the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. You pressed a soft kiss there before sucking gently, enough to elicit another quiet sound from him, a mix of pleasure and restraint.

“You can fake date her all you want,” you murmured, your lips brushing his skin as you spoke. “But as long as I’m the one making you moan at night, none of it matters.” You continued to kiss along the curve of his neck, your lips slow and purposeful, savoring every inch of his skin.

Oscar’s breathing grew heavier, and you felt the tension in his body as his hands tightened their grip on your hips. His heart was pounding beneath your palm as you slid your hand over his chest, feeling the erratic rhythm beneath his shirt. You let your fingers trail down, tracing the defined lines of his torso through the fabric, your touch feather-light and teasing. It riled you up to see how sensitive Oscar is to your touch. How you can make him tremble with something as little as a kiss and a few words. You absolutely loved it.

“I know it’s me who makes you feel like this,” you whispered seductively, your voice barely above a breath as your lips moved closer to his ear again. “I’m the one who gets you like this, aren’t I?”

Oscar whimpered softly in response, his breath catching as your hand slipped under the hem of his shirt, your fingers grazing the bare skin of his abdomen. He was trembling now, his body betraying how deeply your touch affected him.

“I want to hear you say it,” you murmured, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Tell me, Oscar. Tell me how I make you feel.”

His response was almost immediate, though his voice was strained, barely able to form words through the haze of desire. “You�� you make me feel… so good,” he groaned, his voice laced with need. “No one else—no one makes me feel like you do.”

You smiled at his confession, your lips curving as you kissed his jawline, slowly making your way back to his lips. Your fingers slid up his chest, your nails lightly grazing his skin, drawing more breathy moans from him as you continued your slow, torturous seduction.

When your lips finally met his, you kissed him slowly, deeply, your tongue teasing his as your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently at the strands. The combination of your touch and your kiss had him whimpering beneath you, his hands pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to have any distance between you.

“You might have to kiss someone else in public,” you whispered against his lips, pulling back just enough to speak, your eyes dark with desire. “But I know I’m the one who gets you like this. I’m the one who makes you feel good.”

Oscar groaned again, the sound desperate as his hands moved to your thighs, squeezing softly. His breaths were ragged, his body trembling beneath you, the tension between you both thick enough to cut through. He was completely at your mercy, lost in the slow burn of your teasing.

Your lips trailed back to his neck, and you could feel his pulse racing under your tongue as you kissed along the column of his throat, sucking gently on the skin as you moved. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath you, each gasp and moan a testament to how much he was losing control under your touch.

“Tell me what you're thinking, baby” you whispered, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath his jaw. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Oscar's breath hitched, his voice barely more than a strained groan. “I want you... to touch me,” he whimpered, his desperation raw. “I need you. Please.”

Your heart raced at his words, and you pressed a lingering kiss to his lips again, your hand sliding down his chest, savoring the way his body shuddered beneath your touch. You could feel the heat between you building, the anticipation thick in the air as you took your time, savoring every moment of his response.

He was yours—every groan, every shiver, every whispered confession. And you weren’t done with him yet. You loved the dynamic between Oscar and you. How one day Oscar could be the dominant one, but could switch to being completely at your mercy the other moment.

Your lips curved into a smile, savoring the power of his plea as you moved your hand slowly across his chest, teasing him further. "You've got to be more specific, Osc" Your lips pressed softly against the spot just below his jaw. “Tell me where you want me to touch you"

Oscar hesitated, his hands instinctively moving to guide yours lower, but you pulled away just enough to stop him. “Nuh-uh,” you tsked softly, a playful smirk on your lips. “I need you to tell me. Use your words.”

His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, his hand dropping back onto the bed in defeat. He tried to stifle a whimper, but you could feel the need pulsing through him. Your fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down his torso, ghosting over the fabric of his shirt and sending sparks of sensation through his body. You paused just above his waistband, feeling the tension radiating from him, but deliberately avoided the spot you knew he was craving.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” you asked, letting your fingers trail along his hip before moving back up to his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, a soft groan escaping his lips.

You chuckled softly, your lips trailing to his ear as you whispered, “Or here?” Your hand moved to his chest, fingertips tracing circles around his nipples. Oscar bit his lip, his breath catching in his throat as his hips shifted beneath you, desperate for more. But you stayed teasing, your hand wandering, purposefully avoiding where he needed you the most.

"Tell me," you murmured again, pressing a kiss just beneath his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

Oscar whimpered, his voice strained and breathless. “I want… I want you to touch me,” he stammered, the words faltering as if he couldn't quite bring himself to say them fully. There was a part of him still clinging to the last shred of control, though deep down, he knew how much he craved letting go. The truth was, he loved this—loved you taking charge, more than he ever dared to admit. His body betrayed him, responding so eagerly to your dominance.

His eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back against the pillows as you continued your slow, deliberate torment. Every brush of your lips, every whisper of your touch, sent a fresh wave of electricity through him. He gripped the sheets beneath him, knuckles white, his body trembling under the weight of his need. The intensity of his desire threatened to overwhelm him, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to ask for more, savoring the sweet torture of your control.

You smiled against his skin, your lips brushing his jawline as you murmured, “Touch you where, Osc? Tell me exactly where you need me.”

He groaned in frustration, his body writhing beneath yours, aching for release. “Touch me… there. Please,” he whispered, his voice so raw it sent a surge of heat through you. “I need to feel your hands around my dick.”

A low hum of satisfaction left your throat as you finally let your fingers slip lower, teasing the waistband of his joggers, the heat radiating from his body pulling you in closer. “Good boy,” you purred softly into his ear, your breath warm against his skin as your lips trailed along the curve of his neck, planting a lingering kiss that sent shivers down his spine.

Oscar’s reaction was immediate—his whole body tensed beneath you, hips instinctively jerking upward, desperate for more contact. The sound of your praise hung in the air between you, its effect unmistakable. He let out a soft, strangled groan, the sound thick with need, as if those two simple words had unlocked something deep inside him. His eyes fluttered shut, his lips parted in a breathless moan, and his chest rose and fell in uneven, rapid breaths.

You could feel him twitch beneath your touch, the heat and anticipation rolling off him in waves. The mere sound of your voice calling him a 'good boy' had clearly struck a chord, one he was too overwhelmed to put into words but too aroused to hide. A thin bead of precome slicked against your fingers as you brushed over him, his body betraying just how much he enjoyed the praise—more than he would ever dare to admit aloud.

His hands fumbled for something to hold onto, gripping the sheets beneath him as he squirmed under your touch. “Fuck…” he whimpered, his voice breaking. His reaction was so visceral, so raw, that you could feel how much control he was fighting to keep, how much he craved your touch

Your hand stayed teasingly light, fingers barely grazing him as you moved lower, your touch enough to make him throb beneath you, every sensation amplified by the tension in his body. You smiled against his neck, savoring how easily you could make him come undone with nothing but your touch and your words.

“You like that, don’t you?” you whispered, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his ear. His answer came in the form of another groan, his hips bucking once again, leaking more in response to your gentle touch, his desperation growing with every passing second.

The flush on his skin deepened, the way his body reacted betraying the depth of his desire. You could feel the tremble in his thighs, the way his breathing hitched each time your fingers brushed over him, how his whole body seemed to lean into every touch, silently begging for more.

“I bet you love hearing that,” you murmured, fingers curling just enough to give him a hint of pressure, your words laced with amusement and seduction. “Admit it, Oscar. You like being called a good boy, don’t you?”

He let out a shaky breath, his body jolting at the words, unable to hold back any longer. “Y-yeah,” he breathed, his voice strained and trembling, so close to unraveling completely under the weight of his need. He pressed his head back into the pillows, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding through him, his body a live wire of sensitivity.

“Good boy,” you repeated, the words rolling off your tongue like honey as your hand moved just a little firmer, eliciting a strangled moan from Oscar that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. The way he responded to you was intoxicating, his body fully under your control as he writhed beneath you, craving every touch, every whisper, every teasing word.

