#it moved a puzzle piece into place. i think

[duchessofostergotlands]

Hey! Is this true?

"in her first year as a royal bride, Kate was behind a charity being kicked out of apartment 1A so she could take it over. Charles originally was turned down by the charity, and then the queen had to intervene to make them leave. The charity had just remodeled Princess Margaret's apartment and Kate toured the rooms on the pretense of just wanting to see what work they had done."

So there's some truth, some overdramatising, and some lies (buckle up, it's long).

Apartment 1a was lived in by Princess Margaret. After her death in 2002 it lay vacant until 2004 when the management was taken over by Historic Royal Palaces. Historic Royal Palaces is a charity and royal charter body which exists to maintain and run the unoccupied royal palaces (so occupied parts of KP sit outside their control). They used the space for a few things: offices, storage, event space, classrooms. HRP runs the palaces through a contracted arrangement with the government. We don't know the terms of that contract, or the terms of any agreement regulating HRP's use of Apartment 1a, so we have no idea what legal rights different groups had which is a massive piece of the puzzle which is unfortunately missing but we'll try our best with what we have.

In 2007 Charles took over Apartment 8 for office space. I can't find any reference to him asking HRP for Apartment 1a. He might have but there's no evidence and without any details about when he asked and why I don't see why it's relevant.

In 2010, HRP announced a renovation for KP. This was a large scale plan costing about £12 million and was predominantly focused on the public spaces (the State Apartments etc). This wasn't a specific renovation of Apartment 1a. They did do work to make it suitable for offices but I can't find any evidence it was in 2010/11 (and if it was it doesn't matter as you'll see later).

In 2011, William and Kate were preparing to marry. They shared a residence with Harry at Clarence House and it was recognised that a new London base would be needed for them as they would be growing their family and would also be likely to receive heads of state and diplomats in their home. According to the press they visited St James's - an occupied royal palace not under the control of HRP - and Apartment 8 in KP (which would have also required charities to move their offices). HRP confirmed Kate had visited KP before the wedding but didn't confirm what part, why, or what she said her reason was so that claim is unsubstantiated. In July 2011 they moved into Nottingham Cottage but it was made clear this was a temporary move until they found something more appropriate.

In November 2011 it was confirmed that William and Kate would move into 1a. There would be a renovation which would start in late 2012. Now, again, we don't know for definite what happened but the press reported that the Queen had asked HRP to move. The reports state that she and Charles agreed to reimburse HRP for any work they'd carried out on 1a over the years and they agreed to delay the move so that HRP could carry out the final exhibition they had planned, so they wouldn't have any loss of income or be out of pocket. They then relocated to a different space at KP. After the announcement HRP said they were "delighted that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have chosen Kensington Palace as their permanent home. There is no doubt that their presence will put the Palace more in the public eye and, we hope, encourage more people to come and explore its history." According to their accounts their income increased year on year and there is nothing to suggest there was any negative consequence of the handover, or any significant shift in their operations.

So on the surface the story has some truth. HRP had the place. They had to move out for William and Kate. But several claims are unsubstantiated like the idea Kate lied about why she was there. I also think the fact they refuse to name the charity and leave out what happened to HRP as a result of the move is also deliberate, in my view. Because of the common perception of the term "charity" it makes you believe it was either some orphanage and all these starving children were cast onto the street or that it was a vital community space offering life saving services that had to be stopped. It was a building where they had some offices and kept some of their stuff. And the move was negotiated and fair on HRP. They essentially just had to move some boxes from one room to another room in the same place so at most it was mildly irritating for a couple of weeks but that's it. And I don't know about you but if I was the head of HRP and someone said things could stay exactly as they are because William and Kate are moving into St James's which is nothing to do with us or we can move to a different building on the same complex with no financial loss involved and in exchange get the Cambridge factor to attract visitors, I'd pick the latter. So from my perspective they've massively overdramatised the story and if HRP ended up being ok with the final agreement, why shouldn't I?

However, I know my view is subjective and I can understand opposing views so let's just say it was a terrible thing to do. The first thing I'd say in response is William exists. You wouldn't know it from this quote. Every time there has ever been a drama about their family's homes it has been blamed 100% on Kate because she's a woman so domestic spaces have to be solely on her. It's wildly misogynistic to say Kate was behind it and ignore William's existence. Furthermore, Kate has no power to kick anyone out of a home she doesn't own. So unless she strapped the Queen and Charles to chairs and said she'd kill one corgi every hour until she got her way, they made the choice to ask HRP to move out. They could have said no. And this quote states they believe Charles asked and HRP said no so by their logic HRP could have also said no here. So even if people want to believe this account that Kate wanted a poor little charity to be thrown out for her own amusement, it was still the Queen and to a lesser extent Charles who threw them out so the blame is on them.

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - The End

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 2000

Masterlist

———————————————————————

"No, you can't knock down this wall!"

Jules looked at me with a puzzled expression in front of the model that stood before us.

"It’s a load-bearing wall!" I added.

Jules sighed loudly, slumping dejectedly onto the backrest of the kitchen chair.

"But without that, the main room is too small!" he grumbled.

"But without that, the floor above will collapse!" I teased him.

Hugo, who was cooking in front of us, started laughing, openly mocking his brother.

"You’re not going to build my house, bro!"

"Yeah, yeah! Go back to your stove and make us something disgusting again!" he shot back, offended.

"It’s funny, you didn’t think the tiramisu was that bad yesterday!" Hugo retorted.

In one swift move, Hugo threw a dish towel at his brother’s face, who immediately threw it back even harder.

"Oh guys, you’re not four years old anymore!" I thundered to call a timeout.

Hugo shrugged and went back to his culinary duties. Turning back to Jules, I tried to help him with his model.

"Look, if you take this piece and knock down part of this wall…"

"Let him think for a bit, how else can the student surpass the master?"

That was Lucy’s mischievous voice, which suddenly rang out. She came out of the bathroom with wet hair and had just overheard our conversation as she joined us. She walked towards the kitchen, glanced at the model, and placed her hand on my shoulder, gently moving it up to my neck.

"But Jules, don’t make this beautiful house collapse!" she added.

"Not you too, Mom!" Jules replied with such a desperate tone that it triggered a collective laugh in the kitchen.

Two years had passed since that fateful evening.

Jules had entered an architecture school and was about to take his second-year exams. I knew he would pass without any issues—he was very talented, even if he made a few mistakes out of audacity, always attempting new projects.

Hugo had joined a famous culinary school after spending a year in law school, mainly to please his parents. He had hated it, just as I had predicted, and I had managed to convince Lucy to let him pursue his passion—cooking, which he did brilliantly. He had moved to Paris to follow this training, while Jules had stayed with us at first. Later, he moved into a shared apartment with his friends in the city center this year. Hugo had come over for the weekend, and the boys were celebrating their 19th birthday with friends on that sunny afternoon in May.

I had grown very close to them, even becoming accomplices. Jules had gradually accepted the situation, although he struggled with some remarks at high school, and the fact that I moved in with him so quickly had somewhat upset him. But we had managed to build a real relationship of trust, as time went by. He had resumed playing the piano with me, something he had given up on years ago, and was even going to do his two-month internship with my firm this summer.

As for Lucy and me…

An ocean of love defying many obstacles.  

Nothing was easy. Slowly, rumors spread around town: "She lives with a woman," "A younger woman, she left her husband for her," "She even moved in with her," "She’s the architect Ona Batlle!" "The Mayor is with a woman!"

We had to face many stares, some whispered comments.

Generally, I feigned indifference. Lucy had occasionally gotten upset by some comments in her political profession.

Some journalists even wanted to interview me. It was the first time that a politician of her stature had publicly appeared like this, and she didn’t hide it, which naturally fueled curiosity. But while we didn’t hide it, we didn’t want to go to the other extreme either and expose our privacy.

My friends and family were incredibly supportive. My parents adored Lucy and made her feel very comfortable in the family. Lucy’s friends accepted her well, even though they were initially surprised.

The most difficult part had been with Lucy’s family. It’s always easier to brush off comments from strangers, but family—that hit the heart. Her parents had struggled at first. They learned about the situation in town quickly, before Lucy had had the chance to tell them herself, which likely fueled their bitterness. I had only met them a year later, in a rather cold and tense encounter, almost freezing. I had to keep my composure—it was for Lucy. But things had improved lately, and they were willing to see me. The atmosphere, though not warm, had become more friendly. The only one still resistant was her older brother, who didn’t miss an opportunity to throw jabs at me. He couldn’t accept that his little sister was with a woman. I tried to avoid seeing him as much as possible, even though I had to during family meals and other Christmas gatherings. The rest of the time, Lucy would go alone to see her brother. It was about finding compromises to be as happy as possible.

Happy and in love, we were, wildly.

That’s how we got through the tough moments—exhaustion from certain attitudes or comments, some evenings when Lucy came home crying in my arms after talking to her family, after reading some insulting letters… Some nights when I, too, felt overwhelmed and hurt, her arms were there to comfort me.

We had never questioned our relationship, neither of us.

We also learned to laugh at it all, to take it with humor. One evening, Lucy came home with several dozens of letters addressed to her that she had received at the town hall, all separated into three different bundles.

She handed them to me.

"The first one is full of homophobic letters, insults! The second is letters of support from people saying it’s good to see public figures living openly, that it helps them too. The ones that warm the heart, kind of…"

"And the third?" I asked, curious.

A smile spread across her face.

"Letters from half-perverted people interested in us both, if you know what I mean!"

"I’m relieved to see that pile isn’t the biggest!" I replied, joining Lucy’s laughter.

There it was, simple. We had to move past it, laugh, live.

She had shown me her native island, Corsica, while I had taken her to the Basque Country, where I grew up. Whenever we could, though it was difficult with her schedule, we would escape to different places, flying off for weekend getaways in new European cities.  

We lived our love freely.

Lucy came back to the kitchen a few minutes later, her hair dry, dressed in a cream-colored suit that suited her perfectly. We had an official lunch at the town hall that Saturday noon with the President of the Region, an influential man close to the Prime Minister. I had gotten used to attending certain official lunches and dinners, though it depended on my schedule and mood.  

The political world was something of an enigma to me, even though I was passionate about it. I had trouble with the way some people operated and the pervasive hypocrisy that could exist. In this somewhat peculiar world, anything was allowed. I knew this, but I had learned it even more by being beside Lucy.

"Boys, I’m counting on you for your afternoon by the pool and the barbecue tonight! Don’t mess things up! By the way, how many of you are there?"

As Jules said "30", Hugo, in the same breath, said "Only about 15".  

That, combined with Hugo’s glaring look at his brother, made me laugh immediately, which Lucy definitely did not share.

"Are you kidding me, Hugo?" she said, narrowing her eyes.

Hugo shrugged.

"No, it’s Jules exaggerating, we’re between 15 and 30! More like 15 than 30…"

Jules tried to recover, wanting to back up his brother.

"Yeah, exactly! I’m bad with numbers, I always overestimate!"

I couldn’t stop laughing at their weak acting. Hugo tried looking at me for support while Lucy pointed her finger at them.

"I’m warning you guys, I don’t want any wild behavior when we come back tonight with Ona!"

Hugo then put on his charming face, the one he knew so well.

"No, Mom, we’ll be the best sons …", then he turned to me, "…the most adorable sons-in-law in the world!"

I raised an amused eyebrow as Jules innocently asked.

"And what time exactly are you coming back?"

"Surprise, gentlemen! We can come back whenever we want!" Lucy immediately chimed in.

Jules put on his most dejected look before adding:

"Live your life, you’re not going to live off us, are you?"

"Very funny, Jules!" I replied with a wink. "Clue for the time: We’re visiting Alexia at the hospital after lunch!"

"Ah yes!!! She just gave birth!" Jules said with excitement.

Alexia had indeed just given birth to her second child, a little boy named Leo. I was going to meet him for the first time with Lucy today, and we were both excited. Lucy had teased Alexia when she entrusted me with her projects before going on maternity leave: "No women, just men’s projects," she had said, referring to her first pregnancy, which had been the reason for our meeting. "I’m not jealous, by the way!" Lucy loved saying she wasn’t, or at least, that’s what she liked to make people believe.

"And you’re coming back straight after?"

Jules didn’t let up and pressed on with his investigation.

"No, I managed to convince your mom not to play the police here by inviting her to dinner tonight!" 

"So that’s why the invitation, you were in cahoots with them!" she said with a feigned angry look.

"Exactly, I was bribed by the boys, and it’s going to cost them dearly!"

The boys smiled at my remark, giving me a look full of gratitude.

It was now my turn to get ready before heading to the lunch. I took my time in the shower, slipping into a navy blue dress, tying my blonde hair in a fishtail braid.  

Lucy gave me a sparkling wink when she saw me arrive, whispering a "splendid" discreetly.  

Before leaving, I gave one last look at the boys.

"Don’t forget, your friends' friends are not necessarily your friends! You could end up with 50 people like that…"

"Don’t worry!" the boys replied in unison, before Hugo added, "Thanks for taking her to the restaurant!"

"The pleasure is all mine!" I replied with a wink, before giving one last piece of advice: "And take it easy on the vodka!"

I joined Lucy in the driveway.

"Do you think we’ll find the house still standing?" she asked as we stood by the car.

"Don’t forget, it’s solid! And if when we get back it’s a remake of Project X, I’ll give you a friends' discount on the renovations!"

She smiled at me, stepping forward to plant a kiss on my lips.  

It was when she stepped back that a high-pitched scream rang out.

"What is this..." she exclaimed, surprised, turning her head.

It was Coco, our puppy, somewhat upset by the heel that had just stepped on him.

———————————————————————

THE END

[pinksdoodles1]

a while back i gifted someone close to me a journal. small thing, for that year. i figured they'd use it to write down appointments, memories, and generally just keep their schedule organized.

i later found out they hadn't used it at all.

i wasn't angry, but i was a bit... disappointed? dejected? i guess. they had seemed to love it at the time, only to then never use it. i asked them why, and their answer was basically "the journal was so pretty, i didn't want to ruin it with my horrible handwriting." baffled me enough i didn't have a proper reply.

i think about that sometimes. about how i myself have got piles of art supplies - sketchbooks, pencils, markers, acrylics and oils and a dozen other things - all gathering dust in the corners of my room. about how i never use them, because they're fancy, and pretty, and costly, and i don't want to "waste them" on my drawings. on my simple, horrible little drawings.

about how i think my skills are just not good enough, to be worthy of those gifts. about how i keep waiting, years and years, for my skills to be good enough to be worthy of them.

and about how they'll keep gathering dust, because perfection will never come.

how do people feel when they see i have never used their gifts at all?

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

I'm finally working on my analysis post about “Wonderland” by Big Country again and I'm about to cry because writing this has given me an even deeper appreciation of it AND OH I'M REALLY GONNA CRY OVER A FUCKING ROCK SONG? YES. No, I cannot tell you something new there. LOL

[luveline]

𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

You begin to have intimate dreams about your roommate, Spencer. [9k]

c: pining roommates, dreams, tipsy non-confessions, spencer being a sweetheart. fem!reader. this fic was requested! 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

i. a dreamt bruise 

“What are you doing?” 

Your chest lists slightly forward as a body warms your back. Arms wrap around you, solid but gentle, arms you’ve been held by a thousand times. 

You cover them with one of your own. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you feel yourself ask. 

The room is golden, gaussian, better now he’s behind you.

“I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked.” His voice is soft in your ear. His hair presses to the side of your face as he hugs you —you’ve never felt love like this. It’s palpable. It’s in his hands. 

Nobody’s called you dove before, but he is, he has. It might feel strange if it weren’t for how softly he said it, affection in the very marrow of the word, warmth of it kissing your cheek as he holds you. He says ‘dove’, and it feels like he loves you. Feels like you’ve done something beautiful to earn it, but that’s the beauty of it: you didn’t do anything. 

The room turns narrow, sunlight on the dining room table of your apartment. A table usually crowded thickly with books, or your work. A space has been cleared away and filled with pieces of a jigsaw. 

“I thought you were going to do this with me,” you say, dragging a piece across the table with your fingertip. 

“Maybe later.” 

“You can’t stand there all night.” 

Are you sure? you think he says, but things are hazy, and he’s turning you toward him suddenly, you’re standing, the puzzle forgotten. “How’s your bruise?” 

“What?” you ask, almost sleeping as a big, kind hand drags up the front of your shirt, holding it to the underside of your breast. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

His thumb brushes over your contusion, skin on your side, your back. It’s tender. Any breath is lost, any sense of breathing at all. You’re not a girl so much as something being touched with care, warm joy and love and a contrasting ache wedged under your heart as he draws a circles into your skin. 

He hums sympathetically, the weight of him ebbing as he leans away, letting your shirt fall back into place. 

The dream stretches on for a lifetime, the two of you standing in your living room, dining table behind you, couch and TV opposite. Your life in one room, his life, his books, his furniture, but your home. You know it all well, just, in the light, you can’t see the stitching. 

He takes your face into his hand. Nobody’s ever touched you like, turned your face up like they were moving through honey, staring at you with eyes that shade of brown. Brown, brown… so big. So melting. 

Spencer holds your face gently. 

His nose touches yours. He tips his forehead into yours, his breath skimming lips he’d just warmed as he says, “Don’t worry, alright? You’ll be okay. Just take it easy,” he says, the last of his pleading lost to your mouth. 

You wake up with a caught breath. 

Your eyes are glued together, eyelashes threaded, gummy. You turn into the pillow beside you, slightly deflated and cold where you’d turned away in the night. 

The room is dark when you manage to pry your eyes open. You close them just as quickly, begging your body to sleep, to plunge back into the dream. Just five more minutes of golden colour, hugging your pillow, love in somebody’s hand, in Spencer’s hand… five more minutes…

Your eyes open again. 

Spencer’s hand on your cheek, guiding you carefully upwards for a kiss. 

You raise your hand, feeling along the swell of your bottom lip with your thumb and index finger. They tremble with the weakness of having just woken up. With having something torn away from you. 

What was that? you think, the hook of sleep lodged in your throat as you struggle to sit up. Your face tips forwards heavily, but your back doesn’t hurt like it tends to in the early mornings before work. There’s no ache there —your body slept well. You use your hands as anchors and drag yourself foot first from the bed. Your sheets fall to the floor with a quiet shush. 

It felt so real that for a moment you’re wondering where Spencer went. 

He was touching you, he was caressing your waist. You rush to the door of your room, every night left ajar, pushing it open and beelining for the bathroom. You flick on the light and stop in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, wondering if you’re foolish enough to do this, before peeling your shirt from your stomach to analyse your bruise. 

It’s not there. 

You turn and contort yourself to catch the light. Maybe it was further back? But no… there’s no bruise, nothing for Spencer to check. Your torso is a stretch of unharmed skin to run your hand down without pain. 

Your head whirs. 

From somewhere in the apartment, Spencer puts down a mug. You flush with heat at the realisation that he’s home, and panic flares when his footsteps move in your direction. Your bedrooms are on opposite sides of the apartment, and there are two bathrooms —the bath and toilet near your room, and the en-suite to his room— meaning Spencer’s coming to see you specifically. 

“Hey, Y/N?” he says. 

It’s been a few days since he was home, and you aren’t just roommates, Spencer’s your friend. He sounds happy that you’re awake, pausing at your bedroom door. 

“I’m in the bathroom!” you say, your dry throat turning your voice to fractures. 

“I just wanted you to know I’m home. Are you working?” 

“It’s Saturday.”

He laughs. “Oh. I know, I forgot. Well, can I make you breakfast? I was gonna have oats and sliced bananas and stuff.” 

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “I’ll be right there.” 

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s just remembered where you are. “This is harassment. I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

You wash your face and brush your teeth. You head back into your room to change from your pyjamas into loungewear that’s just as soft. The flavour of your dream follows you around, you’d like to call it sweetness, saccharinity, but it doesn’t fit the bill. The feeling you’d woken with wasn’t a sugar high but contentedness, like a warm evening meal. You’d felt utterly sated, your arms reaching out for a body that wasn’t there. 

A heaviness takes your heart. Suffocating longing, you carry it to the kitchen with you to find Spencer’s already made you a cup of your tea. He’s warming oatmeal on the stove, blueberries and bananas on the countertop. You sit at the island. You should hug him. If you hadn’t dreamt of his hands on your waist what felt like mere moments ago, you would’ve. 

“Did you go shopping?” 

“I did, I went to Leaven last night. You were already sleeping at ten.” He peeks at you from over his shoulder. “Long day yesterday?” 

“I get too tired by Friday,” you say, averting your gaze to stare down into your mug, steam twirling up to kiss your chin. 

“No, I get it. Me too. Are you feeling any better today?” 

