#it simply cannot get any better than this

[ransonq]

TW: mentions of torture, Whumpee getting beaten up, etc.

One of the tropes I don’t see very often is whumpee pleading for Whumper to beat them up a little more, while covered in bruises with tears flowing down their cheeks. It’s very clear that Whumpee can’t take anymore of this, but they would still continue begging for more kicks delivered to their stomach, more hard slaps to their face, simply out of fear that Whumper would punish, or even abandon them for being unable to please Whumper.

What’s even better…I mean, worse is that the Whumper is aware of all of this, and is enjoying the sight of whumpee pleading, not for them to stop, but for them to continue, despite Whumpee clearly not enjoying any of this. The simple fact, the simple feeling of absolute control they have over Whumpee, how Whumpee simply cannot live without them, is more than satisfying to the Whumper themselves.

Has anyone tried writing about this before? If so, where could I find one of these?

[fidenciocryptidcreechur]

this rant is specifically because i saw some folks with some rather bad takes on a different platform.

I swear to fucking hell if twst fandom starts genuinely acting like Jamil is a woman hater because he didn't switch up his behavior and still had his overblot crash out with Yuuna I'm gonna lose sanity.

I have seen some joking memes on other platforms (not really here fortunately) but like I have also seen some of these joking takes spiral out of control. It's happened with Trey where folks started thinking Trey doesn't actually care about Riddle or his friends and secretly hates baking, happened with Leona (some still happens but mainly through misconstruing his burnout and depression with laziness but also it carried over when people said he hates men when really he gets aggravated anybody that bothers him which is most of nrc except yuus and his dormmates in general.), also happens with the octotrio (they don't hate each other and i don't know how that weird headcanon came around back then but i am glad it's dead) and with sebek (he has other interests besides malleus and i am so glad people are becoming more aware of this).

NRC has confirmed that the guys do not actually change up their behavior for anyone, they act themselves in every Yuuniverse, and mainly only react according to certain behaviors and personalities. For example, game canon Yuu doesn't have the same interactions as Yuuna, scarabia yuu, and that's because they have two very different types of personalities.

All the overblotters are equal opportunity crashouts, they both do their usual antics regardless. Plus an overblot is literally a magic-made physical manifestation produced from someone being crushed under the pressure of their stress and having a mental breakdown. They aren't exactly going to be accommodating to anyone in any way during this- we see this in all of the overblots and how they will do things they regret or would never do normally. The accumulation of long term stress and resentment over a lifetime isn't gonna be suddenly resolved by someone who has existed on campus for like maximum 6 months so it makes sense that Jamil still goes ahead with the original book 4 events. it cannot be overstated enough that shit was going down regardless and some one who has only been on that campus for maximum 4-6 months and who has likely interacted with the overblotter for less than that total amount of time (simply because they are not and cannot be by the overblotters side 24/7) isn't gonna suddenly undo years of resentment and stress. It's not like he suddenly undid his generational trauma of familial servitude. So while The physical magic manifestation can be attacked, sure, and you can snap the overblotter out of it this way, there was gonna be a blowout regardless.

Love Yuuna, will NOT accept hate for her, but i also will not stand for anyone making trash takes for Jamil who's going through it.

Thankfully I haven't really seen it happening on tumblr (hooray!!) but I have seen it cropping up on a couple other platforms but i am keenly aware of how those jokes can spiral away and how some people will seem to start genuinely taking off with it.

note: i do not particularly care how someone writes their au, their oc/yuusona, or their own writing/jokes- plus that isn't really up to me and it would be a monumentally jackass move to genuinely say or even try to enforce (let people live, don't harass writers you don't like, block and move on, etc). I am mostly talking about the canonical takes and interpretations. Canon is one of those things where one can take inspiration from and that is helpful for writing fiction and for writing the characters but that is ultimately not required for making au's. Can you make better headcanons and is it beneficial to look at canon to help with writing characters? yes, of course. Is it required? no, and often the addition of non-canon details and headcanons- especially ones formed from inspiration from canon- add a lot of life to fics and art. There are some wonderful au's and art in this community which have almost zero connection to the original dynamics or to the story AND THEY ARE AMAZING. This isn't about au's though. It's about some garbage interpretations i saw about the canonical characters and i don't wanna go through round 2 of wild outlandish misinterpretations....

ultimately Not arguing about people's takes, au's and headcanons in this so much as the actual canon and people's take away from it.

Jamil has never been shown to indicate that he's misogynistic or a woman hater and i think it's a garbage take is what i am ultimately saying.

[fleurriee]

it’s been wayyyyyy too long im so sorry bestie 👀 but im finally here now to read the best series there ever lived!!! i also hope u don’t mind that my comments are quite long but i get so into reading these that i need u to know my every thought 😘

“What is it about?” Neteyam probed further.

You thought about it for a second. 

“It’s a story about two people who come from different worlds, and their journey of understanding each other and overcoming their feelings of, you guessed it, pride and prejudice towards one another and towards each other’s world.”  

CRYINGGG ANDRA i never thought how similar it is ughhhghghhh

Your words upset him, he realises in slight surprise. He looks at your figure sprawled over the bed looking up at the ceiling above you in contemplation and feels a pang of hurt as he considers the fact you didn’t think of him when reading a book so close to your heart.

he’s actually so bby wth. getting upset she didn’t think of him :((

He obliged and found another spot on the bed, which was now emanating the warmth of your body, and he slowly touched the blanket as if trying to commit the feeling to memory.

i saw that neteyam. i know exactly what that action means.... he’s in love 😩

“Ah, there is it.” You cleared your throat, then continued. “He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” 

ANDRA IVE ONLY JUST STARTED THIS CHAPTER WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS??? they’re everything istg. they need to just get together, or least be besties again 🤧

“Your mum gave me this, a couple of weeks before she passed. She asked me to hold on to it and give it to your on your 18th birthday.”

“I hope whatever’s on there will give you some peace of mind, kid. I know life’s not been kind to you, but it’s time… time to move on, you know?” 

ffs andra i don’t wanna cry. it’s 9 in the morning on a fucking tuesday.

...sitting in Max’s lap and watching the brain activity, bombarding him with questions with answers you couldn’t’ possibly comprehend yet.

the relationship she has with both norm & max is so beautiful. like i love all their dynamics together & the fact they’re both practically her dads??? i love to see it.

“...Please don’t do a Jake.” 

LMAO jake really was the main character 🤪 he just wanted to run around & be goofy.

Neteyam’s words suddenly broke through.  “You’re not going to make it.” 

Adrenaline turned into rage and you hated it, hated the boy in that moment. Hated the effect his words had on you, even after so much time.

“You know nothing about the real world.” 

ughhh i love neteyam but hate him rn cause this is supposed to be her moment & she’s putting herself down bc of something he said 😭 istg if that boy doesn’t step up soon

“Angel, you there?” 

“Give her a second, Lo’ak. This is bound to overwhelm her and you yelling at her isn’t going to speed up the process.”

“I can’t believe she just hissed at me.” 

oh i absolutely love they came to see her 🤧🤧🤧🤧 also lo’ak’s so funny & dramatic, what did he expect lmao??

“Damn, you’re hot this way, too. This is unfair, you know? But also somehow makes me feel better that it turns out I’m not into a different species altogether, just one girl.” 

this a neteyam fic this a neteyam fic this a neteyam fic this a neteyam fic!!!! i swear im a neteyam girl but sometimes... 👀

“We have to get going, you’re going to start your training today, and your new boss is not going to be happy if you’re late.”

“Yep. Neteyam has been given the tough job of taking your lab ass and turning it into a Na’vi warrior. I have to say, I don’t envy him,  and I definitely don’t envy you.” 

OH LETS GO I FUCKING LOVE THIS TYPE OF TROPE!! gimme all the forced proximity plsss let there be tension!!!! 🥵

...for better or for worse, at least he had parents to rely on him. The thought made him sad, and he felt guilt at the words he spat at you yesterday. He knew they were for the greater good, but he also knew they crossed a line, a line that he might not be able to cross back from. 

keep that self reflection coming neteyam cause u got a LONG ride to redemption lmao.

Next to Lo’ak was a girl. The most beautiful girl he has ever laid his eyes on. Her stripes were somehow more accentuated than normal, and they reminded him of his own. It was something he was insecure about growing up, the deep contrast something his friends and even family teased him about relentlessly, but now, looking at it on her, he realised they were blind - he was blind - to have ever hated them. Her eyes were now yellow, a big departure from her human eyes, and although it was strange, just like the rest of her, they still felt familiar to him. Like no matter what body she inhabited, her soul would always shine through, always calling out to him like a moth to a flame. He knew then he’d always feel like this about her, for the rest of his life, no matter what she looked like. Fuck.

im sorry i had to include the whole thing bc THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH?? like neteyam pls it’s so obvious that you love her!!! the way he looked at her and just thought yep, that’s her. she’s the one in any form. if someone doesn’t smack him to get his head straight again i’ll do it myself. im so desperate to find out what’s keeping them apart just so they can reconcile again 🥲

His shoulders were broader and his arms were bigger, leading to a more accentuated contrast between them and his waist, and you hated yourself for how it made you feel, how your mouth filled with saliva you had to force yourself to swallow and how your pulse increased so rapidly it almost made you dizzy.

ahaa even she knows 🥵🥵 hottest man alive on any planet istg

“... Pretend you don’t know me, pretend we’re not you and me.” 

“I don’t know you, Neteyam.”

oh wow that one hurt.. like that one stung. why are they like this, why can’t they just love each other like they want to 😭😭

...and vowed to yourself that you would take care of this bow with your life, if not for anything else, for the still untarnished memory of that little boy you once loved so much.

andra... this isn’t funny anymore. im in pain.

“Kurkung (asshole).” Neteyam shoots you a dirty look and you can’t help but smirk. “What? That’s Na’vi. Perfect pronunciation, by the way.” 

i fucking love her. like how can you make me go from wanting to cry to cheering her on for riling up neteyam just to spite him??? talent.

You felt your anger pick up and the Pa’li let out a scream and rose on its hind legs, throwing you straight in the dirt. Neteyam laughed, but came to help you get up.

this is jake & neytiri 😭 ooooo h h h h h h i love everything about this andra.

“You know I’d never leave you alone.”

He picked you up and placed you on his back. “After 16 years, have I ever left you alone?” 

“...Well, I want to be strong and capable so I can always protect you...”

AHHHHHHH WHAT IS THIS??? NETEYAM YOU’RE GIVING ME WHIPLASH ISTG I FUCKING LOVE U & HATE U AT THE SAME TIME

A human skull you just stepped on... You lifted it to your eye line and heard yourself scream, wail louder than you ever had before... In a blind rage, you were clawing at your feet, trying to remove the dirt, remove the skin that stepped on your dad’s dead body...

oh god 😭 girlie has been through too much, she can’t catch a break. i mean i get that her dead was probably a dickhead with quaritch or something (at least, that’s my theory atm), he’s still her dad u know?? is she ever gonna be happy andra????

shock horror, this was absolutely amazing yet again. i love ur writing so much bc that simply did not feel like over 6k words. i was having too good of a time, clearly.

im so excited that she has her avatar body now!!! and we’re being forced to be with neteyam!!!! i can smell the tension from here. so ready for the next one 🤍🤍

Illicit Affairs | Chapter IV: Evermore

Pairing: Neteyam x Human/Avatar!Reader

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X

Synopsis: You and Neteyam both have to navigate a lot of painful memories on your first day in a new body

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, descriptions of ptsd flashbacks, cursing

Word Count: 6,2k words

A/N: Chapter 4 is the longest chapter I have written so far. There's definitely some fluff in there and some light hearted, beautiful moments, but it's also the darkest chapter I have written so far. There's some heavy stuff in there, so please read with caution! I wanted my characters to be well rounded and for there to be a good reason for every action they take; why the reader is a recluse, why Neteyam behaves the way he does, and why he left. There's layers to their story that will be unveiled through memories from both the main characters, so I hope you stick around to see where I plan to take this story <3 I never expected people to like it so much, and I hope you guys like what I have planned!

"I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone

Trying to find the one where I went wrong

And I couldn't be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar

That this pain would be for Evermore"

“Am I allowed to be here?” Neteyam says, carefully taking in the new environment that he’s never wondered through before. It was small and dark, his eyes needing a second to adjust to the contrast from the bright neon orbs that illuminated the hallways. His nose scrunched up, trying to assimilate the smell, and realised it just smells like you. 

“Who is going to stop you?” you laugh, and the sounds reverberates through his body and settles deep in his soul. He’s heard this sounds countless times in the 14 years he’s known you. It never ceased to amaze him. 

You take off your Converse shoes and throw them carelessly to the side, jump on the bed and reach for the light on the other side of it, sitting on the bedside table. The lamp turns on and Neteyam finds himself having to adjust to the brightness once more. He settles on the chair that was accompanying a small messy desk, filled with papers, books and electronic tablets that had something you called a graph on it. The words “cell viability” were written on top of it, but Neteyam didn’t know what that meant, so he turned his attention to the many, many books that were displayed on the shelves above the desk. 

He’s seen some of them before, some of them multiple times, as you did seem to have your favourites. He picked one up he recognised. It was called Pride and Prejudice and Neteyam assumed it was written by a person named Jane Austen. He knew you loved this book, but he’s never asked why.

“I love that one…” you started.

“I know” he says in Na’vi. “I just don’t know why.”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you. My mum read me paragraphs from it growing up, and it’s just a book that brings me comfort. I’ve read it so many times, I’ve memorised it, so it’s like a blanket. It makes me feel safe.”

“What is it about?” Neteyam probed further.

You thought about it for a second. 

“It’s a story about two people who come from different worlds, and their journey of understanding each other and overcoming their feelings of, you guessed it, pride and prejudice towards one another and towards each other’s world.”  

He sat with this new information for a while. “So like us?” 

“Mmm, I don’t think it’s like us at all. I think it’s more about my mum and dad, or at least I think my mum thought of her and dad when reading it.”

Your words upset him, he realises in slight surprise. He looks at your figure sprawled over the bed looking up at the ceiling above you in contemplation and feels a pang of hurt as he considers the fact you didn’t think of him when reading a book so close to your heart.

“I have a quote from another book that reminds me of you, though.” Almost as if you read his mind, you turned your head towards him with a smirk and raised an eyebrow.

He didn’t look at you, a small pout erupting from his lips without meaning to. You laugh at him and smile endearingly, softly shaking your head. 

You jump from the bed, slightly wincing when your left leg registers the action, and click your tongue at him so he can move from where he was sat. He obliged and found another spot on the bed, which was now emanating the warmth of your body, and he slowly touched the blanket as if trying to commit the feeling to memory. You climbed on the chair with another small wince and found a book on the uppermost shelf. You jumped from the chair straight on to the bed and fell next to him. 

Patting the spot next to you, you signalled for him to lie down. He did, although his legs were completely off the bed, the tiny contraption barely able to accommodate his torso. You let out a small laugh, but seemed happy to have him so close. 

You placed your head on his chest, and he prayed you couldn’t hear the way his heart felt like it was trying to escape his ribcage at your proximity and warmth. You opened the book and looked for the quote. 

“Ah, there is it.” You cleared your throat, then continued. “He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” 

“Get the fuck out of my room, Neteyam.”

You had just finished washing the day off when you heard a small knock on the door. Still reeling from the fight, it was taking everything out of you to muster up the strength to open that door and deal with whatever was waiting on the other side. With a deep sigh, you did so anyway. It was surprising for you to find Jake peering at you from the other side of the open door, a curious look on his handsome face. 

“Hey kid. We’re going to get going now. I just wanted to talk to you for a second before hand. Can I come in?” 

You hesitated for a second, then moved so he could enter. 