He couldn’t help it—he twitched again in your hand, the dampness of his arousal slick against your fingers as he leaked more precome, his desperation making it clear just how much he wanted to give in. The pleasure was almost too much for him to handle, his body caught in that sweet spot between torture and ecstasy.

And you weren’t done with him yet.

Your lips found his neck again, trailing soft kisses along his skin, whispering between each one, “See? No random girl could ever make you feel like this… right, Osc?”

He whimpered in response, his breathing ragged as he squirmed beneath you. “No… only you,” he groaned, his hands gripping your waist as if he needed something to anchor him in the storm of sensation you were unleashing on him.

You smiled, savoring his surrender, your fingers stroking him slowly, deliberately, drawing out every sound he made. His body trembled beneath you, each moan and whimper fueling your teasing touches as you kissed along his jawline, down to his collarbone, then back up to his ear.

“Are you thinking about that girl you have to fake date now? Thinking about if she's pretty, if she could make you feel like this too?” you teased softly, your voice dripping with seduction as your hand tightened just slightly around him. 

Oscar shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “No… never. Just you.”

You kissed him deeply then, your tongue slipping past his lips, slow and sensual, tasting the desperation in his breath. His hands gripped you tighter, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t get enough. His heart was racing, the pulse of his need pounding through him as your hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re mine, Osc,” you whispered against his lips, your hand quickening its pace ever so slightly. “No matter who you have to pretend with, it’s me who makes you feel this good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he whimpered, his voice barely coherent as he bucked against your hand, his body trembling with anticipation. “Only you… please…”

You grinned, knowing how close he was, and kissed him once more, slowly, deeply, savoring every moment of his unraveling. "That’s right. I’m the one that makes you feel like this. No one else.”

Oscar’s moans grew louder, his body trembling beneath your touch as you finally gave him what he’d been begging for, his breaths coming in short gasps as he lost himself completely in you. Every groan, every whimper, every desperate plea filled the air between you, his pleasure so intense it left him barely able to form words.

As you kissed along his neck again, you took his hands in yours and moved them from your back down to cup your ass, squeezing lightly.

His response was nothing but a breathless whimper as he gripped you tighter, his body arching into yours, completely at your mercy.

The teasing, the slow build-up, and your seductive whispers had him lost, spiraling into ecstasy. You could feel him slipping away, utterly consumed by the intensity of what you were doing to him, and you smiled against his skin, knowing that only you could bring him to this point.

Oscar’s moans filled the room, raw and unrestrained, his entire body shaking as he gave in, letting you take him to the edge of oblivion. And as he finally reached that peak, his voice cracked, your name falling from his lips in a broken, breathless moan.

You smiled, your lips grazing his ear as you whispered one last time, “That’s right, Oscar. You're mine"

It took Oscar a moment to slip back into reality before he sat up on the bed, his chest still heaving from the high they had just shared. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the bed in one swift, effortless motion, holding you close to him. You gasped, half-laughing in surprise, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you toward the bathroom.

“Where are we going?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though a playful smile tugged at your lips.

He kicked open the door to the ensuite bathroom and placed you gently down on the edge of the sink, the cool countertop a stark contrast to the warmth radiating between the two of you. Oscar walked over to the shower, turning the water on with a steady hand, before striding back to you, his presence suddenly more commanding, more assertive.

Standing between your legs, his body pressed firmly against yours, he leaned in, his lips hovering just above your ear. “Showing you that you’re mine too,” he whispered, his voice low, seductive, full of intention “You belong to me.”

Before you could respond, Oscar’s lips were on your neck, his kisses slow and deliberate, each one sending shivers through your body. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging it gently as he tilted your head back, exposing more of your neck to his assault. He kissed his way down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

“I’m not letting you wait for the water to warm up,” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing, his fingers already tracing the hem of your dress, slipping underneath to brush against your skin. He gripped the fabric, pulling it up with one swift motion before tossing it carelessly to the floor, his eyes devouring you, the hunger in them unmistakable.

His hand slid between your legs, fingers teasing, barely grazing you at first, drawing out the anticipation. He could feel how sensitive you were, how ready. You let out a soft moan as he pressed his lips against your jaw, trailing kisses down to the hollow of your throat. His fingers found their way inside you, moving slowly, torturously, making you squirm beneath him.

“You’re mine,” he growled softly, his breath hot against your skin. “No one else can touch you like this. Only me.” His fingers curled inside you just right, hitting all the right spots, and you let out a breathless whimper in response, your body arching into him. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice commanding but still gentle. “Tell me you’re mine.”

His smirk grew as you struggled to hold back, his fingers now moving with more purpose, each touch a mix of pleasure and dominance. 

"I-I'm yours" you moaned out, unable to form a coherent sentence "F-Fuck, this feels so good"

He smirked, pleased with your reaction, his thumb brushing over you in just the right way, coaxing even more desperate sounds from your lips. "That's it... let me hear you," he murmured, his voice commanding but still gentle, coaxing out every bit of pleasure as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm.

When he finally couldn’t take it any longer, he scooped you up in his arms again, carrying you toward the shower. The water had begun to steam up the glass as he pressed your back against the cool tiles, the heat from the shower blending with the heat from his body. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss deep, passionate, filled with need. The water poured over both of you, soaking your skin as Oscar's hands roamed your body, his fingers tangling in your hair, his palms gripping your hips, your thighs, every inch of you.

Without breaking the kiss, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding down your sides as the water cascaded down your bodies. He kissed your inner thighs, his lips agonizingly slow as they made their way higher, teasing you just as you had done to him before. You could feel the smirk on his lips as he drew closer, his breath hot against your skin, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place.

“You’re my girl,” he said softly, his voice laced with dominance as he looked up at you from his knees. “No one else can have you. Not now, not ever.” Then, without warning, his tongue flicked out, teasing you with the lightest touch. You gasped, your hands instinctively reaching for his hair, gripping tightly as his tongue worked slow, deliberate circles, driving you mad with desire.

His hands roamed your body as he continued his slow torment, one gripping your ass, the other sliding up your back, pulling you closer to him. He was everywhere at once, his touch all-consuming, his tongue alternating between soft strokes and firmer pressure, teasing you, driving you to the edge.

Oscar’s fingers joined his tongue, sliding into you in perfect sync with the rhythm he set, the slow, torturous pace making you tremble. Every flick of his tongue, every curl of his fingers was designed to push you higher, the tension in your body building with each passing second.

“Tell me how I make you feel,” he whispered between strokes, his breath hot against you, and when you couldn’t answer, too lost in the pleasure, he smirked. “That’s what I thought.” His tongue circled again, his fingers curling just right, and your body responded, arching into him, your grip on his hair tightening as the pleasure became almost unbearable.

He continued to work you over, switching between his tongue and fingers, his touches slow, purposeful, drawing out every sound, every moan. His hands never stopped exploring, roaming your body, massaging your thighs, your hips, your breasts, every inch of you as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

When you finally reached your peak, it was as if the world around you disappeared. You shattered against him, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you, and Oscar didn’t stop, carrying you through it, his tongue and fingers still working you until the very last tremor left your body.

“That's it, baby” he whispered softly, his voice a mix of satisfaction and possessiveness as he kissed his way back up your body, pulling you close as the water continued to soak you both.

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

previous | next

Taglist @aceyalonso @saachiep81 @landosgirlxoxo @andruuu28 @il0vereadingstuff @silentreader128 @edixttor

[hearts4golbach]

hihihi i adore ur work and i was wondering if u could do a hippie!reader x johnnie fluff?? mayb like a record store date or something cutesy :3

We Don't Believe What's on TV.

"i don't care what's in your hair, i just wanna know what's on your mind. i used to say i wanna die before i'm old, but because of you, i might think twice."

pairing:

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Hippie!Reader.

a/n:

as requested, hippie reader!

proofread

warnings:

none!

word count:

1.0k

you sifted throughout the stacked records. your boyfriend, Johnnie, stood next to you, trying to find one of your favorite albums. there was a comfortable silence between the two of you.

he pulled out [album] and handed it to you with a sweet smile. "Look at what I found." he handed it to you and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head.

your jaw dropped as you looked at it in your hands. "you know ive been looking for this album forever! I can't believe you found it,"

"I was so fucking excited whenever I saw it, he responded, turning his attention back to the records.

you smiled, looking at him for a second more before you continued flipping through.

you and Johnnie had planned this date a month in advance. with his busy schedule, it was hard to find time to take you out on a real date. he made you feel loved nonetheless.

the whole afternoon, it'd just be the two of you. there was a picnic blanket in the car, along with a couple of canvases and paint.