You were sick when he left. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay, good. I’m gonna put the blueberries in with the oatmeal, is that okay?” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay.” Spencer’s gaze lingers on you. He turns back to the counter. 

He cuts two bananas. You realise he has strawberries, too, watching as he cuts them, wetness leaking from their punnets where he must’ve rinsed them in the sink. He slices out the stems and cuts the strawberries in clean halves like hearts. 

“I missed you,” he says. 

You can’t read his tone, but you aren’t cruel, even feeling shy as you are. “I missed you too. How was the case? Everyone made it home in one piece, right?” 

“Everyone’s fine. Emily got into a car accident and it was pretty bad, but she’s okay now. Recovering from her concussion at home with Sergei.” 

That’s good. You’re glad to hear they’re all okay, because they’re good people, and they risk a lot to keep others safe. You forget sometimes how much Spencer puts on the line whenever he leaves. 

You poke at him for details of the case, though legally there are things he has to keep from you, and you don’t mind either way. Nothing personal can crop up while talking of murder, and for now you’d like the conversation to stay far away from you and your bed and your sudden dream. 

You assume you’re safe, but then Spencer mentions the bruise one of the sergeants got from their weapon’s kickback and you’re flushing nervously all over again. 

Spencer grabs two bowls from the cabinet, dark brown ceramics he got from Koreatown, the perfect size for each helping of oatmeal. The purple from the insides of the blueberries bleed into the oats as he pours.

He lays each bowl with a curve of banana slices, strawberries, and covers half with a drizzle of dark fudge sauce. “Salt?” he asks. 

“Yes, please.” 

Spencer grabs two spoons from the cutlery drawer. He grins when he finally turns, bowls held aloft, making his way to the stool beside you. He puts his own down first, then the cutlery, standing ever so slightly behind you as he lays your breakfast down in front of you. “What have you been doing while I was away?” he asks softly. 

You can’t look at him. Can’t think. 

What are you doing? 

What does it look like I’m doing? 

I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked. 

You lean away from his presence, desperate to have him follow, and ashamed. Spencer’s a friend, a good one, he’s kind and loving and handsome beyond description, but you’ve never thought of him like that. Each time your mind slips wondering what he might be like in love, you’ve let the thought go. But now... 

You shrug, grabbing your spoon. “Not much, Spencer. This looks amazing, it’s really pretty. Thank you for cooking.” 

“No problem. Are you sure you’re feeling better? You don’t look so good.” 

You take a quick bite of oatmeal, the spoon scalding your tongue, “Ah,” you say, breathing harshly around it, “I’m fine. Woke up a little wrong, that’s all.” 

Spencer sits in the seat next to you with a soft smile. “Good. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” 

Oh, no, you think, reading way too much into how he says it. No, no, no.

—

ii facts 

We should explore the city, Spencer declares after breakfast, before we forget what it’s like to be outside!

You were outside yesterday before you got home, and everything sucked as much as it usually did —it’s the weekend, and the point of it is to stay home resting and or lazing, but you wouldn’t usually say no to Spencer so you can’t now. He can’t ever know about your dream, so he can’t know how you’re feeling, so you have to be the friends you’ve always been. 

Spencer analyses people for a reason, but you have practice. You’ve successfully hidden what it was that morning that made you feel cagey and tender. He knows something is wrong regardless. He attempts to fix it the best way he knows how: Spencer talks. 

“Cheese production globally outshadows coffee, tea, tobacco, and chocolate, over twenty two million metric tons of it every year, with almost half of that made in Europe alone, which is only a half million metric ton more than what’s being eaten. The average American eats forty two pounds of cheese a year, but I don’t really like cheese that much? So I’m bringing the average down. Besides, every time I eat cheese I get strange dreams.  There’s actually a chemical in cheese called tyramine which is linked to nightmares. Hey, you okay?” 

“Cheese gives you weird dreams?” 

“Why, have you been eating a lot of it lately?” 

“No,” you say resolutely. “I hate cheese. I’ve never eaten cheese before.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

“Let’s get donuts.”

Spencer is easily swayed. You glance around the square for the McDonald’s and follow that to the street with the bakery, landmark to landmark, until the smell of sugar and oil is strong enough to follow. “Do you wanna know something about donuts?” he asks, crushing in behind you as you pass through the heavy wooden door of the bakery and join the line. 

“Sure.” 

“They were first called oily cakes.” 

“I knew that,” you say, “you’ve told me that, Spencer. That’s the first fact anybody thinks of.” 

“Okay, don’t be rude,” he says, giving you a playful poke in the ribs, right into the bruise that isn’t a bruise. 

You look over your shoulder at him, catching his eye. You share a long look that’s daunted on your part and confused on his, brown eyelashes tangling in the corners the longer he looks at you. “What?” he asks, squinting. 

”Nothing.” 

“Okay,” he says, his voice lowering, quiet to match the hush of the bakery and its humming fridges, “don’t tell me. I’ll work it out eventually.” 

“Dude!” 

“What?” he asks with a laugh. 

“Boundaries!” you laugh back. “Stop trying to figure me out.” 

“But there’s something to figure out?” 

He’s evil when he smiles like that. His pride is adorable, giving his sweet face an even fresher look. You’d pinch his cheeks if they weren’t already pinking in the October cold. His scarf hasn’t saved him, his coat buttoned tightly no match for the winds. Not to say it’s a bad day. The weather is fine if you keep your fingers in your pockets and your nose in the depths of your coat. 

“What do we want?” you ask rather than answer. 

They have white icing, chocolate with sprinkles, jelly middles, smiley faces. They have donut holes by the bag. “Hazelnut spread,” you say, pointing at the side of the case. “That looks good.” 

He enters in conspiratorial whispers with you. “Apple cider doughnuts with cinnamon sugar,” he says, pointing at the row below. “What about a double chocolate chunk cookie? They look good. Hey, there’s cake in the fridge.” 

You let him lean into your side. His hair kisses your cheek.  

“Pick whatever you want, okay?” he asks, offering a smaller smile than before. “I’m buying.”

“You can’t, Spencer Reid, I want so many things.” 

“It’s fine, I missed you, I dragged you out when you wanted to stay in bed.” He stares at you. “Let me,” he mouths. 

You ignore the hot twist of your stomach and nod. Okay. 

Spencer buys the baked goods you’d admitted to wanting and the three others you’d eyed, as well as a cookie and two fat slices of red velvet cake. He asks you to carry the box while he pays. The woman behind the counter gives you a knowing look and a flick of her head, as if to say, Lucky you. You can’t quite smile back, distracted by the insinuation. You haven’t thought of it before, but you and Spencer, naturally, look like a couple. You could easily be one. And the idea that she thinks so fills you with a shocking amount of smugness. 

You and Spencer head home before dinner. On the walk back, he pulls the cookie apart and offers you half. 

—

What if, when you fall asleep tonight, you dream of Spencer again? 

You lay on your back with your hand on your chest, drawing circles. The cold of the evening is explained by the rain lashing your window, distant winds coming forceful now. A thunderstorm. You tap the middle of your chest in an attempt to be idle, rather than restless. 

It isn’t a dream you’d like to have again, you decide. Spencer had been soft. You’d been familiar with each other. 

What would it really feel like to have him touch you like that? Is Spencer confident, when he’s comfortable? Is he imposing? 

My stomach, you think slowly, is never going to stop spinning. 

“Y/N?” Spencer asks. 

You can hear him all the way from the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” you ask, raising your voice so it carries. 

“Can I come and sit with you?”

It’s an odd request. You know Spencer’s like you, no social butterfly, quiet and content to spend time by oneself because being with others hasn’t always been an option. He isn’t timid, however, and his asking shouldn’t shock you, but it does. “Sure,” you say, shifting onto one side of the bed. 

Spencer arrives at the ajar door and lets himself in. He carries two bottles of water and a heat pack, which he likes to use when the weather allows it. A creature comfort, you assume. Something soothing and constant, like the sound of a fan at night, or rain on a window. 

“I can’t sleep,” he says, “which doesn’t make much sense.” Spencer sits on the empty side of the bed, his lips pulled into a grimace. “I like the rain.” 

He’s more handsome when he’s smiling, but there’s a charm to him as he passes you a bottle of water and crosses his legs. The plaid slacks he’s wearing are rough with age, dark blues that seem black in the low lighting. 

“Maybe it’s because of work,” you say. 

“Maybe, but I’m pretty used to getting woken up.” 

“Right. It’s not easy, though, the stuff you do. It would keep me up at night if I did your job.” 

“I think sometimes doing my job is the only reason I can sleep.” 

“It's hard. Sounds hard, Spence.” You relax into your pillow, turning to see him. Spencer’s eyes run along your hip for a millisecond, just long enough to remind you that he’s a boy, that he could see you in a different light. 

“It’s okay,” he says. 

“Was it hard, this time?” you ask. 

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t know, it was bad when Emily got hurt, but she’s so stubborn. If Morgan didn’t strap her down she would’ve kept going like nothing happened.” 

You and Spencer have lived together for so long that you remember a time before he even knew Emily. You answered his ad in the paper —you hadn’t realised people still put ads in the paper— looking for a roommate. His apartment was already furnished and he didn’t want to change much, but the second bedroom was spacious and the bathroom could be monopolised. As a girl, you’d been a little dubious reading about a single male looking for any gender, but his self-description was inviting. Twenty-two, just finished a doctorate, working for the FBI and expected to be away from the state at least once a month. 

You’d met Spencer and felt even less intimidated. He was awkward and dorky but friendly, too, with his glasses he apparently didn’t want to wear, but would eventually give in (before choosing contacts), and his big red sweater fit for a grandpa. “I can make more room for you but I can’t get rid of the books,” he said, “so I don’t expect you to pay a neat half.” 

How could you pass it up? 

“I can’t believe I’ve never met them,” you say. 

“Do you want to?” 

He sounds so surprised. “They’re your friends. I’m your… friend.” 

“You’re my best friend. I’ll arrange something, or try to. It’s hard to get us all in one room when that room isn’t the conference room,” he says. 

“You look nice in a t-shirt,” you say, not thinking as the words come out. 

Spencer leans in to whisper, “Thanks. You like this one?” 

His t-shirt says, I may be NErDy, but only periodically. The NErDy is made up of elements from the periodic table. It’s a bad pun. 

“I love it.” 

He reaches for you. Tentative, he squeezes your elbow. “Is there something wrong? All day it’s like… I don’t know, did something happen when I was gone?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“But…” 

“Please,” you say, as he catches the last bit of light from the hallway, every eyelash illuminated for the counting. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Spencer. But thank you.” 

He, in a move that’s almost uncharacteristic, pushes your arm into the mattress and leans over you. “I wanna be the first one to know when you do wanna talk,” he says firmly, holding your gaze. 

How’s your bruise? 

You nod mechanically. Spencer recedes. “Okay, good,” he says, grinning. 

“Good,” you echo, thinking of Spencer in the dream, his hand on your hip and climbing up your sore ribs. “Let’s watch TV.” 

—

iii. scared of snow 

“You’re being weird.” 

“I’m not,” you refute. 

“You are.” 

Spencer frowns at you, a show full downturn of the lips. A dusting of snow lands in his hair and you both look up to catch it, a drift of it from the marquee as you pass. You don’t remember when it started snowing, but it feels like it’s been coming down for days. It’s in his eyelashes. Your sleeves are wet with it. 

“The snow’s making you strange.”

You hold out your hand with fingers parted, feeling his laugh travelling down his arm and into yours as he takes it, intertwining your fingers tightly. He doesn’t feel cold. 

“It’s making you strange,” you mumble. 

You and Spencer walk down a cobbled road. Snow crunches under your shoes, turned to slush in the high traffic spots by vendors booths left curiously empty of shopkeepers, though their festive wares still line the insides, carved cuckoo birds and metal ornaments, glass balls made to be personalised for mantles. You can smell orange oil and chocolate fudge, crepe carts and churros and cinnamon, and then suddenly any hint of your olfactory sense is gone. 

“It’s so quiet.” 

“It’s the snow,” he says, pulling your arm against his chest as you walk and walk, your footsteps the only sound. “It acts as a sound absorber when it’s fluffy like this. The sound waves get caught.” 

Caught. You think, or say, not sure if it makes it out of your mouth. 

“Like you,” he says, stopping in the middle of the road. 

“What?” you ask. 

Snow lands in his eyelashes. “You’re caught,” he says. 

You wake up thinking his hand is on your cheek. Like a nightmare, you start, still picturing his lips moving around the words. Caught, you think again, heart a hummingbird in your chest. Your mouth is dry. The heat is up —Spencer must be home again. 

You suck in a deep breath and sit up, curling over yourself protectively. 

You dream about Spencer more often than ever, and half the time they’re normal dreams, which is to say, they follow no rhyme or reason, with no discernible plot. Spencer loses all his teeth, or he takes you to the movies to see one of his long Swedish films, or he’s an afterthought, a bystander. The main plot of your dream doesn’t involve him at all. 

But the other half of the time is ruining your life. You dream of Spencer holding your hand like you had been, or touching your shoulder. Never again do you dream of that tender bruise, but Spencer lifts your shirt in other scenarios. He pulls your pyjamas off, his hand inching between your legs but never touching, or he helps you out of your bra. And every time you think, why is this happening to me? Perhaps a sex dream could be explained away by want and Spencer’s proximity, but all these constant intimacies weigh heavy in your head. 

You head to the shower and picture Spencer helping you out of your bra, and all of you goes hot, so you turn the water to lukewarm and stand until you’re cold to the point of misery. You clamber out and shiver into a towel, then your robe. 

Spencer’s humming in the kitchen. 

You honestly wish that the dreams made you like him less, that the sound of him might send you running back into your room, but you poke your head out of the bathroom and wait until he enters the living room. He sees you waiting, his face splitting into a smile. “Hey, good morning, did you sleep better?” 

You can’t explain the discombobulation of your dreams. Spencer had become convinced you have insomnia. You may have let him assume. 

“Slept fine,” you croak. 

“Okay, well get dressed and I’ll make you some coffee.” 

“‘Kay.” Your stomach pangs with nerves seeing him, reminded of tonight’s big event. “Are we still, uh, on, for tonight?” 

“Nervous?” he asks. 

You feel like you're about to be a fish in a pool of sharks. “Of course not.” 

 “Yeah, still on, even JJ.” 

Awesome. Spencer turns around to make you your cup of coffee and you go to your room, dressing quickly, two pairs of socks. You tone your face and moisturise, fanning yourself slowly. You don’t hurry to the living room, but you aren’t slow, and it’s not Spencer, you tell yourself. Not Spencer. You’re just craving the warmth of a cup of coffee. 

You spend the morning together on the couch. Spencer reads and occasionally chats to you about whatever tome it is that specific half an hour. You make sandwiches at lunch time, he showers in the early evening. You get dressed and primped while he’s gone, and at 6PM, Spencer knocks your bedroom door to ask if you’re ready to go. 

“Could I fake an illness?” you joke nervously. 

Spencer’s hand falls on your handle. The door is ajar as usual, but he doesn’t tread any further inside. 

“Come in,” you say. 

Spencer takes a single step inside before stopping. He looks you up and down without the hunger you crave from him, a more clement, familiar appreciation to him as he says, “You look pretty.” He traces your arm, leaving the skin tingly in his wake. “Really pretty.” 

“Thank you. I didn’t want to overdress.” 

“It’s perfect, don’t worry. And no, you couldn’t fake an illness. They all know when I’m lying, especially Hotch. And Emily, actually.” 

You squeeze your hands together tightly at your stomach. “I don’t know why I’m sooo nervous.” You lick your lips. “I feel like I can’t stop fidgeting.” 

“They’re used to it, I promise. They know that they’re gonna make you nervous, but they’ve sworn to be on their best behaviour, and besides, you’re not the only plus one. JJ’s bringing Will, and Morgan’s bringing his sister, I’ve only met her once. The focus won’t be all on you.” He lowers his voice. “After two drinks they forget they’re supposed to be scary.” 

“What if I say something extremely stupid to your boss and get you in trouble?” 

“What are you going to get me in trouble for?” 

“I don’t know. What if I accidentally tell him that that sick day you took a few weeks ago was to help me make brownies?”

“Everyone lies about sick days.” He deliberates. “Maybe not Hotch. But I’m pretty sure he knew I was lying, and it’s explainable. I felt… irate.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “What?” 

“Staying home with you made me feel better. Which made me a better worker the next day, it’s fine.” His phone rings from somewhere in the apartment. “That’ll be JJ. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah?” He grins. “Okay. You’re wearing a coat, right? It’s cold. The forecast says snow. It’s thirty degrees out.” 

You layer a coat onto your jacket and a scarf to make him happy. You and Spencer get a taxi, black leather gritless under your hands, though you squeeze the seat like it’s gonna stop the car the whole time. Spencer doesn’t talk much, but he looks at you unapologetically, and he smiles, and the quiet is as severe as it was in your dream that morning. If this were a dream he’d be leaning over to cradle your ear. He’d ask in whispers if you were alright, and he’d let his hand rest kindly on your knee. 

“What?” you whisper. 

His lips part like he might answer. The car comes to a crunching stop outside the bar, and whatever it was he was going to say is kept for later. “I’ll tell you after,” he says. 

He pays for the taxi before you can work it out and you say thank you to the driver. The sidewalk is clean, broad, and glowing with the last bit of light. The sun sets behind you. The bar beckons in front. 

Your fear is daunting. 

You have years of practice fooling Spencer. You know that he knows your tells, so you’ve changed them, and Spencer cares about you enough to ignore obvious truths if he thinks you might not want to share. His colleagues, FBI agents trained to detect deception, are going to take one good look at you and know you’re lying about… this. 

You’re plagued by dreams of Spencer, but nothing can touch the real thing. 

You feel the space between you like it’s aflame. Spencer checks you’re with him and opens the door. 

The bar is busy even for a Saturday. You aren’t expecting the volume, the boisterousness of the patrons already slumped together over tables and waiting at the bar to get their drinks. It’s smaller than you’d pictured too, but its size is made up for with a patio at the back, smokers haunting the door, wary of the cold. 

You know what his friends look like already, yet seeing them in person is odd. Hotch is taller than you’d thought, Emily more startlingly pretty. JJ’s frowning, and her partner Will looks like he’s about to fall asleep despite a lazy grin. 

Hotch notices you first. He taps Emily on the elbow, who pauses in a thought to follow his gaze. Her face breaks into a smile, and if you weren’t in love with Spencer Reid, you might take a tumble for his pale coworker. 

“Hello,” Spencer says, ushering you to the table with an arm behind your back. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“He-llo,” Emily says, leaning into the table, a strand of her hair dangerously close to a short glass of juice. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing you in person. I’m Emily.” 

“Y/N,” you say. 

“Aaron,” Hotch adds. (Aaron! He’s far more intimidating casually than as a boss, it seems.)

“Derek was just here,” JJ says in way of greeting, while Will drawls from over her shoulder, “I’m Will, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Spencer pulls out a chair for you and promptly sits in the one beside Emily. “Sorry we’re late. I forgot my wallet and we had to go back up to the apartment and the cab I called got so angry about it that he left.” 

You slide between the table and your chair, looking to Spencer for guidance, but he’s distracted taking his coat off and you have to look at Aaron instead. 

His smile is immediately knowing. Read for filth in seconds. “We don't bite.”

“Not so early in the evening,” Emily says. 

You take a shuddering breath, thankful they can’t hear it over the sounds of the bar. 

—

“I’m caught!” you exclaim. 

Spencer hugs you under the arms. “I know,” he says gently. 

“Caught!” 

He holds back a laugh as your arms react, practically flung behind his head in a hug that threatens to cut off the oxygen supply to his brain. “I think you’ve caught me, instead,” he says. 

You laugh in his ear. There’s gin on your breath and the sweeter smell of orange juice. It’s not bad, but weird to know it’s from your mouth. Or not weird. It gives Spencer a feeling like seeing the soft curve of your hip when you’re lying on your side. Like watching you bite your bottom lip when you’re distracted by the TV and worrying to yourself, which you do more often than not lately. They’re private things that Spencer shouldn’t know about. 

“I’m not trying to,” you say, and Spencer can smell the shot of vodka you did too, which is less pleasant. “Not trying to catch you. Not… I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“It’s hard to explain.” 

Over your shoulder, Spencer spots Hotch’s entertained gaze. All the team has done since you sat down together was pick on Spencer and his obviousness. Boyfriend? they’d asked you. Looking? Sights set on someone? All while JJ nudged him under the table. 

Things are falling apart now. JJ’d departed to hold Emily’s hair back, and Will with her. Hotch caught the eye of a woman across the way, and they sit chatting amicably at the bar with more peanuts than drinks. Derek, when he did appear, stayed for an hour with Desiree, recounting to you his most embarrassing stories of which Spencer had taken care to shield you from, and laughed at his subsequent blush. 