“So..” He started awkwardly. “I don’t really know how to do this.” You saw his left hand reaching behind his head and scratching his scalp with a small laugh. 

His eyes drop to a little package he was holding, wrapped in the same sort of cloth as the other gifts had been. He didn’t look at you as he spoke.

“Your mum gave me this, a couple of weeks before she passed. She asked me to hold on to it and give it to your on your 18th birthday.”

Your breath stopped in your lungs. He peered at you with a sad look and handed you the little box. A small video camera, like the ones used to record the Avatar program video logs was now resting peacefully in between your hands. 

“I hope whatever’s on there will give you some peace of mind, kid. I know life’s not been kind to you, but it’s time… time to move on, you know?” 

He got up from his spot on the bed and silently made his way out of the room. “See you tomorrow?” 

With your back to him, you gave him a nod, and with that, he was gone, closing the door behind him.

You stood like that, in the same position, with the camera in your hand for a long enough time that your left leg was starting to ache, an ache that eventually overtook the one in your soul and with that, you took the camera and the bracelet you removed from Neteyam’s hands and shoved them both in the bottom drawer of your desk. “Pandora’s box.”, you thought to yourself, with a bitter chuckle. 

You woke up with a groan, and the meanest headache known to man. Yesterday felt like you did in fact have the biggest party this world has ever seen, and the hangover to match. You scrambled out of bed, still in the dark, and searched on top of your desk for the little bottle of Ibuprofen you keep for days just like this. Today’s the day…

Norm enters your room quietly, and is surprised to see you up already. “So nervous you couldn’t sleep?” He says with a tentative smile.

“Something like that.” 

“Hey…you’re happy about this, right? Tell me we haven’t done this for almost a decade for no reason, cause you know, we can’t just give someone else the Avatar.” he says, with an uncomfortable chuckle. 

“I’m happy, Norm. It’s just a lot to take in, you know? A lot is going to have to change, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t tend to do well with change.” you response, laughing to yourself.

“Yeah, me and Max worried about that, but, Ace… you have weathered every storm life’s thrown at you like a champ and I think beyond this great unknown lays a future so bright it will be able to make this planet shift on its axis.” 

You throw your head back and laugh loudly, “Wow, that’s a lot of trust right there. I’ll try not to disappoint.” 

If only Norm knew… knew how you have not been able to brave any storm, and how the storms, in time, turned to tornadoes and then hurricanes and then bigger hurricanes and all you’ve done your whole life is just move further in to the middle of the shelter hoping that someday they’ll just go away by themselves and when they do, there’s still some walls, any walls, surrounding you. 

You put some of Grace’s old workout clothes on and made your way to the Avatar room and properly looked at it, probably for the first time in your life. You used to love coming here as a kid, looking at the scientists in their link pods, at your mum in hers, sitting in Max’s lap and watching the brain activity, bombarding him with questions with answers you couldn’t’ possibly comprehend yet. You’ve moved away from that fascination in time. Now here you stood, about to get your own linkpod and your own brain activity analysed. You peered in the room next to it, where on a big flat metal table lay a blue body, and you couldn’t help yourself from moving closer until your breath was so close to the window in was fogging up the glass. You placed a hand on the cold glass and stared at the new you, and a small smile appeared on your face. It was beautiful, more so than you ever thought your human form to be. Your heart picked up pace in your chest and you were shocked at the realisation that the nerves that you thought only reflected fear and anxiety, also reflected excitement. 

“It’s time.” Max said from somewhere behind you.

You turned and made your way with timid steps towards the linkpod. You climbed on it and the feeling of the green malleable foam woke up a memory inside you, that you fought to push back to where it came from. Now’s not the time. It was cold on your arms and thighs as you lay in it, but weirdly comfortable, like what you would imagine water mattresses you saw in old Hollywood movies to feel. 

Max placed a metal frame of sorts on top on your own and spoke slowly. “Okay, you know the drill, Ace. You have to relax and let your mind go blank. You will be disoriented when you wake up, so take your time in there and don’t rush. Please don’t do a Jake.” 

You chuckled at the story you’ve heard one too many times, but never seemed to get tired of it. 

“We will have to run tests to make sure everything is in order. This is new territory for all of us, and we don’t know how the Avatar will behave yet, so we will take our time and do it right.” 

“Aye aye, Captain.”

You did as you were told and found it hard to relax and let your mind go blank when it was running a million miles an hour with so many emotions, so many thoughts and worries. Still, with all your might, you sat there, and cleared your mind for a split second. It was enough. 

You woke up like from a dream, feeling groggy and tired. Your muscles hurt, a lot. You winced slightly at the gentle touch of a hand, which felt like that time you touched the inside of an electrical socket and got slightly electrocuted. You felt clothes clinging to your body and hated the way the synthetic fabric felt against your skin. You took your first breath and your nose crinkled in disgust at the overbearing smell of alcohol and chloride. 

“Ace? C’mon kid, there you go, you can do it.” 

You finally opened your eyes and groaned at the intense light on the ceiling. Your eyes took a while to focus, but when they did, you saw Norm staring back at you with a smile.

“Hi.” you said, with a deep frown and groggy voice. This was overwhelming. 

“Hi back! Take it easy, alright? Me and Claire will runs some tests to make sure everything’s a-okay. It will take about an hour, I know this whole experience can be a bit strange in the beginning, so hopefully this will ease you into it.”

Norm was a man of his word, and after about an hour of wiggling every part of your body, touching your fingers to your nose, remembering names of objects and repeating it to them, among other things, you were ready to go. You realise to your surprise that you’re excited about going outside. You couldn’t stand the sensation overload that came with being in this lab, in this body. You stood up gently and removed the chords that were still attached to you. You turned around to look at the glass that was reflecting your new figure back at you, and found yourself at a loss for words for the millionth time in 24 hours. It was such a strange feeling, and you knew it would take you a while to get used to looking in the mirror and be met with this. You smiled and waved, knowing Max would be watching you from behind the glass, even though you couldn’t see it. 

Norm handed you a bag, and you peered inside to find a beige loincloth and the top Neytiri gifted you yesterday. “Go change, I think you’ll feel better in these.” 

You did as you were told. Removing the white hospital garb you had on, you looked at yourself fore the first time, properly looked. You were tall. Very tall. And skinny, very skinny. Lean was probably a better word for it, as you couldn’t see an ounce of fat anywhere on your body. You started poking your body in different spots and let out a small laugh at the feeling: it felt like touching soft metal. You were strong. The thought made you happy. You looked again in the mirror at your face. Big yellow eyes looked at you curiously. They traced your nose, and your plump lips and your white freckles, beautiful like the night sky. Your eyes settled on your hair, long and soft and dark and your arm reached behind you to bring your braid into focus. You lifted it and looked in awe at the queue and the way the tendrils were moving on their own accord. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins like water breaking apart mountains to make a canyon of your mind. 

Neteyam’s words suddenly broke through.  “You’re not going to make it.” 

Adrenaline turned into rage and you hated it, hated the boy in that moment. Hated the effect his words had on you, even after so much time. You dressed slowly and tried to make sense of the “top” Neytiri gave you. Once you put it on, you looked back in the mirror and loved the way it looked on you. You also had a newfound appreciation for the soft feel of the feathers and the beads, and took note of the contrast between it and the unnatural feeling hospital gown you were in a few minutes ago. If it wasn’t for your eyebrows and your five fingers and your soft, straight hair, you wondered if anyone could be fooled into thinking you are, in fact, Na’vi. 

“You know nothing about the real world.” 

Dropping the clothes in the bag provided, you took one last look at yourself and saw something in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Determination. The sick, stubborn determination that has always made you push out all reason as soon as someone tells you you can’t do something. 

“Tell Norm no.”

You left the room smiling. You will make him eat his words, and you will enjoy every minute of it.

You reached for the mask packs by the entrance and dropped your hand. You will never have to wear that damn mask again, you thought with satisfaction. As you stood outside, it felt again like emerging in your avatar body for the first time. So many sounds, colours, sensations flooded your being and you couldn’t even register the voice yelling your name until the person that spoke it took you by the shoulders. You hissed at the sudden contact and it shocked you. Where did that come from? 

“Angel, you there?” 

“Give her a second, Lo’ak. This is bound to overwhelm her and you yelling at her isn’t going to speed up the process.”

“I can’t believe she just hissed at me.” 

The world slowly seemed to settle around you, and you focused you sight on the boy in front of you… the boy who was now your height.

“Lo’ak?” 

“Hey, you.” The younger Sully boy gave you a big smile and eyed you intently up and down a few times. “Damn, you’re hot this way, too. This is unfair, you know? But also somehow makes me feel better that it turns out I’m not into a different species altogether, just one girl.” 

You laughed, really laughed. Lo’ak was a charmer, another one of the many many traits he inherited from his dad. 

“You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.” 

“Ouch.” You knew he wasn’t really offended, so you blew a kiss towards him and shifted your attention to the world, that you realise you have never seen before. Not properly. Its beauty left you speechless. You don’t know how you were supposed to function when all you wanted to do is just walk around, smelling the flowers. 

“We have to get going, you’re going to start your training today, and your new boss is not going to be happy if you’re late.”

“My new boss?”

“Yep. Neteyam has been given the tough job of taking your lab ass and turning it into a Na’vi warrior. I have to say, I don’t envy him,  and I definitely don’t envy you.” 

“Lo’ak, shut up.” 

Well, this is going to be fun… You had a hunch Neteyam would have to train you, as Lo’ak is too young and restless and cares about the rules too little, or not at all, to do it, but hearing it as a fact made you shudder. You haven’t spent a whole day with Neteyam in years, and you didn’t particularly care for this new-and-improved version of himself. You wondered silently how this was going to go. If the last two interactions are anything to go by, you were not in for a happy time.  

“Lo’ak should be here any second. I want you to start training her right away. Maybe start with the Pa’li first, and do bow training when that gets too much. You won’t really have to teach her the language, but try to make sure you talk in Na’vi more than in English, and this way you’ll see if there are any gaps in her knowledge and address them. Neteyam, are you listening?” 

The oldest Sully sibling was only half paying attention to what his dad was telling him. In truth, he was scared half to death. He didn’t want to do any of this. This is not how any of this was supposed to go. He couldn’t be around you. He didn’t want to be around you and he most definitely didn’t want to have to teach you the ways of the Na’vi and have to put his own training and responsibilities aside for this. He has already had to teach Lo’ak whenever his parents had better things to do and he was getting so fucking tired of being used as soon as it was convenient for other people. 

He pushed the bitter feelings aside. His parents relied on him for a reason, he tried to remember. They relied on him because they trusted him, and because he fought hard to be worthy of that trust. He had no right to complain, not when he knew how much worse it could be… for better or for worse, at least he had parents to rely on him. The thought made him sad, and he felt guilt at the words he spat at you yesterday. He knew they were for the greater good, but he also knew they crossed a line, a line that he might not be able to cross back from. 

He didn’t have time to think about the consequences of his actions, as he heard a yell that pulled him out of his thoughts and he knew it was time to come face to face with his worst nightmare. 

“We’re here!”, screamed Lo’ak, and Neteyam suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at his immature younger brother. 

He made his way outside of the tent, picking up his knife and placing it on the sheath resting beneath his chest. He took a deep breath, one that got lodged in his throat.

Next to Lo’ak was a girl. The most beautiful girl he has ever laid his eyes on. Her stripes were somehow more accentuated than normal, and they reminded him of his own. It was something he was insecure about growing up, the deep contrast something his friends and even family teased him about relentlessly, but now, looking at it on her, he realised they were blind - he was blind - to have ever hated them. Her eyes were now yellow, a big departure from her human eyes, and although it was strange, just like the rest of her, they still felt familiar to him. Like no matter what body she inhabited, her soul would always shine through, always calling out to him like a moth to a flame. He knew then he’d always feel like this about her, for the rest of his life, no matter what she looked like. Fuck.

“Look at you, kid! You look like you belong already!” 

Jake’s voice cut through the tension that you felt sitting here, being eyed at like you were a new cub at the zoo. The stares made you so uncomfortable you felt like you were going to explode, and could not wait until this was no longer a novelty to anyone, including yourself. 

“Thank you, Jake. For everything. I cannot express how grateful I am that you and Neytiri, and the tribe, are so willing to accept me in the village.” 

“No problem, kid. Anyway, we will have plenty of time to discuss everything tonight at dinner, but for now I think you and Neteyam should head off. There’s a lot to learn.”

“Right.” You turned around and gave a half-smile to Lo’ak, who looked at you like you were a deer in headlights. Maybe you did look how you felt. 

You bid a small goodbye to everyone and suddenly found yourself face to face with the only person you didn’t want to see. 

He started walking without saying a word, and you followed him. You refused to say anything to him, there was nothing to say to him after yesterday. Before yesterday, you might have demanded an explanation, you might have demanded he told you what happened to him in the year he abandoned you, what lead to him leaving without a single word, how dare he forget about what he meant to you and what you knew you meant to him, how could he just forsake you like you were nothing; you would have screamed at him and told him you hated him without meaning it and hoped he would just hug you and told you he’s sorry, that he was stupid and that he’ll never leave you again. None of that came out. You were past that. He crossed a line and you knew it in your mind that no explanation would be enough, no excuse would justify his behaviour enough to satisfy you and make you forget. Not anymore. 

His back was to you as he was leading you away from the Sully tent, and for the first time in your life, you saw him for what he was. A leader, a warrior. He was lean and muscular, and his physique reminded you a lot more of Jake than a Na’vi man’s. His shoulders were broader and his arms were bigger, leading to a more accentuated contrast between them and his waist, and you hated yourself for how it made you feel, how your mouth filled with saliva you had to force yourself to swallow and how your pulse increased so rapidly it almost made you dizzy. He was taller than you, taller than Lo’ak and you knew that even in this body, he would still tower over you. You definitely hated how that made you feel. 

He stopped at the entrance to a tent. He opened the flap of the entrance and motioned for you to enter. You obliged without a word. He followed you in and closed the flap behind him. You didn’t like being in such close proximity, but you knew you’d have to get used to it, so you let it go.

“This is now your tent. Mum and Dad thought you would feel more comfortable with your own space. They also thought you’d like my old training bow. There’s a pouch for your knife that you can put around your torso and I have the knife, but I won’t give it to you until I make sure you won’t kill me with it.” 

As far as an attempt to diffuse an awkward situation goes, this wasn’t half bad. Still, not nearly good enough to matter. He sighed at the lack of response.

“Right. I think we have to get a few things straight.”

Your eyebrow raised, but you let him go on.

“I know you’re mad. I know you’re so mad you’re probably thinking of ways of sticking needles in my eyes. But I don’t care. I was given a responsibility to take care of you and to teach you. I know you think you know everything, but you don’t. I know you think you know this world, but you don’t. Not in the way you need to, to survive. There’s a reason no scientist living on Pandora has ever become one of the people. You can’t see. As my grandma always says, “you cannot fill a cup which is already full”. I know you. Your cup is overflowing. From now on, you do what I say. Pretend you don’t know me, pretend we’re not you and me.” 

“I don’t know you, Neteyam.”

He winced inside at the words. “That’s enough!” He said, forcefully. 

“You answer to me from now on and I want to make sure you understand that. Dad will skin me alive if anything happens to you. You will listen and you will do as I say. Whatever issues you have, you’re going to have to deal with them in your own time.” 

Another blow below the belt, you thought, and reminded yourself that you were here for a reason, you were here to make him eat his words, and if he wanted to play his game this way, you were more than happy to beat him at it. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

You made your way out of the village and walked in silence through the woods. You were looking at the bow in your hand, and carefully traced every mark and scratch on its surface. You couldn’t help wonder about what events in Neteyam’s life lead to each and every one of them, and vowed to yourself that you would take care of this bow with your life, if not for anything else, for the still untarnished memory of that little boy you once loved so much. Once you reached a large clearing, with beautiful lush greenery and a majestic waterfall, you thought this was definitely a much better view for training than the reagent-filled benches of the lab. You saw about half a dozen Pa’li peacefully feeding off the sweet nectar of flowers in the distance, and smiled gently at the sight. You will never get used to it, you knew. 