Johnnie had been wanting to do the painting trend on tiktok; you switch canvases every 5 minutes or so, and now was finally the chance. excited energy radiated from the both of you. even though you and Johnnie had been dating for over a year now, the honeymoon stage never faded.

you made sure to wear Johnnies favorite outfit of yours. he adored everything you wore. he loved your style in general. he could watch you style outfits for hours, the colors you wore were always so mesmerizing. each time, his stares made you nervous.

you left the shop with two records in hand, which Johnnie had paid for despite your protests.

in the car, Johnnie turned on your shared playlist. it was always so bipolar with your contrasting music tastes, but it was enjoyable anyway. he sang the words to your favorite songs as you did his. you drove to a park right on the outskirts of town.

Johnnie jogged around the car to open the door for you. "thank you, kind sir." you giggled.

"you're welcome, sweetheart." he flashed you a toothy grin.

being 'cringe' with Johnnie was your guys' thing. he loved calling you all of those silly pet names, and you took pride in the fact that you two were the stereotypical 'love bird' couple.

the two of you collected all of the supplied and trudged out into the park.

"im so glad I'm here with you." Johnnie mentioned, holding your one free hand. "it feels like it's been forever since I've gotten to take you on a real date, something other than cuddling and watching a movie with takeout or some shit."

you sighed, taking a step closer to him. "I know. but, it's okay baby." you planted a kiss on his cheek, stumbling over your feet as you tried not to drop the things in your arm. "I love those dates, too."

you laid out the blanket and Johnnie piled all of the painting supplies on top.

Johnnie sat across from you, a love struck look in his eyes that never seemed to leave whenever you were around. he spoke to you about whatever was on his mind: his music, the new Star Wars game, how much he loved your smile. he always found it so easy to talk to you, and you felt the same.

as you squirmed some colors out onto the pallette, you quizzed him on his new music. you practically begged him to show you daily, but he always refused, claiming it'd 'ruin the surprise.' so, as your paintbrush moved gently over the canvas, you gathered whatever information you could about his album (which wasn't very much.) you groaned, making a joke about him cheating on you with his album. you changed the subject, filling him in on co-worker drama. you also asked about how getting his drivers license was going, which he seemed proud to talk about.

finally, the timer went off and you switched paintings. you had painted a night sky, and that was all you had. his beautiful blue eyes were the biggest distraction.

he had illustrated a large, lanky, dead tree. it resembled his shoulder tattoo. you began painting small fairies under the tree as he immediately got back to work, simultaneously talking more in depth about his license.

you updated him on how learning guitar, on his guitar, was going. he gushed about how proud he was, and how he couldn't wait for the two of you to be able to play together. the only reason you hadn't yet was because you wanted to get better before he heard. silence fell between the two of you once more. you listened intently as he hummed, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration. he looked like a painting himself.

you switched off paintings. in your night sky, he had painted a UFO. a goody smile formed on his face whenever he saw your fairies.

he brought up the idea of making a youtube video together. the internet knew you were together, but you kept your relationship private. you had filmed videos with the whol group before, but never just Johnnie. you immediately agreed. word vomit erupted as you told him how excited you were to have two new records for your collection.

you mutually agreed you were ready to go home, seeing as you both were pretty tired and ready to cuddle and watch a movie.

the final painting switch commenced. he had drawn houses in the tree for the fairies, along with where lights strung around it. you had added a cow wearing sunglasses and a tutu under the UFO. you planned to hang both of the paintings up as soon as they were dry.

Johnnie leaned in, placing a long, sensual kiss on your lips. "I love you," he muttered against them with a smile.

you couldn't wait to marry Johnnie someday.

[cheolhub]

MELTING — CHOI YEONJUN࿐

summary. sometimes yeonjun just wants to be taken care of… especially after a long day.

wc. 1.3k

warnings. switch!yj, switch!reader, unprotected sex, lowkey very soft, creampie, whiny & needy!yj, praise kink, pet names (baby, angel, princess) — MINORS DNI 18+

note. yessss im petty and yesssss this is for all the haters! i thank all of u for getting me out of my writing slump 😁 btw this is literally a gourmet drabble, lol it’s so short w no plot whatsoever— enjoy!!! (not proofread)

yeonjun has had a day. the type of day that has him trudging through the door with the biggest pout etched into his lips. as soon as he walks into your room and spots you on the bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, he almost immediately feels better. you happen to have that effect on him. 

nonetheless, he’s toppling over you and digging his face into your neck, still in the clothes he’s been in all day. the act has you giggling, setting your phone on the nightstand as you greet him softly. 

“hi, baby, how was your day?” you ask and he groans, nuzzling his face into the crook. “that bad, huh?” you chuckle, arms wrapping around him as if he were an actual baby.  

“yeah,” he grumbles, lips attaching to the skin of your neck. “missed you s’much.” he says in between pecks. 

you shiver a bit, realizing this is going to escalate. you let out a breathy giggle, “missed you, too, jjunnie.”

he gets on his forearms to look at you. he looks a bit nervous… anxious. then he asks, “can you do something for me?” his voice has never sounded so small and it has you furrowing your brows in confusion.

“what is it?”

“you can say no… i know we’ve never tried anything like this before, but…” he trails off, eyes evading contact as he opts on looking at the ruffled sheets instead. “can you… can you try being on top?” 

your mouth opens to say something, then shuts before it can happen. what exactly is he asking for? you’ve ridden him hundreds of times– being on top is nothing new to you. 

“you want me to ride you?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“no– well, not no… i just mean… can you maybe… be in charge?” the last of his words come out whispered and he falls back into the crook of your neck with a heated face. “i’ve just had a hard day…”

oh. so that’s what that means. 

you coo, softly, almost naturally falling into the role. “poor thing,” you say, one of your hands coming up to play with his hair. “you want me to take care of you?”

he audibly shudders, hot breath fanning against your neck. “please…” he replies, voice devoid of any hesitation. he feels his dick hardening in his pants, twitching at the sudden change in your demeanor.

“alright, jjunnie,” you say. “as you wish.” 

– 

unexpectedly, yeonjun was easily reduced to a mess. all it took was some praising words about how good he was and how pretty he looked while your slick hand rubbed his cock for him to completely crumble under you.

now, you’re hovering over him, hand wrapped tightly around his hard cock to guide him into your comically wet cunt. it’s torture for him, honestly. you’re moving so slow and he’s sure he’s about to explode if you don’t just put it in. he attempts to speed up the process, but when he bucks his hips, you instantaneously squeeze his cock even harder. 

he moans loudly, throwing his head back, “‘m sorry– please, can’t take it.” 

“be patient, baby, want it to feel really good for you.” you murmur, easing your grip on his length. you run the tip through your folds and he gasps feeling just how wet you are. “‘s gonna feel so good.” you echo, voice wavering a bit. “so wet for you.”

he whines because he knows– he can feel how wet you are. “please… angel, please just fuck me. need you so bad.” he begs, his voice even more unsteady than yours. 

you can’t deny that. you bring his tip back to rest at your drooling hole, but you don’t concede that you want it just as bad as him even though your head is spinning with need and desire. 

when you slowly sink down onto his cock, his jaw goes slack and guttural groan rips from his throat. you whimper, basking in the way he stretches you open even when he’s technically the one getting fucked.

his hands quickly fly to your waist, slamming you down to the base of his cock. the action makes you cry out his name to which he inadvertently bucks his hips up, driving himself even further inside of you. 