He never wanted you to know about his run in with anthrax, and he especially didn’t want you to know he’d been stripped nude afterwards and hosed off like a muddy dog. 

You’d turned to him with wide, worried eyes. “You were poisoned?” you’d asked. 

It’s stuff like that that makes this difficult. 

“I don’t know if you know this,” he says now, rubbing your back, “but I’m good with difficult concepts.”

“I did not mean to be like this.” 

“You didn’t eat much.” Spencer helps you stand on your own two feet. “They kitchen’s still open. I can get you food, how about a burger? Or we can go find you something.“

“What kind of burger?” you ask, poorly concealing your excitement. 

Spencer gets you back to the table. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Wait, don’t go.” 

“I’m gonna get food. Do you want fries?” 

“Spencer, what if I throw up?” 

Spencer shrugs. “I can rub your back?” 

“I don’t want to throw up.” 

“Then drink that,” he says, sliding his glass of coke toward you. “Alcohol irritates the lining of your stomach and increases the production of stomach acid. If you drink,” —he flinches as you knock the cup back— “slowly you can dilute your stomach contents without upsetting it. Slowly,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I’ll order food.”

“No, wait.” You drop the glass and grab him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to throw up by myself.” 

“You won’t throw up.”

“Please,” you say, holding his wrist in both hands, your eyes shiny. “Spencer, don’t go.” 

“I won’t.” He doesn’t know how true it is and then suddenly he’s sat down. He won’t go. He wouldn’t leave your side ever again if that’s what you asked of him. 

He puts your chairs together, entertaining your tipsy thoughts with light conversation and the occasional slight of hand. You have an aura about you, like Spencer’s doing more than close-up magic, hanging on his every word. Your nervousness had you gasping like a fish, not so subtly downing one drink, then another, but now that you’re feeling the effects of them (and a few extras), the tightness you’d held in your fingers is gone. You’re leaning against the back of the chair with all the ease of you on the couch at home, but the easy fondness you’d usually wear while he speaks is replaced by a bright and shining awe. A sweetness like he’s remarkable. The soft line of your lips and your widened eyes. 

You’re not the sort of drunk that leaves you listless and ready for bed. This is giggly and fun, and so long as you don’t push it you’ll be alright. It wasn’t enough alcohol to leave you inebriated all night, anyhow. In a few hours the giddiness will wear away, leaving you with a headache and a deep longing for your missed dinner. 

“I’m glad you didn’t let me fake food poisoning,” you say. 

“Is that what you were thinking? That’s a terrible excuse. You need something with sudden onset symptoms, like an asthma attack, or pneumonia. An acute illness.” 

You take his hand. “I love that you know that stuff.”

Feeling as in love with you as ever, and sorry for you drunken state —he could’ve stopped you, he just didn’t think— he folds your hands together, both of his, rubbing the hills of your knuckles with his thumb. Your hands look right together. 

That’s what Spencer likes to think, anyway. 

You slow like you’re tired, hand lax in his grips. Your mouth opens but nothing follows, no sigh or gripe or conversation. 

“You okay?” he asks softly. 

“I think I’m having one of those dreams again.” 

“You’re awake,” he says. 

“I don’t know about that. They’re all like this.” 

He hums, smoothing his thumb down the back of your hand. “If this were a dream, you wouldn't have control over what you’re doing. Why don’t you do something you wouldn’t do in a dream?” 

“Like what?” you ask. 

“There’s a ton of stuff you can’t do in dreams. People find they have a poor memory, but I can’t ask you to recall anything. You might not remember regardless. How about temperature?” he suggests. “Most people can’t feel warm or cold in their dreams. Do you want to feel something cold?”

You watch him for a few seconds, your eyebrows pulled together unhappily. “Your hands are warm,” you say. 

“Right.” He suspects they’ll feel warmer in just a few seconds when the hot flush in his face manages to work its way down. “I’m warm. So are you.” 

“Sometimes I feel like you’re warm in the dream, though. You make me feel warm.” 

“It’s remembered, maybe.” 

You don’t look any happier. “Sometimes I wish I could stop having them, but…” You duck your head. “Sorry, Spencer.” 

“What are you sorry for?” 

Your head ducks lower. With a start to his chest, your shoulders shake, like you're inhaling the first half of a sob. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, reaching for your cheek, ducking his own head to see you, “what’s wrong? It’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for!” he whispers emphatically. “You have nothing to be sorry for, why would you think that?” 

“I keep having these dreams, all the time, and– and I– I’ll mess everything up. Everything we have, I’m going to–” You hiccup, eyes turned glassy, imploring him to forgive you for something you haven’t done. “I don’t feel good.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, his hand sliding back to your ear, down to your neck, “you’re just drunk. You’re confused.” 

“But the dreams–”

“What dreams?” he asks gently. 

You blow out a daunted breath. “Where you love me.” 

“I do love you.” 

“But more than this. You love me more than this,” you say, shaking your head. “I really don’t feel okay… Do you think we could go home?” 

You’re so sorry and frowny that Spencer would attempt, in all his unfitness, to climb Mount Everest for you should you ask. “Yeah, we can go home,” he says, rubbing your arm up and down and up again, a line of affection from shoulder to wrist. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to be upset, I shouldn’t have asked.” 

He’s not sure what he asked, really, but the answer upset you. His heart’s racing like he just sprinted the length of the bar and you’re close to tears, this strange weepy sullenness about you as you say, “It’s okay. Let’s just go.” 

—

It’s cold to be sitting out by yourself, though the snow stayed its hand another night while the temperature fell again. Your coat poses a weak defence against the chill, nipping at your nose, burning the insides of every breath, and your feet are stiff like ice in your shoes. Yet, the idea of returning to the apartment is a leaden stone in your stomach. 

Spencer could barely look at you that morning. You hadn’t given him much of a chance, slipping out of the apartment with little more than a call to say you’d be back later. Your groceries freeze in a paper bag by your feet. 

You’re not too embarrassed about getting tipsy. It was drinks with Spencer and his friends, not dinner. Emily had been twice as drunk, and Derek had encouraged you to drink with a round on him. You’re mortified, however, by what you’d said. Your memory is clear enough to know you’d told Spencer about your dreams. 

He’d been confused at the time, but he’s a smart boy. He’ll figure it out. 

“This headache,” you mumble, tipping your head into your hand morosely. You rub your brow, fingers against the ache, the cold getting worse. 

Why did it take a dream for you to realise you had feelings for Spencer? And why did you have to realise at all? If you’d never had that dream, never had that phantom bruise, his hands careful and caring and touching up to the band of your bra, you wouldn’t know now what it is to want him. The dream gave you a bruise, and Spencer presses against it real or otherwise every time he looks at you. You were wrong thinking that it never happened; it’s still there, a purple lash against your ribs. 

Every time he makes you breakfast, or he texts you from a different state, or he sits down on the couch just to talk to you. Every time he says something smart, or he tilts his head back as he laughs, or he draws a smiley face on the mirror by the door–

“About those dreams?” 

You rub your eyes hard. Of course he’d come to find you. “Please don’t.” 

“Please,” he says. You see him through your fingers. His thick scarf is unravelled at his neck, his hair ragged around his face like he’s been raking it repeatedly behind his ears. 

You straighten. 

“I don’t get it,” he says, “you’ve been dreaming about me? Why is that such a big deal?” 

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says. “We’re in each other's lives, we live together, it makes sense that your hippocampus would use me. You have a lot of memories with me.” Spencer crosses his arms in front of you. “It’s freezing.” 

“I’ll be home in a bit.”

“I’m not gonna go back without you,” he says, like that’s a given. 

You move across the bench to make room for him. Spencer sits. 

You settle. The occasional bus trundles past, a limited rota for an early Sunday morning. Spencer shoves his hands into his pockets. His lips are already turning blue. 

“I know you know what I mean,” you say. 

Spencer presses his knees together. “Even romantic dreams where I’m… where we’re together, it’s all easily explained away by brain science. You can’t control what you dream, and I’m not going to hold you to it.” 

Silence, silence. You tip your head back to see a horrible grey cloud closing in on you both, the sun a white and gauzy memory behind it. Spencer’s right about control, but he doesn’t get that you like them. It’s not fair to him that you’ve somehow rallied a second life when you’re sleeping, where he’s your mind’s puppet, hugging and holding you, pressing his cheek to the side of your face. Saying things you wish he’d tell you now. 

“Well, I like you.” 

“What?” you ask, coughing. 

“Not to make things awkward or anything, but I like you. Romantically.” Spencer’s voice takes a sharp veer into high-pitched freneticism. “Does that help at all?” 

“What?” 

“It’s far more embarrassing that I like you on purpose than your accidental dreams, right?” He thumbs at the inside of his wrist. “You don’t have to say anything, or think anything, and I’m not going to change, but I have feelings for you.”  

You feel like you’re standing at the top of a very tall building. “Oh?” 

“I kind of thought you knew.” 

“How could I know that?” you ask, cringing as a cold gust of air bites at your face. 

Spencer takes his scarf off and pushes it into your hands. “I don’t know. I guess we know less about each other than we thought.”

The way he says it. 

Spencer wraps his scarf around you when it’s clear you aren’t going to do it yourself, and he touches your cheek briefly, a brush of his fingers like he thinks he’s doing something he shouldn’t be allowed to. 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says quietly. 

A bus passes by and shines headlights at your feet. The wind blows, your ears roar, and just above you, in a cold front to mark the season, snow begins to fall. 

You look up simultaneously. A snowflake gets caught in Spencer’s eyelashes. 

Just one. 

“This is so weird,” you mumble. 

Spencer wipes at his eye. “Could you tell me why?” 

“I had a dream just like this.” 

He laughs warmly. “Of course you did. Forget all reason, then. You’re prophetic.” 

“I don’t think I could’ve predicted this.” 

“Why? It’s only snow. Virginia gets an inch of snow most Decembers.” 

You laugh. In a dream, this is where you and Spencer would kiss or hold hands, or rest your cheek on the other’s shoulder, but neither of you are brave enough. And, as the snow turns to a sleet below freezing, you can’t ignore the cold. 

—

iv. the end 

The longest anyone has ever slept in recorded human history is eleven days. Two hundred and sixty four hours, or nearly sixteen thousand minutes, just shy of one million seconds of sleep. 

The first pillow was invented in Mesopotamia more than nine thousand years ago, in a time where the amount of pillows a person had directly correlated their personal riches. The history of pillows is tumultuous and eclectic. Headrests made of wood, stone, or jade. Curved neck holders worn soft with use. 

And, of all Spencer’s gifted facts, you find yourself circling back to the same one as you wait for him to wake: most dreams are no longer than twenty minutes. However, it’s important to note that the longest dream ever officially observed was in 1994, when a man managed to be in REM for just over three hours. You’ve had dreams that felt like they lasted for hours, but likely took place for just twenty minutes. If you could dream for three hours a night, you could live an entire life of longing in a pocket of time. 

Thankfully, you have no need to hide from reality anymore. Spencer sleeps beside you and you don’t want to sleep, you just want him to wake up. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, drawing your fingertip across his cheek to encourage the hair that’s fallen there back in line. 

He doesn’t stir. It’s alright, you hadn’t meant to wake him. 

“I love you,” you whisper, shuffling across the sheets to feel the heat and weight of his body against your own. He doesn’t move for a while, snoring gently, his breath kissing the top of your head as you burrow into the slip of space under his chin. Then, as if he were awake, he wraps his arm around you and drags you in further. His face angles down and his nose finds your forehead, and a hum of what you’d personally say is content kisses your brow. 

You tuck your hand behind his back and rub a circle. 

Spencer didn’t last long after the initial realisation of requited feelings. In a day he’d asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend (vaguely apologetic, still worried about scaring you, though you’d already come clean about wanting him as you’d warmed your cold hands by the stove). A week later he kissed you on a date outside of the cosiest Indian restaurant in Washington, D.C, and things have been nothing but smooth sailing from there. 

Now, when he’s feeling romantic, he brings home butter chicken and turns your face up for kissing, fork in hand. Every night before bed, he tells you to have good dreams, a self-satisfaction in his eyes that you dearly love. 

You knew he was a dork and you liked him because of it, but the sheer increase in him is amazing. Yesterday he sent you Close to You by Carpenters over text claiming they wrote it about you. When he got home, he tried to make you dance with him in the living room. After two or three kisses, you’d let him pull you to your feet. 

Spencer has turned loving one another into an everyday spectacularity, and not some mystical dream you ached for. 

He squeezes the skin of your shoulder as he wakes. Heavy in the hands of sleep, Spencer rubs the tip of his nose to yours, nudging your face up, and waiting there with your lips a few millimetres apart as he finds his bearings. You don’t open your eyes. There’s no need. 

“Time?” he mumbles.

“I don’t,” —you clear your hoarse voice, his hand flattening protectively behind you— “know, um. Maybe seven. The sun was rising…” 

“You could have woken me up,” he says, and kisses you slowly. It’s almost gluttonous, how he does it. Not chaste at all. His hair falls into your face and tickles your cheeks, his nose smushes your own with his easy depth. 

You hold his face and kiss him twice, following a line under his chin, where you pause, smelling yesterday's cologne on his skin. “I was hoping I’d fall asleep again,” you confess. 

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” He scoops you against him and turns onto his back as you laugh. “Angel. Let’s stay up now. Let’s just… stay here.” 

If you stay here he’s going to waylay you with a smattering of his voracious kisses, and he’s going to turn you on your back and kiss your neck. He’ll touch that place on your ribs where you’d once dreamt a bruise. It’s a secret you couldn’t keep. He likes to kiss you there when he remembers, but most of the time his hands run along it without mention. A slow caressing. 

You push your face against his shoulder and sigh as his arms close in around you. With a little effort, you get your arms around him in turn, and you hug him for as long as you can stand the pins and needles in your fingers. 

“You smell so good,” you mumble.

He pats your back absentmindedly. 

Today, you’re going to make Spencer oatmeal with banana and chocolate. You’re going to shower, maybe together if the small space can handle it, laughing at the soap in his eyebrows and the way he squeals when you touch his hips. You’re going to drape yourself across his lap as he reads, and he’ll lean down to kiss the tip of your nose or some other strange part of you unused to affection. The top of your ear, the palm of your hand, maybe the crook of your elbow. He’ll ramble through dinner or creep up behind you to sniff your shoulder, and it’ll all be choices you’ve made. Nothing left to want or wanting, but being in love while wide awake. 

“Are you tired?” you ask him. 

He takes a deep breath of your hair. “No,” he says, drawing a light line up your side, “I’m okay. There are worse faces to wake up to.”

You try not to fluster noticeably. He’s always been a good roommate. You’re still getting used to the boyfriend part, the intimacy of being complimented, but Spencer seems to have slipped into the part easily.

“Sorry, that was mean. There’s nothing I’d rather wake up to.” 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

You’re tired, suddenly. The minutes pass in heavy blinks —you don’t want to sleep now that he’s awake, but being here with him is warming you from the inside out.  You doze and wake and Spencer doesn’t say a word. His breaths come evenly against your cheek. 

Eventually, he clears his throat, asksing, “Did you dream at all?” His voice is hewn. He rubs your chest, right over your heart.

”I’m not so sure that this isn’t one,” you say, your heartbeat a crawl under his touch.

“That’s corny.” 

“Mm, the Spencer in my dreams is usually kinder.” 

“Does he ever get to hold you like this?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your chest to wrap it back around you again. 

You take a sleepy breath in. “No,” you say slowly, “he doesn’t.”

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

thank youuuu for reading!! please like comment or reblog if you enjoyed!! thank you❤️

this fic was requested! I usually link to the request I was sent at the top, but I lost the post for this one, but this is what the request said: 

“hi angel! i have a request for roommate!spencer where r has a very romantic dream about him and starts avoiding him because she's really embarrassed but spencer is so confused as to why his roommate suddenly can't even look him in the eye. maybe one of them realizes their feelings aren't entirely platonic in the end? love you!!!”

thank you original requester! 

[areislol]

being transported into their world

►— pairings. honkai star rail men x gn! creator! reader

►— warnings. nothing really, not proof read 🙅🏻‍♀️, caelus is the trailblazer, romantic but you can see it was platonic if you want to! girls in the astral express are mentioned for a bit, i mentioned both dan heng and imbibitor lunae so don't mind that! mentions of self attempt/bodily harm for blade, boothill is ooc probably, spoilers of penacony quest, skipping herta space station (will be mentioned in other chapters though!), sahau (self aware honkai au)

►— synopsis. their beloved creator, the one who created many worlds, including theirs, had yet to return after thousands of years. but lately, they've been experiencing strange things, feeling like a heavenly, divine figure loomed over them. could it possibly be their one and only creator?

►— a/n. i've been thinking about a self-aware au but a honkai star rail version for a couple of weeks now after my reverse isekai'd genshin sagau series. also this may be a bit biased towards dang feng (imbibitor lunae) because uh i like him, maybe you can tell?

►— wordcount. 4.5k

part 2

for days they've felt uncomfortable, well, slightly. it only began to happen a couple of months ago when they felt as if something, no... someone was controlling their every movement and choice.

during their adventures, they felt an unsettling sensation creep upon them like a shadow in the night—a feeling of being watched, of a presence looming over their every move.

the presence was overwhelming, their body would stiffen, and they felt as if something like a heavy, invisible blanket was casted upon them.

at first, the passengers in the astral express dismissed it as mere paranoia, attributing it to the heightened tension of their journey or maybe the warping effects in the train. but as days passed and the sensation persisted, they couldn't shake off the unnerving feeling that they were not alone, that someone or something was observing their every action.

at times, they would catch fleeting whispers carried by the wind, faint voices that echoed in the corners of their minds. yet, despite their efforts, they could never make out the words, the words slipping through their grasp like elusive dreams.

as the feeling grew more pronounced, thoughts began to gnaw at their consciousness. who or what could possibly be speaking to them? why is it that every now and then they would feel a sudden boost and surge of power?

they knew deep down that the only being in the universe could make them feel that was,it could be no other than their creator.

the mere thought that their creator was dropping hints of their arrival was exciting. and only when the astral express crew noticed how each and every one of them felt the same exact things—looking around the moment they heard a voice, their body in sync as they tensed up... it was all too coincidental not to notice.

as they talked with one another and pieced the puzzle pieces together, using the information they found along the way travelling to each region, it all became clear.

it was a pivotal moment in their journey, the truth was revealed. in a flash of realization, they discovered that the presence they felt, the elusive voice they heard, was none other than their creator—the architect of their existence, the mastermind behind their trials and tribulations.

dan heng, himeko, welt, march and caelus had a hunch that it was their beloved creator, it couldn't be anyone else. everything added up, everything made sense. they acted like mad scientists, scurrying to their rooms and digging around every nook and cranny of their room, finding any evidence and papers that mentioned you, the creator.

as they all met up back on the train they carefully placed each and every newspaper and article about you. they had to make sure that it was really you. some of the articles that dan heng bought were from way back, thousands of years ago, he refused to tell anyone where he had gotten them from.