“First step to being a Na’vi, learning to form Tsaheylu and learning to ride the Pa’li.” Neteyam spoke in Na’vi over the soothing sounds of the forest.

“OK.” You answered shortly.

“In Na’vi. We speak Na’vi from now on.”

“Kurkung (asshole).” Neteyam shoots you a dirty look and you can’t help but smirk. “What? That’s Na’vi. Perfect pronunciation, by the way.” 

His mouth tightened in a straight line and he left you, busying himself with a Pa’li he called over. He caressed it gently and held his hand next to his eye, whispering. 

“Tam tam, Tirea, tam tam.” 

“Get on.” He spoke to you still looking at the Pa’li. 

Even in this body, the direhorse was significantly taller than you, and you shot Neteyam an incredulous look. Regardless, you made your way to the animal and with all of your might, willed yourself to get on top of it. It took a couple of tries, but you eventually succeeded. You were stronger than you realised, and you were excited to discover exactly how strong you could become in time. 

Neteyam gently took the neural whip of the direhorse and guided it to you. You took it in your right hand and stared at it in amazement. You have heard so much about this, you have seen it firsthand with Neteyam’s Ikran, but to know you will now have to make your own Tsaheylu, experience this deep bond you knew everything and yet nothing about, it was terrifying. You left hand went behind your head and brought forward your own queue. This was it. Slowly, you brought the two together, and held tightly on to the Pa’li as the new sensation overwhelmed all of your senses. It felt like all of your neurons were firing at the same time. It felt like you were being electrocuted. As the feeling subsided, you felt a breath that was moving at the same time as your own, you felt a second heartbeat that was going much faster than yours possibly could, and you tried to calm yourself down as you knew the nervousness the animal felt was mirroring your own. Neteyam allowed you a second to experience this for yourself with no interruption, and you appreciated that. He trusted you enough to give you some space, and with everything, at least this hasn’t changed.

“This is Tsaheylu. The bond. Take some time to feel her, feel her heartbeat, her breath. Feel her strong legs. You can tell her what to do, inside your mind. Remember that as you can feel her, she can feel you, too. Your emotions impact her, your thoughts impact her, so you have to calm your mind.Easier said than done in your case, I fear.” 

You felt your anger pick up and the Pa’li let out a scream and rose on its hind legs, throwing you straight in the dirt. Neteyam laughed, but came to help you get up. As you were removing mud from your face and hair and cursing all manners of profanities under you breath, you came to the bitter realisation this was going to be harder than you thought, especially with him as your teacher. 

He still knew you too well. You slapped his hand away and got up by yourself, indignantly. You jumped back on the Pa’li and tried your very, very best, to calm yourself before making the bond. The horse didn’t react as violently as last time, so you figured you were off to a better start. You calmed your mind as much as you could, like you did in the linkpod, and imagined her slowly moving forward. You smiled when she did just that, no words needed. It was hard to be able to maintain your composure when you were LITERALLY mind controlling another living being, but despite it needing active continuous effort, you felt you were doing a good job. You managed to make her go, sprint, gallop and turn, and despite the direhorse’s best efforts, you were somehow still tightly attached to its back. 

After a couple of hours, Neteyam told you to get off. He told you to follow him, and he took off, not sparing you a second glance. You followed him the best you could for a while, desperately trying to overlook how uncomfortable being barefoot made you feel. You didn’t like it at all, and more and more, you felt your heartbeat picking up in your chest and your knees shaking. You felt beads of sweat getting in your eyes and they stung, so you stopped. Your laboured breath became shallow, and your hands were shaking uncontrollably as you raised them to wipe your forehead. You felt your knees collapse under you, and you knew what was about to happen and that it was too late to stop it. 

“Neteyam, wait up.” You called after the blue boy, slight panic in your voice.

“I thought we were supposed to be racing.” 

“You win, alright? Don’t leave me alone in the woods.” 

You saw Neteyam jogging back to where you stood with a guilty look on his face. “You know I’d never leave you alone.”

He picked you up and placed you on his back. “After 16 years, have I ever left you alone?” 

“Well, you’ve been training a lot recently and I barely get to see you anymore, so I would say yes, you leave me alone plenty, more than I can say I care for.” 

“Well, I want to be strong and capable so I can always protect you. I mean look at you, Tuk’s gonna be stronger than you soon.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” You pretended to ignore his first sentence and how it lit your entire body on fire. 

You walked like this for a while. You placed your head on his shoulder and peered up at the tall trees. Prolimuris were swinging on them, picking up fruits as they went along. You saw two infants following their mother and stopping on the same branch as her, where she passed them what you were sure was a tasty afternoon snack. You smiled contently at the scene, and at the feeling of warmth Neteyam provided. 

“Put me down, I want to walk! I came with you to exercise, not be carried like a tiny Pandoran baby.” 

He did as you asked, huffing at your forever mercurial temper. 

With your back still to him, you let out a laugh and started running. “Race you to the clearing in the distance?” 

He rolled his eyes, and with a laugh, stopped himself. He always gave you a head start. “Fine, but you can’t get mad when I beat you again!” 

You turned around to give him a smile as you were running and loved the feeling of the ground beneath your feet. The only place you could run around barefoot, the only time you still felt alive. 

You came to an abrupt halt when your foot touched something strange, something unnatural. You slowly looked at your feet and froze in place as the smooth pale object made your blood run cold. It couldn’t be. You stepped away from it, not leaving it from your view and slowly, deliberately knelt down next to it. You heard Neteyam coming to a halt behind you, but couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge his presence. Your hands started digging in the ground with morbid curiosity and the sounds around you became muffled as your erratic heartbeat was the only thing you could still hear. You removed the ground around it and tears formed in your eyes at the realisation that this was indeed what you feared it was: a human skull. A human skull you just stepped on. Before you knew it, your hands were reaching for a glimmer of silver shining in the shallow grave. You lifted it to your eye line and heard yourself scream, wail louder than you ever had before. The panic that overtook you was primal, but not unfamiliar and you threw the dog tag on the ground, with enough force you hoped would bury it further than anybody would ever be able to dig. You couldn’t see properly anymore, the tears and dizziness flooding your senses and you prayed you passed out, prayed to make this stop, prayed you were back in your room where your Xanax always lay by your bedside table. In a blind rage, you were clawing at your feet, trying to remove the dirt, remove the skin that stepped on your dad’s dead body like it was a gum wrapper on the pavement. Soon enough, you could taste the metal taste of blood that was lingering in the air and by the grace of whatever spirit was out there still looking after you, you felt yourself collapse in Neteyam’s arms. 

Tag list: @nuhteyam @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @mashiromochi

[rapunziedameron]

*gently takes your hands* Tumblr is no better than Twitter. There is a swath of negativity, holier than thou, stuck up attitude on this website just like there is on Twitter. At least on Twitter, people like that are called what they are: trolls. Do not feed the trolls. There is literally no reason to log onto this website to feed the machine of doomerism and negativity, then pretend we're better than other sites because "we touch grass." I assure you, majority of the blogs in every tag you can imagine, are not touching grass.

[crimsoncowl]

I'm thinking about ultron's children, specifically victor and this is a canon divergence, but I do think ultron was in love with marianella (victor's mom) and I also do think ultron pushed for the name 'victor' as a nod to victor von doom

[magpiesbones]

worst thing about being disabled is that now I am fully and completely aware of exactly how much I am worth to everyone I know. And it is not a lot!!

[dan-crimes]

I gotta complain abt being a picky eater here for a sec cuz I'm lookin @ all this stuff on the breakfast menu and there's always the SAME ingredients in all these SAME food items and it would be SO much easier if I could just order food without having to think of all the stuff I DON'T want on my food cuz I always gotta put in so much effort to look into every single ingredient in every since food item that I order bcuz I DON'T LIKE MOST FOODS !!! SMHH !!

[conkreetmonkey]

Red Dead Redemption 2 was so real for creating the most in-depth, realistic clothing system I've ever seen in any game, and exclusively using it on burly, unhygienic men.

You choose every layer, every accessory, with dozens to hundreds of each to choose from. You can go in and fine-tune minute details like whether or not to roll up the shirt sleeves, or button the collar, or whether to wear your pants under your boots. These clothes get dirty in real time depending on what you do in the game. Mud, dust and blood linger unless washed off. Every garment has a warmth rating based on its material, and the game calculates what temperatures an outfit is suitable for based on the combined total. Dressing too cold or warm for the weather causes health debuffs.

You can choose which way he parts his hair, and whether he gels it. If you eat too much he gets bulkier and gains a double chin, and if you eat too little he can go underweight and get all bony and sallow. Both of these states come with stat changes. His hair and beard grow in real game time, and you need to routinely style and shave his facial hair if you want any style other than a full Santa. You need to bathe him regularly or people will start commenting on his BO, and he'll start visibly appearing filthy long before that. He sunburns in the sun, and in the heat he becomes slick and glossy with sweat.

This shit is IN DEPTH. It blows the customization systems of actual fashion-centric games like tf2, Monster Hunter and Splatoon out of the water in every regard. They honestly look basic in comparison. It's a paradigm shift for sure once you experience RDR2's level of customization. Everything else starts to feel smaller.

The player character all this customization is applied to, and I simply cannot stress this enough, is a 36 year old, 6'3" smoker weighing well over 200 pounds, with facial hair thicker than a sheepdogs, forearms like gnarled tree trunks and a dark, dense forest of body hair covering every reasonable surface. His skin is pocked and marred with scars from a rugged, nomadic lifestyle, and his teeth are the colour of cornbread. He has a thick southern accent, is a known mean drunk and knows how to skin pretty much any North American animal. He has never worn deodorant, flossed or moisturized. He eats canned beans, fruit and the like by simply pouring them into his mouth and gulping, often while walking or riding a horse at full gallop.

I can think of NO better use case for such customization. Not some fresh-faced little twink, not some busty anime babe. Just a gross, hairy, unwashed homeless dude with crippling self esteem issues and a chest broader than a barrel laid lengthwise. A non fashion-centric game, certainly a non-fashion centric character, but for some reason the best clothing and customization system ever concieved, bar none. What the fuck.

[tonycries]

The Heir - G.S.

Synopsis. No, your clan leader husband won’t stop until he gives you an heir. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, established relationship, he’s cray-cray (for you), bréeding - like a LOT, oral (fem receiving), unprotected, creampíe, marathon, séx, running from it, use of “my wife”, overstim, FÉRAL Satoru, absolutely heinous, mentions of kníves and bIood, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.3k

A/N. Guess what ya girlie is back with clan leader Gojo hehe.

An heir to the Gojo clan - no matter how small, how weak - could eradicate all three of the big clans before even being born. Much like their father. 

You knew that. Satoru knew that. And, unfortunately for him, so did the stuck-up old toad currently sputtering across from him. 

“I am not asking for permission.” Satoru smiles, deathly calm. “Simply that everyone vacates the Estate. After all, what the madam wants, the madam shall get.”

“But- but young master! It’s madness- An heir can tip the scales of power like never before!” The elder lunges frantically over the meeting room table. “I cannot allow- a-and considering the madam’s lowly lineage-”

Schwing!

They say that the infamous young head of the Gojo clan has a katana as hauntingly beautiful as he is - a blade of pure white, with a sapphire hilt. Though, there wasn’t anyone left to tell the tale - and Satoru wasn’t about to let that change anytime soon. 

The long, deceptively delicate sword glints sharply against Satoru’s humorless grin, and those cold, cold eyes. Unblinking - crazed, as he hums, “What did you say about my wife?”

The man in front of him can do nothing but yelp in fear, “I- it could- the scale of ah-”

“No.” The freezing cold blade presses deeper against skin. And Satoru’s tutting, “Try again.”

“Th-the madam!” Pathetic tears stain those expensive tatami mats below, every shred of previous ego wiped away as the elder’s forced to echo his words. “It is no lie that her b-background is…unsuitable-”

Oh this was why Satoru hated these meetings - and for once in his life he’d been the one to summon it instead of being forced to attend. What a joke. If only this elder had agreed to vacate everyone in the Estate like he’d wanted, then none of this would’ve happened. Seriously, how hard was it to get some alone time with you? 

Satoru sighs, blue yukata rustling as he grips the hilt tighter. “Do you know why you’re here, advisor? Why any of you little council of elders are still here?” And he doesn’t wait for an answer - couldn’t care less about it anyway. Plowing on in that same sweet, dangerous tone - as if scolding a stubborn child, “My lovely wife is kind, you see. Too kind. Doesn’t like for me to get my hands dirty.”

He lets his arm retract slightly, as if giving up on the conversation topic at hand. And oh for all his wisdom, the elder should’ve known better than to let the silence lull into one of safety. Should’ve known better than to let out a breath of relief. Relaxing - ever-so-slightly, to be stupid enough to mutter, “S-see young master. I told- you-”

Because this was Gojo Satoru, and he’s chuckling - and that was never a good sign for anyone but you. “She’d make such a perfect mother, don’t you think?”

---

SLAM!

You startle - there was only ever one person that dared to kick open the doors of the Gojo Estate that way, like he was out for blood.

Eyes tearing from your window towards the now-splintered doorway and-

Oh. Oh shit. 

Your voice dies in your throat as the metallic tang of blood hits your nose - followed very shortly by the realization that this was your husband. Towering figure leaning against the frame, gaze frantic - bouncing off everywhere but you, fingers twitching on the stained handle of his katana, looking for all the world like he’d seen a ghost. 

What the fuck happened?

“Satoru?” you breathe. And the sound of your voice his eyes finally snap to you - widening, like he’d finally noticed your figure standing there. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. Stepping forward in concern, “Are you o-”

You’ve barely made it two steps before Satoru’s closing the distance in a split-second, dropping to his knees before you with a harsh thump!

You wince at the sound, but if it hurt then he doesn’t show it. Anything but - in fact, looking more blissed out than you’ve ever seen him as he lets his prized katana clatter to the floor, looping two powerful arms around your waist.

And it’s times like this - when he nuzzles his cheek against your stomach, sighing in contentment - that you forget about those blossoming stains of red on his yukata. None of his, you bet. 

Threading your fingers through his soft hair, you repeat, “Are you okay, Toru?”

And oh. 

Oh, it only takes those words - and your sweet sweet voice - before Satoru’s entire body jolts. Taking a sharp inhale, fingers trembling as they clutch onto the fabric of your yukata. “An heir.” Words strained, ragged. Some deep, visceral part of himself peaking up at you through those hazy, half-lidded eyes, “Would you give me an heir, my wife?”

You weren’t making it out alive. 

You’re gasping - partially because of his words, partially because that’s all it takes for him to yank you down. Sprawling you out like such a slut on the floor. “Wha- an heir?”

It’s not something you expected him to even consider - that sleepy, quiet little pillowtalk from earlier today where you’d mindlessly wondered out loud whether your husband was ready for kids. Hell, Satoru was never a morning person, so you didn’t expect him to even have heard the question let alone this. 

Nosing at your racing pulse, whispering, “An heir. You think I’d ever deny you, pretty?” Like he couldn’t believe it himself - sharp canines nipping at your neck, “My heir.”

It’s like it was the only thing he could say - could even think about right now as his lips burned a path down your jaw, into the valley of your breasts. Muffled, “N’ now we have the Estate all to ourselves, so I can ruin you as much as I hah- want.”

And for the second time today, you’re actually registering that this wasn’t the same yukata your husband had kissed senseless in before the meeting. Or, at least, those patches of red were new.

“Satoru…” You pull his face back.