“mmph, jjunie,” you whine, palms lying flat against his chest. “cock ‘s too good, fill me up so well. so good f’me.” 

yeonjun feels like he might die if you fuel him with any more praise. “princess fuck,” he pants out the pet name. ironically enough, he’s the one with his head against the pillow, his hair tousled, and his eyes screwed shut as his hands squeeze your flesh so tight. so tight that you know you’ll wake up with bruises in the morning. “don’t say stuff like that...” he utters. 

you know he’s turned on, likely to cum prematurely, when his cock twitches in your cunt. you coo again, “it’s true… you make me feel so full, baby, i love your cock.” it’s when he twitches again that you open your eyes to look at him with your hazy vision. 

and, fuck, what a sight. his mouth is wide open, moans tumbling out and his brows are knit together as if he were experiencing the most amazing thing life had to offer. 

when you start moving, though, his eyes shoot open, training them on the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock every time you lift up and slide back down. it’s a painstakingly slow rate, but if you go any faster, he’ll probably combust. 

so, he takes it. his hands guide you up and down his cock all the while you whisper your sweet praises and fill his head with euphoria. the pace picks up naturally as you adjust to his size and relax your tight grip.

you’re tirelessly moving on your own, moaning out his name and feeling your stomach tighten with every stroke. your thighs burn–though you can barely recognize it with how good you feel.  yeonjun can tell you’re struggling with the way you inconsistently bounce up and down his cock, so he thrusts into you, meeting your hips halfway. 

“jjun,” you mewl, nails digging into his chest leaving red crescent shapes in the skin. “baby, oh my god…”

he moans in what seems like agreement. “so close, god, i’m so fucking close– you’re so tight,” he slurs, eyes rolling back in pleasure. “god– baby, too good, ‘s too good, i won’t last.” he sounds like a broken record– the way he moans out about how good you feel– you feel as if you might’ve broken him. 

“cum for me,” you demand, but it’s breathy so it sounds more like a beg than anything. “cum inside me, baby, fill me up– ‘m close, too.”

“please cum with me,” he pleads in response, a cute whine erupting in the back of his throat. “please, please, please.” 

his voice, let alone his cock brutally fucking into you, has you teetering over the edge. you’re on the precipice of an orgasm and then yeonjun brings your hips flush to yours as he lets out a cry and a mantra of your name. his cum fills you up, as you asked, painting your gummy walls with his warm seed. it immediately triggers your own orgasm. 

you clench tightly around his pulsing cock, soaking him with even more arousal. you’re nearly sobbing as you release with your labored breathing and quivering body. all the while, yeonjun rubs circles into your sides easing you through your intense high as he comes down from his. 

once you’re stable, you topple on to his chest with his half-hard dick inside you. you mumble into his chest, “did i do okay?” you feel the need to ask. “do you feel better?

“you did perfect and yes… so much better. thank you, angel,” he whispers. “you were so hot.”

“really?” you giggle tiredly. “you were, too… maybe we can try again another time and i can tie you up or something so you won’t bruise me.”

“i love the sound of that.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

taglist 🔖: @roe-sinning @hyuk4ngel @bowmonde @rckwithyou @despisedbylife

[one-pissed-off-child]

vehicle headcanons bc im like. so bored

Lenore 100% rides a motorcycle, most likely a Harley or a Triumph. She enjoys a good street race, but only on remote roads that have been marked off and never spontaneously or on high ways. She used to do stunts with dirt bikes and atv's before her injury, but it plays hell with her hip now, so she just rides standard. She doesn't drive much, but if she had to get a car, it'd be a classic muscle car like a Firebird. She's an offensive driver insofar as she's more than willing to take a fender bender to prove a point and she will chase a bitch down if they run. Only if it's just her in the car, though. She mostly drives one-handed and rests her right hand on the console (or Annabel's thigh). She does enjoy cruising in a car but not as much as feeling Annabel hug her from behind on a bike

Annabel's ride would be Lenore a Cadillac, Porsche, and an Audi. She switches them out as the occasion calls for it. Her father bought all three. She trades them in for the lastest models every five years or earlier bc she couldn't be caught dead in a model that's gone out of style. People assume she likes being chauffeured around, but being in a vehicle she has no direct control of gives her hives, so 9 times out 10, she's going to be the one driving. The only people she trusts on the wheel are Prospero and Lenore. Very defensive driver bc she's always thinking 20 steps ahead and can smell bullshit from a mile away. She tells people she prefers convertibles for the visibility, but she really just likes watching Lenore hop over the door into the passenger seat.

Ada would sell her soul for a bright pink Porsche. Unfortunately, a brand new one is def out of her price range, and every time she buys a used one that she can afford, it craps out in like five months or so. She's forced to settle on a lightest burgundy Camry she can find at some point and she's bitching about it to everyone that can hear. She is the most godawful driver you will ever see. Road rage like no other. For years, she thought turn signals were a useless formality until a horrified Prospero told her otherwise. The fact that she has a license is the eighth wonder of the world (her tester was severely hungover). She keeps subtly asking to borrow Annabel's Porsche, but Anna just smiles and changes the subject.

Pluto has a crappy little Beetle that he stole from his dad, and to separate it from him would be to cut his heart out with a rusty butter knife. He's also a defensive driver but not in the same way Anna is. He's just very hyperaware of everything, which is great for snap reactions but can cause him to overreact sometimes. Does not play music or take his eyes off the road ever bc he's scared of getting distracted. Prefers taking mainroads bc high way speeds makes him nervous. He loves his car, but he'll typically just take the bus for short distances. The only time he's even marginally relaxed while driving is when his friends are with him, especially Eulalie.

Montessori has a Mustang, and he drives it like an asshole. I'm talking tailgating, cutting, muffler delete, zero turn signal whatsoever, always going at least twenty over, racing randoms on the highway etc etc. Rarely gets road rage, but causes it on a daily basis. One of his favorite plays is talking someone into a race, losing on purpose, betting money on a second race, and smoking their ass with his turbocharger. Yes, his car is kitted with every mod known to man, and yes, it does look like a douchebag owns it. He keeps trying to goad Lenore into a race, and she keeps rejecting him bc 1. She knows his schemes, and 2. She's not entirely convinced he won't try to run her over.

Eulalie prefers not to drive and doesn't own a car. It took forever to get her license bc she's so easily distracted that she's at risk of drifting into other lanes and/or hitting something. She did manage to get it eventually, but having to be constantly vigilant stresses her out, so she just bikes/skates (skateboarder Eulalie real) or uses public transit or grabs a ride from a friend. Despite everything, she's actually a very good and courteous driver when she's paying attention. She stops for pedestrians, bikers, ducks on the road, and so on. Her driving style is very smooth and steady in a way that could lull you to sleep. Until she has to slam the breaks to avoid sailing into oncoming traffic. She thinks it'd be really cool to own a Hearse with a black/purple color scheme, though. She shares a bus pass with Pluto

(Pt.2 cuz this got too long)

[funnier-as-a-system]

okay, this is gonna sound super stupid, but I desperately need advice:

does talking to other people in your head to comfort yourself count as being on the plurality spectrum?? I'm not educated on it by any means, and sometimes its just my own thoughts, and sometimes theres other people in my head. Am i just making this all up??? Im actually kinda nervous ab this , so any advice is welcome ,,

(other info: I also disassociate sometimes too, just going throughout my days just living in my head / talking to myself, or feeling like nothing is real ,, )

It very well may be plurality! In fact, I'd say it almost certainly sounds like it!

In plurality, there is more than one self-aware self or being occupying the same body. This includes situations of multiple people sharing the same body who talk to each other (and comfort each other). The question for you, then, is this: are these people you talk to self-aware? Or are they simple figures you imagine to bring you comfort? (There's no shame in the second, btw!)

Since you talk to them, it seems like the best course of action may be to just ask them whether or not they consider themselves their own people, or headmates. If they answer "yes", well, that's that, isn't it? You've got multiple people in your head who can think for themselves! (And if you feel like you're controlling or strongly guiding their answer, well, that's an indicator in the other direction, isn't it?) Now, this may get a bit tricky since it's sometimes your own thoughts that you talk to, but I assume there's a distinction between your thoughts and these other people that you can make and recognize whenever you talk to yourself or them. I also acknowledge that self-doubt is an annoying burr when it comes to things like this, and your initial reaction may be, "But what if I just imagine/make up their answer?" – in these cases, there's not much you can do except do your best to trust your headmates that they're speaking for themselves, but if you're especially worried about it, looking for corroborative evidence of plurality – like switches, memory gaps, differences in opinion between yourself and your headmates, etc. – may help you shut down those fears of making it all up. Speaking of...