"in the vast expanse of the universe, where time flowed like a meandering river and galaxies danced in an eternal cosmic ballet, there existed a being unlike any other—a being known simply as a creator. born out of the primordial chaos, the creator was a solitary entity who traversed the endless void, seeking purpose in a universe devoid of meaning.

for millennia, the creator roamed the expanse, witnessing the birth and death of stars, the rise and fall of civilizations, and the ebb and flow of cosmic energies. yet, amidst the vastness of space and time, the creator found itself consumed by an overwhelming sense of ennui, a profound boredom that gnawed at their very essence.

then, the creator embarked on a journey of creation—a quest to fill the void with worlds of its own design, to sculpt realities from the raw clay of the cosmos. with a mere thought, the creator breathed life into barren planets, adorned them with oceans and mountains, and populated them with a myriad of creatures both strange and wondrous.

as creator delved deeper into their newfound passion, they discovered a love for the act of creation—a love that transcended time and space, a passion that ignited a fire within its soul. with each world it fashioned, each story it crafted, the creator found solace in the act of shaping reality, in the sheer joy of bringing something new into existence.

for six thousand years, the creator laboured tirelessly, weaving tapestries of worlds and galaxies, each one a testament to its boundless imagination and creative prowess. from the smallest blade of grass to the mightiest empires, the creator poured their heart and soul into every facet of creation, infusing each world with a unique charm and character all its own.

yet, amidst the infinite expanse of its creations, the creator remained a solitary figure—a godlike being adrift in a sea of its own making, forever yearning for companionship in a universe devoid of peers. and so, the creator continued their eternal quest, weaving worlds out of boredom and growing a love and passion for creation that would endure for eternity. and we, this universe, was crafted by none other than the creator, the place we call home. it is said that only after six thousand will the creator return to us, to watch over us once more."

the article itself looked worn, it wasn't signed by anyone, and no one knew who wrote it, or how they got the information. but it seemed plausible. millenniums... it has been well over six thousand years, it was about time the creator descended.

they had to be prepared, they had to tell the rest of their friends and families, the world. as much as they would like to keep the information to themselves they knew that you deserved a much better, bigger and more beautiful welcome.

sampo, gepard and luka were more than stunned and nervous, to say the least. their creator... was finally returning back? upon hearing the news from caelus they were sceptical at first, deep down they really wanted to see you in your glory, to finally meet the creator, but at the same time, it was nerve-wracking.

what should they say? what should they do in preparation and celebration? what gifts and offers should they give to you? nothing would do. they were positive that anything they bought, even if it got them in debt, would suffice. you deserved more than a measly couple of dishes and the most delicate and fitting garnets.

it was embarrassing really, their hearts racing as they tried their best to think of what to bring to your feet. but one thing they all had in common was their loyalty to you. if it was their life you wanted then so be it.

sampo is sampo, he was sure that his creator's glory and attractiveness were over the top, he would be sure to compliment you as many times as his mouth could allow, but he was sure that your beauty would be intimidating. no matter your looks your presence was more than enough.

gepard is nervous. his mind is full of "what ifs" and "what should i.." not even his sister can calm him down. every morning and night when he closes his eyes he's anticipating the day his sister barges into his room, yelling that the creator had finally descended. although he isn't quite sure of what to offer you he knows that whenever you need him, whatever you call him for he will be there in less than a minute, by your side or feet if you prefer.

whatever you ask of him, whatever favour you need from, he will never say no.

luka on the other hand is absolutely pumped to meet you! he had heard stories of you when he was a child, and from the stories told by the adults they described you as a kind being, who soon fell in love with the art, beauty and joy of creating. well, their most favourite was creating worlds.

he was absolutely sure that you would be the most kindest, heavenly person he had ever met, what was there to worry about now? luka knew that if he ever laid eyes on you he would fall in love no doubt, he would do anything for you. maybe you would agree to watch his wrestling matches?

jing yuan, blade, imbibitor lunae, and luocha are the most excited of all, sure, everyone is elated to finally meet you with their very own eyes. but them? oh lord... they all believe to be your worshipper, having heard tales of you from their parents, this alone caused them to be awe and love-struck with you.

they were a firm believer in you, you did no wrong in their eyes. all your actions and words were justified. they followed your principles, they made sure to announce their presence every time they came to your altar and placed down the most expensive jewels, dishes and gifts. (they had a shrine of you at home don't worry)

jing yuan was the one of the firsts to get hints that you were finally returning, the divine foresight fu xuan always looked so weary and cautious, but as time grew she began to be more... happy and elated, yet everytime he questioned her she was tense up and smile like it was nothing. and only when he pried did she say that she saw things, saw a blurred face, and heard a voice. "don't be alarmed... i'm here to tell you that.."

he made sure that everyone who worked under him and every prominent person knew of this, he began to make preparations of your arrival, he cancelled all meetings and plans, only focusing on you and your arrival. everything had to be perfect. he had even forgotten about the wanted criminal blade. jing yuan booked the most fanciest restaurant for a month max, he wasn't sure when you were coming, of course, so a month it was.

jing yuan prepared every entertainment and paid the orchestra, he wanted everything to be perfect, even the most minuscule details.

blade's loyalty was and is only for you and only you. he may be cold and stone-hearted (we all know it's false) but if it's you... whatever you ask for he will do it no doubt. he refuses to take orders from a stranger even if it is his friend, but if it's you? say no more. blade knew you were a kind soul, you needed protection from the other so-called "enemies" (he proclaimed it!).

he swore that you saved his life, years ago when everything was tumbling down, when his feelings got the better of him, he tried doing the unthinkable, as he blacked out he suddenly "saw" something.. a beacon of light, it was magical and airy, he tried his best to grasp onto the light but obviously could not.

it floated further and further away, and he followed it, his eyes glued only on the beacon of light. as it stopped moving, so did he, he continued staring at the light as it shrank into a ball, it didn't speak, it didn't look anywhere, it stayed there. suddenly he woke up, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath. what was that?

sweat clung to his forehead when jingliu found him, concerned she rushed over to him, he refused to say a single word. he was left perplexed. what was the ball of light? why did he feel so at ease? why did it only appear after he...

he would make it his mission to meet you before the rest do other than the astral express crew and become your bodyguard, even if you deny his offer he will stick with you no matter what. of course, he would respect your boundaries but he knew that you didn't have the heart to deny anyone, especially your creation.

imbibitor lunae absolutely adores you, even if he was reincarnated the memories still pass on. and the tales being told by the grown-ups were famous around his area and still is. from the earliest days of his existence, tales of the creator had woven themselves into the fabric of his consciousness, painting a portrait of a being of boundless kindness and infinite compassion.

as a child, imbibitor lunae had listened with rapt attention to stories passed down through generations, tales of the creator's benevolence and the miracles they wrought upon the world. and in the quiet moments of the night, he would gaze up at the starry expanse above, whispering prayers to the creator, his heart overflowing with admiration and reverence.

when news of the creator's imminent return after six thousand years reached his ears, his heart soared with unbridled joy. in no time he set about preparing for your arrival, pouring his heart and soul into crafting the perfect gifts to present to his divine benefactor.

drawing inspiration from the tales of old, he fashioned intricate trinkets and tokens of his affection, each one imbued with his unwavering devotion and love. amidst the swirling maelstrom of feelings, one thing remained constant: his unwavering love for the creator.

imbibitor swore that once he felt or sensed a sign that would be arriving he would immediately act, he would be the first to meet and lay his eyes on your divine figure. slap him as many times as you want if you found it rude, he would only thank you.

luocha, despite remaining calm and composed on the outside, internally, he was freaking OUT. luocha found himself grappling with a myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions. on one hand, he felt a profound sense of excitement at the prospect of meeting the creator, the architect of his existence and the source of all that he held dear.

yet, on the other hand, he couldn't shake off the nagging feeling of inadequacy, the fear of not being able to live up to your expectations.

his mind raced with a flurry of possibilities. what gifts would you appreciate? what could he offer to express his gratitude and reverence for the being who had breathed life into his world? with each passing moment, the weight of the impending meeting pressed down upon him like a heavy burden, filling him with a sense of anxiety.

despite his inner turmoil, luocha maintained a facade of calm and composure, determined not to let his anxieties show. with a steely resolve, he set about meticulously planning and preparing for your arrival, carefully considering every detail in his quest to find the perfect gift.

he even resorted to asking the children about what gifts he should bring, and yes, they did laugh at him but helped him nonetheless.

from ornate trinkets to rare treasures, luocha spared no effort in his search for the ideal offering, pouring his heart and soul into each carefully chosen item. yet, even as he laboured tirelessly to ensure that everything was perfect, doubts continued to gnaw at the edges of his mind, although one thing was for sure, if you didn't like any of his gifts he wouldn't be upset rather, maybe all you wanted was his whole body and life, and he would not hesitant once to give it up for you.

they all couldn't wait to meet you.

aventurine, sunday, gallagher and boothill are freaking out. horribly. mainly aventurine.. once the news had reached them from the astral express that it was possible (about 98%) that you were the comet arriving in a week... oh boy were they NERVOUS. everything HAD to be perfect. they had everything to thank you for, during their life and death situation they were lucky enough to survive—thanks to you.

it was only natural to return the favour, you created them, their personality, their arms, legs, their body, you sculpted their face, you made them. you made the very world they live in right now, the world they call home... they were sure you were by their side, making them make the right decisions and the right thing. aventurine? oh, the amount of MONEY he will spend buying everything he thinks you'd like, the fanciest, most elegant and most expensive shoes, clothing and accessories. he would rent out an entire week or months of work at a restaurant if you'd like to dine alone or with a couple of people. he knows his luck is a part of him, he can only pray that he'll meet you first with his luck.

sunday... just the sound of your name makes him tear up. he could've sworn that one time you spoke to him, your other-worldly echoing voice speaking to him directly about the loss of his dear sister. and here he stood in his room, looking out the window, and in the far distant a light shimmering as it swiftly dived down. a shooting star. he knows that with everyone getting the news they're all aiming to be the first to meet you, and trust me, he does want to meet you FIRST. the second you land he'll be there right with you and guiding you to safety—penacony.

but first, he must pinpoint where exactly you'll land. and with his power and influence he will most definitely try his best to find you and be sure to hide you from everyone else... he needs you, desperately.

gallagher and boothill have exactly the same thoughts. to present themselves good to you and spend every minute and second with you. but with everyone gossiping and spreading rumours about your arrival it's hard to be unique. everyone wants to be with you, everyone wants your favour. but they could never worship you as much as them. they had dreamed of this moment, it seemed unreal to meet their own creator but nonetheless, they clung to their hope and boy did it not go to waste.

boothill basically pauses any mission he needs to complete, that can wait. you are eternal. he's practically on edge with the fact that at any moment the comet would crash through and there you'd be, dozing peacefully.. like an angel. he won't hesitate to cause some trouble or initiate some violence if it means that they don't get to see you first.

gallagher on the other hand tries to stay hidden and in the shadows. of course, he'd like to meet you face to face but with the feeling of an overwhelming and looming divine presence, it's all too much. and if that's too much then what would he feel when you stand right before him? he's like an overprotective dog, fiercely loyal and clingy. even if you can't spot him he'll be right there, lurking and watching.

dr. ratio and argenti are absolutely and 100% loyal and would do EVERYTHING in their power to meet you, even a glance would do, anything to feed their curiosity and desperate need to know the creator. so when they get wind that you were supposedly descending down... they freeze on the spot, their breath hitches as their eyes widen. could it really be?

dr. ratio was always a curious boy, and he has you to thank for giving him consciousness and the opportunities to venture out and earn knowledge and eventually spreading his knowledge to his students (preaching i guess you can say). he's a bit biased when it comes to talking about you to his friends or students, and speaking your name in a more positive light, not that anyone minds, if anything they agree!

although he isn't much of a gifter or "i'll spend my money on you" he's more of a "anything you want just tell me". if you told him to drop his precious books to come and tend to your needs he would do it in a heartbeat.

to argenti you are the standard and epitome of "beauty". the beauty he has been searching for his entire life. he intends to shower you with compliments and roses freshly picked by hand unless you're allergic or not a fan of flowers, fear not! compliments should do! be ready to be bombarded with such positivity, compliments and gifts from the knight of beauty.

anything you wish for he will try his utmost best to get it done perfectly and quickly. "your hair looks so pretty like this..." say no more, he will always style it and keep it exactly like that! "my feet feel so sore from all the walking" ?!!? why is his dear walking anyway!?!? don't worry, he'll massage it for you! "ugh all this work is making me tired" move aside, let him do the honours!!

It was a long ride home from work, you were currently in an almost empty bus, glancing over the top of your phone you read the time. 11 P.M.

Was it that late already? You knew this office job would be the death of you. You never wanted to work at a place like this, the cubicle life bored you and it was just so... depressing. That was the only way to describe it.

You decide to pass the time by playing your all-time favourite game: Honkai: Star Rail. The soft glow of the screen illuminated your face as you began to grind relics and exp for an upcoming character. It definitely worked in keeping you busy and awake as time passed by slowly.

All was well, everything was fine. You had everything planned in your head. Get home as soon as possible, take a nice warm and rejuvenating shower, get five hours of sleep, go back to work and repeat.

The more you thought about your daily routine the more you realised how depressing it was, but what could you do? That job was the only one that was hiring and had average pay and things like that are rare, especially when you decided to live in the city which was your first mistake.

You were barely getting by in the city, the crime rate increased, there were more breaks in, pickpocketing and murder. But despite all of that you decided to rent an apartment where it was less populated, the rent in the heart of the city was way too high.

Pushing all those thoughts and information aside you let out a defeated sigh, leaning your head on the window as you continued to tap away on your phone.

If only life went just a little bit easier on you.

Everything was fine. The silence was comfortable and the low, soft rumble of the engine kept you awake, until a loud deafening crash jolted the bus, sending people flying and falling onto the ground.

Letting out a scream you grabbed onto whatever you could to keep you steady—the head of the chair in front of you. Although it didn't do a good job of keeping you still you couldn't care less, because as you lifted your head, your eyes caught something massive charging straight at you, and before you could react, a blinding light engulfed you, followed by an eerie silence.

When you regained consciousness, you found yourself tightly packed against something dark and rocky. Just great! Something had happened to the bus and knocked you out.

You looked around, it was pure blackness, like a void. Maybe this was what happened after death... Out of all things and especially the time too!

Feeling confused and scared you try to move your body to shift into a more comfortable position but due to the lack of space, you could barely even move an inch.

Suddenly, a crack was heard. And you froze.

Then another crack, and another, the darkness began to crack and splinter and not long after half of the egg-shaped looking ball broke in half as it fell to the side.

Shards of obsidian-like material fractured and scattered around. A large amount of dust, and shiny glitter-like specs flew everywhere, it was extremely dusty.

Unfortunately, you inhaled the smoke, coughing and sputtering, you waved their hand in front of your face, trying to dispel the particles as you squinted against the harsh light that slipped through the smoke.

As the dust settled and the steam dissipated, your surroundings gradually came into focus. You found yourself in front of... one, two, three, four, and... five.... wait.. what?

Right before you stood four male figures (with the other seemed to have a more feminine build), male figures that looked awfully familiar to you for some odd reason, just why was that?

You were confused and curious as you surveyed your surroundings, realizing that maybe this was death? You would've never guessed that "life" after death would look like this. It was very.... interesting.

The buildings that surrounded you were intricate and otherworldly. Dazzling celestial landscapes and luminescent structures piqued your interest as you slowly and carefully stepped out of what you assumed was a shell.

Its' architect and infrastructure reminded you of something, it seemed nostalgic—as if you've seen this exact building before. The more you observed and watched, your eyes tracing every precise curve and detail of the buildings your heart began to pick up its pace.

Your eyes searched every corner and inch, and finally, it landed back on the five figures you had spotted before and it wasn't until you caught sight of familiar faces that you were certain that you had to be hallucinating somehow after death.

There, standing in a circle, were figures that you could hardly believe were real: Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, and Bronya. It was unmistakably them.

Their presence, their unmistakable aura of reverence, left you no doubt.

They watched you, their gazes filled with awe and admiration as if you were the embodiment of some long-awaited prophecy (and in this case, it was).

You were in disbelief. Disbelief that you had somehow been transported into the very game they were playing moments ago, but now they were tangible, real.

It was a long silence, it was both comfortable and uncomfortable with their longing gaze. You remained still as you checked around your surroundings once again before settling your eyes back on the group of people.

At your gaze they felt a shiver down their spine, and the hair on their skin stood up.

"W—Who are you guys?!" You yelled, narrowing your eyes to see if it was truly the characters from the game you adored.

Dan Heng's breath hitched at the sound of your booming voice, your voice... it was just like how they described what you would sound like in the carved stones and ancient scrolls.

The more he stared at you the more he wanted to come to you, to kneel down at your feet and profess how long he has been waiting for this moment.

With his eyes trained on your figure, he steps closer, Gepard notices and swiftly stops him from moving any further with his arm. Dan Heng looks to his side, confusion strewn on his face.

Not a single word was spoken yet with a stern gaze and the shake of a head, Dan Heng understood. Now was not the right time.

Minutes passed by in complete and utter silence, it unnerved you. Why were they so quiet? So watchful?

Finally, after what felt like hours, the silence was broken just with a couple words.

"We have been awaiting your arrival, Your Gracefulness."

note: after 5 months WOW. i've been so busy with things i haven't had the time to really sit down and work. I'm so sorry everyone!

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[ohmybueckers]

𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴: 𝘱.𝘣 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

summary: you and paige make a bet to see who can go the longest without initiating sex. much to both of your displeasure, neither one of you are willing to go down without a fight themes/warnings: smut with very little plot, fingering (r receiving), oral (p receiving), strap-on use, exhibitionism if your squint (not really though just adding it to be safe), sexting, breeding kink (sort of) word count: 5.6k note: yes i wrote and proofread this in less than 24 hours. no, the timeline of this story does not make much sense with actual UCONN schedules. please suspend ur disbelief there, this is basically just filth xoxoxo enjoy

It all started on a Friday night in Paige’s apartment. The two of you laid on top of her comforter browsing places for a potential upcoming weekend trip. Dating one of the most prominent players in women’s college basketball was not for the weak, with the two of you often having to piece your busy schedules together like a puzzle to find enough time for a simple dinner or even time to coexist together. But occasionally, the universe (or Geno) granted you a gift in the form of time off for Paige. This meant you were able to disappear off to a romantic getaway with your girl for a bit. If you two could pick a place, that is.

“We could go to Miami?” You suggested, reading off a list on your phone. Paige leaned in to look, lightly tapping the side of your head with hers. Her arm rested around your shoulders, her hand drawing circles on your arm every once in a while. Her limb had fallen asleep about 10 minutes prior, but she would never tell you that.

“Don’t we wanna go somewhere a little more romantic?” Paige questioned, a point you failed to consider. “Plus you know I’m gonna get sunburnt on the first day.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re sunburnt.” You giggled in response, remembering the various vacation photos you’ve received over the years with Paige’s skin in ranging shades of red. Apparently, she didn’t seem to think so, as she looked at you pointedly with an eyebrow raised. You huffed, “Fine, what are your ideas.”

As Paige moves to unlock her phone, the two of you are interrupted by a sharp soundcoming from outside of her room. Paige’s face shifted to confusion at the same time as yours, the two of you sitting up on the bed as if that would help you detect the sound faster. Just as you were about to ask if Allie or Jana had decided to rearrange the furniture, you heard a clearer sound: high pitched moans, followed by a series of bang, bang, bang. You watched your girlfriend realize at the same time that these sounds were most certainly coming from the apartment above hers, sending you both into a fit of roaring laughter.

“Oh my God.” Paige chokes, throwing her head back and grabbing your arm to stabilize herself.

“I really hope we’re not that loud.” You cracked a joke, not expecting anything of it. That is until Paige looks at you in a way that screams “you can’t be serious” and you can feel your heart drop. “Paige, why are you looking at me like that?”

Paige bit her lip, nodding a few times for courage before saying, “Jana said she’s definitely heard us a few times.”

You groan loudly, flopping on the bed once more. “Kill me,” you plead, voice muffled by the pillows.

“I like the noises you make.” Your girlfriend comforts you between her laughs, rubbing your back. You stand, feeling as though pacing in her room will help work off some of the complete and utter embarrassment you were feeling right now. Sure, you knew you and Paige weren’t exactly the quietest. But receiving confirmation that others had heard you in your most vulnerable state was humbling to say the least.

“It’s not my fault I’m dating the horniest girl on the planet,” you quipped in an effort to make yourself feel better. You watch as your girlfriends jaw drops, her head cocking to the side.

“Woah,” she all but yells, her head shaking. “I’m the horny one?”

Her expression is so comical, with her eyes practically bulging out of her head, you can’t hep but crack a smile as you defend your position. “You initiate constantly.”

“You initiate just as much as I do! Plus all those photos you send me on away games.”

You blush, remembering all the nights alone where the bed seems just a little too cold without your tall blonde girlfriend by your side. Nights where you open the drawer of various lingerie you and/or Paige had picked out throughout the years. It was a winning move all around: you got to feel sexy with every snap you sent to Paige, both of you got off to it, and it usually meant that your sex after she returned was even better. “Yeah, because I know you like them.”

“There’s no way I’m hornier than you, bro.” She throws her hands up. To be fair, as you watch her sit on her bed legs spread apart, donning a grey Nike hoodie and black sweats, you think she may have a point. This doesn’t stop an idea from popping in your head.

You sauntered over to her, legs straddling one of hers as she looked at you curiously. You sat yourself down, hands reaching under the hoodie and lightly tracing at bare skin. “Okay, prove it.”

“Huh?” She asked, her voice gravelly. I got the advantage already, you think to yourself mischievously.

“First person to initiate sex loses.” You propose, expecting an absolutely not from her. To your surprise, she seems even more intrigued.

“Ok, what does the winner get?”

You think for a moment. “Bragging rights,” you decide, adding. “and the choice of movie on movie night for the next month.” Though you both cherish your movie nights when you’re able to sneak them into the week, trying to agree on a movie is a battle.

“Deal,” Paige sticks her hand out, acting like some sort of businessman. You play along, accepting her firm grip, which she used to pull you in closer, her gaze still roaming your body. “and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Her head moved closer and closer. You could feel her breath on your skin, sending goosebumps up your arm. She peppered a few light kisses on the back of your ear before whispering, “I think we both know who’s going to win this, baby.”