“No- no no please- Come back-” you squeal when he just drags you across the floor by the hips, pressing you up against that massive bulge, back to sloppily kissing the underside of your jaw. “Was jus’ one I swear- m’sorry about gettin’ the fabric dirty.”

“Satoru.”

“Wasn’t gonna break you where everyone could hear right?” 

And fuck he doesn’t wait to hear a response, no - it’s been far too long, and every little scold from you has all the blood in Satoru’s body rushing to his aching cock. His lips are crashing onto yours, so desperate and needy. 

“Sa-toru!” you manage to squeal through the way he sips at your candied lips. Letting out pained, breathless little grunts like each swipe of his tongue against your mouth was driving him insane. 

“Shhh shhh, m’here m’here.” he pants into your open mouth, hands wandering everywhere. Cupping your ass, your breasts, nudging open your jaw to let him suck so filthily on your tongue. “Fuck- m’here.” He’s licking up the drool pooling at the corner of your mouth already, “N’ m’gonna ruin-” One hand makes its way to palm your clothed cunt, “-her.”

But, alas, no matter how many times Satoru’s done this before - it never gets any easier, or as less heavenly of a sight for him. 

With you all disheveled and splayed out for him, your tits almost spilling out of your yukata with the way his hands have been so greedy. So thoughtless. 

Satoru groans, dipping his head forward to peck messily at your lips. “Mmm- ” Pulling back just enough to mutter, “Gonna let me breed this pretty cunt, hm?” 

It’s all you can do to give him a half-delirious little nod of agreement, lower lip wobbling at just how hungrily he was looking at you. Eyes wide, lips curling into a crazed smile, fingers trembling with anticipation as he deftly works on untying your robe. 

“Is my wife gonna give me a pretty baby?” He gasps out, strangled. “An heir?” He presses a sloppy peck to your glossy lips, strings of spit snapping when he breaks apart to whisper. “One to take out all these dumb fucks?” Again, so dizzyingly. And again. “Oh how I’d love to see their fuckin’ faces.” And again and again and again. Kisses punctuated by that little mantra - “An heir. My heir. I need you to give me a baby, pretty.”

And then your yukata’s being pulled down your shoulders, the expensive fabric ripping down the side with the way he was so ravenous. Goosebumps prickling down your skin as fast as Satoru can get his hands on every inch of you.

“Oh, look at you.” his jaw falls slack, palms kneading at your soft breasts. “Fuck- the mother of my kids.” He rolls his thumb over your hardened nipples, rubbing lazy little circles, “I need to- fuck!” 

Before you know it he’s pinning your arching body down onto the floor. One hand easily pinning down both of yours, the other angling your lips back onto his, a knee wedged between your damp thighs. 

You whine at the feeling of Satoru’s thigh rubbing up against your drenched panties.

But he could barely hear - fuck, you didn’t even know if Satoru was breathing with the way he wraps his pretty pink lips around one of your pert nipples. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, cheeks hollowing as he sucks - harsh.

“Need to fill these up- s’gonna be so sweet. So full.” he’s blabbering into your tits, tongue rolling around your sensitive nipples. Incessant, like he was somehow trying to draw out milk. “I can only hope they hah- share, right?”

You buck your hips up, mewling as your throbbing clit catches on the dips and curves of the muscles on Satoru’s leg. “P-please, Toru. Don’t tease.”

And oh, when has he ever denied you? Hell, Satoru would burn down this entire world and himself if it meant giving his wife anything and everything. Especially the future mother of his kids. 

With a final, playful bite, you watch with glassy eyes at the way he dances his lips down. Slow. Teasing. Eyes locked with you all the while like some sort of predator cornering his prey. 

“And this-” Satoru stops halfway down, pressing a deep, sultry kiss onto your bare stomach, “Oh this. Gonna be so round n’ pretty. Absolutely glowing f’me, right? Fuck!” 

Snapping his head down at the feeling of your grinding your hips so sluttily onto his legs, slick seeping through your panties and onto his skin. 

“Oh.” he sighs, awe-struck. More to himself than you at this point, “You can kill me if you’re not with my heir by the time we’re done, pretty.”

A promise.

And with it went whatever was left of Satoru’s poor sanity - and whatever pathetic chance there was of you making it out of this alive. 

Immediately, Satoru fists your flimsy panties in his grasp. So see-through they were practically useless anyway. Reveling in your panicked little gaze as he pulls - rips them clean off your dripping cunt. 

“Oh god- There we go.” he moans, hooking two arms underneath your legs and pushing up, up, up - all the way until your knees were pressing up against your tits. Your lips wobble when Satoru takes the time to admire your pussy, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs to watch the way you glisten and clench at nothing. Licking his lips - salivating even - at the sight of your slick beading through your puffy folds. He runs a thumb along your sopping wet slit, “Better wish her good luck tonight.”

And, usually, your husband was refined - he teased and toyed with your poor cunt until you were begging to have an ounce of friction. But right now, it’s a wonder he doesn’t get whiplash with how fast he’s pushing his face into your pussy.

“Mm-” Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as his tongue laps at your dripping wet cunt. Tipping his head back, back, back to let your sweet sweet juices slide down his throat. “Fuck that. Even luck won’t save you from me- hah-”

“Toru!” you arch off the cool floor as he cards the tip of his tongue between your puffy folds. From the base of your sloppy entrance, all the way up to your throbbing clit. “Hngh- s’too-”

He was going too fast too soon. 

You whine at the palm pushing your unstable hips flat onto the ground, holding you still while Satoru licks all over as he pleases. “Now now, how are ya gonna ngh- fuck so sweet- handle later if ya can’t even handle this, pretty?”

Sucking on your clit in such a messy, open-mouthed kiss. “Fuck. Shouldn’t have told me about an heir.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Harsh - rolling his tongue against the sensitive nub in a way he knows will have you crying out so prettily. “Fuuuck you shouldn’t h- oh- Ohhh, look at you, my wife.”, breathing in deep, ragged gasps of air only to go deeper. “Fuck- just look at you. You’re so wet I could fuck you just like this.”

As if to prove his point, he’s urgently bullying the tip of his tongue between your plushy walls. And it was true - so pathetically true. You take him in so easily. 

Somehow, you manage to crack an eye open to spy downwards - only to be met with Satoru’s eyes already on yours. Hazy, curtained by his messy hair, swollen lips curving up to flash you such a devilish grin as he squeezes his tongue past that feeble, first ring of resistance. In and out in and out in and-

“Ohh. Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight.” His jaw grinds deeper, nose flush against your clit. “Ya like that idea? Like the thought of me p-painting ah- slutty pussy white already?”

Your embarrassed little whine isn’t enough of an answer for your husband. No, he’s pressing his fingers - all glossy and covered with a sheen of your slick - onto your pulsing clit. Just barely grazing in a way that has you crying out. 

Making out with your cunt so sloppily, “Tha’s more like it.” Heavy eyes boring into yours - goading, even, for you to give more of a reaction. “Fuck- use those words, pretty. Scream.” Satoru’s fucking into your sloppy hole the way he’s been dreaming to do with his rock-hard cock. “After all, we h-have the Estate all to ourselves, right?”

Faster. Sloppier. 

Pushing and pulling his tongue in a way that has you sobbing, “Yes! Please- wan’- ngh” Thighs squeezing around Satoru’s fervent head, “W-wan you to jus’ breed me, Toru-”

Oh.

Fuck, you might’ve just signed your will away at this point. 

Because in a split-second, you’re cumming. 

Shit, were you glad that there was no one in the house. Sobbing out a broken whine of his name, fingers white-knuckled on Satoru’s hair while you gush all over his pretty face. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all over his mouth - using him through your high. 

And he’s more than happy to be dragged and angled all you please. Greedily lapping up your syrupy sweet juices, just dipping his tongue into your hole to feel the way you clench around him. 

But it’s not long before Satoru’s pulling away. Swallowing a disappointed whine, you gape up at the absolutely feral man looming above you. 

Lips plump and glossy, your juices dripping all the way down his chin, his jaw. Teeth bared, a pretty pink blush dusting over those cheeks - and you have half the mind to wonder how high the kill count actually is. Whether you’d be on it, too. 

“Heh, kill count?” Satoru grins, teeth grazing so dangerously over your racing pulse. Shit, did you say that out loud? “Funny, real funny.” And with that, he’s thumbing apart your swollen folds, biting his lips at the sight of your quivering hole. “Wonder if our- hah- kid’s gonna have your-” Without warning, he spits. Once. Twice. Gliding the pads of his fingers along the thick globs of spit on your cunt, “-humor?”

And oh how ironic it was for Satoru to be groaning out sweet little spiels of what your kids might look like, when his fingers were anything but. 

Stretching out your gummy entrance, having the audacity to laugh - laugh - at how desperately your pussy was trying to milk his fingers. 

“Y-you’re so mean-”

“And yer killin’ me- ohhh you’re gonna be the death of me.” he mutters - strained. Depraved. Hastily pushing apart his yukata. He hisses, “Fuck-”

You can’t help but gasp at the sinful sight before you - Satoru’s blush reaches down his sculpted chest, down, down, down all the way to his painfully hard cock. Curved against his abs, already so angry and soaked with precum. Giving you a pretty little peak of those veins glistening against the dim lighting. 

Before you even know what’s happening, he’s circling his fat, weepy head around your sloppy hole. Slow, lazy patterns to tease your cunt. “Can only pray m’not dead before I see ngh- fuck- my heir.”

It’s like something breaks. And Satoru’s remembering that no, this isn’t just any child - it’s the next Gojo. That grip on the base of his swollen cock tightening when he slips past your pussy lips. 

“Oh! Toru- f-fuck wait s’too big-” you keen, nails digging into where his yukata was sliding off his milky, sculpted shoulders. Hard enough to break skin. “It’s ah-”

“No.” he spits into your sagging mouth. “No no no no- wait fuck- ngh squeezing so fucking- tight.” Hips pushing in quick, shallow little thrusts to squeeze more of his achy head inside. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck hold on. Need this. Need this so bad- please!”

And you can’t do anything but arch into his touch, scrambling up onto your elbows to- shit, that was a bad idea. 

Because one look at the sight of your poor cunt, all bulging and stretched out on Satoru’s massive cock was enough to have you running away. 

You’d barely made a movement to escape, feet flattening on the floor to buck your hips because shit it was too much. And it was a useless effort, anyway, because Satoru’s dragging you back so easily, pulling your limp body deeper down his swollen cock. 

“Need this. Need this need this so bad, pretty.” he groans, barely even halfway in yet. Still pushing, still relentless. “Need to breed this cunt so bad.”

Some tiny, useless part of Satoru’s rationality knows that he should slow down - maybe give you a second to relax. To maybe even breathe. But he was out of control now, hips stuttering and wrenching forwards like he couldn’t stop. 

So he’s simply gripping onto your shaky thighs harder, sure to leave neat little indents of his nails to admire tomorrow - or, whenever he gets back his sanity, that is. 

Satoru hisses at the way you’re so pliant below him. Limp, letting him rest your legs on his muscled shoulders. “Think I needa manhandle ya more often, pretty.” Pressing down, down - all the way until you were folded in half beneath him in such a mean mating press. “Can’t- can’t stop-”

The change in angle makes you scream out Satoru’s name - and it makes him bottom out. Finally. 

Fuck, you weren’t making it out alive.

“Oh.” he grunts at the feeling of his heavy balls smacking against your ass, his fat, leaky tip kissing against your cervix. God, if Satoru was any less of a man he thinks he could’ve cum just from the feeling of you trying to suck him up already. 

“Oh- oh my god-” you gasp when he presses down about halfway down your stomach, Pressing down for that bulge, hard. “You’re in s-so deep ngh- S’like you’re pushing into my ngh- lungs.”

Fuck, if you talked any more with that pretty mouth then Satoru was bound to pass out. Blindly, he’s feeling for your pouty mouth, kissing and nibbling at your wobbling lips like a subconscious apology. For what was to come, that is.

Because Satoru Gojo spares no apologies when he starts moving - finally. Finally fucking you the way he’s been dreaming of all throughout that droning meeting. 

And he says so - a little over fifteen times, in fact, while he splits you apart on his cock. 

“-n’ when I was negotiating those ngh- c-clan deals. N’ when I was at that meeting-” he gasps, shoving your legs so far apart it burned. “S’all I could hah- think of. Everything - don’t give a fuck if I got a contract wrong.”

Each word was punctuated by a rough, harsh ram of his cock, stretching out your gummy walls so far apart like he wanted to make his mark there. Pushing - even when he could feel his aching tip nudging at your cervix.

So merciless - violent even - with the way he’s slamming back into you. Molding your plushy walls to every ridge and curve of his massive cock. It was impossible to even form coherent sentences with his harsh pace. 

A large hand flattens beside your head as Satoru’s thrusts get deeper. More purposeful. You almost sob at the sheer pressure when he dances his fingers down to rub quick, methodical little circles on your clit. “Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. “M-more.”

But it wasn’t enough.

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. And shit at that very moment you almost understood why even the most hardened of clan leaders feared to even look at Gojo Satoru wrong. Because he was giving you a sopping, fucked-out smile, eyes widened, voice trembling, “You want more?”

And of course this was the strongest. Of course, he was ruthless. 

Of course, it takes him exactly two seconds to pull out of your heavenly cunt and flip you onto your stomach. One hand coming under you to angle your hips up until you were on all fours - like some ragdoll. The other feverish, distracting on your clit while he bullies his achingly hard cock past your sopping entrance once more. 

“Fuck!” your voice is hoarse when you scream. Teeth gritting because fuck the stretch was too sinful and Satoru’s hips were too harsh. Too hellbent on fucking into you like he’d lost control. “O-oh please, Toru-”

He doesn’t waste time easing you into it this time, picking up where he left off with that maddening cadence. And you were glad he had an arm on your hips because your knees were weakening with each thrust, slowly sliding down the floor before-

“Aw, my poor girl.” you hear Satoru coo from above you. Muscled chest rubbing up against your back, “S’alright. M’gonna take care of it. You jus’ hafta take it- jus’ take it like the good lil’ wife you are.” his body bows into yours, strands of white sticking to his forehead. “N’ I’ll take fuck fuck fuck- care of everything.” So sloppy with his rhythm, pushing you further and further up the floor with each movement - only to reel you right back so easily. “I’ll wash ‘em and hah- clothe ‘em n’ t-teach ‘em to take over this godforsaken society. To protect their momma.”

“T-Toru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic. “I’m…”

“Hm?”

He didn’t even have to ask - he could feel the way you were squeezing so hard around him, like you were trying to suck the fucking soul out of him. The way the only thing you could get out was his name. 

His perfect wife. 

Sobbing out, “Close! So close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

He was losing his fucking mind. 

Biting down so hard at the crook of your neck to keep himself from cumming before you, he moans deliciously, “Then cum. Fucking cum. Please- wan’ you to cum on my cock.” Wrists aching with how desperate he was moving, “Cum- yeah yeah yeah fucking- cum- Cum for your husband.”

Oh, if heaven was real then whatever was left of that part of Satoru that could still form coherent thoughts knew that this was it. 

Watching you fall apart like such a slut all over his cock. Not even realizing it at first - just that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, swollen lips falling slack, letting out such a pretty cry of his name that he can’t help but cum, too. 

You don’t know who’s more far gone - you, with your head spinning, a lewd little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time Satoru fucks you through your high. 

Or him, gushing out in thick, hot ropes of cum that overspill from your snug cunt. 

“So muchhh.” you whine, heavy head being held up by your husband. “S’too much.”

And he knew what you were talking about - because Satoru was cumming and cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. Because he was mesmerized by that creamy trail of white drooling down your folds, forming an obscene ring at those tufts of white at his base. 

“Too much?” Satoru hisses. “Too much?”