The dissociation you mention also sounds like another indicator that you may be plural, as systems often experience dissociation like that. Granted, so do those with immersive daydreaming, but that just loops us back around to the question of whether or not these people in your head are temporary figments of your imagination you conjure up for the purpose of comfort or a daydream narrative, or just people living in there who comfort you when you need it. And if you've got a feeling one way or the other just based on the way I'm talking about them... follow it. It's probably the right one.

I very much doubt that you're making all this up; whether or not you're plural, you're definitely experiencing something, and you wouldn't request advice if that something didn't matter to you. With all honesty, I'm trying to do my best to cover all possibilities here just in case, but if this weren't already a conversation about you questioning if you're a system, I would be suggesting that you look into the idea of plurality from the moment you mentioned these other people in your head.

In conclusion, while I'd never decide for someone else whether or not they're on the plurality spectrum, it does sound very, very likely to me that you are. "I have people in my head who comfort me and aren't just my own thoughts." is a very, very plural thing to say.

If you'd like to learn more about plurality, I recommend checking out morethanone and healthymultiplicity.com. They're good resources for those new to plurality, as well as those questioning if they're plural.

I hope this helps!

[sundaycentric]

Hi!! I heard you had requests open, and I wanted to ask if you were comfortable with writing Neuvillette reacting to learning about the fact his s/o is trans. With him being all supportive and just some wholesome fluff. :) Gn reader please, and I wish you a fantastic day!

neuvillette x trans gn reader

content ★ headcanons, trans reader, established relationship, not proofread, no specified agab or gender, fluff, sfw

note ★ IM SORRY OTHER REQUESTERS FOR DOING THEM OUT OF ORDER I JUST AUUGH.. this one makes me really happy bc im trans myself !!

Neuvillette noticed how you became a bit more nervous around him for the past few months. He can't understand why, but he doesn't want to overstep and push you. He wants you to tell him by yourself.

When you do tell Neuvillette, it's one of the rare days where theres no courts in session. The two of you have some time to spend together, outside of his work.

He can tell that you seem nervous throughout the date. His face doesn't change, but the skies darken some. He can't help but be worried, especially since he can't properly figure out what you're feeling.

At the end of the day, when the sun began to set and the two of you were content, you began to open up to him.

Neuvillette listened to what you were saying about how you don't want him to view you any different, and how you still want things to work out and hope he doesn't hate you. Neuvillette frowns a bit. Hate you? He could never.

When you finally do tell him that you're trans, he doesn't really react much. Except for the faint smile that grew on his face, and sky lightened a bit. Neuvillette knows what it is, and has more knowledge on queer topics simply because he has been alive for so long.

Neuvillette is relieved it wasn't something that would matter that much. He doesn't really care for your gender: you're still you. Especially since he isn't human, he doesn't think that much about gender at all.

Neuvillette will immediately ask you what you want to go by. If you don't know yet, he'll offer his help with picking you out a new name. If you do have a name in mind, he'll immediately switch over to it, as if you were always that name instead of your deadname.

He'll listen to you rant and vent when you need to. Neuvillette will be there whenever you need him. He may not have lots of advice or a suggestion, but he will try to comfort you.

Neuvillette will offer to help you get your name legally changed, as well as your gender on official documents. It still costs money, but he'll pay it all for you.

Neuvillette will go shopping for you when you're out. Binders, packers, tucks, whatever it is that'll help you feel more comfortable. People may look at him oddly when he is at stores, buying these, but he really doesn't care. Neuvillette's more concerned with your happiness.

He is very supportive. :) If you are transmasc, he'll try his best to give you some tips since he's masculine. If you are transfem, he'll get Lady Furina to help you out. She does, happily, and she'll advise you however she can. If you are transneutral, he can't do much, but he will listen to anything you ask of him.

[hollys-fairy-hell]

Prompt:

Dev finds out why Peri doesn’t use a human disguise

Got an outline idea for it under the cut. Didn’t mean for it to get quite as lengthy but im tired so I kept typing. Feel free to use my prompts but please tag me or send me a link cause I would love to see what you do. This should be in my bio not this post

Imagine with me now. Dev still has Peri pre final. And sees Wanda and Cosmo in human form a lot but never once Peri? Hazel has something je doesn’t and that can’t stand. Not wanting to embarrass himself in front of Hazel (i imagine this kid cares a lot about his image) he waits to confront Peri about it later.

“Peri why don’t you ever go into a human form? Or body? Or mode? Or whatever! Hazel gets to flaunt her fairies to everyone while you always hide!”

Peri in his usual fashion gets rather nervous and refuses to make eye contact with Dev. “Well Dev you see I uhh” his hands fidgeting with his wand. It’s not that he doesn’t know how or no human form picked out. “It’s just um that it’s.” Dev cuts off before he can even figure out what hes gonna say next “whats the hold up? Come on do it!” Imagine Dev doing a little stop with his foot. Peri winces and then turns to Dev with a forced smile “I don’t really think it’s-“ Only to be cut off by Dev with a loud annoyed groan “why am I even bothering with this “I wish you would turn into your human form! or whatever it is, human disguise!” At this Peri winces, gives a soft sign as he raises his wand there was a spider trying to crawl onto my face while writing this and with a poof of smoke presents him self as human.

Insert you idea of human Peri

With a little thunk of his shoes hitting the floor Peri stands there. Eyes blink a few times as he turns to look down on Dev “taadaa” he unenthusiasticly waves his arms over himself as if sarcastic. “There you go kid. My human form. Satisfied?” Dev gave him a look up and down. Peri shuffling a bit on the spot. Switching his weight. Dev began to walk around Peri as if inspecting like a new product searching him for a flaw “I don’t know what I expected. You just as lame as always but taller. He finished circling Peri, and with a final look he starts walking to the door.

Only to stop when he noticed Peri wasn’t following “well?” He turns back and looks at Peri. He sees Peri turn back into a fairy and start to float towards Dev. “No not like that! As a human!” A slight shocked look comes iver Peris face and is quickly replaced with defeat as he lifts his want to turn back into his disguise. Dev then waves his hand for Peri to follow. Peri Who is standing on the spot fidgeting with his hands a bit “listen Kid, my human disguise isnt really something I like walking around in. Or being in at all for a matter of a fact cause it’s rather pai-“ Dev once again cutting him off “it’s not even hard! Arent you supposed to be helping me? Can’t even do this one simple thing on your own?? It’s like I have to do everything by myself!” He huffs. Peri starts to respond but Dev speaks up first “I w~ish you would walk over here already!”

With a deep breath Peri uses his wand as a cane and leans on it heavily as he slowly trudges to where Dev is waiting. A slight wince in each step but he makes it there. Dev of course is unimpressed with this display “What was that? It’s just walking! It’s like the easiest thing in the world to do!” Another deep breath ‘following in your parent’s footsteps you got this.’ Peri tries to look Dev in the eye, though the sunglasses don’t help. “You know how easy it is for you use your tablet? A lot of kids or even adults struggle with technology on the level that you do everyday. But for me when it comes to walking, even though it’s easy and natural for a lot of people, it’s different. Imagine if every time you took a step your shoes are two sizes smaller. Or you have a very heave backpack on. Thats kinda what it’s like for me.” Trying his best to hopefully get Dev to understand. But the kid scoffed and crossed his arms “my shoes are always the right size and I don’t have to carry anything ever.” Thinking about it Peri had to agree “yeah I guess you are right. I don’t think I have seen you really carry much…. But thats not the point. The point that I am trying to make is walking in my human disguise, or even just as a fairy, is rather different for me. Theres no need for the details but what I described earlier is sorta how it is for me all the time. Without my cane I probably could walk at all, even with it is painful enough I don’t even wanna think about it without.” He shuddered at the thought of it. “Great now im thinking about it”

Tbh idk how to end this. I was gonna have Dev either not notice Peri wincing with each step. Have him meet up with Hazel and get scolded by wanda or cosmo (probably Hazel) about the state Peri is in. But that would require Peri to shut up and go with whatever his godkid wants. I think Peri is a bit hmmm he has some self worth to him I guess. Idk the word im tired lol.