Two days after the bet

This may be the worst idea you’ve ever had.

In the hours after you first proposed this little competition, the rules as to what counted as initiating became more explicit. Kissing, grinding, and the like were all okay as long as third base was not crossed. Should be easy enough, you thought, recognizing that you could do a majority of your favorite acts of intimacy without forfeiting.

What you failed to consider is just how much more appealing sex was when you knew you couldn’t have it. Little things from seeing a sliver of Paige’s toned torso as her shirt rode up reaching for the top shelf to how her hair got wavy after she had taken a post-practice shower got a reaction out of you these days . You were going insane, and yet your girlfriend appeared to be cool and collected. You truly should have expected this. There was no universe where Paige Bueckers wouldn’t be competitive, even over some dumb shit like this.

So when you woke up in her bed, approximately 30 minutes before her alarm to get ready for the bus taking her to a game in New York, you planned to change that. Gently loosening the grip she had around you, you reach you head up to pepper kisses on her cheeks, watching her stir before blinking her eyes open. Once they are able to somewhat focus on you, she offers a tired smile. “Mmmm, good morning to you too.”

Her hand cups your face, connecting you in a sweet kiss. You got her exactly where you want her. You let yourself melt into the kiss for just a moment before swinging a leg around to straddle her. Though the blonde was never much of a morning person, she suddenly seemed a lot more awake. Reaching for the bottom of Paige’s crewneck that you borrowed (stole), you pulled it over your head before throwing it to the ground with the rest of Paige’s clothes. This action sent Paige’s line of vision straight to your breasts, which you kneaded in your hands as you lightly ground down on her pajama covered crotch.

“Shit, Y/N,” She was seemingly mesmerized, unable to resist and you lean down and capture her lips once more, both of you a lot needier than before. Her tongue slips in, and it takes everything in you to pull away long enough to nibble at her ear.

“We got time before you have to make your bus.”

Her hands reach around to feel your waist, before coming back around to cup your tits. “Oh really?”

You nod, humming as you feel your victory is imminent. “You gonna give in, Bueckers?”

“Oh hell no,” her eyes widen, her movement in her hands stopping abruptly before removing contact entirely, a move you were less than pleased by. Still on top of her, you raise your eyebrows, an action which she returns. “What, you seriously thought I was gonna lose from that?”

Damn, she really didn’t have to be that harsh. “Ouch.”

Her laughter comes to a halt, her expression softening as she brushes your hair out of your face. “You were so sexy, you always are.” She gushes. “But I told you; if anyone here is losing this challenge, it’s you.”

You whip your leg back around, moving to a standing position and grabbing the discarded crewneck before throwing it back on. “Whatever,” you sulk.

“It’s a shame, too.” Paige follows your lead, moving to a standing position and grabbing your waist, making it abundantly clear just how much taller she is. She puts a finger under your chin, lifting so you’re forced to make eye contact. “I was getting real excited about being inside you.”

You have to physically hold yourself back from shivering at the comment, not wanting to show Paige just how much pressure was between your legs. “Go pack,” you crack a small smile, gesturing to her almost empty duffle.

Six days after the bet

Paige was off at an away game, this time much farther than just a state away. This required her to spend two nights away from Storrs, making the challenge just a little bit easier. Sure, you missed your girlfriend. But considering the circumstances it was nice to not have such a close reminder of how much you wanted to jump her bones.

You kept yourself busy the days she was gone with classes, extracurriculars, and time spent with friends at the student union. By the time you got back to your apartment the second night she was gone, you were completely wiped out, midterm week beginning to take a toll on you. Upon checking your notifications waiting for you while your phone was on do not disturb, you spot a snapchat notification from Paige. Sitting on your bed, you open it.

She’s sat in what appears to be her hotel room, snapback hat covering the top of her head. Her tongue is all the way out, paired with the caption “Miss you my sweet girl. Can’t wait for munch madness.”

While on any other day you would only be hyper focused on the pure absurdity of the photo, her tongue and the implications in the message had a downright embarrassing effect on you. Preparing to send back a more normal photo, your eyes make contact with the top drawer of your dresser, reserved for very specific articles of clothing. Two could play at that game.

Your red set had always been her favorite. You bought it at a smaller boutique towards the beginning of your relationship. Paige went so feral over how it hugged and accentuated every curve of yours the first night you wore it. You brought this set out on rare occasions, but figured this was enough of a reason to dust it off.

You knew exactly what angles she liked, showing off your body while disguising your face just enough to feel comfortable sending it. So when Paige sent back a chat which read "You’re gonna be the death of me,” you relished in the small victory you reached over her.

What are you thinking about? You send back, which Paige reads immediately.

How good you’d look sucking my cock in that, pretty girl.

The message nearly makes you choke on your own spit. It wasn’t every day that Paige brought out the strap. Many days, the two of you preferred intimacy just before bed, with Paige trailing her fingers under your pajama pants and you eating her out under the covers. But in some occasions, whether it be moments after a win or other times Paige was feeling particularly cocky, best believe she was ready to have you bent over seven different ways.

Want it so bad. You almost cringe at just how desperate you sound, but who could blame you?

Paige’s bitmoji popped up and down a few times, pondering before sending; Going to bed soon. See you tomorrow ;)

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you groan as your head hits your pillow. If you couldn’t have the real thing right now, you would at least settle for Paige talking (texting?) you through an orgasm. More frustrated than when you started, you reach a hand into your lace underwear, seemingly gone to waste.

And when Paige returns the next day and is able to stray from touching you outside of a quick makeout session, you wonder whether or not this bet was even worth it - you would be perfectly fine sitting through Disney movies for the next month if it meant your girlfriend could at least fuck you afterwards. But more than anything, you were still playing for your pride. After all, you knew this was the kind of shit that Paige would never let you forget.

Two weeks after the bet

After your failed seduction via Snapchat, you ruled it wasn’t worth it to try to get Paige to fold, and that your energy was much better used in not getting yourself to give in. Thankfully, your girlfriend had been booked and busy with two more games, one of which was a home game you attended. When it got to the point where Paige’s arguments with the refs were beginning to turn you on instead of simply make you laugh, you knew you were in deep, deep shit.

There were very, very few times you were forced to resort to masturbation typically, Not that there was any shame in it, its just that you always had Paige to help you out. Even if her schedule forced you to wait a few extra hours or even a day to get your release, it was a negotiation you were willing to take. Even though you knew your own body and what you liked, Paige seemed to have your body memorized, knowing just how much pressure to put on your clit and the precise second to speed up. Masturbation was essentially reserved for when Paige was physically not in the same state, and even then she helped where she could (as was to your detriment last week).

However with Paige gone at a practice on a Friday night and your friends all refusing to go out in the pouring rain, you were left alone in your one bedroom apartment and bored. That combined with the arousal that had been pooling inside you for weeks now was a lethal combination.

You tried to starve it off, you really did. You left the door unlocked for Paige later, just in case practice got off on time (it nearly never did) and she had time to swing by your place. A little part of you hoped she would break tonight, give you exactly what you needed. But at this point, the chances of that happening were sounding less and less likely, even to the most delusional section of your mind.

So you spent your night eating leftovers and binge watching your current Netflix fixation, trying to ignore how you would much rather be spending your night. Your legs rub together in your bed, soft and smooth from your nighttime shower routine. Pressing your thighs together, you sigh, unable to resist. Fuck it.

After shutting your laptop and placing it on your bedside table, you remove your pajama pants, tossing them to the floor. You could feel yourself dripping even from outside your underwear, breaking any last reservations you had on indulging in self pleasure. Reaching in, you put pressure on your clit, immediately melting into the touch.

Unknown to you, practice for UConn didn’t get out on time this night - it got out early, an uncharacteristic move for Geno who felt that the players would be better off resting their bodies before their upcoming games after a long week of practice than another hour of running the same drills. Though normally Paige would use this extra time to go to Ted’s with the rest of the team, she was more than happy to return home to you - even if this stupid bet was still going on.

The truth is, Paige had been just as wound up all week. If the two of you weren’t equally as competitive, she likely would have forfeited in the first three days. Honestly, its not like she would necessarily disagree that she was the hornier one out of the two of you - I mean, anyone who saw you would be. It was the definitiveness in your voice that got to her. She always loved proving people wrong.

She knew your door was unlocked, but gave it a light tap just to notify you of her presence. Normally this would prompt a “come in” or “it’s open”, but this time she was met with nothing except for the muffled sounds of your neighbors pregaming. Curious, she opened the door, walking into your living room with a call, “babe?”

Though you heard her, your brain was slow to process, too focused on the sweet relief you were getting. As you heard footsteps pad towards your room, you finally developed enough sense to slow your breathing, about to will yourself to remove your hand when the door swung open, all six feet of your sweaty, rain soaked girlfriend standing in the arch.

For a beat, the two of you looked at each other like deer in headlights, your hand still in your panties and her jaw on the floor She noticed the same moment you did, her eyes trailing as you quickly removed the digits.

Paige slowly set her backpack on the floor, blue eyes still never leaving you. Her gaze was filled with something you couldn’t quite detect - was it anger? She made a slow stride over to you, her hands shoved in her pockets, and you realize just how dilated her pupils had become. Nope, definitely not anger. More like pure arousal, mixed with admiration.

“Keep going,” Her voice is low, accent thick. You want to question it, but she adds on a,“Please.”

Shocked yet intrigued, you slowly trail your hand back down, tracing your nipple and lightly kneading the soft tissue of your breast. Paige licked her lips, watching the show you were putting on intently. Her pupils dilated as you finally make your way to your cotton panties, hooking your fingers under the sides and pulling them down just enough to give yourself more mobility and add more visual appeal for Paige. Paige hardly had time to be embarrassed by how much of an effect your wet pussy had on her after a two week drought, not when you immediately sunk a finger in while maintaining your hungry stare on her.

There was a beat of silence, the only sound in the room being the faint suction of your core gratefully accepting the relief from your middle finger. You don’t know whether it was the fact that you hadn’t cum with your girlfriend in weeks, or the fact that she was staring at you hungrily, but you couldn’t hold back the moan that raged through you, ending in a sharp whine. Paige inhaled, her eyes shutting as if she couldn’t bare to look. Exhale. Then, the silence was broken.

“Fuck it.”

You hardly had time to blink before she was on you, a hand reaching down and borderline yanking your hand away from your clit, replacing it with hers. The other hand reached for your face, connecting your lips as her fingers began making messy circles.

You melted into the kiss, thankful for the way it muffled your moans as Paige slipped a finger in, still paying good attention to your puffy clit. Your legs began to tighten, and you could almost cry because of how overwhelming it all was. You never thought just fourteen days without sex would do such a number on you, as you and Paige has certainly gone longer, but the fact that it was forbidden combined with the knowledge that you got her to snap like she did caused a rush of warmth to your core.

“You feel so good.” Paige’s voice comes out muffled by your lips, her breath labored. You love when she does this, riling herself up just by getting you off. “Missed this pussy so much.”

“Paige, please,” you don’t quite know what you are begging for, but the pure desperation in Paige’s voice has done a number on you. After over a week of feeling like the needy one, the way Paige is fucking you now is nothing short of satisfying and you need more. “Need you so bad.”

“I know, I know.” She whines, her face hiding in the crook of your neck. She was convinced if she took one look at you while you were asking (no, begging) her for more, she wouldn’t be able to hold back from cumming in her pants. Between sloppy kisses to soft skin, she babbles, “I’m gonna make you feel good, I promise. Gonna make you cum.”

That was Paige in a nutshell. No matter how tired she was, or how much the ache between her legs begged for her attention, she put your orgasm before hers always. She paid attention to the way your breath quickened, your legs becoming impossibly stiff, and she whispered, “You close?”

All you could do was nod, so focused on your release that forming coherent sentences was not in the cards for you at the moment. “Go ahead, wanna feel it.”

Your release rushed through you, warm and all encompassing, and it took all your strength to remain somewhat quiet as you exhaled through it, your moans coming out more as whines if anything. As your breath steadied, Paige’s mouth returned to yours, this time more sweet as she brought you back down.

In your post-orgasm glow, you widen your eyes just enough to look at your girlfriend, the front tendrils of her hair damp from both sweat and the storm outside. A blush floods her face as she grins at you, prompting you to pull her down for a kiss.

“Wanna use my mouth on you, that okay?”

Paige nods, her eyes wide and breath labored from the performance she just gave to you. The two of you switch positions, her laying down on your pillows while you crawled over her, moving down her body. Though you wanted nothing more that for her to just sit back and relax as you showed her just how grateful you were for her, she did aid you in removing her drenched hoodie, the two of you laughing as it momentarily got stuck on her head (in any other circumstance you would scold her for laying in your bed with wet clothes, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment).

You kiss down her torso, watching her toned core flex in reaction as she inhales sharply. Her hands reach down to your shoulders, and you know exactly what she wants - she would just never outright ask. Looking up, eyes wide, you smile sweetly. “Grab my hair, baby.”

She sighs, fingers interwoven in your hair as you make work on her pants, pulling them down along with the boxers you love so much. You press gentle kisses to her inner thighs, ignoring the area begging for your attention until Paige huffs, “please, waited long enough. Want you so bad. Need you so bad.”

You bite back a grin, loving just how vocal your girlfriend gets. Giving in, you press a gentle lick to your girlfriends core, feeling her thighs tense in reaction, before giving her all of you and finding her waiting clit.

“There you go, good girl. Oh fuck,” She melts into your bed, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she’s overwhelmed by the sensation. Unlike you, who at least got the opportunity to indulge in self-pleasure, she never had the time, either spending her nights with you, in a hotel room with her teammates, or too tired after a long day of practice. Wanting to make the most of your handiwork, she moved one hand to the side of your face. “Look at me”

Still sucking at her clit, you lift your head slightly, and she cries out as she sees just how drunk off of her you look, doe eyes watering as you lap her up. It’s all just too much for the blonde as she struggles to maintain her breathing, feeling familiar sensations way quicker than she normally should.

“I’m close… I’m gonna cum… fuck.” The words tumbled out of Paige’s mouth in quick succession, as if she severely underestimated just how quick she was to tipping over the edge. With a groan, her grip on the back of your head tightened as she met her release, your tongue lapping it up like it was your last meal.

You wait until she rides out her orgasm before crawling back up, her hands meeting your waist to help. You collapse next to her, head raising just in time to meet her waiting lips.

“Love the way you taste,” you hum in satisfaction, prompting a smile from your girlfriend. You lived for the come down after sex, where it felt like it was just you and Paige alone on this earth, nothing and nobody else to worry about. She rubbed at your back, and you get so wrapped up in the domesticity of it all you almost miss the next words out of her mouth.

“You got one more in you, baby?”

“What?” You croak, looking at her as if you must have misheard. You thought the two of you were on the same page, having cum so hard you couldn’t imagine having space for anything more than passing out next to her.

That is until Paige finds enough energy and strength in her legs to stand, backing up towards your dresser while still facing you with a smirk on her face. “You didn’t think I was joking when I was telling you how bad I want you to suck me off, did you?”

Fuck. Though you were tired before (and still are), you can’t deny the way warmth floods south, already wound up again after hearing the sounds Paige made as she released. You nod, and Paige opens the top drawer.

In this moment especially, you’re grateful for Paige’s idea to get two straps, one for each of your apartments. “More convenient that way,” she had said with a wink. Paige adjusted the harness to herself, her movements only faltering for a moment when she noticed you drop to your knees, Calvin Klein bralette still on.

“You know what to do if you need me to stop, right sweet girl?” Her thumb traces your cheek sweetly. You nodded, having done this just enough times to establish a gesture (three taps on Paige’s inner thigh) to indicate you needed a rest. You’ve never had to use it - Paige just absolutely refused to put herself in a position where she could hurt her sweet girl without safety measures.

You inch closer, offering gentle kitten licks to the tip of the dildo before opening your mouth to let it rest on your tongue. Paige, gentle yet firm, pushes you down a little further, and you inhale through your nose praying that you don’t gag so early on. Your thumb is caught in a fist on your non dominant hand, the other one wrapping around the remainder of the strap as you bob up and down.

“Fuck, thats it.” Paige groans as the back of your throat betrays you, resulting in a choking sound and a pool of saliva on the toy. When your eyes meet hers, watery yet determined, she sighs. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You remove your lips with a pop, gaze never wavering. “Need to be inside you, please.”

Paige, never one to deny your request, aided you in a standing position, hands at your waist as she backed you towards your bed, until the two of you were forced to crawl on top. Biting her bottom lip, she circles your core a few times before allowing herself to sink in, and both of you gasp at the intrusion as if the dick was truly a part of her.

“So big… you’re so big.” You whimpered as she began plowing into you, lifting one of your legs to where your knee was nearly to your chest. The sounds your pussy made as it gripped Paige’s cock were sinful, prompting a smirk from the girl above you.

“So scared of people hearing huh? Why’s this pussy screaming for me then?” Paige taunted, watching the purple dildo slip in and out. The room filled with slapping of skin and Paige’s cock genuinely swimming inside you - you can’t remember the last time you felt (or sounded) like this.

“Such a fucking tease all week, winding me up so bad.” Paige continued, her voice gravelly as she watched your tits bounce up and down with each thrust. Licking her lips, she added, “Just needed a good fuck, didn’t you?”

Your eyes were screwed shut, focusing on the feeling of the strap stretching you out. She was consuming all of you, from your pussy to your mind, and you forgot to respond until her hand grabbed your waist, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough pressure to snap your attention back towards her. “Words, sweet girl. I know you know how to use them.”

“Paige, please. Wanna feel you in me,” Your words come out as broken sobs as she stilled herself, reaching down to play with your overstimulated clit just to feel something. You feel Paige offer a shallow thrust, but it isn’t good enough, you want more. Observing the way her brows furrowed in a last attempt to maintain control, you pout. “Wanna feel you cum inside me.”

You didn’t fully understand the grip those six words would have on her, not until in what felt like one movement she flipped you around, your knees planted on the bed and back arched as she entered you once more, both of you moaning at the contact as she drove into you like it was her mission. All of your senses were overwhelmed; your ears filled with the sound of your ass pushing back against the strap only to bounce back, mixed with Paige’s stuttering breath. Your head pressed close to the pillow, giving easy access to smell your freshly washed sheets. Turning your head to the side to breath, you could see your full length mirror capture the point where you and Paige met, the sight bringing you to the edge.

You’re sure two weeks ago you would have been utterly humiliated at the cry that leaves your mouth as your orgasm washes over you, but when mixed with Paige’s groans of “fuck”, you couldn’t give less of a shit if your neighbors heard. By now, they definitely knew Paige’s name.

Paige collapsed on you, strap still inside your spent core until she musters enough strength to roll over to her side. The two of you took a moment to catch your breath, unsure of the last time you had gone that hard. Finally, still covering the top of her face with her arms, Paige breaks into a chuckle, which I catch.

“Holy shit.”

“Don’t say it.” She says, her voice deadpan. I take one look at her flushed cheeks, hair a messy collection of blonde tresses, and consider sparing her from my gloating. But after two long weeks, I feel passing up on the opportunity would be a waste.

“you lost the…”

“I know.” Paige groans, though her smile reveals she’s not being serious. “You try hearing your pretty little moans and not fucking you. It’s physically impossible.”

You laugh, moving to cuddle next to her as she haphazardly disposes of the strap, tossing it along with the various articles of clothing (you made a mental note to wash it later). “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think any of my actions the past week have proven I’m any less horny than you.”

Paige shrugged, arms wrapping around you and pulling your head into her chest, her lashes fluttering in a failing attempt to stay awake. “It’s why we work so well together, I guess.”

The two of you lay there, your breath matching hers, ready to put this stupid bet to rest along with yourselves. Reaching for the remote for your fairy lights to turn them off, you turn to her. “Just so you know, we’re watching a horror movie on Friday.”

“Worth it.”

[whor3ing]

𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 | 𝑪.𝑺

Chris Sturniolo!bf x f!reader

WARNINGS : smut, phone sex, FaceTime, tapping it on the screen, established relationship, lots of dirty talk, mutual masturbation, mentions of breeding! mentions of spitting (in mouth) usage of “slut”

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IN WHICH.. after a rough day and missing Chris while he’s away, What starts as playful teasing to cheer you up, quickly turns intense. Chris guides you through the heat of the moment, making the distance between you feel like nothing.

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second tumblr post! word count : 4.4k ♡

Any day without Chris' arms around you late at night felt like something was missing, similar to the last piece to a nearly finished puzzle, the one that had made everything click into place.

You'd gotten used to his warmth, the way his body seemed to fit against yours so perfectly, the steady beat of his heart slowly lulling you to sleep every night without fail. Being in his arms made you feel safe, loved, and wanted. With each breath, each beat of his heart, you felt your mind grow quiet and your body relax, as if each hum of his heart was him whispering "i love you' over and over.