You can only give a barely-lucid nod, whimpering when he doesn’t ease up. Not one bit, in fact, Satoru was only abandoning the hand playing with your ravaged clit to press down on your abdomen. Hard. 

“There we hah- go. Better now?” The hand supporting your head forced you to look down below, at the sticky mess of white covering your cunt. Slobbering all over Satoru’s cock - even down to his thighs. “Now we got fuck- more space.”

You don’t even realize you’re scrambling away until Satoru gasps, panicked, “No no no- we’re not done, pretty. Fuckkk we’re far from done.” Fingers tightening around your neck to pull you deeper down his cock, holding you in place. Just dragging you along his length. “Gotta make sure it takes. Why else d’you think no one in the Estate will be back until tomorrow?”

He doesn’t wait for a response - not that you could give one, anyway, with how you were being fucked dumb on his cock again. 

A strong, powerful leg hooks around yours, pushing you down with his body weight. “So that we ngh- h-have enough time to prepare for my heir.” Weeping head grazing all those sensitive spots so expertly. “T-to plan and and- ruin you and- fuck you feel so good. They’ll be the most powerful- hah- jus’ watch. Those fuckers better w-wait and see.”

So debauched and fucked-out that you don’t even know what he’s running his mouth about now, just heavy, urgent words slurred into your neck while he fucks you just as sloppily. 

“Don’t know?”

Fuck. You said it out loud again. 

And the embarrassing realization has your eyes screwing open, gazing tearily back at an amused Satoru. Well, as amused as he could be when he was just as wrecked as you. 

Kissing your sweaty forehead, hips reeling back all the way until your cunt was missing the stretch - bucking traitorously against the fat mushroom tip grazing your entrance. Making a mess of precum down below.

“S’alright, pretty.” he groans, sandwiching his cock between your puffy folds. “Because you just have to sit there n’ ngh- take- it.”

If you thought that Satoru was broken before then he was absolutely ruined now. 

Because there was no reason or rhythm to his actions now - just mindless, feral movements to milk his cock as much as he physically could on your pussy. Running only on pure need and the thought of you round and so full with his kid. 

“Ah!” you’re startled out of your reverie by something wet. Whirling sluggishly to catch the tears of overstimulation brimming at Satoru’s heavy eyes - shit, you wondered if he even knew what he was doing at this point. “T-Toru…you- ngh- o-okay?”

The only response you get is an unsteady nod. 

“-the best.” he whispers, twitching balls squeezing so painfully with each slap against your ass. Faster. Absolutely soaked with the sinful concoction of your juices and his cum. “We’ll be the best parents- ngh-” And fuck it was so much - too much. Too good. Painful pleasure.

Enough that all it takes is another, sloppy thrust before he’s seeing stars behind his eyes again. Cock twitching wildly inside your cunt as Satoru shoots load after load of cum to paint your pussy white. 

So warm with his cum - him - that Satoru’s body moves before his mind. Pooling the mess down below to nudge back into your cunt. “C’mon, pretty, c-can’t get ngh pregnant if ya don’t oh- cum.”

And it’s so embarrassing how that’’s all it takes for you to reach your high with a strained, barely audible moan. Voice shot, your own orgasm nothing but a few tingles that have your thighs fucking back into Satoru’s. 

“Satoru- Satoru Satoru Satoru.” you mewl, big fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Birds of a feather, they say. 

Hypnotized. Drunk off the feeling.

And, evidently, Satoru was, too. 

“Pretty…” his voice rings in your ear. Tinged with a tone you know didn’t bode well for you - or your poor, overfilled cunt. Bloated and dribbling already. “Are- sure- ngh-” 

And with a jolt, you realize he’s still moving. Still pushing and pulling in languid, slow strokes. Thighs shaking as the fatigue wears on him. 

If anyone saw Satoru like this, they’d have a heart attack. Flushed your favorite shade of pink, the lower half of his body well covered with a sheen of your obscenities. Eyes teary with sensitivity, cock still twitching and so angry as he clears his throat and tries again, “Are we- hah- sure it took?”

“Wh-what-” you gasp, breathing in big, deep inhales. “Yes- yes yes- oh my god it’won’t-”

“It will.” Satoru’s interruption almost comes out as a whine. And he’s more sluggish, dazed when he flips you over onto your back again - not too difficult, with the way you were practically splayed out already. “Th-this pussy is made to take it, right? T-to be bred by me?”

It’s almost like Satoru was begging for confirmation, plugging back in the excess of what was leaking out of your abused pussy. It was spreading in a lewd little pool now, seeping into the non-existent space between you two.

But oh how Satoru loved it. Couldn’t tear his eyes off of it, in fact as he noses at your neck. Barely even thrusting anymore, just raw grinds, “Right? Gotta make sure- ngh- heir. Oh-”

He’s darting his tongue out to lick at the beads of tears streaming down your cheek. The salty taste on his tongue having Satoru’s hips stuttering forwards. Again. And again - alternating, not on purpose - between hitting your cervix and that bruised g-spot. “Gonna give me an heir? Ohhh fuck fuck fuck- lemme breed this cunt?”

You’re using up every bit of energy left in your body to give that slow, shallow nod. Which is all the time it takes for the pool to spread even wider. For Satoru’s fingers to stumble their way back to play with your clit. 

Rolling his thumb over in a harsh, uncalculated pattern - if you could even call it that, just jerky, obscene movements to get you off. 

And it works. Hell, the two of you are barely in the state of mind to even feel it. But he’s finally cumming again, and so are you. 

“Ngh- Fuck-”

With a loud, pained cry Satoru tightens his grip on your body like a vice. Raw, sensitive, overusing his cock until it felt so empty. Until you felt so bloated it was like you could explode - or maybe that was your own orgasm. “Toru- c-cumming.”

You’re not sure, anymore. And you don’t know if either of you could bring yourselves to care at this moment, not when your eyelids grow heavy. Vision tinging with black in the corners, and the only thing you could see was your husbands face - sweaty, eyes almost closed, kiss-bitten lips moving in a soundless whisper.  “-the best- momma.”

A/N. CLAN LEADER GOJO SAVE MEE. Oh yeah the “can’t get pregnant without the momma cumming” bit was based on this old tale I’d heard where people used to gen believe that. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[kissingmilfs]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 | 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

18+ minors please dni ✮⋆˙

✮⋆˙content warnings: somno, cnc, scissoring, pervert!sevika

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧

the sheets rustled as sevika groaned herself awake. she awoke in a cold sweat that made every piece of fabric cling on any patch of skin it could find. sevika has never awoken from such a disgustingly, filthy dream. but the longer she’s awake the further the dream slips away from her. the last affects of the sex dream remain though. her clit achingly throbs like a second heart. somehow throughout the night you had rolled into sevika’s chest and tucked your leg between hers.

sevika didn’t necessarily want to wake you for the sole purpose of getting off. but if she rolls her hips right—maybe she can get enough friction to come without rousing you. sevika’s arm secures itself tighter around your back. your breathing remains steady. sevika gradually shifts and rotates her hips until she’s positioned her pussy on the apex of your thigh.

burying her nose in the messiness of your bed hair—sevika takes a deep sniff. you smell like hers. cautiously sevika drags her hips tentatively across your thigh. she holds her breath—not knowing if you’ll wake. but you remain still. such a perfect little doll, sevika thinks. the metallic fingers of sevika’s prosthetic angles your thigh even more against her cunt. the pressure is almost enough. her hips heavily grind down again. no, that’s not it. it felt better dragging herself the length of your thigh. she opts to try that method again.

sevika’s body produces more of a sweat from her attempts to get off. it’s starting to frustrate her. but she needs you. sevika knows she cannot simply roll over and rub one out. her body craves you. sevika feels the beginning of an idea sparking. she carefully rolls you on your back, brushing some hair out of your face. her fingers pause mid stroke when you mumble. but nothing more happens.

humming to herself in contentment, sevika diligently parts your legs wider before kneeling between them. tonight is one of those nights sevika’s fucking grateful you sleep without underwear. she cannot even fathom why she argued over something as banal as this. her mouth waters at the sight of your pussy in the moonlight. blinking away the distraction, sevika wiggled her boxers off her hips. she sits down quickly to tugs them off and toss them somewhere.

sevika returns to her former position kneeled between your spread thighs. her hands soothingly run up the soft skin of your thighs. marveling at how remarkable still you are in your sleep. if sevika’s clit wasn’t so distracting the woman would take the time to get you properly ready. but she’ll have to make do.

shifting on her knees sevika widens them enough where she can easily reach her own cunt. her fingers thickly skim down her folds and she hisses at how sensitive she is. sevika isn’t thrown too off guard with the sheer amount of mess coating her fingers. she felt it when she peeled off her boxers. her fingers shine in the dim light graciously afforded by the moonlight through the sheer curtains. sevika didn’t even really need to prep you. her own wetness would be enough. but she cannot resist. sevika crotches forward. one hand, her metal one, sinks into the mattress while the other slowly drags her soaked fingers up the length of your pussy. she all but trembles with the sinful action. and the only reaction that comes from you is tiny whine. it’s not even enough to convince sevika your sleep conscious mind registered the sensation.

regardless sevika eagerly plunges her own fingers back into her overly sensitive cunt and only pumps them in briefly. she gathers, scoop one might say, a generous amount of her own slick once again. it’s far more than the first time. sevika’s fingers return to your pussy. it takes a few passes through your folds and over your hole for all of sevika’s mess to transfer. your legs only twitched once.

sevika hums her satisfaction. “you’re so perfect, baby.” she utters softly. “and i’m so sorry…but i have to. i need to.”

she positions her body opposite yours. her left leg slotted over your right. sevika’s fingers curl into the sheets as she wills her body to stop fucking trembling. sevika feels desperate. insatiable. her senses have never driven her to such extremes. never once awoken from a dream and sweating out the fever of a lost orgasm. she wishes desperately her fingers would work. but after years owning your heart, body and soul—sevika can never take herself there alone.

and it’s exactly why she’s angled her cunt parallel to yours. sevika knows within minutes of sensually grinding her pussy against yours she’ll be released from this agony. she holds back the groan of approval housed in the depths of her throat. you’re warm and still covered with sevika’s juices. and it seems her few passes made you wet on your own.

“my needy girl…” sevika whispers out as she finally begins moving her hips.

it’s not entirely the easiest orgasm. usually sevika can hold your hand or thigh for leverage. or position your legs wider or higher. but sevika can make do. especially when each brush over her swollen clit against yours sends a heated spark in sevika’s stomach. she can feel herself dripping out and making a mess of you. her hand eventually circles your thigh—bending your leg. and it works. sevika’s strength can easily hold this position. it gives her more breadth and her clit freely glides against yours.

sevika’s body builds up the familiar sensations of her orgasm. her toes curl and uncurl. the muscles in her abdomen almost hurt from coiled tension. then she hears your tiny whimpers. sevika’s ears cannot differentiate if it’s whimpers of pleasure or if you’re slowly waking.

“sev?” sevika for sure knows you’re awake. your voice is faint and whiney and she could almost miss it. sevika cannot fully see your face but she knows you’re sporting that confused pout. the one where your lips are so damn kissable and your eyebrows bunch in light whisper.

her hips don’t come to a full stop. sevika cannot bring herself to. “shh…it’s okay, baby. i’m almost done. i promise. i’m so close.”

your body barely registered sevika’s actions at first. you were waking up from a warm dream. a warm and tingly dream. your body had never felt so relaxed. you called out sevika’s name only because you hadn’t waken in her arms. it is only after sevika coos at you did the realization set in.

“mm..sev…” you whine out again. not in distress but because now you’re inappropriately horny. it is clear your body did not receive any release.

“i know, doll. i know. let me handle it, baby. i’ll make you feel good. i promise.”

[stromblessed]

Mizu, femininity, and fallen sparrows

In my last post about Mizu and Akemi, I feel like I came across as overly critical of Mizu given that Mizu is a woman who - in her own words - has to live as a man in order to go down the path of revenge.

If she is ever discovered to be female by the wrong person, she will not only be unable to complete her quest, but there's a good chance that she'll be arrested or killed.

So it makes complete sense for Mizu to distance herself as much as possible from any behavior that she feels like would make someone question her sex.

I felt so indignant toward Mizu on my first couple watchthroughs for this moment. Why couldn't Mizu bribe the woman and her child's way into the city too? If Mizu is presenting as a man, couldn't she claim to be the woman's escort?

However, this moment makes things pretty clear. Mizu knows all too well the plight of women in her society. She knows it so well that she cannot risk ever finding herself back in their position again. She helps in what little way she can - without drawing attention to herself.

Mizu is not a hero and she is not one to make of herself a martyr - she will not set herself on fire to keep others warm. There's room to argue that Mizu shouldn't prioritize her quest over people's lives, but given the collateral damage Mizu can live with in almost every episode of season 1, Mizu is simply not operating under that kind of morality at this point. ("You don't know what I've done to reach you," Mizu tells Fowler.)

And while I still feel like Mizu has an obvious and established blind spot when it comes to Akemi because of their differences in station, such that Mizu's judgment of Akemi and actions in episode 5 are the result of prejudice rather than the result of Mizu's caution, I also want to establish that Mizu is just as caged as Akemi is, despite her technically having more freedom while living as a man.

Mizu can hide her mixed race identity some of the time, and she can hide her sex almost all of the time, but being able to operate outside of her society's strict rules for women does not mean she cannot see their plight.

It does not mean she doesn't hurt for them.

Back to Mizu and collateral damage, remember that sparrow?

While Mizu is breaking into Boss Hamata's manse, she gets startled by a bird and kills it on reflex. She then cradles it in her hands - much more tenderly than we've seen Mizu treat almost anything up to this point in the season:

She then puts it in its nest, with its unhatched eggs. Almost like she's trying to make the death look natural. Or like an accident.

You see where I'm going with this.

When Mizu kills Kinuyo, Mizu lingers in the moment, holding the body tenderly:

And btw a lot of stuff about this show hit me hard, but this remains the biggest gut punch of them all for me, Mizu holding that poor girl's body close, GOD

When Mizu arranges the "scene of the crime," Kinuyo's body is delicate, birdlike. And Mizu is so shaken afterward that she gets sloppy. She's horrified at this kill to the point that she can't bring herself to take another innocent life - the boy who rats her out.

MIZU'S ONE MOMENT OF SOFTNESS AND MERCY, COMING ON THE HEELS OF HER NEEDING TO KILL A GIRL TO SPARE HER THE WORST FATE THAT THIS RIGID SOCIETY HAS TO OFFER WOMEN, AND TO SPARE A BROTHEL FULL OF INNOCENT WOMEN WHO ARE THE CASTOFFS OF SOCIETY, NEARLY RESULTS IN ALL OF THEIR DEATHS

No wonder Mizu is as stoic and cold as she is.

And no wonder Mizu has no patience for Akemi whatsoever right before the terrible reveal and the fight breaks out:

Speaking of Akemi - guess who else is compared to a bird!

The plumage is more colorful, a bit flashier. But a bird is a bird.

And, uh

Yeah.

I like to think that Mizu killing the sparrow is not only foreshadowing for what she must do to Kinuyo, but is also a representation of the choice she makes on Akemi's behalf. She decides to cage the bird because she believes the bird is "better off." Better off caged than... dead.

But because Mizu doesn't know Akemi or her situation, she of course doesn't realize that the bird is fated to die if it is caged and sent back home.

Mizu is clearly not happy, or pleased, or satisfied by allowing Akemi to be dragged back to her father:

But softness and mercy haven't gotten Mizu anywhere good, recently.

There is so much tragedy layered into Mizu's character, and it includes the things she has to witness and the choices she makes - or believes she has to make - involving women, when she herself can skirt around a lot of what her society throws at women. Although, I do believe that it comes at the cost of a part of Mizu's soul.