Anyway sorry if this sucks I wrote it like three days apart and after work so im brain dead at this point.

[snaggie-t00th]

HALLO :D

i do apologize that i didn't have a snippet out like i wanted but, compromise, here's the whole damn thing. i also switched some stuff around in ch2 for continuity reasons :3

i got very very busy with prepping for an art faire (if anyone knows where to get cheap high quality prints let a mf know PLSSS) and i was muy busy. but we're back. and echo's a sweet dork.

mando'a translations!

ke'pare - wait/hold on

ge'tal - red

vor'e - thanks

udesii - chill out/its okay

gender neutral pronouns, no y/n usage, only main descriptor im sticking to about the reader is that you're ginger. cus i am. sorry nerds.

-immediately follows the events of the preceding chapter-

You were fighting back a smile. You had no idea that some of the clones knew Mando’a, let alone that the Mandolorian-adoptee turned clone-donor Jango Fett was taught during his short time on your home planet. You wondered if it was something the Kaminoans decided or if they all went about teaching themselves in Jango’s honor. The idea of a bunch of clone soldiers sitting around a Mando’a children’s dictionary makes the smile stitching onto your face that much harder to fight.

“I’m sorry about Tech. He can be, ah, a lot.” Echo grimaced while swiveling around the copilot’s seat, presenting it to you.

You obliged, and sat down. “Oh he’s fine. There’s plenty of topics I could infodump about, just as annoyingly. I just have a bad habit of my thoughts becoming verbal.” You shook your head, soft auburn tresses flicking about. The lights from the cockpit glinted around the natural highlights of your hair, and it didn’t escape Echo’s gaze.

The man cleared his throat. “Still, I appreciate you being so accommodating of my brothers. Nat-borns don’t seem to get it, you know?”

You furrowed your brow and cocked your head slightly to the left, looking him in the eyes. While he didn’t physically shudder, you could see the slight panic pulse in his iris when you met his gaze.

“Where do you think clones get their camaraderie and brotherhood from?”

Echo shrugged. “Kaminoans, I presume?”

You barked a laugh. “Well, yes. Ke’pare, what did they tell you guys about Mandalore?”

“Not much. Jango was around for the first few years, but I rarely saw him. He didn’t seem to hold much emotion for the regs. He seemed to like the higher ups, but I didn’t become an ARC Trooper until I was shipped off that wet rock.” Echo finally slumped into his chair opposing you. As he spoke, he slowly relaxed into his seat, his hinges quietly scraping together as he moved. Once again his amber eyes met yours, a new twinkle seeming to arrive.

“You know more than you let on, ge’tal.” Echo said, narrowing his gaze.

He seemed to be sizing you up. Trying to parse out his next line of questioning. Truthfully, you were better at it than him. While his observation skills have been battle-tested, the ease in which you peppered questions at him showed years of practice he was simply unable to acquire. Outside of the occasional conversation at 79’s or a senator he was required to escort, Echo’s entire social sphere only extends to his brothers. You made him nervous. In a very good way.

You blushed at the newly acquired nickname. “I prefer to call it ‘not showing my full hand’, but I’ll slide a few cards your way since you seem cute.”

The back of Echo’s neck started to bloom a soft red. He rubbed a palm on his knee, mindlessly self soothing. “Seem? What, the gray skin and hollow cheeks not working their magic?” He joked, gesturing to each feature respectively with a pointed index finger.

“You seem to deflect compliments because you can’t believe them, so I was starting small.” You extended your own index finger and poked at his shoulder, annunciating the seem.

The now-scarlet tint of Echo’s neck began to creep towards his face. Eyes darting towards the floor, he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. He pressed his lips together for a moment. The only thing he got out was a weak “Vor’e.”

“Udesii. I came here, didn’t I?” Your face softened. Echo’s almost immediate vulnerability around you made your knees feel like jelly, and you were sending a silent prayer somewhere that you were both sitting down. “You’re not gonna scare me off, but you can’t immediately go cracking jokes just ‘cus I said you’re handsome.” You continued. Soft, yet firm. You weren’t allowing Echo to talk poorly of himself, even in jest.

Echo nodded, meeting your gaze once more. He looked off for a moment, seemingly in thought, before returning your gaze and asking softly: “How do you always know what to say?���

You let out one quick heh. “Since I found someone to give the words to.” You reply cheekily.

Echo smiled once more and dipped his head. “Walked into that one huh?”

You both smiled, and a comfortable silence began to envelope the two of you. Both of you were looking out on the horizon. The sky was a deep pink and purple haze, stippled with the indigo hues of the impending twilight. Echo was scanning the distance, as if anything alive would be out there, let alone a threat. You were content watching the 2 ½ clouds in the sky move millimeters at a time, but something told you to look at your companion. Gazing at him, your eyes slowly roved up his face. His jaw was set in a defined line, lightly gritted in concentration. His cheeks were hollow, but his cheekbones sat quite prominently, catching the light. This, juxtaposed with his deep set eyes, allowed the light to dance right at the forefront of his face. As if a candle was eye level with him, across the room.

“See anything cool?” You finally speak, hoping Echo didn’t catch you staring.

“Nah, perimeter check. I’m sure all I’ll see is bones and dirt but, old habits die hard.” He replied, not looking away. After a beat, he nodded, and seemingly relaxed the scrutinous gaze he had moments ago.

“Huh. So, what makes your squad different from the other clones, other than haircuts, tattoos, and builds?” You change the subject.

“Being experimental meant the Kaminoans could enhance certain characteristics. Wrecker’s strength, Tech’s smarts, Crosshair’s accuracy, and Hunter’s senses.” Echo spun his chair to face you and threw one leg over the other.

“Huh.” You think for a moment before replying. “So you think Hunter heard us approach?”

Echo nodded. “And I’m willing to bet he’s going to call me a serf for the next 3 rotations.”

You barked out a laugh before realizing his implication. A hand shot over your mouth and your eyes grew wide.

The man laughed. “Just be glad he’s not close enough to hear your heartbeat.”

“What CAN’T he hear?” You said, mildly exasperated. “How do you get any privacy?”

“He’s got noise canceling headphones but that’s mainly for his own sanity. Wrecker got them for him after his snoring kept him up for 3 days in a row.” You laughed at that, and Echo felt a twinge of pride before continuing. “He showed up in the cockpit one morning with his bandana over his nose and Omega had to ask him about his new fashion choices.”

You let out a series of giggles at that, holding your stomach slightly as you lean forward into it. If your eyes weren’t scrunched shut, you would’ve seen Echo’s face bloom in 4 different shades of pink. Every single part of him was committing this to memory. The way your eyes crinkled at the sides. The way your cheeks almost wanted to push your eyes out of their sockets. He never wanted this to end, the sounds of your joy echoing across the hold of the Marauder.

——————

Hours had passed, the sun well below the horizon by this hour. The sky was peppered with numerous constellations and star systems, the names of which always seeming to escape you. The deep blue sea of sky felt more vast than ever in your little perch aboard the Marauder.

You and Echo went back and forth, sharing tidbits from your respective lives up until this point. You learned about the Rishi Moon incident that gave Echo his ARC status, he learned about the Siege that gave way to your arrival here. He told you about the Domino Squad, you told him about your own clan’s untimely demise. Hours of stories shared back and forth, as if you were both once stationed on the same battlefield and then whisked away, only to be brought back together once more after all these years. But there was no mutual history to draw upon this familiarity from. The two of you just fell into a steady rhythm. One that you’d individually practiced and honed for years, like a song that was never intended for a duet, only for the two to sound identical.

“...And that’s where I learned Keldabe Handshakes are applicable as a neutralizing tactic across species.” You finished, explaining the first and only time a Shriek-Hawk has successfully taken you off guard.