You knew him going on this brand deal trip had been a good idea for the channel, and you knew that it had already been planned months in advance, but missing him was hard, and missing him was painful. It was only supposed to be a few days now, but each one seemed to drag on longer than the last and it made you relentlessly question if the clock was against you, if time moved slower than it actually did.

Just the night before he had left, his arms had been curled around you and you had been resting on top of his chest, his fingers combing through your hair. Everything had been perfect, everything had felt complete. But tonight, you were alone, and it felt like the quiet of the room echoed louder than it should.

Your day at work had been a full-on nightmare—endless tasks, long hours, all of it seemed to last forever. Every email you had sent felt as if it was another weight added onto your shoulders, and every conversation felt like it had drained every ounce of energy from you. Even now, the fluorescent lights of the office still lingered in your eyes, making your head throb with a dull ache.

Usually, you would come home to Chris, the soft sound of his voice greeting you, followed by his arms pulling you into a warm embrace. He would hold you close, put on a random film and snuggle into you, his hands always wandering to your thighs. He would rub his palms on them, cursing at how soft your skin was while smiling at you, and with that, he would lean in to kiss your forehead as you would drift off.

But tonight was different. The apartment was cold without him, the sheets of your shared bed empty and frigid.

With a sigh, you pick up your phone, swiping up to enter your password.

Your thumb hovers over Chris' name in your contacts; needing to hear his voice, needing him to somehow fill the empty space in your chest, the same emptiness lingering throughout the entire apartment.

Without thinking too much, you press call.

The phone rings only twice before Chris picks up and upon the first word he speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice, immediately warm and familiar.

"Hey, sweetheart, wasn't expecting you to call so early, what's up?"

Sinking into your bed, you let out a heavy sigh, letting your gaze drift upward to the ceiling fan, its quiet hum the only other noise in your quiet apartment.

"Hey," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the word catching in your throat. You clear your throat, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed there, and continue, "I needed to hear your voice, I miss you."

As the words leave your lips, you feel a slight tremble in your voice, something that your boyfriend, Chris would never dare to let slide.

There's a pause on the other end, and when he speaks again, his tone is softer, full of concern. "I miss you too, you alright, baby?"

You nod, even though he can’t see it, your eyes fluttering shut as you take in his warm voice. "Just… it’s been a rough day," you admit, curling into your blanket. "I can’t stop thinking about you, Chris. It’s so hard without you here."

You hear him chuckle from the other side of the phone, his voice still soft and concerned, "I wish I could be there with you right now. You know I’d make it all better, right?"

"I know," you murmur, your lips pursing. "I just miss everything about you. I miss your arms around me, I miss your smell."

He lets out a light, teasing laugh, cutting out slightly over the phone as he inhales afterward. "My smell, huh? Really, ma? You miss the way I smell?" He chuckles his laugh sweet, "You sure it’s not just my cologne you’re missing?"

You shake your head as he talks, sitting up and propping your back against your headboard, a smile finding its way onto your face. "No," you say pausing as you try to sound serious, "It's you. It's just you."

You smile as Chris lets out another laugh, his voice playful, "Well, well, aren’t you the romantic." He pauses, letting out another soft giggle. "You must really be going crazy without me, huh? Can’t even sleep without my scent on your pillow."

Without thinking you laugh, slapping your hand down onto your comforter as you giggle, "Shut up, it's not funny!"

"It’s a little funny," he teases, his voice husky. "There's that laugh I love," he murmurs.

His words settle in your chest, and a warmth spreading through you. "You’re ridiculous," the smile tugging at your lips as you talk. "But I missed you, I missed you so much."

"I know, baby, I miss you too," he murmurs, chuckling. "Maybe I should become a therapist, I should start charging you for daily sessions with how fast I brought that smile back."

You roll your eyes as you let out another small laugh, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's the payment plan like? Not sure I can afford daily, maybe weekly."

"Depends," Chris pauses and there's a silence on the other end of the phone.

After a few seconds, a low chuckle leaves his lips. "You offering cash, or are we talking.. other forms of payment?"

You smile, licking your lips and leaning your head back to rest against the headboard. "Wow, so nasty of you to be talking like this when your brothers are god knows where."

You hear rustling for a moment over the phone before you hear Chris chuckle again, the sound absolutely adorable. "I may be a little dirty, but I'm still a gentleman," He whispers, his voice like velvet even despite the crackles of the air in the background as he speaks.

You can almost hear the heat in his voice and it burns you even through all of the distance, leaving tingles on your body as he continues, "Matt and Nick went out, some stupid costume store for a video idea. They're going to be gone for a while, and I have to admit, I'm kind of glad."

His voice drops to a low, husky tone, sending shivers down your spine. "I was thinking about you baby, and I couldn't focus on anything else."

You feel a warm blush rise to your cheeks as you hear his words through the phone, your pulse beating faster, so loud you can nearly hear it through your ears. "What were you thinking about?" You ask curiously, soft grin reaches your face and your hands begin to toy with themselves as you lay the phone on your lap to listen.

"I was thinking about how your breath hitches when I do that thing with my tongue, and how your fingers would dig into my back when I do that thing with my hands."

"How your back arches when I fuck you," He pauses, his voice exasperated. "When I tell you to keep looking me in the eyes while you take my cock in that dripping pussy of yours."

His words leave you breathless and full of desire. You can feel your face burning with heat, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your top with every word he speaks, as if his words are urging you to want him even more than you already do.

"Chris..." You whisper, his name barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I want you," you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you so bad, Chris."

"I want you, let me see you, baby," You hear him lick his lips, his breathing just as loud as yours. Turn on your camera, can I see your pretty face?"

You smile, pressing the familiar FaceTime button, and as the camera flickers to life, you adjust yourself to fit in frame, the soft light from your room casting a glow over your features, putting them on full display for him.

Chris' camera flutters to life soon after, you see him in the corner of the screen.

The first thing you notice is his hair, tousled and messy as if he's been running his fingers through it out of habit. The soft lights of his hotel room and the sunset outside of his window catch faint golden undertones onto his skin, making him look like an absolute dream.

His jawline catches the light when he shifts slightly to look closer at you, the shadow of his stubble visible to you as a grin forms at the corners of his mouth, a grin that's just for you.

He looks absolutely perfect, in fact, you weren't even sure how a person could manage to look that good during every second of the day until you had met him.

The most amazing part? He was all yours.

His voice pulls you back to reality, warm and teasing. "See something you like, or are you just gonna keep staring, baby?"

You roll your eyes, though the blush creeping up your neck betrays you. "Oh, please," you tease. "You’re the one who wanted to see me."

Chris leans a little closer to his screen, his piercing blue eyes sharpening as he takes you all in. His eyes travel over your frame, lingering for a moment before his lips part slightly, his voice dropping just a bit. "I mean, can you blame me? Look at you."

His eyes trail over you slowly, and then he pauses, his lips curling into a smirk. "Wait a second... Is that my shirt?"

You glance down, your fingers instinctively brushing over the soft fabric, the only thing you were wearing a side from your underwear, "What if it is?" you ask, arching a brow, trying to sound casual despite the sudden flutter of your pulse in your chest.

His laughter comes easy, warm and deep. "You’re unbelievable," he mutters, but there’s something softer behind his tone. "I was wondering where that went."

Relaxing a bit, Chris leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair, but his gaze never leaves you. When he speaks again his voice is soft but teasing, "You know, you wearing my shirt like that? It's not fair."

"Fair?" you repeat, tilting your head with a playful smile. "What’s not fair about it?"

Chris sighs, tugging at his hair,"The fact that I’m sitting here wishing I could take it off you myself."

"Maybe if you were here, I’d let you," you murmur, your eyes locked onto his.

"Don’t tease me like that, baby." You watch as his tongue licks around his lips, his eyes laced with desire, "You know I’d do it in a heartbeat."

"Who’s teasing?" you reply softly, your fingers toying with the hem of the shirt. There’s a moment of silence, charged with electricity, before you meet his gaze again. "What if I took it off right now?"

Chris’s breath hitches audibly, his confidence momentarily faltering as his eyes darken. "Don’t say that if you don’t mean it," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Adrenaline and desire course through you as you slowly lift the hem of the shirt, just enough to tease him, right below your breasts, allowing them to peek out, just a little bit. His reaction is immediate—his eyes are glued to the screen, his jaw falling open as he takes in the sight of you. .

"Your turn," you say softly, smiling as you tease him. Your hands reach up to rub at your tits, the hem just covering your nipples.

Within an instant, Chris shuffles slightly letting the camera fall to the side of the bed. You hear the sound of fabric sliding against his skin and a moment later, he picks up the phone resting it on top of his stomach, one of his arms behind his head as he props it up to see you rubbing your tits for him.

Suddenly, he angles the camera even further down, revealing a very obvious bulge in his boxers. His boxers are tight against his cock and you feel yourself nearly drool as the outline of his hard dick is directly on display in front of you, straining against the fabric.

You watch as his fingers trail over the waistband of his boxers, teasing you just as much as you’ve been teasing him. He’s still staring at you, waiting for your next move.

Your hands move instinctively, pulling your shirt off, your tits falling out from underneath his shirt. You reach over, letting it fall to the side of the bed as you arch your back slightly, giving him a better view, as your fingertips trail across your bare chest. His eyes seem to devour you from the screen, and you know he’s getting just as impatient as you are.

You drag your fingers down your body, feeling the slight shiver of anticipation in your fingertips. The way his eyes stay locked on you makes your pulse race faster, a part of you already craving him even more. You glance, making sure he’s watching as your hand moves lower, slipping down to rub against your thighs, just as he would if he were with you.

His breath hitches as you continue rubbing yourself, the sound of his voice a low growl in your ears, even with the static from the call.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful."

His breath is hoarse as you see his hand slide down his body, down his abs as he rubs them for you through the phone, just as you would.

"I want you to take those panties off, please baby. Let me see all of you."

His words stir something deep inside you, and without thinking twice, you push your pants down, dragging them past your thighs, over your hips. Your heart races as you make sure he’s watching, feeling the weight of his gaze as you slowly expose yourself to him, piece by piece, just like a puzzle.

His eyes glisten as he watches you take them off, his mouth open, full of drool as you open your legs for him, placing the camera directly in front of your pussy.

"God, fuck. You're so fucking wet."

His words send shivers down your spine as you feel your body heat up, the anticipation of what's to come making your heart race. You watch him on the screen, his hand still rubbing his abs, his eyes locked on the camera pointed at your pussy.

"I want you to touch yourself, show me how much you want me," he murmurs as his hands slide further down his body. He smiles, angling the camera right below his bulge as he begins to rub on his v-line.

With instinct, your right hand slides up your body slowly. Your hands slide against your thighs, your stomach, all the way up to your mouth where you silently spit into your hand.

Your hand slides back down your body, your fingertips brushing against your needy clit, so wet and so wanting.

"Wish I was there, my god.. I would spit in that beautiful mouth and make you use that to rub yourself," he murmurs. Your eyes stay trained on his and on his body as he slides his boxers down, his cock springing out from under them.

His words are like a drug to you, making you even more aroused. You moan into the phone, your breath coming in short gasps. Your eyes follow his cock as he spits onto his hand in the same way, his hand sliding to hold the base of his cock.

With a small chuckle, he positions his phone to be right below it. You can see how big he is, how thick he is. He smiles, leaning his cock forward gently to tap it directly onto the camera.

The head of his cock hits the camera with a loud thud three times, you can hear how hard he is.

"Do you like what you see, baby?" he asks, his voice low and seductive as his cock stands straight up, his fingers beginning to slowly stroke against his rigid shaft.

“Do you like it when I slap this dick on this camera for you, just like how I should be slapping it against your clit while I make you cum for me with my fingers.”

He continues to tease you, slowly stroking his cock as he talks dirty to you. "I bet you wish you were here with me, don't you? Feeling my hot cum on your tongue."

His words cause you to rub your clit even faster, your hands diving into your wet folds as you watch him stroke himself.

He leans in closer to the camera, his cock just inches from the lens.

"Mmm, you're such a dirty girl, aren't you?"

He moans, biting on his lips as he watches you pleasure yourself to him. "You love watching me jerk off over the phone for you, don't you?"

He gives a slight thrust of his hips, his cock twitching in his hand. "I bet you'd love to taste it, wouldn't you? To have my cock in your mouth, down your throat, choking on it as I fuck your face."

You moan, murmuring yes a thousand times as you rub your puffy wet pussy for him, your breath hitching every second with just how good he makes you feel.

"Take your fingers and slide them into your wet pussy, baby," he moans out, his hand working magic on his cock as he strokes it even faster for you.

You can see so much precum, so much of his spit running down the sides of it with every stroke he makes. You can't help but wish that it was your spit, that his precum was deep down your throat, and looking at him, that's all you can think about.

You wish you could run your tongue against the shaft of his dick, you wish his hand could be replaced with yours. You wish it was your mouth he was fucking into instead of his hand, wishing that it was your pussy making him feel that divine.

He groans as he sees you slide your fingers inside of your pussy, smiling with his tongue over his teeth as he sees you begin to finger yourself.

You moan softly, arching your back as you push your fingers deeper into your wetness. You glance down at the phone, watching his eyes follow your every move. You can see the lust in his gaze, the desire to be with you right now.

"Oh fuck," he breathes, his voice thick with need. "I wish I was there with you."

The tip of his cock swells, his shaft hard and rigid, just aching for you, and his hand immediately picks up the pace on his cock as he imagines that your fingers inside of you is his cock instead, fucking you so deep.

"I want to fuck you so bad," he whispers, voice strained with desire. "I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around my cock, milking me dry."

He groans, his hips thrusting forward as if he could push his cock through the screen and into you, if only it were that simple.

"I want to breed you," he whispers, his voice thick with desire as he pumps his cock with his hand, stroking it so good for you. "I want to fill your pretty pussy with my cum and make a baby with you."

“tell me you want that”

You gasp, your fingers only moving faster at the mention of having his cum inside of you, spilling out onto your thighs. "Oh god, yes Chris, I want you to breed me.” you moan, slipping your fingers out of your warmth to rub at your swollen clit again in large circles.

You can hear him taking deep breaths on the other end of the line, trying to control his voice from faltering as he rapidly strokes his cock for you. "I wish I was there with you," he says again, his voice strained.

"I would cum inside you, I would cum in you and then I would finger that pussy and rub it all over that wet clit," he moans in the middle of his talking, his voice coming out as if it was meant to be a whine.

You can feel your orgasm building, your fingers moving faster and faster on your clit as you moan louder. You moan, reaching your other hand down to finger yourself at the same exact time, "Oh god, I'm going to come, Chris please come with me," you gasp, your voice breaking.

It's as if you can almost feel him with you, his hands on your thighs holding them for you as he watches you come undone.

“No, slut. Hold it for me,” he coos suddenly.

You gasp out exasperated, your mouth quivering as you slow down your pace, trying to hold yourself together. You want to come so bad for Chris, you want to soak your sheets and scream out his name.

But he won’t let you.

You look at him pleadingly, he can see you so exposed so vulnerable as you look at him, pleading with your eyes.

“Aw, does my baby want to cum for me?” Chris’ voice is soft, as he spits into his hand, his hand slimy and wet as he slides it back onto his cock, rubbing it so fast for you.

You can hear him grunt as he urges you to continue, “I didn’t tell you to slow down. Rub that pussy, now.”

Obeying, your hands find your clit again and you rub your wetness in circles, his eyes never leaving you, moving from your cunt to your face to your tits and back again.

Your legs shake as your movements urge you closer to release, your pussy clenching, begging for his cock inside of you.

Chris nods at you, his voice whiney, “Oh fuck, ma. Oh god, put your fingers back in there for me.”

You whimper as your fingers enter you once again. Staring at his cock, you imagine that instead, it’s him entering you. Chris fucking your pussy so good, Chris in front of you pounding you into the bed.

He lets out a moan, his cock making you salivate and his noises driving you insane with how badly you crave him.

Within an instant, Chris can’t seem to hold himself anymore and instead of denying you like he loves, he’s too close to make you beg anymore.

"Come for me baby," he groans, struggling to keep his eyes open to look at you. "Come all over your pretty hands for me, yes.. God yes."

“Please, Chris,” you whimper, your voice pleading, desperate to come with him, “I need you… I need to feel you.."

"Show me how much you need me, do it slut," he moans, stroking faster. "Show me baby, let me watch you."

Chris leans forward, his lips parted as he breathes your name, his hand still gripping the phone tightly, positioning it so he can see you, and you can see him.

You move your fingers faster, harder, needing that release more than anything else. You hear him do the same, his hand moving faster, each stroke pushing him closer to his ownrelease.

"Come on, baby," he urges, his voice a low growl. "Let go for me. I want to see you fall apart, tell me you want my come.”

“I want you to come, Chris. Please come for me,” you murmur as your body starts to convulse.

You feel your whole body tense with his words, your back arching as the pleasure rips through you, your hands nearly dropping the phone as you finally come for him.

You're lost in the moment, unable to think, unable to do anything but gasp for air, your hand still between your legs as your body quivers, waiting and watching for Chris to come for you.

As promised, Chris follows right behind you, his moans louder than before, and you can hear the sound of him finishing, his voice raw with release and raw with pleasure. You watch as his come drips from the tip of his cock, begging to be licked up.

On the other end of the screen, Chris collapses back onto his bed, laying fully down, his face flushed and his hair messy, his cum all over his stomach.

"Well… that was definitely worth the wait," he murmurs, his voice warm and affectionate. "God, I wish I could kiss you, baby."

You smile to yourself, your heart fluttering at his words. "I wish you could too, Chris," you whisper back, "Come back soon, I'm dying without you here."

"Just a few more days, my love. I promise." He smiles, messing with his hair as he smiles at you. "And when I get back, I’ll take you out, wherever you want to go. Maybe a fancy dinner… or," he pauses, giving you a sly grin, "we could go somewhere more fun, like an amusement park. Y'know, so I can win you a giant teddy bear."

You can’t help but laugh at the image of him winning you a stuffed animal, and you playfully roll your eyes. "An amusement park? Really?" you tease, "You’re gonna win me a stuffed bear?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I’ll win you the biggest one, just so you can carry it around everywhere and make everyone jealous." His smile widens, a grin too big for his face. "And then, we’ll ride all the roller coasters, just to make sure you’re holding onto me the whole time."

He chuckles, throwing his head back at his own remarks.

He makes a soft kiss sound as he continues,"hey, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t fly off the ride. Somebody’s gotta keep you safe, right?" You roll your eyes, smiling at how adorable he is.

"And I think you’d be holding onto me for more reasons than just the ride."

You raise an eyebrow, your heart racing a little as you grin back at him. "Is that so?" you tease a serious undertone to your voice. "Well, maybe I’ll just hold on tight to you then, but only if you win me that bear."

"I'm gonna win you the biggest damn bear you've ever seen."

i love my cutie endings, thank you so much for reading! sorry for any writing mistakes

𖧧 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

matt version : here !

[andypantsx3]

BY THE BOOK : MIDORIYA IZUKU X READER

SUMMARY: When your pro hero boyfriend comes home to find you studying, he suddenly takes a great interest in helping out. You find his methods... questionable. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft, hysterical literature (reading out loud while sexually stimulated), pro hero deku, deku still has ofa, support tech grad student reader, slight intelligence kink, gn + afab reader, cunnilingus, established relationship, aged up characters, fluff (3k) NOTES: Hi guys! I have been in survival mode as of late and the writing has been slow going; my sincerest apologies for how long it’s taking me to burn down my @ficsforgaza backlog. But I finally had the time & energy on my hands this weekend to work on this one and I had such a blast!! I hope I’m not too rusty—and if I am, I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it regardless lol. Love you and thank you always for your patience. Happy Holidays!!

Sometimes, you thought you could tell your boyfriend was near, even before you heard his key in the lock.

It was something to do with his power, you’d always suspected—as a support engineer unduly interested in other people’s capabilities, you’d spent hundreds of hours turning it over in your head. It was the unnatural immensity of other people’s powers, you thought, pulling and coiling just beneath the surface of Izuku’s skin. In close proximity, after prolonged use, its presence felt like a shiver up the back of your neck.

You felt the barest hint of it now, an unsettled feeling creeping into the marrow of your bones, and you sat up on the couch just as you heard the scratch of Izuku’s keys at the door.

One For All fit cleanly into Izuku’s own unwavering intensity somehow, like the last piece of his puzzle. Though one would certainly never think so looking at him as he spilled through the door, pink-cheeked from the cold, all bright eyes, sweetly angelic features, and a riot of wild green curls. He looked windswept from the biting winter breeze. He also looked too kind to be carrying the sort of power he did—too sweet and eager and lovely.