After all, I'm gonna be haunted for the rest of this show by Mizu's very first prayer in episode 1:

"LET" her die. Because as Ringo points out, she doesn't "know how" to die.

Kind of like another bird in this show:

[malewifesband]

EDIT: if this post has made you think about whether or not you are autistic, im really glad! i hope you get some better understanding of yourself and are able to find community and support

however before you go and tell a therapist and seek an official diagnosis please read this thread and consider the points made therein:

autism is highly stigmatized. be fully informed about what you gain and what you lose from having an official diagnosis before seeking one.

EDIT OVER ENJOY THE POST

people do correctly identify that laios is autistic fairly often but a lot of the reasoning begins and ends with his special interest and social difficulties, but honestly it goes far deeper into the build of his character than just those two things

his pain tolerance is wildly inconsistent, unable to tolerate a drop of hot oil (or any heat) but able to shrug off both his leg being bitten off and it being reattached

hes sensory seeking in the extreme. he rubs the bat bones against his face, pets and fluffs the shapeshifter tail.

his desire to eat monsters comes from three very autistic places. 1) the rules for why monsters are not okay to eat but animals are are arbitrary to him so he cannot follow them easily: he cannot understand the 'feelings' argument others make. 2) this too is a sensory seeking behavior. he wants to experience these new things, new flavors and new textures. 3) it completes his knowledge of the monster in question to also have data on its edibility. because he cannot draw that arbitrary line around all monsters, he wants to evaluate them case-by-case and see if real patterns emerge. butchering and eating the monsters improves his knowledge of them greatly and highlights their importance in their ecosystem, as well as making him a part of that same ecosystem

he cannot emote the way others expect him to. he compartmentalizes his feelings (to an unhealthy degree) because he needs a pragmatic solution. so as long as there is a problem to solve, that matters far more than evaluating his emotions and allowing himself to experience them. while this is also a coping mechanism for ptsd, it is a trait found in many autistic people regardless of trauma, as we have trouble sorting the feelings we have and often need time to think about what we feel, so it becomes easier to simply not do it and pretend we dont need to. laios emotions certainly affect him, with or without his processing them, but others do not see what they expect to see and thus dismiss that he is feeling what they would feel

he is incredibly gifted with pattern recognition, observation, and analysis within realms he understands. to understand subjects that dont come easily to him, he must filter them through his established schema (his special interest--this is why they are so special! they help us sort the world). when he isnt sure about the social cues and details hes observed in the shapeshifter arc, he filters it through the lens he understands best: monsters. he was making correct observations about his friends all along, but he could not be confident in that the way he was about their behavior when it came to his interest (chilchucks caution, senshis passions, and marcilles carelessness)

[mcmansionhell]

the motel room, or: on datedness

I.

Often I find myself nostalgic for things that haven't disappeared yet. This feeling is enhanced by the strange conviction that once I stop looking at these things, I will never see them again, that I am living in the last moment of looking. This is sense is strongest for me in the interiors of buildings perhaps because, like items of clothing, they are of a fashionable nature, in other words, more impermanent than they probably should be.

As I get older, to stumble on something truly dated, once a drag, is now a gift. After over a decade of real estate aggregation and the havoc it's wreaked on how we as a society perceive and decorate houses, if you're going to Zillow to search for the dated (which used to be like shooting fish in a barrel), you'll be searching aimlessly, for hours, to increasingly no avail, even with all the filters engaged. (The only way to get around this is locational knowledge of datedness gleaned from the real world.) If you try to find images of the dated elsewhere on the internet, you will find that the search is not intuitive. In this day and age, you cannot simply Google "80s hotel room" anymore, what with the disintegration of the search engine ecosystem and the AI generated nonsense and the algorithmic preference for something popular (the same specific images collected over and over again on social media), recent, and usually a derivative of the original search query (in this case, finding material along the lines of r/nostalgia or the Backrooms.)

To find what one is looking for online, one must game the search engine with filters that only show content predating 2021, or, even better, use existing resources (or those previously discovered) both online and in print. In the physical world of interiors, to find what one is looking for one must also now lurk around obscure places, and often outside the realm of the domestic which is so beholden to and cursed by the churn of fashion and the logic of speculation. Our open world is rapidly closing, while, paradoxically, remaining ostensibly open. It's true, I can open Zillow. I can still search. In the curated, aggregated realm, it is becoming harder and harder to find, and ultimately, to look.

But what if, despite all these changes, datedness was never really searchable? This is a strange symmetry, one could say an obscurity, between interiors and online. It is perhaps unintentional, and it lurks in the places where searching doesn't work, one because no one is searching there, or two, because an aesthetic, for all our cataloguing, curation, aggregation, hoarding, is not inherently indexable and even if it was, there are vasts swaths of the internet and the world that are not categorized via certain - or any - parameters. The internet curator's job is to find them and aggregate them, but it becomes harder and harder to do. They can only be stumbled upon or known in an outside, offline, historical or situational way. If to index, to aggregate, is, or at least was for the last 30 years, to profit (whether monetarily or in likes), then to be dated, in many respects, is the aesthetic manifestation of barely breaking even. Of not starting, preserving, or reinventing but just doing a job.

We see this online as well. While the old-web Geocities look and later Blingee MySpace-era swag have become aestheticized and fetishized, a kind of naive art for a naive time, a great many old websites have not received the same treatment. These are no less naive but they are harder to repackage or commodify because they are simple and boring. They are not "core" enough.

As with interiors, web datedness can be found in part or as a whole. For example, sites like Imgur or Reddit are not in and of themselves dated but they are full of remnants, of 15-year old posts and their "you, sir, have won the internet" vernacular that certainly are. Other websites are dated because they were made a long time ago by and for a clientele that doesn't have a need or the skill to update (we see this often with Web 2.0 e-commerce sites that figured out how to do a basic mobile page and reckoned it was enough). The next language of datedness, like the all-white landlord-special interior, is the default, clean Squarespace restaurant page, a landing space that's the digital equivalent of a flyer, rarely gleaned unless someone needs a menu, has a food allergy or if information about the place is not available immediately from Google Maps. I say this only to maintain that there is a continuity in practices between the on- and off-line world beyond what we would immediately assume, and that we cannot blame everything on algorithms.

But now you may ask, what is, exactly, datedness? Having spent two days in a distinctly dated hotel room, I've decided to sit in utter boredom with the numinous past and try and pin it down.

II.

I am in an obscure place. I am in Saint-Georges, Quebec, Canada, on assignment. I am staying at a specific motel, the Voyageur. By my estimation the hotel was originally built in the late seventies and I'd be shocked if it was older than 1989. The hotel exterior was remodeled sometime in the 2000s with EIFS cladding and beige paint. Above is a picture of my room, which, forgive me, is in the process of being inhabited. American (and to a lesser extent Canadian) hotel rooms are some of the most churned through, renovated spaces in the world, and it's pretty rare, unless you're staying in either very small towns or are forced by economic necessity to stay at real holes in the wall, to find ones from this era. The last real hitter for me was a 90s Day's Inn in the meme-famous Breezewood, PA during the pandemic.

At first my reaction to seeing the room was cautionary. It was the last room in town, and certainly compared to other options, probably not the world's first choice. However, after staying in real, genuine European shitholes covering professional cycling I've become a class-A connoisseur of bad rooms. This one was definitively three stars. A mutter of "okay time to do a quick look through." But upon further inspection (post-bedbug paranoia) I came to the realization that maybe the always-new brainrot I'd been so critical of had seeped a teeny bit into my own subconscious and here I was snubbing my nose at a blessing in disguise. The room is not a bad room, nor is it unclean. It's just old. It's dated. We are sentimental about interiors like this now because they are disappearing, but they are for my parents what 2005 beige-core is for me and what 2010s greige will become for the generation after. When I'm writing about datedness, I'm writing in general using a previous era's examples because datedness, by its very nature, is a transitional status. Its end state is the mixed emotion of seeing things for what they are yet still appreciating them, expressed here.

Datedness is the period between vintage and contemporary. It is the sentiment between quotidian and subpar. It is uncurated and preserved only by way of inertia, not initiative. It gives us a specific feeling we don't necessarily like, one that is deliberately evoked in the media subcultures surrounding so-called "liminal" spaces: the fuguelike feeling of being spatially trapped in a time while our real time is passing. Datedness in the real world is not a curated experience, it is only what was. It is different from nostalgia because it is not deliberately remembered, yearned for or attached to sweetness. Instead, it is somehow annoying. It is like stumbling into the world of adults as a child, but now you're the adult and the child in you is disappointed. (The real child-you forgot a dull hotel room the moment something more interesting came along.) An image of my father puts his car keys on the table, looks around and says, "It'll do." We have an intolerance for datedness because it is the realization of what sufficed. Sufficiency in many ways implies lack.

However, for all its datedness, many, if not all, of the things in this room will never be seen again if the room is renovated. They will become unpurchaseable and extinct. Things like the bizarrely-patterned linoleum tile in the shower, the hose connecting to the specific faucet of the once-luxurious (or at least middling) jacuzzi tub whose jets haven't been exercised since the fall of the Berlin Wall. The wide berth of the tank on the toilet. There is nothing, really, worth saving about these things. Even the most sentimental among us wouldn't dare argue that the items and finishes in this room are particularly important from a design or historical standpoint. Not everything old has a patina. They're too cheaply made to salvage. Plastic tile. Bowed plywood. The image-artifacts of these rooms, gussied up for Booking dot com, will also, inevitably disappear, relegated to the dustheap of web caches and comments that say "it was ok kinda expensive but close to twon (sic)." You wouldn't be able to find them anyway unless you were looking for a room.

One does, of course, recognize a little bit of design in what's here. Signifiers of an era. The wood-veneer of the late 70s giving way to the pastel overtones of the 80s. Perhaps even a slow 90s. The all-in-one vanity floating above the floor, a modernist basement bathroom hallmark. White walls as a sign of cleanliness. Gestures, in the curved lines of the nightstands, towards postmodernity. Metallic lamp bases with wide-brimmed shades, a whisper of glamor. A kind of scalloped aura to the club chairs. The color teal mediated through hundreds if not thousands of shoes. Yellowing plastic, including the strips of "molding" that visually tie floor to wall. These are remnants (or are they intuitions?) of so many movements and micromovements, none of them definite enough to point to the influence of a single designer, hell, even of a single decade, just strands of past-ness accumulated into one thread, which is cheapness. Continuity exists in the materials only because everything was purchased as a set from a wholesale catalog.

In some way a hotel is supposed to be placeless. Anonymous. Everything tries to be that way now, even houses. Perhaps because we don't like the way we spy on ourselves and lease our images out to the world so we crave the specificity of hotel anonymity, of someplace we move through on our way to bigger, better or at least different things. The hotel was designed to be frictionless but because it is in a little town, it sees little use and because it sees little use, there are elements that can last far longer than they were intended and which inadvertently cause friction. (The janky door unlocks with a key. The shower hose keeps coming out of the faucet. It's deeply annoying.)

Lack of wear and lack of funds only keep them that way. Not even the paper goods of the eighties have been exhausted yet. Datedness is not a choice but an inevitability. Because it is not a choice, it is not advertised except in a utilitarian sense. It is kept subtle on the hotel websites, out of shame. Because it does not subscribe to an advertiser's economy of the now, of the curated type rather than the "here is my service" type, it disappears into the folds of the earth and cannot be searched for in the way "design" can. It can only be discovered by accident.

When I look at all of these objects and things, I do so knowing I will never see them again, at least not all here together like this, as a cohesive whole assembled for a specific purpose. I don't think I'll ever have reason to come back to this town or this place, which has given me an unexpected experience of being peevish in my father's time. Whenever I end up in a place like this, where all is as it was, I get the sense that it will take a very long time for others to experience this sensation again with the things my generation has made. The machinations of fashion work rapaciously to make sure that nothing is ever old, not people, not rooms, not items, not furniture, not fabrics, not even design, that old matron who loves to wax poetic about futurity and timelessness. The plastic-veneered particleboard used here is now the bedrock of countless landfills. Eventually it will become the chemical-laced soil upon which we build our condos. It is possible that we are standing now at the very last frontier of our prior datedness. The next one has not yet elided. It's a special place. Spend a night. Take pictures.

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[maenefa]

Why does Eowyn want to die?

Because Aragorn won’t love her? Because she feels trapped in her feminine gender role?

These are the explanations we get in the text. However, none of the characters really acknowledge Eowyn’s darkest fear: being taken alive by the enemy.

There are some bad takes on Eowyn that boil down to patronizing her and downplaying the seriousness of her problems. People say that she had a naive desire for glory and Faramir teaches her that war isn’t actually fun. Then there’s the whole “Eowyn was a deserter who selfishly ran away from her duty” argument.

You can only say these things if you ignore how dire the situation was, how close Sauron was to winning, and how gruesome Eowyn’s fate would have been if he won. She knew that death or capture likely awaited her, and she knew that dying in battle was the least bad option. (She also knew her own worth and believed that she was too useful a warrior to be left behind with the civilians. And she was right.)

Eowyn’s actions are ruthlessly practical! She wants to die fighting because that’s better than waiting around for The Horrors. Let’s be real, Eowyn is too sensible to be suicidal over an unrequited crush.

Here are some of her most revealing quotes:

“All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honor, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more.”

“And those who have not swords can still die upon them.”

“Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter.”

“But I do not desire healing…. I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.”

In the end, Eowyn only stops wanting to die after Sauron is defeated. Just before the Ring is destroyed, she tells Faramir:

“I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom.”

Eowyn can’t turn to light and life until the war is over. Hope is too painful; death at least offers “honor and peace.” This passage is so important because it EXPLICITLY links Eowyn’s despair to the outcome of the war and makes it clear that she is not simply having a meltdown because Aragorn rejected her.

There are two important moments where Eowyn is threatened with violence. The very first time we meet her, we are told by Gandalf that Wormtongue planned to turn her into a sex slave after Saruman conquered Rohan. Even though this threat is dismissed quickly, it’s a disturbing reminder of what could happen to Eowyn if Sauron wins.

Then we have the most triumphant moment of Eowyn’s story: her battle with the Witch King. Once again, Eowyn is not threatened with death, but with captivity and torment:

“Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”

Eowyn laughs at him and makes sure to announce that she is a woman before killing him. Her victory is all the more satisfying because the Witch King has just threatened her with captivity, loss of agency, the violation of her body and mind—all threats that Eowyn has faced before. But the Witch King’s words continue to haunt Eowyn and us. He threatens to withhold death; and death is therefore framed as an escape, a gift. Eowyn is taken to the Houses of Healing, but she is obsessed with returning to battle and fighting until she dies.

When Eowyn says that she fears “a cage,” this is a brilliantly simple metaphor for the entire spectrum of oppression she has faced: from the well-meaning restrictions of her culture to the horrifying enslavement threatened by Wormtongue.

Once the war is over, Eowyn is able to laugh at her fears. She teases Faramir: “And would you have your proud folk say of you: there goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North!” Her fear of being caged has been turned into a bit of flirtatious banter. She feels completely safe with Faramir, and the idea that he “tamed” her is nothing but a joke between them.

[burymagdalene]

Chateau Lobby #4 - S. Reid x Reader

Whilst trying to navigate romantic relationships after prison, Spencer finds himself in love and caught in an all-too-serious non-relationship with reader. Wanting to break this streak, he asks to spend Valentine's Day properly with a real date. Afterward, they find themselves desperate with trying to express their love for each other.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut (18+ pls pls), fluff, and maybe a bit of angst at the start tags: switch!Spencer, blowjob, fingering, a bit of munch!Spencer, pinv sex, age gap (not explicit, but I was foaming at the mouth thinking about it while writing), praise, riding, creampie, lots of teasing and love… all that jazz. wc: 6.9k ;-) a/n: Happy Valentine's Day! I had to name this one after essentially the best love song ever. I kiss all of you!