“Charming.” A voice hissed, and then a pair of boots dropped to the ground with a soft thunk. “Echo, shouldn't you be putting your toys away? It’s late.” Crosshair slunked into the cockpit, seemingly from the shadows. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I must be a pretty expensive toy to trade for speeder brakes.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised you’ve never been with someone and lost track of time, Cross. That does tend to require social skills and, y’know, liking people?” Echo crossed his arms and stared his brother down.

“Well unless they’re taking your bunk, you should tell Tech someone’s joining him in the cockpit tonight. It’s too late to take them back now.” Crosshair seemed to spit the last part of the sentence, annoyed that someone else is in his space and bothering his brothers. While you understood hesitancy, you felt as if he reveled in his current position rather than proceeding with caution.

Echo turned to you and looked into your eyes softly. “It’s up to you.”

“I’m already cramping an already small ship. I can kick it up here with Tech for the night.” You said, smiling. While you very badly wanted to just crawl into Echo’s bunk with him, you weren’t doing that the first day. Plus, you don’t know how Echo feels about his personal space, or his sleeping positions, or if he prefers one side of the b—

“How touching.” Crosshair cut off your thoughts with the remark. He spun on his heel, and disappeared just as quickly as he appeared. Echo sneered at the doorway.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind sleeping up here. Like I said, Tech can be a lot sometimes.” Echo looked back at you, eyes full of worry.

“Tell you what, I’ll come get you if he’s being too much and we can switch, okay?” You compromise, getting the understanding that Echo’s going to worry either way.

“Deal.” Echo said firmly with a nod, and stands up. “For as much of a dick as he is, Crosshair’s right, it is rather late.” You nod and shrug slightly in agreement.

Echo turns to you and leans down. “Try and get some rest.” He gives you a quick peck on the cheek before turning on his heel and borderline speeding out of the room.

When the door shuts automatically, you ghost your hand along your cheek, and an uncontrollable smile breaks across your face.

I think he likes me.

[oh-katsuki]

original pinned!

hello :)) okay so i mentioned this a little bit ago, but i will be moving blogs in the coming days and will be shifting entirely onto the blog @woahjo. i've decided to go by the same pseud i currently use, (because i feel like i'm lying if i don't and i hate that LMFAO) though i considered going by a new one, and my ao3 will be staying the same. i also won't be reposting anything to the new blog just yet (maybe a few of my favorites eventually), but i'll be leaving this blog up! the new blog (ofc) is a writing blog and will function essentially the same way this one does. please come join me over there if you like. i'd feel very honored <3

i'm not sure how many people really care all that much about what i have to say about this, but i'll say a little bit anyway bc i feel a lot of responsibility and big feelings towards this blog.

tldr; i'm switching blogs. it's silly to get emotional but i love it here, i love you, please come say hello over on the new one if you'd like.

i've been feeling this way for a while, and while the recent discourse had an effect, it's mostly a result of my own feelings. i just think it may be time to get a bit of a fresh start. i've had this space for nearly three years now and the community that's been built on this blog is beyond what i ever could have imagined when i first started writing. i know i'm getting a little sappy, but frankly, im shocked people wanted to be here and follow my writing at all. (i never know what to say when people tell me they do) it really humbles me and i hope to continue writing for many many years to come.

i recently took a long look at the way i view fandom culture and space, as well as how it affects me, and i sort of came out on the other side realizing that it might be time for a change of scene. i love this space. i love this community. it's something that i am deeply proud of to a point that i feel very emotional over leaving (clearly lol). in fact, i'm incredibly nervous about posting this. there's a lot of anxiety in posting your art for people to see and it makes me feel vulnerable to type a post like this telling y'all just how much i appreciate you and the part you've all played in this lovely little spot. i'm very emotionally attached to this place.

but!!! i'm excited for the type of creative refresh effect a new blog might have, as well as the ability to get to chat with you guys a little more and make friends. things get lost on here (both because tumblr sucks and because my blog is so messy that it makes me physically nervous to think about) and im hoping to be able to keep my new blog clean and tidy so that everything is easier to find. i've been feeling writer's block for a while now and i feel like having "more space to roam" (for lack of a better phrase) might have a really nice effect.

anyway, all this to say that i love it here. for those of you that choose to follow me to my new blog, please come say hello. and of course the group of old mutuals who are no longer active, i love y'all. if you ever come back to tumblr when ur old and gray, come say hi since i'll probably be writing x reader anime fic still. lol

[nerosdayinanime]

seijatachi played and i dipped my toes back into the still unnamed kny tokyo ghoul au

smthn smthn fox trio retired their fox masks since theyre pretty high-profile from before they moved to the 19th ward, sabito & makomo switched to rabbit masks (sabito's white w red eyes, makomo's gray with closed eyes & smile) & giyuu switched to a black cat mask with yellow eyes. all three have fur cape kinda things attached to the back of the masks to hide their hair (sabito did it originally bc his pink hair is a dead giveaway) their old fox masks are associated with a small gang of ghouls bc sakonji made them all their masks himself, at first they started out as just "Fox - [number]" but the numbers slowly kept climbing and their masks started getting custom designs so they started naming em proper, makomo's "Fox - Comedy", giyuu's "Fox - Tragedy" & sabito's "Fox - Reaper"

when tanjiro & nezuko joined sakonji made them fox masks bc theyre part of the family too :) but they still get different masks for actual use bc the CCG is very weary of the fox ghoul group, especially if new ones popped up

i was gonna put it in the tags but its too long lol

first scene i got down goes like: nezuko loses herself to hunger a little and starts running towards smthn that smells good, tanjiro following her bc he doesnt want her to get hurt, they find genya crouched over his kill and she starts having a breakdown, genya politely offers a bite before kaigaku comes in and starts kicking him around for hunting in 'his territory', giyuu arrives and beats kaigaku's ass before telling him to fuck off, giyuu suddenly realizes tanjiro's human & nezuko's not a full ghoul and walks closer questioningly, tanjiro steps in front of her protectively and asks him to stop approaching her, giyuu sits down placatingly & genya realizes tanjiro's human and gets a bit nervous watching them, nezuko still having her breakdown denying that shes a ghoul, giyuu "youre not a ghoul.. youre not human either- youre something else entirely.", genya pipes up "im not a normal ghoul either- you're not alone.", they chat a bit and genya tentatively asks if theyd not… out genya as a ghoul… tanjiro shakes his head "of course not- you've been nothing but polite to us!", giyuu escorts them to their cafe and tries to get nezuko to understand what being any part ghoul is like without scaring her, sakonji takes over when they get there, sabito comes in from his rounds pissed off about something and slaps his mask on a table ranting about it before he notices There Are Kids Here and hes being Scary, at first hes shocked abt tanjiro and shifts his eyes back to white but then he notices nezuko "woah… how'd that happen?" giyuu "i wasnt going to ask about that yet." sabito "ah, sorry. you can… keep on.." and goes back to quietly arranging his shit

in front of people sabito keeps up a kind/peppy personality but he very easily dips into being intimidating when hes mad, people in the cafe usually only see it when assholes start harrassing makomo or other female workers/diners and he takes them outside- its also about the only time people will see giyuu proper Scowl instead of his usual blank/airy look. when nezuko joins as a server (with tanjiro) people are a little less likely to yell in the proximity of a 14 year old girl, but if they do sabito tries to not be as outwardly scary around her and adopts a frankly even more sinister look where hes passive-aggressively smiling with blatant murder in his eyes, tanjiro usually guides her to the other end of the cafe when he starts looking at people like that,,,,

[dotster001]

Hi grats on 1k!!!<3 id like to participate in the event too if you don’t mind i choose twisted wonderland

My OG: Riddle has always been the favorite child lol i first learned of what twisted wonderland was through my first matchup result here on tumblr before i knew what twisted wonderland was. The headcanon was so cute and i fell in love with him and his design when i started researching and it led me to falling in love with the game itself too. Obviously I chose his hand first when the game finally came to global and he was on my first home-screen and is still there to this day although there have been times i considered switching with malleus or azul i couldn’t bring myself too lol. He reminds me of a little red angry cat who just needs love 🥺.