“Look what the wind blew in,” you grinned at him over the back of the couch, after assessing he was well. Your eyes tracked the sinuous movement of those broad shoulders as he yanked his mouthguard over his head, the flex and pull of his bicep as he hung it beside the door. He was moving without pause, no sign of injury or muscle strain , and his suit was intact. Ordinarily you didn’t mind if there was a bit of shredding about the abs as long as he came back to you whole and hale, but in the winter you didn’t like him wandering about risking the chance of frostbite.

Your heart fluttered when Izuku returned your smile with one of his own, so beautiful and bright, chasing away the cold he’d tracked in like a warm sliver of sun.

“Lots of small, easy fights today?” You guessed, judging from his intact suit but clear whiff of power about him.

Izuku scrubbed a hand through that riot of curls, exposing the reddened shell of a cold ear. “I only had to use blackwhip a couple of times,” he said as he shouldered the door closed behind him, the muscle of his thighs flexing enticingly as he stepped out of his boots.

You gestured at the pot of soup you’d left warming on the stove, and the veritable pile of crusty bread beside it. Warmth and carbs, exactly what you would have wanted if you were a pro hero fresh off a long day of patrolling in the snow.

Izuku’s eyes fixed on it with an obliging amount of interest, and he almost tripped over himself in the genkan in his haste to get to the kitchen. “I love you,” you heard him say, muffled through a mouthful of bread, heard the clatter of the silverware drawer and a bowl being placed on the counter.

You smiled and turned back to the book in your lap, a particularly dry, knotty text on robotic imitation learning that had had your eyes drifting closed for the better part of an hour. It was the last you’d need to get through for your Wearable Technologies graduate course, and something you were deeply interested in incorporating into your design practice. You could train a piece of equipment on how an individual pro hero moved and deployed their quirk, and use predictive modeling to deploy assistance functionalities within milliseconds if you got it right—such as immediate cooling in pro hero Shouto’s temperature vest the moment he ignited an arm.

The implementation was going to be so cool—but the theory was so mind numbing.

You felt the couch sink in beside your feet, and Izuku peered interestedly at the title in your lap.

“Introduction to Robotic Imitation Learning,” he echoed, and you could hear the note of excitement in his voice. You suppressed a fond smile, knowing he was already thinking through the same applications you had—he was just as much of a nerd as you were.

“Introduction to Snoozing and Napping,” you grumbled, turning back to your page. “There are only so many words on the Kalman filter framework a brain can handle before the human mind shuts itself down.”

Izuku hummed in interest around a spoonful of soup, propping himself up against your leg. The exterior of his suit was still cool from the outside, and he groaned with relief from the warmth of your skin, even as you hissed at the chill.

You knew he wanted you to go on, so you generalized for him. “It’s an algorithm used for robotic motion planning—you not only take measurements of the thing you want to model but you account for uncertainties to predict the probability that something is going to happen.”

Izuku nodded, taking another spoonful of soup, gesturing for you to go on.

You summoned up the willpower to explain joint probability distribution, pleased when Izuku easily managed to follow—he’d always been a quick study, especially of anything that could be employed in the service of heroics. You’d long thought if he hadn’t been gifted his quirk, he would be an insane support engineer.

He managed to finish his entire bowl of soup in the time it took you to explain, and housed another two slices of buttered bread with the sort of alacrity you’d only ever seen in pro heroes and professional athletes, making you smile while you spoke.

His spoon clinked softly against the edge of the bowl as he set them aside on the coffee table, and he hooked his chin over your knees as you finished explaining. In the setting sun from your windows he looked especially lovely, the kind, angular planes of his face brushed in gold, softening the spots of his freckles.

His eyes were especially bright, the way they always were when something in particular had caught his interest, and he smiled at you again over the tops of your knee caps.

“I admire how smart you are,” he told you, in the simple, straightforward way he always gave out compliments. It was like a shot to the heart every time, and you could feel your face warm with the praise even after years of receiving similar compliments.

You reflexively flapped a dismissive hand. “Not smart enough to have internalized it all! I have mostly been falling asleep to it,” you promised him.

He tilted his head, a green curl falling into his eyes. “I know you won’t have a problem when you’re awake.”

You shifted your legs with embarrassment, and a long fingered hand came up to cup the front of your thigh, as Izuku turned more fully towards you. You could feel the warm, hard planes of his chest against your shins, the line of his jumpsuit’s zipper pressing insistently just below your knee.

“Gotta try to impress you somehow,” you joked, your skin prickling as Izuku’s fingers absent-mindedly drew a pattern across your thigh. You could feel the heat of his hand through the thin material of the leggings you’d lounged around in all day, the chill finally chased away from his skin now that he’d come inside and warmed up.

“You do impress me,” he said in his soft, gentle tone. Which made your cheeks and nose burn hotter.

You knew you did, and the steady faith Izuku had in the people around him was one of your favorite things about him. It still made you feel like a middle schooler with a crush to think about, though, the intensity of your feelings too much for one body to handle.

“I will study hard to live up to your faith in me,” you promised, unable to help the goofy smile you knew you were giving him.

Izuku’s chin shifted against the tops of your knees, and he pressed his mouth to the knob of your left one, leaving a smiling kiss. “Tell me more?” he asked, fingers still sliding softly over your thigh.

“I’ll read it to you as I go, then,” you said, turning back to the brick of a tome, propping it up more firmly on your stomach as you adjusted yourself against the couch arm. Izuku’s eyes watched you over the top of the pages, that emerald gaze tracking your face closely.

“‘The algorithm works via a two-phase process: a prediction phase and an update phase’,” you began, trying to turn your attention away from Izuku and back to the text. “‘In the prediction phase, the Kalman filter produces estimates of the current state variables, including their uncertainties. Once the outcome of the next measurement (necessarily corrupted with some error, including random noise) is observed, these estimates are updated using a weighted average, with more weight given to estimates with greater certainty.’”

Izuku’s long fingers traced firmer lines across your thighs, almost like he was taking notes. He layered another kiss along the line of your knee, eyes glittering at you as you read.

“‘The algorithm is recursive,’” you continued, “‘It can operate in real time, using only the present input measurements and the state calculated previously and its uncertainty matrix; no additional past information is required.’”

You almost jumped as Izuku’s mouth trailed lower, into the space between your knees, leaving kisses along your inner thigh. His fingers gently pulled one thigh away to make space for him in between, and you cleared your throat, trying to return to the text at hand.

“‘Optimality of Kalman filtering assumes that errors have a normal–that is, Gaussian–distribution,’” you read on. “‘The following assumptions are made about random processes: Physical random phenomena may be thought of as due to primary random sources exciting dynamic systems. The primary sources are assumed to be independent gaussian random processes with zero mean; the dynamic systems will be linear.’”

Izuku let out a soft breath, insinuating himself further between your thighs. Your own breath came out a little uneven as he bent over you, mouth tracking dangerously towards the inseam of your leggings.

You paused, but Izuku fixed you with a look of his slightly-darkened eyes. “Please—keep reading,” he said, his tone a little lower than it had been a minute ago.

You swallowed in shocked understanding, skin tingling. You felt yourself nod, as Izuku’s fingers strayed to the waist of your pants, dipping below the band.

You let him slowly peel your leggings down, your underwear with them, adjusting as needed to make it easy for him, even as you tried to return your attention to your textbook.

“‘Regardless of Gaussianity, however, if the process and measurement covariances are known, then the Kalman filter is the best possible linear estimator in the minimum mean-square-error sense,’” you quoted, nearly squeaking when Izuku pressed his mouth to your hip, his curls tickling the skin of your belly. His hands gripped either side of your thighs, palms square and rough against your skin, and you tried not to shiver with the feeling.

“Um—‘Although there may be better nonlinear estimators’,” you said, then nearly jumped out of your skin when Izuku pressed his mouth to the core of you, only the strength of his grip stopping you from accidentally kicking him in surprise.

“Oh my g—uh! It—um—‘It is a common misconception perpetuated in the literature that the Kalman filter cannot be rigorously applied unless all noise processes are assumed to be Gaussian,’” you managed, before your cut off into a groan as Izuku layered a hot, sweet kiss over you, tongue dipping carefully between your folds. “Ah-–Izuku—”

Izuku petted a thumb gently over the top of your thigh to show he was listening, even as he swiped his tongue over you again, a long, firm stroke that had your thighs flexing in his hold. He laved over your clit, sucking ever so slightly, and your grip almost tore the edge of your textbooks as it tightened.

“Keep going,” he urged briefly, then did it again, punching a groan out of you.

“Extensions—oh—‘Extensions and generalizations of the method have also been developed, such as the extended Kalman filter and the unscented Kalman filter which work on nonlinear systems,’” you read on, voice shooting up nearly into a squeal when two of Izuku’s long, firm fingers pressed into you, as his mouth moved over you again.

“Ah! Oh my god—the—um, the basis—-” you said, breath growing short. Izuku’s fingers unerringly found the spot inside you that made you twist in his grip with the ease of long practice, and his jaw worked as he kissed you so shockingly filthily. You could feel something already starting to build up behind your navel, a fluttery lightness, an insatiable insistence on more.

“‘The basis a hidden Markov model—oh, fuck—such that the state space of the latent variables is continuous and all latent and observed variables have–ah!--Gaussian distributions,’’’ you recited, your voice tripping up further into a register that sounded more like begging than reading.

Izuku’s fingers worked you, long and thick and perfect inside you, as his tongue drew unrelenting circles around your clit. Stars seemed to spark in your vision, and your eyes squeezed shut, losing your place on the page as your hips flexed into his face. You felt suddenly very floaty and lightheaded, and not at all in a position to keep going.

Still, you tried to refocus your attention.

“‘K–Kalman filtering has been used successfully in—oh—multi-sensor fusion—ah, ah!--and distributed sensor networks–fuck, please, Izuku—to develop distributed or consensus Kalman f-filtering,’” you said, your tone nearly a cry.

Izuku groaned softly, sucking gently as his fingers curled inside you. It made your veins spark under your skin, your legs shaking in Izuku’s hands. You abandoned your grip on your book to seize the arm of the couch, clawing desperately at the fabric.

“Please, Izuku,” you cried, hips bucking towards his mouth.

The book tumbled off your stomach but you hardly noticed, gaze refocusing on the way his eyelashes fluttered as he licked you. His fingers played gently within you, a maddening press that was simultaneously too much and not enough, and his other hand came up to slide under your sweater, plucking gently at your nipple.

You lost yourself to the feeling—caught between the mind-melting curl of his fingers, the delicate suction of his mouth, and the careful pinch of your nipple. A delicious heat curled through you, waves of unbearable pleasure, and you could hear yourself babbling nonsense—garbled syllables of Izuku’s name, and every entreaty you could think of, a hundred thousands mores and oh pleases.

Izuku abandoned your nipple to pull you more firmly against him with a strong arm curled under your thigh, pressing you even harder into his mouth.

You muffled a scream in the sleeve of your sweater as he sucked you harder, tongue laving over you in loving strokes. Only his terrible strength held you down as you writhed beneath him, and then his fingers twisted in a way that had your vision whiting out—and you were suddenly thrown out over the edge of your pleasure.

Izuku licked you through it as you squirmed and begged and cried out his name, your climax seeming to last for eons.

You were panting hard when you finally slumped into the cushions of your couch, the ceiling seeming to swim in and out of focus before your eyes. When you gained enough control of your body again you looked down at Izuku, finding him watching you with a satisfied, almost shy curl to his mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” he told you, emerald gaze glittering with sincerity. “You’re so smart.”

Impossibly you felt your heart swell with even more love for him, and you seized his shoulder, dragging him up over you so you could kiss his mouth. The taste of yourself on him was embarrassing yet thrilling, and you petted a pleased hand through Izuku’s wild mess of curls as you kissed him.

“Well you are amazing,” you told him, swiping a thumb over his cheek fondly, smoothing over his freckles. A gorgeous watercolor of pink washed over his cheeks and nose at the proclamation, and you could hear his fingers flex in the cushion beside your head.

The sight of him flushed and waiting over you like another small something inside of you, like a pilot light, and you let your mouth pull into a wry grin.

“I hope you know I learned nothing though,” you said casually, your plan for your next steps already forming in your head. You let a hand trail carefully down Izuku’s flank, tracking towards his waist. “I think maybe I might need a few rounds for it to really sink in.”

Izuku’s ears went red against the green of his hair, and you felt your smile widen. “Maybe you could read it to me this time?” you asked, guiding him to roll under you, retrieving your book from the floor as you did so.

You settled yourself on the tops of Izuku’s thighs, feeling the hard press of him against your core, as you placed your textbook into his waiting hands.

Izuku’s answering smile was all the permission you needed. You directed him to start from the beginning of the chapter, and he did so in that soft, lilting tone of his you so loved. And then your fingers trailed up to the zipper at his collar.

It was time to return the favor—wholeheartedly.

REFERENCES: Kalman Filtering (Wikipedia) I took the passages our Reader recited from here because I do not actually understand Kalman filtering at all and could not organically come up with feasible text for her to read through. Sorry in advance to the author of this page lol.

[irisintheafterglow]

when touya's comfortable with you, i think he will just....lay his entire body weight on you at any given moment.

it doesn't matter if you're lying down (though he does prefer it so he can just trap you against the couch or bed), nor does it matter if you're anticipating it or not. he likes to transfer all of his weight from his feet to you, becoming a human weighted blanket that also comes with a certain degree of attitude. when you're standing? it's a bit of a nuisance.

touya, i'm making dinner.

i don't see how i'm stopping you from doing that.

wanna grab me the salt and pepper from the high cabinet?

'm busy. lemme bother you for a while.

his arms are lanky and it became too awkward to drape them over your shoulders, so he settled with securing them around your torso and resting his head next to your neck instead. it's a tossup if he's looking up or not; he'd never admit that his favorite past time is hiding in the space where your neck meets your shoulder and letting you drag him from place to place. you're used to the way his hair tickles the side of your cheek and carefully steer him around any countertop corners or protruding pan handles on the stove.

you're like a cat, you know that?

what, dark and mysterious and graceful?

no, clingy and moody.

it's worse when missions go wrong or someone gives him a tough time, to the point where he needs you to lay on him rather than the other way around.

touya?

here, babe. he's hiding his face and sprawled out on the living room couch, an arm draped over his eyes while his brain tries to recount whatever the hell just happened. hey, baby.

bad mission?

don't wanna talk about it. any other member of the team would leave him to his suffering, but you know him better than that. right now, he needs someone to pull him out of the dark. c'mere, please.

what do you need me to do?

jus' need you.

okay.

you become his weighted blanket and physically push him into the ground, reassuring him that this is the reality he exists in and not wherever his mind wants him to wander. his heartbeat races under your ear and his breath hitches in his throat when your thumb absentmindedly grazes his pulse point right below his chin. lifeline. the inevitable slowing of your breathing as you drift off to sleep forces his own chest to match the fall and rise of your rhythm, never too fast or too slow.

you assume touya moved you to his bed after you'd slipped into unconsciousness, depositing you gently onto the sheets that smelled like him and faintly like your body wash. you don't remember how you ended up in a different location, but your position against his body remains the same.

snug like puzzle pieces, fit together like two halves of the same soul.

[afterglowsainz]

gold rush | franco colapinto

pairing: brazilian!vet!reader x franco colapinto

summary: you were used to your boyfriend’s flirty personality, but still every now and then you couldn’t help getting jealous

fc: beca oliveira

request: here

a/n: i haven’t done a written fic in so long please bear with me 😭

—

liked by francolapinto, bffusername and others

yourusername patients of the week 💖

view all comments

friend1 the cutest!

friend2 the way i couldn’t be a vet cause i would just be kissing them all the time

yourusername oh don’t get it twisted i am kissing them 24/7

bffusername dream job

friend3 how does it feel to live my dream 😭

francolapinto los amo😍 (i love them)

liked by yourusername, alex_albon and others

francolapinto ready for another race week 🤩

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username always with the mate

username ugh just look at him!

username didn’t expect my crush on this man to last this long

username casually serving face on the first pic

username idk how to explain this but he looks like a taylor swift song

yourusername agree

username omg girl hey 💕

—

There was no reason to be angry. No real reason, anyway. Deep down in your mind and at the core of your heart, you knew there was no way Franco was seriously flirting with anyone but you. Your heart on the other hand...

This wasn't the first time this had happened. Since joining F1, Franco had become known for his flirtatious personality and undeniable charm; it was part of who he was, and it had never really bothered you before—you knew what he was like. So why were you suddenly so upset after watching that interview everyone was talking about on Twitter?

The answer was so obvious you didn’t even want to admit it to yourself, but it was staring you right in the face. The reporter was what bothered you. It wasn’t her specifically, of course—you’d seen her a few times and knew she was the picture of professionalism, not to mention charming. But she was completely different from you. It was no secret that Franco had always liked blondes.

—

Damn. All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place with that single message.

Franco had never really stopped to think about the consequences of his actions. Of course he had seen comments online about his interviews, but he never worried about how his girlfriend might interpret them. He was simply doing his job by giving interviews to journalists. If there was someone his age he could feel relaxed around, he would do so—it was part of his personality. But he would never disrespect his girlfriend by insinuating something more. She was everything to him.

Franco quickly went to Twitter to look up the interview video he had given hours earlier. As he analyzed it, he realized how some of the things he said or the way he expressed himself could come off as insinuations on his part, and he cursed himself internally, imagining his girlfriend watching the same video.

He had to fix this, and fast.

liked by yourusername, olliebearman and others

francolapinto special gp coming 🇧🇷 (in the country of the most special person)

tagged yourusername

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username ngl i sometimes be forgetting he has a girlfriend

username THE ABSOLUTE GODDESS

username franco move i’m tryna see y/n

username the hand placement 🥺

username the power couple they are

username in love with them

yourusername okay i guess i might forgive you just this once 🙄

francolapinto i love you (only you) ❤️

[spitdrunken]

HIAHA I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE MR SCARLETELLA CAN YOU WRITE MORE. so odd and unsettling and obscene m just giggling with delight

HIIII thank you so much for the high praise <3 this has kind of a different vibe from the last one but plays with similar-esque concepts!!!! this is 'weird and obscene' LMAO

Notes: Suggestive, mild body horror, bolded = dialogue in the Other World's language.

==========================

How do you touch a man without a physical form? Or, you suppose, 'man' isn't quite the correct term. 'Apparition' would perhaps best describe him. Though he can reach out to you and make you feel the illusion of touch, you can't actually make contact with him. Your hand passes through him as if he were nothing but air.

You don't think he minds. It's always a bit hard to tell, with him. Mr. Scarletella ususally just stares you down with a dead look, communication relatively limited. But you would like to touch him! So you experiment a little, an action for which no mutually intelligible word exists. Still, he doesn't move as you poke and prod at different parts of his body, coming up short every single time.

You crouch down before poking at his ankle, just in case. When you look up, your heart stops for just a moment. Mr. Scarletella's neck is snapped back, folded in on itself in order to observe you. Vacant-seeming eyes are trained on your every movement. The sight makes you feel squeamish. "God... Not do," you tell him. "Head look hurt. Not funny." There's no other way you can think of to put it. You get up and stick your hand down, waving your hand in the other direction at the side of his head. He seems to understands what you mean, as his skull snaps back in its usual direction. You circle around him. "Sorry. Not want upset you." He says, although you know he'll never really listen or learn, not when it comes to these things. "Me like you. You like me." As if you'd ever forget. You beckon him. Rather than simply leaning down, his form flickers, distorting, before reappearing in the desired position. There's just one place you haven't touched yet. Once again, you extend your hand, the tips of your fingers brushing against the top of his umbrella. The surface is smooth to the touch and wets your skin, accompanied by a small burst of static ringing in your ears. It takes a moment for the significance to register. "Oh! I can touch your umbrella!" You say, forgetting the Other World's language in excitement over your discovery. Even though it's relatively small. You can't touch Mr. Scarletella himself, but the umbrella appears to be 'realer' than the rest of him. ...Actually, maybe the umbrella is a part of his body? He's not human, after all. He doesn't have to exist according to your logic. Your brow furrows. The puzzle pieces of language move in your mind, until they're slotted together semi-coherently. You point at his arm. "Arm you." Then, you do the same for his leg. "Leg you." You wave your arm up and down. "Body you." Finally, you lift your hand in the direction of the umbrella. "Object you? Me can touch object. Touch you?" Mr. Scarletella's smile widens. It reveals a little bit of the void that stretches on behind his lips. "I see. Correct. Object me. Object is..." After which he lowers his umbrella and says a word you haven't heard before. You try to repeat it, and he says it once again, pointing the umbrella in your direction. "Touch umbrella. I want."