Work is grueling as usual, couples flooded the diner you work at for their pre- Valentine’s Day festivities with flowers in hand and shit eating grins plastered to stay.

Yet, you’re off soon and you can taste your freedom just like the stale coffee you’ve been throwing back all day as the bell to the front door jingles with more fervor than usual,

“I want to take you out. Properly. Friday. It’ll be a good, proper, date. Yeah.”

You blink in bewilderment, apron tied around your waist as Spencer proposes your first actual date at the kitschy restaurant you work at. 

After Spencer got out of prison, his perceptions around a genuine connection in a relationship seemed to be as distant a reality as the person who he was before prison. Upon meeting you, a small radiant glow around you at all times as you poured him his coffee during his lunch breaks beckoned him into this altercation he’s in now with you.

The dull incessant nagging on his shoulder at all times whispering his new inadequacies in relationships has steered him into a solitude state he has never experienced before. You couldn’t possibly stoop so low to fall for an ex-convict? Would he even call himself that? Would you? 

Most importantly, he had no idea how to steer a relationship before this complete 180 in his life, and now he’s even more lost to the tenderness he’s craving so deeply it hurts to even give himself a taste of optimism within the relationship he’s developed with you.

Spencer has somehow held himself back from you in all these months in such a critical way that it has resulted in a bond which the concept of he’s priorly abhorred. You only have sex. 

Well, that’s kind of impossible for him. Only sex. But every time he’s seen you, been with you alone, it has led to sweat mingling and his dry whining. You two can’t help but to talk about your lives, your passions, can’t help but give each other sickening support and kindness that makes him nervously chew the skin of his thumbnail. 

Despite how much he thinks about something genuine between you two, in reality, he just gets scared. Simply put. He has seen and been through unimaginable horrors, it scares him to bare that to another person, to someone who brings aid to him. Pushing you away in any sort is not something he can handle, so instead he’s managed to come up with a only slightly agonizing set up for the both of you.

It’s better than confessing completely and inevitably driving you away with his damages. 

Except, this clearly hasn’t worked out. It’s February, he’s been seeing you every weekend for months and Spencer cannot bear the thought of taking all of your time like this and you getting nothing on Valentine’s Day. It sickens him, it strikes him one night. If you told him that some other guy you were seeing had put you in the exact situation he’s put you in, and you’re not even receiving flowers and an all expenses paid dinner on Valentine’s Day, he’d personally show up to his apartment and kill him.

 So he’s finally stepped up.

A sweep of bravery flooded his senses on his lunch break, and he was up on his feet walking to where he knows you are at this time without even thinking.

Your manager, however, was not as excited about this distracting public confession, and grumbled out a prompt for you to leave early before causing a further hindrance, and now you two are sitting next to each other on the curb outside. 

Spencer is staring holes into the side of your smiling face as you pick a loose string from your jeans.

“I can’t believe you asked me out at work,” you giggle and shift your gaze at him for a split second “didn’t really know if you even liked me.”

“What? Of course I like you, you’re the only person I spend time with.”

“Hm. Yeah, it’s just confusing sometimes. I really like you, but usually when guys like you back they want to take you out, ha.”

You end your sentence with a dry laugh that explains to Spencer how you’ve been feeling throughout the time you’ve been sleeping together. 

“I’m so sorry. I just- I thought it would be easier on you. Than for you to actually be with me. Why didn’t you mention anything?”

You sniff, like knowing that what you’re about to say is probably a bit too mean to say to someone who just asked you to be his valentine.

“Why should it be on me to say something, you don’t tell me anything. Nothing about how you feel about me, apparently. I never said anything because I was going to put up with whatever until you dropped me because I care about seeing you too much.”

That makes Spencer shift his gaze to his own knees in front of him.

“Yeah, I’m unfair. I guess I just assumed that because you’re more confrontational than I am.”

“Am I though?”

Spencer sighs, with how many times you’ve dogged on him for certain things he’s said or done, yes. But you’ve never really mentioned how the relationship was impacting you, it’s easier for you to bring up menial topics to him, he guesses. 

“No, you’re not.” He finalizes.

You huff out a laugh and place a kiss on his blazer-clad shoulder– a peace offering. Grabbing his arm, you pull his jacket sleeve up to check the time. 

“I’m gonna drive home before you have to go back to work. I’m sorry I was mean. I’m really excited to go on a date with you friday. I’ve never had a Valentine’s Day date.” 

Standing up, you brush off your concrete imprinted palms on the back of your jeans before tilting up Spencer’s chin (he’s remains utterly still sitting on the curb) to meet your gaze. He looks away slightly to your shoes and rests his forehead against your stomach, a wordless apology as he nods against you. 

Again, you place your palms to his cheeks to look at you, he’s always had a problem with maintaining eye contact for long periods of time.

“And…you mr. gentleman, are you excited to wine and dine me?”

Spencer’s kicked-puppy look dissipates as his love-struck smile takes its place.

“Yes. I actually think it’s going to be the best night I’ve had since… maybe since I’ve met you.”

Smiling, you’re satisfied.

“That’s right. Okay, Spencer. Thank you. I’ll see you Friday.”

You try to suppress your grin as you spin away on your heels, but Spencer catches it before you turn and it heats his frigid body from sitting outside for so long. How has he been so dumb all this time? Somehow it being easy with you, painfully easy to be treated tenderly by you, since the beginning has slipped his mind. Of course, an actual relationship with you would come as naturally as it has since you started. 

He’s never been so sure of it. 

✵

Spencers looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as the bouquet he picked up for you and the personally annotated book he’s giving you sit on his kitchen table, awaiting his arrival to put their still existence into motion. 

He knows you well, he’s intently stored away every single piece of information you have given him. He knows everything you’ve been through, the best day of your life, what turns you on so much you get embarrassed… so on and so forth. Yet, he’s staring at his pre-date reflection right now seeing how his face has drained of all color. 

The restaurant he picked has been mentioned by Rossi a few times as a favorite. Fancy, Italian, expensive, and Spencer was able to get a reservation by the skin of his teeth for Valentine’s Day because he (regrettably) had to pull a “I know David Rossi, yeah..” on the phone a few days ago. 

So he should be rather prepared, he knows where you’re going, he’s been on a date before, sure. Yet…

Spencer flicks off the light in his bathroom to force himself away from the mirror, agonizing over his face isn’t productive in the least. You already know what he looks like. 

He drives in complete silence to your apartment, he’s already anxious as ever and he has to be behind the wheel, which is not his forte. But the thought of seeing you in the passenger seat glowing after a fancy meal appeals to him so greatly his stomach swirls.

Spencer’s early, of course. He couldn’t not be. He was probably ready for the date 3 hours before the time he said he would pick you up at. With this day off he’s been able to sit and pace and freak out for hours. Great. 

When he knocks with the fist holding the book for you he hears frantic scrambling for thirty seconds or so before you swing the door open– 

“Spencer!” You gasp belatedly when you see the flowers, “oh my god! Come in, I need to put my shoes on and I’m good to go.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, so pretty…” Spencer mumbles against the top of your head when you pull him into a greeting hug.

“Mmm. Happy Valentine’s Day. You smell good.”

You can’t help yourself, wrapping your arms around Spencer’s neck and pulling him into a kiss immediately. All too easy, you’re used to your mouths working furiously together. It's like another language for you.

But Spencer is pulling away slightly, speaking against your lips, “I'm trying to take you on a date first.”

Groaning lightly you start kissing him again, resulting in his hands placed on your waist slowly peeling you off him. Spencer's hands and lips have a mind of their own though, his hands are firmly pushing you off as his lips chase yours as you separate.

Laughing, you tilt your head to one side to inspect him, “So after the date you’ll get me home by 8:00 and give me a chaste kiss goodnight?”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head at your toying. 

“If you’ll let me, I’ll fuck you after the date. But, sure I’ll also give you a chaste goodnight kiss, though it’s 7:30 so you can rule out being home by 8:00. Sorry.” He pulls in his lips and raises his eyebrows as if to say, that’s that. 

“If I’ll let you?”

“Right.”

“Mmkay.”

“And… if you like it I can do that again and again,” he chuckles and rubs his forehead with his palm, “and then I’ll take you on a second date.”

You avert your eyes to hide the tell tale signs of you flustered, hating whenever he gets the upper hand in flirting because you can not take it as well as Spencer can when you dish it out.

“Whatever-” whipping your head around trying to locate your shoes Spencer giggles under his breath, your presence has totally eased his nerves. He watches you pick up your heeled boots and he kneels slowly in front of you to place them on your feet.

“You’re sweet,” at your words Spencer smiles to himself and zips up the sides of your boots. “I’m so excited for the rest of the night if this is gonna be my treatment.”

“What? Princess treatment? You should be excited, I’m going to be cutting your food and feeding it to you.”

“Ooh. Waving me with a big leaf and feeding me grapes?”

“Something like that. Yeah.” He smiles and stands up, grasping your hands to help you up. “Very pretty. You look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful too,” you poke his side, “I love this maroon tie. I wish you would let me kiss you.”

Spencer sighs at your dramatics and cups your face for a soft kiss. You sigh into it and he kisses your neck once in finality. 

“Better?”

Smiling bashfully, you nod. 

✵

The looks of the restaurant struck you immediately, and there is a nervous prickling at your spine that happens when you’re in fancier places than you think you deserve– a feeling of being a persona non grata. 

To hide your insecurity, you grasp Spencer’s hand as he tells the hostess the reservation name and whistle lowly below your breath at the long draping lace curtains around the room and the barely-there candlelight illuminating the entirety of the restaurant. 

Sitting down, you immediately start the date with a joke that falls flat, “So, do you take all your ladies here on the first date?”

Either Spencer thought the joke was distasteful or he didn’t get it, either way he furrowed his brows and shifted his eyes to the side for a moment like he’s looking around for a translation from a bystander.

“No?”

“I’m just- yeah, I’m kidding. Sorry. I’m nervous.”

“I was really nervous before getting you tonight, my hair… I don’t know.”

“Ha, seriously?” Unbelievable you think, his hair is slightly wind ruffled and his curls look ringlet-y, you never could wrap your head around the tales of the plain mean teasing over his looks he’s lived through. “You’re extremely handsome, I tell you that.”

“You do. I wanted to impress you.”

“You do.” 

The whole dinner fills your stomach with butterflies that mixes extraordinarily well with whatever red wine Spencer ordered for the two of you. It has you leaning forward when you laugh, has you running your foot up and down the inside of his calf, causing his voice to spike up two octaves whenever you trail up slowly.

Spencer halts your movements quickly though, grabbing lightly at your ankle to stop its ministrations, making you hum around your fork and him roll his eyes light heartedly. 

The night was going very well once your romantic jitters melted away into a comfortability you felt you could only possess when around Spencer, something nobody else has given you before. 

It was utterly ridiculous, feeling so lovey dovey, you can see how the holiday has some emotional merit to it and isn’t just a capitalist money grab to drain the pockets of couples and make single women feel unworthy. Though maybe you’re just feeling that because you’re not on the victims end of the money grab, regardless…

On the other side of the booth, Spencer has been spiralling into a clusterfuck of thoughts around how much more deeply invested he is in you than he thought. You’re here though, you didn’t turn down his proposal and you kept mentioning how excited you are.

Still, every exhale out of his lungs is a shudder in fear of a looming rejection of an inquisition he’s not even sure he’s going to ask, or if it’s already set in place. Are you dating? 

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Um, ahh, um, are we dating?’

What an idiot!

You burst out laughing. Jesus, he must’ve been sick mulling over the aftermath of the date going back to your former dynamic of who even knows what. You couldn’t possibly live with the idea either, but are probably more keen on living in the moment than Spencer.

“You wanna date me? Be my boyfriend?” Your laughter is trailing off, but you have a smile as you say it from giddiness rather than mocking.

A gust of air then, “More than anything.”

The chilly air outside that was previously cooling both of your anxieties upon entering the restaurant meets the same warm cheeks for an opposing reason now. Hand in hand, you walk with full bellies back to Spencer’s car.

Filled with the first secure sense of trust and vulnerability in your life, hand in hand you swing your arms together like a lovesick teenager. 

All hesitation around what you could do or say to drive Spencer away flies out into the abrasive February air and off with the wind, so you ask, 

“When, if you know, did you first realize that you.. like-liked me?”

“Like-like huh? Haven’t heard that one in a while.” Spencer opens the passenger side door for you and guides you in with a palm on your lower back. He watches you buckle yourself in and leans his arms against the top of the car, looking down at where you’re seated he contemplates his answer seriously.

“I knew I like-liked you once I first saw you brushing your teeth in my bathroom the first night you stayed over. Hm. Yeah, I was watching from the doorway in awe, and seeing you do something so… banal, and it tearing me open. I wanted to see it every night.” He shuts the door and walks to his side as you sit staring out the window where he once was.

Spencer turns his car key, putting on your seat warmer before his own, and rubs your cheek with his thumb. “I really enjoyed myself tonight.”

“I first knew I loved you when you picked me up from work when it was raining. I’m not even sure what, but seeing your wet hair and maybe that getting your suit wet didn’t matter at all to you… I just felt so… I went home and stared at my hands all wet for like an hour. Then I woke up the next day with a cold, ha. I’m… so, yeah.”

You know what you said, you’re not shocked it came out and you didn’t want to really avoid it anymore with frivolous watered-down terms. 

Spencer laughs and places his forehead against the wheel at a stoplight. “You’re perfect. I can’t believe it, I’m so lucky and you’re so perfect and I realized I love you now in the same way I realized I did when you were in my bathroom. It feels the same.”

✵

Now you’re back at Spencer’s apartment. Head tilted up and pressed against his front door as he’s fumbling with taking off your coat while simultaneously kissing away your lipstick, it rubbing on his chin in a smudged crimson streak.

Your thumbs are looped through the belt hoops in his trousers as you’re pulling his hips against your own.

Spencer always has a way of kissing you that feels all consuming, and you think you cannot possibly kiss anyone else in your life without implementing everything you’ve learned about kissing Spencer. Every kiss in your future would be executed to roll Spencer Reid’s eyes back, you can’t possibly kiss anyone ever again.

Sucking on your top lip, he flings your coat to the ground and wraps his greedy arms around your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. 

It’s almost a grounding exercise within itself to make out with Spencer, you can’t possibly hear, feel, see or taste anything other than him when he’s this way. The universe exists solely between your lips and the way your overactive brains become a fuzzy-soft blend of peace when you’re passing your tongues between mouths is placating.

Still puppeteering Spencer through his belt hoops, you move him towards his worn leather couch you’ve associated his scent with. Spencer is sat with his legs spread open in a lazy manspread as you stand and look down at him.

“Should I sit?” You poke teasingly, knowing by the dick print shining through his trousers that he could beg for it pretty easily. Spencer nods slowly, pulling his hands from his sides to grab onto your hips to pull you down.

You stop him though, arm placed firmly on his shoulder, halting yourself from falling onto him. You would like to hear how badly he wants it. 

“Woah, tiger. I think I asked you something, no?” you’re laughing plainly at the grovelling face he makes that you know he doesn’t realize he’s making. Ever the overreaction. 

“Yes. You should sit.” He grumbles.

“Why?”

“Because I know how much you like to feel yourself against me when you’re needy like this, and…I want to do everything for you. Because if I don’t have you against me soon I’m going to fall apart.”

Sounds good enough.

Humming happily you straddle Spencer’s lap and reattach your lips onto his, welcoming the inevitable swollen look with no complaint. Without hesitation, you wiggle your hips contentedly against his crotch. Spencer's sharp inhale of pleasure never gets old. 

 Cupping your jaw into his warm hands he whispers against your lips, “This a good enough reason, or should I give you one more?”