About me: huh what do i say lol. well I’m a cis female, pronouns she/her, my mbti is infj, my enneagram type is 2w1, my zodiac is a Capricorn, im african American 5’2 with black wavy/curly hair blackish brown eyes chubby cheeks and hour glass figure.

I would describe me as kind smart funny motherly responsible empathetic anxious emotional moody perfectionist helpful people pleaser caring compassionate nerdy curious protective polite respectful indecisive fearful nervous introvert shy awkward and clumsy. My weaknesses would be low self esteem and lack of confidence.

I like animals books reading writing fantasy magic sci fi anime cartoons music video games friends alone time learning personality quizzes sweets bread and helping people.

I dislike spiders loud sounds people who harm others people i care about not caring for themselves people who don’t consider others not being listened to weird holes and patterns math and tests.

Random facts about me would be that i pace a lot i talk to myself i sing when im alone and im a picky eater i have a pet cat and two sisters.

What kind of tale do i want: i dont know get creative i suppose maybe something fluffy and romantic i dont mind a little angst tho if you want as long as there is a happy ending. Just go nuts and surprise me if you can.

Thank you

(Hi I hope you like this! I was inspired by the fact that you got a match up before even knowing the game 😂 the story practically wrote itself.)

A Tale Where Riddle is Set up on a Blind Date, and it works out Better than Expected

"Trust me, Riddle, she's lit! You're gonna love her!"

"Sure Cater, but I don't have time for your nonsense."

Three weeks now. Three weeks of Cater trying to set him up on a blind date with some girl. He tried to be polite. But Cater wasn't taking the hint. And now Riddle was pretty sure he was about to lose it.

"Look, one date with her. One date and I promise, you'll be head over heels for her!"

Riddle was about to snap, when Trey heaved a heavy sigh. 

"Look, Riddle, you know normally I would never enable Cater. But in this case, I think he's right. I think you will genuinely enjoy a date with this girl."

If Trey was saying it, then there must be some truth to the matter.

"Okay, then you tell me, Trey. Who is she?"

Trey winced, "I can't say, you just have to trust me."

"Why can't you say?" Riddle asked with a pout.

"Because blind dates are more fun!"

"Because she didn't even agree until yesterday."

Two very different answers overlapped. Riddle folded his arms across his chest and frowned.

"Riddle, just trust me. If it goes badly you can collar  Cater forever, and I won't say a word," Trey said with a smirk.

"Hey!" Cater cried, but Riddle was slowly nodding in agreement.

"Alright then. You said you got her to agree. When is this date?" 

Cater winced, and muttered below his breath, "Tonight."

"Tonight!" Riddle shouted. "What if I had said no? How am I supposed to be ready in such a short time?"

"It's okay! I have an outfit picked out for you that I've been waiting to have you try!" Cater said, pushing Riddle in the direction of his room.

Needless to say, Riddle was less than excited to try out the new outfit.

                                            ….

Riddle was dressed casually for the first time in his entire life. Black jeans,  white Tshirt, red unbuttoned flannel on top of the Tshirt. He had to admit, it was comfortable, but he still felt a little out of place…

He'd been informed that his date would know what he was wearing, and would have a red rose in her hair. So he waited patiently at his table, until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Riddle?" 

The rose in your hair was lovely. You looked good in red. 

Those were his first two thoughts before he realized you were his blind date.

"Prefect? You're…."

"Yeah," you laughed, "I guess so."

You took a seat across from him, and Riddle took a sip of water to hopefully hide his flushed cheeks.

"Can I tell you the truth?" You said sheepishly. "I only agreed to this because Cater accidentally hinted that the blind date was you."

Riddle's face went even redder and he tried to sputter out a good response, but it came out as….

"Beautiful! So pretty!"

You furrowed your brow. "I mean, yeah, you do look pretty in the casual clothes I guess."

"Sevens," he muttered, taking another sip of water and trying not to choke. "You look beautiful."

You stared for a moment. Then you giggled. "Heh, thanks."

There was a heavy silence for a moment, and Riddle decided that if you were honest, he should be too.

"I kept turning Cater down because I didn't think he'd be setting me up with you."

The back of your neck prickled and your gaze dropped to the floor.

"We seem to be in agreement then."

"Yes," he took your hand, and softly rubbed his thumb along your knuckles. 

He grinned maliciously. 

" Even if we weren't, rule 137 states that if you get set up on a blind date with the queen, you are required to date until the next blind date occurs."

"You made that up!"

"I would never!" He pressed a hand to his chest in mock indignation. "I take my position very seriously."

"Well, rule 76 in my rulebook says that if the queen makes up a rule,  then she has to date me until I say otherwise."

You loved his genuine smiles. So when his face radiated like the sun, your heart skipped a beat.

"I guess we're stuck together."

"I guess so."

"Well, I'll make the most of it then," he confidently kissed the back of your hand, like a prince greeting his princess.

                                   ….

From the back of the restaurant Cater looks on in mild disappointment.

"I guess they don't need us to serenade them then."

Trey set the microphone down with a relieved laugh.

"Told you so."

[ask-dr-fritzludwig]

...I dont think is very pro-

Hallo! uh...internet (I suppose?) uhm...

Name: Fritz. Ludwig

age: 39

height: 6'1

Currently: healthy. Maximum 180 beats per minute...

Currently I am at ze Builders league base with my fellow mercenaries. I have been told zhat creating an account on here will be helpful...in some vay...herr scout tells me to make friends on here anyvays...

OOC stuff at the bottom!! pls read!! vvv

Ough now time for the OOC stuff

Hiiii uh...so this is my first ever rp blog so sorry if I mess some shit up

Also im still pretty new to the TF2 fandom. I don't even have the game or SFM :(( i really want to though...

like I said I'm new to the tf2 fandom. I probably won't act out the medic right and i really apologize for that so yeah :/ also english not good sometimes idk why so ://

Mod is a minor! so pls dont do anything weird! Like super weird asks and stuff. but rizz up the medic all ya want ig? (he'll be confused or flattered. he doesn't know which one just yet)

ill respond to ask to the best if my ability and to stay in character

im planning to draw some sort of blog ask thingy for this acc- so sorry for the late reply

You know the usual DNI; if ur homophobic, racist, transphobic, bigoted zoo/pedophile stuff ect ect JUST DON'T EVEN BOTHER-

Also Also

ill add in a few head cannons i have for the blue medic. like the bio says. its based off blu medic from lil pootis and a bit off of emesis blue?

fellow blu rp/ask members id love it if yall interected too :DD love rping and such. Speaking of Rp...

ig main ship for this blog is...yk- basic as hell heavymedic and also ig engineer x medic (platonic wise ig?) [if there is like ship content ill probably be a bit nervous cus like...this is my first blog so qwq)

speaking of ships. ig any ship is okay. those 2 are my main for this blog (BUT MY 3 TOP MAIN SHIPS HAS TO BE HEAVYMEDIC, ENGISPY AND BOOTS AND BOMBS/ SOLDIER X DEMO SO EJCSKXKWKXKW) as long as its legal/isnt with miss pauling, scout or pyro (personally i just dont see 3 of em with the other mercs. pyro with anyone is atleast something friendly and miss pauling is just there to make sure the other mercs dont get into trouble...also lesbian miss pauling so :] )

If ya want yer ask to be drawn pls tell me qwq Ill probably draw random asks but not yours..like i said im switching between text and drawing out a reply so yeah...sorry

💉#Prepare for your examination...-> general medic stuff

💉#In my medical opinion -> medic answers Asks

💉#THE___IS (DEAD!) -> medic interacts with other blogs (medic just asks shit/start up shit/responds to other tf2 blogs) [also also because tumblers a arse. i cant even use the tag because apparently its inappropriate so yeah]

💉#turn your head and cough -> ship stuff? i think?(JWJDKWJS I SHOULDN'T HAVE CHOOSE THIS VOICE LINE QOUTE BUT ITS SO FUNNY FOR THIS-)

💉#you are SCHEWPID -> Shitty doodles (made by mod)

💉#danke schön -> random (mod) bullshit GO!!

I saw other blogs that do this but thier from diffrent fandoms so...uh claimed anons?? here?