It's definitely... Weird. It's genuinely like touching an umbrella. Cold and smooth and slightly wet. But Mr. Scarletella wanted you to do it, and you're kind of intrigued yourself, so you do it. Because there's clearly something happening. As you trace your fingers over the outer canopy, making sure to at least touch every panel a little bit, his visible form starts to flicker and fade. When you apply a bit more pressure, move a little faster, parts of him start to distort and change colour. His arm appears a little dislodged from his shoulder, static rising in the background.

When you pinch one of the metal tips in between your fingers and rub it, he lets out a laugh that is far more high-pitched than you would've expected it to sound like. Clearly, there's some kind of link between the umbrella and the rest of himself. Though you can't envision what it must be like, he's feeling something. Your hand pauses. In the blink of an eye, Mr. Scarletella has materialised even closer to you, nose close enough to touch yours, if it could. The inky darkness of his pupils makes up most of what you can see.

"Me like. Like like like like." He sounds breathy despite not breathing. "Touch more. Again. Me want you."

[reidsdimples]

“He pins you down on the carpet, makes paintings with his tongue.”

Paintings With His Tongue

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

18+ ❤️‍🔥MDNI ‼️

“Come on, just tell me what you’re thinking,” Reid smirks and tosses a ball of tissue paper at you.

You cross your legs and tug up your knee high socks. The carpet in his apartment is soft on your legs and you shake your head as you continue to wrap JJ’s baby shower gifts from the team.

You had gotten her a puzzle with the new baby’s name as the pieces ‘Michael’ it read. You thought it went so well with Henry,

“I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s a me issue,” you shake your head. You had bit your tongue on a risqué joke that could have been taken as a pass at him.

The truth was, you were extremely pent up. You dumped your abusive ex weeks ago when he bruised your eye. Even before then, your needs were not being met. But you have always had a thing for Dr.Reid and now being alone with him in his apartment… you were barley holding yourself together.

He moistened his plump lips with his tongue in frustration and sighed. The movements of his deft fingers as he wrapped a present caused you to squirm. How exactly the two of you got roped into present wrapping duty was still a mystery. Though you guessed Garcia was trying to finally push you two into each other like Barbie and Ken dolls. You smile to yourself.

“See? What was that- what are you thinking?” He calls you out.

“You may never know,” you flirt and snatch the tape from his grip.

He raises an eyebrow at you, those deep brown eyes pleading.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, placing your crossed feet on his lap. His eyes travel up to your short skirt which allows him a view of your creamy thighs. You swear he swallows hard.

“I was just thinking…” you start slowly. He leans forward attentively.

He rests one hand on your shin, his long fingers wrapping it completely.

“Thinking what?” The air charges and he separates your crossed legs only to lean forward and closes the distance between the two of you. Your heart hammers and you forget how to breathe.

“I…” you think he’s about to kiss you as he gets closer, forcing you to pull your knees to your chest to give him room as you lean back on your palms.

He snatches the other wrapping paper from behind you and moves back to sit. You inhale sharply and shake your head. Fuck.

He pushes his hair back from his face and you nearly fall apart. You know you need to do something about your neediness. He’s your coworker for fucks sake.

Then an idea pops into your head.

“You know what, we’re profilers. Why don’t YOU tell me what I’M thinking,” you challenge him.

He looks up at you through his messy long hair with the handle of the scissors in his mouth. His fingers quickly work to tape up the diaper bag for JJ.

“I don’t know if I…”

“You doubt your abilities Dr. Reid?” You sit up straight.

“I doubt you’ll like what I profile,” he reasons.

That makes you doubt he knows what you’re actually thinking.

“Try me,” you demand and stuff a bag full of tissue paper.

He narrows his eyes on you and loosens his tie. The dark cardigan was already tossed into the couch three presents ago and he begins rolling up his sleeves.

“You’re healing from your recent break up. You feel guilty that you miss him because he hurt you but you do. What you don’t quit understand is that you miss attention, not him. You deserve better but you don’t think so,” he pauses to sip his wine. You tilt your head.

“Is that it?” You jest.

“You knew you and I would be alone so you’re wearing something more revealing than you might have otherwise. You flip your hair over your shoulder to draw my attention to your neck. You lean back and allow me to see your thighs because you want me between them.”

Your mouth falls open at his words. But he doesn’t stop there.

“Not because you want me specifically but because you want that attention I mentioned before. Perhaps a distraction or…”

“No- that’s not true,” you cut him off.

“You’re wearing glasses, knee high socks, and a school girl style skirt because you perceive me as intellectually superior. You have a school girl and teacher fantasy you wish to act out.”

He leans forward between your legs again. He braces himself above you when you lean back on your elbows and he keeps talking.

“You’ve been trembling since you got here, you won’t stop biting your lip, and you keep squeezing your thighs together. You were about to make a joke that showed your hand but thought better of it because you fear rejection. You also don’t want to cross professional boundaries, and you can’t gauge where my interests lie.”

You’re dumbfounded, actually speechless as his breath fans across your face.

“Your inability to read my micro expressions leaves you feeling uncertain about the chemistry we have and I intended it to be that way. The truth is I want nothing for than to bury my face between your legs and make you scream my name until your throat is so sore that you remember it everytime you speak tomorrow,” he holds your gaze and you’re melting.

You feel your cunt pulsing with need and you want to squeeze your thighs together for some relief but you can’t because he’s kneeling between them.

“Please,” is all you can manager to whimper.

He grips you behind the knees and slides you forward so quickly you barely register it. You fall willingly onto your back with a soft huff and watch him meticulously roll your skirt up. His hair is messy and disheveled and he seems to be panting with need just like you are.

Wrapping paper crinkles beneath you but you don’t care when he leans down and begins kissing your thighs.

“Spencer,” you inhale in shock at his lips on your skin.

He continues to kiss your soft skin then starts nipping it gently. His fingers dig into the outside of your thighs, pinning them open. You never would have thought he’d be so… demanding?

He starts to kiss your pussy through your underwear and you writhe against him. The friction is heaven but the view of him there could send you both straight to hell. He moves one hand up to your hip to pin you down why he uses a thumb to rub your clit. He’s kissing your pussy gently and you know you’re soaked, you know he can feel it through the thin fabric.

Finally he rolls your panties down and out of the way. He looks up at you for consent ones more and dives in like he’s been waiting to his entire life.

It’s too much, it’s everything. His nose pushes against your clit, his tongue drags up between your folds, he comes back down to your interest and pushes his tongue into it into you mewl.

He’s moaning and he licks and laps at your cunt, slowly to savor it. He moans as he sucks your clit into his mouth and moves back down to your hole.

“Oh my god,” you cry and tighten your thighs around his head.

He sucks on your pussy and audibly devours you on his living room floor. He skillfully and artfully brings you to climax and before you know it you’re coming over and over again for him. You pant beneath him and whimper but he doesn’t stop.

He makes small whimpering noises of approval and eats you like a man starved. Your pussy quivers and responds to him as he continues to beckon more cum out of you. You swear his tongue must be painting a masterpiece or spelling every word in the English language.

“One more,” he pants from between your legs.

You roll your eyes back as the fourth orgasm siezes you. You can’t even try to tense your legs anymore, they’re jell-o. You’re shocked when the last orgasm is more squirting that your usual.

“I’m sorry!” You squeal but he laughs and dives back into you, his strong hands still gripping your hips. You cover your face in embarrassment, not ever having had more than one orgasm per sexual encounter.

Ones he fills himself on that last orgasm which left you red faced and embarrassed, Spencer sits up from between your legs. He’s on his knees looking down out you when he brings his shirt up to wipe his face.

You cover your eyes with your hands, utterly shy under his gaze.

“You are incredible,” he breathes.

“Me? You… you’re the one that did all the… that,” you stammer gesturing between the two of you. You sit back up and pull your skirt down.

“Mhmm,” he grins sinisterly at you.

You remain in awe that this man just did that to you. You crushed on him but you never imagined him to be so skilled, so dirty mouthed, and egotistic about his abilities. You glance down and see just how much he enjoyed himself, taken aback by the length of said enjoyment.

You lick your lips hungrily.

“For the record. It’s not about attention for me, I genuinely like you,” you assert and reach for his belt.

He raises his eyebrow in a ‘touché’ manner and crosses his hands behind his back as he watches you pull him free from his pants.

[cosmosis]

based on this image from @fr3akingtf0utrn

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - office life

how miguel o’hara slowly makes you fall for him check out my miguel o’hara masterlist here!

Miguel O’Hara doesn’t fall in love with just anyone.

But... every time he sees you around the office, his hands almost inch towards you like a moth would a light. Something ignites in him that he can’t explain, but he can’t help but want so much more of you. 

He likes to give you bagels and coffee during your breaks. (haha) Your work almost seems to magically disappear, and you’re a lot of the time left to finish up the easy stuff. Somehow, he’s even managed to sit with you for lunch, the rest of the spider-people in the cafeteria staring at the two of you while you eat. 

The entire building, all of the spider-people seem to know the happenings between you and Miguel, and they love it. It’s become somewhat a staple gossip within the workplace.  

Anyone bold enough would pass by Miguel in the hallways and say, “We’re rootin for you, boss!” In which Miguel wouldn’t know how to feel, whether it’d be angry or happy. 

As of now, the two of you have been flirting around, evidently more than just coworkers. He’s yours, and you are his. To you, though, he’s the absolute sweetest. He takes work off your plate, he’s kind, and he adores you. 

You’ve noticed Miguel getting a bit touchy lately, which you aren’t necessarily complaining about. Whether it’d be on your arm, a gentle hand on your neck to guide you through a crowd, or just being generally close to you, Miguel has been making his advances on you after Lyla spilled how it should be fine to do. 

His touch makes you shiver a little; he’s extra warm and so very gentle. You almost always lean into his touch, and Miguel loves it too, he just doesn’t admit it upfront. 

“You did great today, Miguel.“ You say. 

Both you and Miguel just headed back to Nueva York from a mission, taking out another stray anomaly that wouldn’t come without a fight.

 Miguel’s stomach flutters a little. Rarely, he ever gets praised by anyone. He’s the boss, the CEO; most of the time, he feels like it’s expected of him to do the best job. But, praise tastes much more sweeter when it comes from you. 

“You did well yourself, sweetie.“

Miguel’s mask dissolves away, leaving behind his pretty face. You don’t think you’d ever get tired of it. He gives you this look of adoration, one that the rest of the office has never, ever seen in person. 

You’re in Miguel’s office, well, more like your shared office. Miguel insisted that you’d move into his office, claiming, “I don’t want to go through the entire building just to find you for something.” which is code for, “I can’t live a day without being near you.” 

So now, you have your own desk and work area. You’re both alone, no one to bother, (except maybe Lyla, but she knows better.)

You’re at your desk, and Miguel steps up behind you. His big hand slithers to your lower back, running his fingers against the curve of your spine. He’s warm, you can still feel the heat radiating off of him from the previous mission. 

You feel him lean in, discreetly nosing his face into the top of your head. You lean in back, bumping your upper back into his chest. 

“Is this okay?“ Miguel mumbles, serious heat trailing up to his neck and ears. 

You nod. “Yes.”

And it was sealed from there. 

Now, Miguel rubs your back too often. His hand fits into place with your back like a puzzle piece, Miguel always finding some kind of way to lay his hand where it belongs. You love it. 

In the office? Yes.

During lunch? Yes.

Even on missions, he pulls you by your lower back to usher you away from a hit, and you both play around with that. He’s all fun and games when on missions, flirting, teasing, kissing. 

Now, it almost feels wrong when he isn’t touching you. 

. . .

“Hey, girl, look at this!“ 

Lyla pops in, automatically pulling up an internet article on your desk screen. It’s a web article; “The Science Behind Courtship in Male Spiders”

“Lyla, what does this have to do with anything?“ You ask.

Instead, she just scrolls into the article, highlighting a quote; male spiders give “back rubs” to seduce their mates. 

You raise your eyebrow. 

“You wanna know why Miguel’s been rubbing you so much? It’s cause of that!“ Lyla exclaims, as if she’s discovered this new scientific theory. 

“I guess you’re kinda right on that.“ You mutter. But, the more you start to think about it, the more it makes sense.  

Now every time Miguel palms your back, you think about the article. 

© 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔.

[monstersholygrail]

I know that dominating and intimidating monsters with a nice little sarcastic streak are hot and all, we love them and wanna fuck them, but can I also get some nerd monsters?

Like I just want a little nerd. I also want monsters who are just total dorks over their special interests and they share that with you in their own excitable ways.

Minotaur bf who’s a total dork over puzzles and games. You’ll come out into the living room at midnight, seeing the bed was empty, and you’ll find him sitting under the singular light of the dining table. Totally hunched over his almost finished puzzle that he started earlier that day. Then during game nights he’s an absolute best. You swear he’s the most competitive monster you’ve ever met. Winning round after round, chasing that high until he finally snaps and throws the board game off the table and you on it so he can celebrate his victory properly.

Orc bf who’s a fanatic about collecting weapons. He has all sorts of antique guns and swords. Many that you don’t even remember the name of and yet you can recite its entire history bc your bf will drone on and on about it. Whenever he gets a new weapon he gives you an entire tour of his collection room, showing you how he’s moved everything around to highlight his new weapon. You can’t help but find him painstakingly hot as he handles it and you make your interest known to him. His eyes darken, catching onto your meaning and suddenly you’ve replaced the weapon on the platform but he quickly returns it to its place as he fucks you with the handle, rambling about its many uses.

Dragon bf who’s hyperfixated on the quality of jewels and gold. He’s studied the art of jewelry making and blacksmithing. He can tell you the grade of a diamond just by glance, not even needing equipment to check. He loves to combine his two favorite things the most. You and the rest of his treasures. Adorning you with only his finest jewels and nothing else. Liking most how they barely cover anything up yet make your body shine like the angel you are. He almost can’t help himself as he throws you down onto his hoard and ruts into you, watching the jewels sway and bounce on your delectable body.

Werewolf bf who’s a complete gym bro and knows everything there is to know about fitness. He knows the perfect forms to every exercise you could think of, he’s memorized all the benefits to each individual piece of equipment, and he can tell you how best to maximize your time in the gym. Not that he ever would, respecting your level of interest or disinterest in the gym. He knows it’s more his thing and he’s happy you simply coming along with him to use the sauna for members only… and their guests. He loves the burn and the freedom of the run as he works out and releases that energy. But what he loves more is coming into the empty sauna after he’s done and making you both work up a real sweat as he takes you on the bench, the wet squelch of your joining bodies echoing off the walls.

[soobibabe]

chapter one - the proposal

synopsis: Y/N, a 28-year-old dreamer whose plans for marriage and motherhood crumbled when her fiancé, Jae-on, decided to "see other people," leaving her adrift in a sea of unfulfilled expectations. Just as she’s about to face the cringe of attending his baby shower with his new girlfriend, her best friend Jungkook swoops in with a wild idea; why not embark on a platonic co-parenting adventure together?

pairings: jeon jungkook + reader genre ▸ romance [mature content in future chapters

Jungkook’s place felt like a second home to you. There was something about the way the late afternoon light filtered through his sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room, that always made you feel… safe. His apartment wasn’t anything fancy, just a cozy, lived-in space, but it was warm, inviting—everything you needed right now. You sank deeper into the couch, clutching the throw pillow to your chest, feeling its familiar softness as you stared absently at the half-finished jigsaw puzzle on his coffee table. There were still pieces scattered everywhere, a mess that neither of you seemed too bothered to clean up. It was one of those things you’d start but never quite finish—like most of your plans lately.

The sound of clinking dishes came from the kitchen as Jungkook rummaged through his cabinets. "Tea or coffee?" he called, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Tea," you answered, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. You rubbed your forehead, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you all over again.

You heard him chuckle softly. "You okay in there? You’ve been weirdly quiet since you got here."

Was it okay? Not really. But you didn’t want to say that out loud just yet. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just... thinking."

"Thinking doesn’t look good on you," he teased as he stepped back into the living room, carrying two steaming mugs. He handed you one, sitting down next to you on the couch, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. "Talk to me."

You took the mug from him, warming your hands on the ceramic before exhaling a long sigh. "It’s Jae-on."

There it was. His name, still bitter on your tongue, even after all this time. It had been over a year since Jae-on called off the engagement. A year and a half, actually, but who was counting? You, apparently. You hated that you were still thinking about him, that he still had some kind of hold over you, even though you both moved on.

Jungkook gave you a knowing look, resting his arm on the back of the couch as he turned slightly to face you. "What’s he done now?"

You hesitated, feeling the familiar knot of frustration and resentment tightening in your chest. "He’s... getting married."

Jungkook didn’t blink. "I see." His voice was calm, measured, like he was processing it carefully.

"And not just that," you continued, your fingers tightening around the mug. "They’re having a baby. Jae-on and Garam."

You said her name like it was a bad word, which, in your mind, it was. Garam. The girl from high school who always seemed to have her life together, who always got what she wanted, and apparently now, that included your ex-fiancé.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. "Yu Garam? The one who used to follow you around like a puppy?"

"The very one." You groaned, sinking further into the couch. "Can you believe it? They’re throwing a baby shower, and guess who’s invited."

His expression softened, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "You don’t have to go, you know."

"I know." You stared down into your tea, swirling it absently. "But part of me feels like... I should. Like I have something to prove."

"To Jae-on?"

"To myself, I guess." The words came out slower than you expected, as if you were admitting it for the first time. "I thought I’d have it all by now, you know? The husband, the kids, the house with the white picket fence. And instead, I’m sitting here... single. Childless. Invited to my ex’s baby shower." You let out a humorless laugh. "It’s ridiculous."

Jungkook was quiet for a moment, just watching you. His presence, as always, was steady, grounding. "It’s not ridiculous, Y/N. You had a plan. It just... didn’t go the way you thought."

You shook your head. "My plan’s been wrecked, Kook. Nothing’s gone the way I wanted it to."

"That doesn’t mean you can’t still have what you want," he said, his tone thoughtful. There was something about the way he said it, though, that made you glance at him, catching a glint of something unfamiliar in his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

He hesitated, like he was weighing his words carefully. "You want kids, right? You’ve always wanted to be a mom."

"Yeah... obviously." You frowned slightly. "But that’s not happening anytime soon."

"Why not?"

You blinked, unsure where this was going. "Because... I’m single? You kind of need someone to make that happen, Kook."

He shifted on the couch, leaning forward a little, his arm brushing against yours. The closeness felt... different. Warmer. He was looking at you in a way you couldn’t quite place, a softness to his gaze that made your stomach flip.

"You don’t need someone else," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "You have me."

You froze, your mind trying to catch up to what he was saying. "Wait... what?"

Jungkook smiled, a small, almost shy smile, which was so unlike him it threw you off balance. "I’m serious. You want a baby, right? Why not do it together?"

You stared at him, your heart suddenly beating louder in your ears. "Together? Like... us?"

"Yeah." His eyes were steady, sincere. "We’ve known each other for years. We’d make great parents. We don’t need to complicate things with romance or any of that. We could just... raise a kid together. Be a family."

For a second, you didn’t know what to say. The idea was... insane. Wasn’t it? And yet, as he sat there, his expression so earnest, so serious, you found yourself... considering it.

"But, Kook," you started, your voice shaky, "this is huge. I mean... having a baby? That’s not something you just... do."

"I know," he said, his voice still soft, his eyes never leaving yours. "But you’re my best friend. I’d be with you every step of the way. You wouldn’t have to do it alone."

Your mind was spinning. This was Jungkook. Your best friend. The one person who had been there for you through everything, and now... he was offering you something you hadn’t even thought was possible. A way to have the family you wanted without waiting for someone else to come along.

But was it really that simple?

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. You glanced down and saw the email notification. You already knew who it was from.

"Baby shower," you muttered, picking up the phone and showing him the screen. "Jae-on and Yu Garam are sending invites."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened slightly as he looked at the email, then back at you. "Well," he said, his voice lower now, "maybe when we go, we’ll have our own announcement to make."

You blinked, your heart jumping at the sudden shift in his tone. Was he... serious?

"You really mean that?" you whispered, searching his face for any sign that he might be joking.

But his expression was calm, sure, and when he spoke again, his voice was firm. "I’m dead serious, Y/N."

The air between you felt different now—heavier, charged with something you couldn’t quite name. This was Jungkook, your best friend. The person you trusted most in the world. And yet, here you were, teetering on the edge of something that could change everything.

"Think about it," he said softly, leaning just a little closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "It could be exactly what you need."

Taglist: @unoneed2know @lola75111 @ggukiescookies @junecat18 @futuristicenemychaos @pinkpunkdynamite @captainengineer-trixie @freshmoondragon @mar-lo-pap @whoa-jo @chimmisbae @ttanniett @jksusawife @knjjjk