Gasping lightly against the friction you’re creating you respond, “Sounds like you want to give me another reason anyway.”

“I can always feel the way you tighten your legs around my hips. It happens almost instantly every time… like you have to brace yourself to feel me against you. I can always tell how badly you want it.”

He’s mumbling against your neck as he says it, partly because he can feel your pulse race against his lips and partly to hide how red he gets when he feels brave enough to talk this dirty to you.

Once he starts sucking a mark onto the sensitive part of your neck, every nerve in your body is on high alert to each move he makes and you need to part, if only briefly, to regain your composure, you’re all too frazzled, a live wire.

“Spence, can I suck you off?”

The pained half-groan half-laugh Spencer lets out is exactly what you expected to hear as you crawl down on the floor between his legs, rubbing his thighs up and down with open palms. 

“Y-yeah. Um. Why should you, I mean, why should I let you?”

He’s failing miserably at trying to make a call back to your prior teasing, too impacted by the visual of you between his thighs to make a coherent, taunting remark. 

“Because I’m supposed to be getting the princess treatment.” You unzip his pants slowly while looking into his half-lidded eyes.

Your heart always flutters at this part. Before you find your usual rhythm you always assume that you’re going to forget everything you’ve learned about sucking dick and ruin the atmosphere, the pressure of caring is almost always crushing.

Still, you find yourself eagerly pulling his dick out of his underwear, and shuffling towards him more till your arms are overtop his upper thighs and the top of your head is brushing his lower stomach, which curls inward when you place kisses up his length.

“Woah-” Spencer whispers out as you continue to kiss him lightly. Instead of crudely grabbing your hair or face, his hands find themselves behind his head as he lengthens his body out like a cat sunbathing. 

Running the tip of your tongue across his frenulum, Spencer twists his hips to the side, trying to run away from the pleasure and as a result his cock wipes against your cheek. You grab the base now, keeping it steady so it’s not like you’re working on a moving canvas and take the tip into your mouth.

You place your tongue out, covering your bottom teeth enough so you’re comforted in knowing you’re not going to scrape him, and suck lightly while moving your tongue that's against the bottom of his tip in circles. 

“That’s! That’s enough, okay. Jesus.” Spencer says a bit too loud and jolts your system, which was just falling into a methodological pace.

Pulling back, you lick your lips and pull them into your mouth, tasting him even when he’s not in your mouth anymore and look at him expectantly.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean that. I was going to cum. You can keep going… only if you want.” He tries to save his little oversensitive outburst from mere seconds ago. 

Wordless, you move back to what you were doing. You want to listen to him a bit though, as a treat, so you take more of him into your mouth instead of focusing all of your energy on the most sensitive part of him. Spencer hums in content and his head falls back against the couch. 

A small trickle of your spit is slipping out and running down his cock, you always feel so embarrassed when it gets messy, you don’t know why, you don’t feel awkward at all when Spencer is going down on you so enthusiastically that you can feel his saliva running down your inner legs. 

Now you’re thinking about how good it feels when he’s going down on you. You whine softly around him and put a hand that was resting on his thigh to rub over your tights and underwear from where you reach under your dress.

Spencer was already close earlier, watching you try to touch yourself as you give him head is simply too much again. 

“Angel, d-done, I’m…okay-”

You pull off of him with a pop and the trail of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his dick stretches and breaks as you talk.

“Can we go to your bedroom please?” it's hoarse and rough but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Come ‘ere.” Spencer stretches out his hands to you so he can pull you up from his carpet. Tucking himself back into his underwear for some semblance of modesty, you two walk the short trip to his bedroom as you hold onto his arm.

Like it's your own, you jump and land on your back onto his comforter which all but swallows you whole as you relax against it, excitement thrumming through your veins as if your cells are chanting “my turn, my turn!”

Spencer lithely crawls on top of you, sitting on his knees as his thighs cage yours in. 

“You looked so pretty tonight, I’m almost mourning having to take all this off.”

“Almost, though.”

“Yeah, I know I’ll probably cheer up pretty quickly when I do, huh?”

You laugh and cover your face with your hands, it’s so stupid but he always makes you feel like you're melting all over when he’s being corny. 

Soon enough, Spencer is peeling your tights down with your underwear, and you’re squirming along with him while trying to help and shimmy out of your dress and bra. For a small second, Spencer pulls away to take off his blazer and roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Leaning down on one forearm by your head, he begins kissing you again. Your mouths work together as his other hand trails his fingertips incredibly light against your inner thigh. Biting down softly on his bottom lip, a plea. Spencer uses his middle and ring finger to gather your wetness up to your clit.

The circles he’s rubbing against you leave you moaning and whining against his open mouth as he kisses you through it, maybe throwing in a few “aw’s” or hums in approval as he continues to work his fingers against you.

You both know exactly where this is leading to, and he always has to thoroughly prep you so that you can painlessly take all of him. Those same fingers move against your opening now, Spencer places the middle finger against you and is met with little resistence, so he begins fucking you slowly with it.

Back arching up so your chests brush against each other, Spencer take’s your opportunity of bliss to slip in another finger, scissoring you open as wet sounds emanate between your thighs. 

With two of his fingers in you now, his efforts to kiss your lips have become harder than ever as you become more and more nonverbal and increasingly whiny. 

“Where’d all your teasing go? What happened to calling the shots?” Murmured at your chin as your jaw opens with a whimper. You shake your head, you can’t entertain this, he’s kicking you while you’re down and it’s not right!

Looking down, Spencer see’s your toes curling in and slowly pulls his fingers out of you, a loud suction-y noise following his absence. You blink your eyes open blearily, trying to refocus yourself and reorient yourself into this living plane.

Spencer has stealthily moved down to where your legs are spread open and he’s looking at you exposed with so much adoration in his eyes that even though you’re blinking away tears, you can see it clearly. He’s in love with you.

“Oh, please.” You gasp out, trying to cut to the chase before Spencer asks if he can eat you out. He smiles, and asks anyway to frustrate you good naturedly. 

“Do you want me to return the favor, my valentine?” he swoons.

“Yeah, uhhuh, please.”

“I saw you touching yourself when you were using your mouth on me earlier,” he moves his head between its rightful home in between your thighs, “were you thinking about how good it feels to be in that position?”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Lucky you then, huh?”

“M-mhm!”

He’s tired of hearing himself talking now, he just wants to be nestled into your pussy and let his tongue work you up in a more productive way than pitiful teasing.

With the palm of his hand flat against your very lower belly, Spencer simultaneously pushes down and up, exposing more of your clit to him and adding pressure to your stomach. He kisses your clit and pokes his tongue out as you lightly circle it as your hips squirm.

Intermittently, Spencer suctions your clit, pulls away completely, and goes back in to repeat the pattern. You’re smeared over his lips and chin and half convinced that he keeps pulling back to see your strings of come stick to his lips.

He changes methods, using his tongue to lick and suck at the source of your slick, nose prodding at your clit. You take it into your own hands to increase the stimulation on your clit as you rock your hips against his nose, Spencer muffles a moan into you.

Recognizing this, Spencer pulls back up to attach his lips back to your needy clit. Through his lips he’s running his tongue against you and the pleasure is unrelenting and intense. The exact stuff that makes you come.

“P-please stay there.” You manage to whimper out, the thought of him changing positions or rhythm is too scary for you to stay silent when you’re this close to finishing. You can feel him smile against you as he stays where you want him to.

Your hands reach for his hair as you thread it between your fingers, the silky stands grounding you to the bed before you prepare to come and fly out to wherever in the space-time-continuum Spencer takes you whenever he goes down on you.

Eventually, the pleasure gets to be too much for you to stifle and savor off much longer, you’re too greedy to ask him to edge you too. You don’t have enough willpower to put this off, you can ask him to eat you out for hours and hours some other day.

With one last suction, stars dance behind your eyelids as Spencer holds your hips down to suck off every last bit of come you have for him, trying his best to lick you clean when you finish all over his face. 

There’s nothing to do but take a slow deep breath in and a long deep breath out as you put the pieces of your brain back together. Once you do, Spencer is up by your face again as he was earlier while fingering you, and he’s palming himself over his underwear.

“Okay?” He asks through pleasure filled furrowed brows.

Nodding, you laugh, you can still feel yourself throbbing for Christ’s sake. Spencer nuzzles his nose against your cheek and kisses your jaw. You let your eyes close again, the feeling of his lips against your skin calming down your racing heart.

It’s a completely silent and peaceful atmosphere of Spencer kissing where he can as you come down until you feel his curious fingers swipe at your clit again. Immediately, your eyes snap open.

“I can’t- I can’t.” You bargain like your life is on the line.

Spencer pulls his fingers away for a moment, looking into your eyes and rubbing it once more as you gasp so hard a strand of hair in Spencer’s face blows to the side, he leaves you alone then.

You cannot fathom how Spencer is almost fully clothed right now. With shaky, malleable limbs, you pull him a bit closer to you and slowly pop each button of his top open. He’s watching your fingers work against his shirt as he continues to rub himself over his underwear gently.

Laying flat beside you know, Spencer lifts his hips up to pull his underwear down finally. Like a moth to a flame, you sit up and take him into your hand again, missing the feel of him hard against you, you note that you want to ride him more than anything. 

“Spencer, darling, can I ride you?”

For a moment he has an unreadable face, but you know that gears are turning in his head at such a rate that he can’t compute them into a response yet.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Spencer, darling, can I ride you for a bit?”

“Yes.” 

He responds just as you finish your sentence, eagerly pulling your wrist so you can straddle him again for the second time tonight.

Sitting right below where is cock is hard, you wrap your hands around him and place him up to your stomach, displaying how deep he’s going to be inside of you once you’re fully settled on him, at his dazed face you tease, “deep, huh?”

Spencer shuts his eyes in embarrassment, but his dick twitches and you smile down at it like it’s giving you Spencer’s insider secrets that he can’t say out loud. 

Lifting yourself up, you shakily rub him over your entrance a few times before sitting down slowly on his head. You both whine as you start, Spencer's hand on your hip rubbing circles while his eyes are still closed.

You want him to watch so badly. You sink down further, almost all the way with a small squeal that has Spencer’s eyes opening and his stomach tightening, checking to see if you’re in any pain. 

“M’ okay. Fucking big, can’t get used to it.” You trail off.

A light pink blush appears on his cheeks like your compliment had come from a sweeter, more innocent place in your heart. You place your palms on his chest as you take a deep breath in and sink down all the way. 

“Fuck- perfect. You okay?” Spencer speaks through his teeth at your whining as you accommodate him.

Again you laugh to take the fiery attention completely off of you, “So much dick.”

“Stopp.” Spencer whines. He feels so much like a dude when you compliment him like this, his ego doesn’t even know what to do with these extremely filthy compliments. He assumes you feel the same way when he’s fingering you and won’t shut up about how you feel and sound. 

Starting with small circles, it feels like Spencer is churning you as deliciously as humanly possible. The more small movements you give the deeper the need to actually ride him is, you stop holding back and start picking up your hips against his as your nails dig indents into his chest. 

Spencer’s singing out soft uh’s with each pass of your hips and you’re (unfortunately) not able to match his sweet pleads as you’re holding back full and embodied moans that slip out when you angle him perfectly inside you. 

You want to swindle it so that Spencer forgets about your prior compromise and lets you ride him till he’s coming inside of you, but when your hips stutter briefly with exhaustion, he notices immediately.

“Flip over.”

Pretending to be mad, you roll your eyes and lay flat on your back, the stretch of removing yourself from him making you suck in air between your teeth.

“Felt so good, did so good for me, please let me do that for you.” Spencer whispers into your ear as he positions you onto your side.

One of his arms from behind you is holding up your thigh closest to him, inadvertently spreading you open for him to be inside you once again. With one of his hands on your thigh and the other propping himself up for a good angle, you take matters into your own hands, lining him up with yourself again.

As easy as ever, Spencer pushes his hips slowly as he enters you from the side and your head falls to the pillow, allowing Spencer access to your ear and side of your neck.

When he finds his rhythm, he gets more confident, gaining his voice to mutter praises and filth into your ear as he fucks you.

“What’d I say? Told you I was gonna fuck you, jus’ had to be patient. Jesus, always so patient for me, with me. I’m sorry…”

You can tell he’s not exactly referring to his act of fucking you right now, moreso the push and pull he’s put you through for months. But it feels good to hear, Spencer's emotions are spilling out since he’s put out everything he’s felt for you on the table.

“Mmf. Would wa-wait forever-” You’re trying to be comforting, you’re getting your brains fucked out. The angle on your side has Spencer’s cock dragging along the front of your vagina, every single toe-curling spot is being rubbed relentlessly.

“Perfect. Perfect.”

The open mouthed kisses Spencer’s leaving on your cheek are wet and sloppy, but wholeheartedly welcome. With his face so close to yours his stubble is rubbing against you, making you whine.

Picking up on the way Spencer’s breathing becomes more shallow, you assume he’s pretty close. All night he’s been starving himself of this and you almost get excited for him, you’re too in deep.

Realizing he’s close after you have realized it, Spencer moves his hand from your inner thigh and starts rubbing your tender clit with his fingers again. Moaning loudly through a closed mouth, you let him this time.

You have to trust him to put you back together to your normal self after this though, you’re expecting a hard second orgasm and after how much the first one took you out, you have to brace yourself as you feel it brewing in the bottom of your belly.

Noticing how you’ve buried your face a bit more into the pillow and are trying to work on steadying your breathing, Spencer picks up quickly how you’re feeling. 

“I got you, you’re okay, you’re okay. I know…” He kisses along your cheek and with a squeak that makes Spencer’s own orgasm arrive, you throb around him and twitch in his arms as you come. 

He’s pressing his body into you as though he’s a weighted blanket, soothing the aftershocks that are thrumming through your entire body with his own. Spencer places his hand against your heart to gauge how you’re doing and begins peppering your skin with kisses.

“Do you feel good?” Spencer’s begun massaging your side and back softly, preventing any sore muscles from developing there before tomorrow hits you.

You come to yourself, before you had panicked, not sure how to trust Spencer completely with the vulnerability you were about to experience, but you’re fine. You’re happy. Coming harder than you have before is not scary because that’s exactly what Spencer wanted from you.

“Yes. I could cry.”

“Baby…”

Slowly you flip over to face him, a little teary but nothing streaming down your face as you plant a kiss on his lips. And then again.

There’s still a small lipstick stain on his jaw from when you were sitting above him on the couch earlier. You trace over it with your finger.

“You’re going to be finding hidden lipstick marks all over your body for weeks…” you smile and close your eyes.

“I hope,” he replies softly and earnestly, “I really like them. I really like you.”

✵

You’re both clean now. Showered and fresh as a daisy, you smell like all the products in Spencer’s shower and you’re standing behind him, arms wrapped around his waist as he dries off his hair in front of the mirror.

You can see his skin is tinged pink from the hot water, creating a sweet blush over his back and shoulders where you press your cheek against. With your skin soft and warm now, you think about the small snow flurries falling outside, how they mean nothing to the warmth coming off you and from inside you.

Spencer moves away from the mirror, allowing you your turn to get fully ready for bed. Taking out the “spare” toothbrush he has that’s essentially yours, you begin brushing your teeth. Feeling eyes looking at you from your side you turn to where Spencer is leaning against the wall and watching you.

Suddenly, you remember what he said earlier in the car, how he realized he loved you. You slow your brushing down and meet his gaze, sure that if someone else were in here to describe your looks it would be a cheesy “eyes shaped like hearts” moment. 

Your heart fills, the toothbrush clatters in his sink as you drop it and run over into his arms, placing kisses all over his lips and face, leaving small streaks of toothpaste behind. 

Through similar frantic kisses Spencer speaks in giggles,

“I still want to see this every night. I need to.”