#just woke up and i was like WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME

[tbaluver]

I Saw Mommy Kiss Santa!- The Love And Deepspace Men

in order: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader summary: your child(ren) caught you and santa kissing! genre: fluff fluff + silly + drabble a/n: hihi again lovelies ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ justt one moree holiday drabble just bc i love the holidays and i've always wanted to do holiday posts! this isn't proof read btw i had the idea written out and i wanted to make sure this gets posted before christmas at least- i hope you all enjoy reading and i hope you all have a happy holidays! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

it was well past midnight meaning it was officially christmas day. the cookies you and the kids had left out were completely gone, quite literally no crumbs on that plate and the glass of milk was left empty right beside it.

although xavier didn’t really like the idea of santa claus, he could tell how excited his boys were when santa was going to visit overnight. you had mentioned that they might try to peek, given how excited they were that they couldn’t sleep, so xavier thought it was a good idea to help keep the surprise.

however both of you didn’t expect that they would peek in the worst possible moment.

xavier had just finished placing the last presents under the tree while you were wrapping up the dishes you’d used to bake with the boys. as you walked over to him, you’d admire the scene he’d set up for them so perfectly, you couldn’t help but smile. it truly did look like santa had come.

you lean in to kiss xavier, his hands naturally wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. but little did you both know, your two boys had quietly sneaked down the stairs and were watching from the steps.

before either of you could react, they charged at xavier with plastic swords in their hands, ones that he had given them, and began attacking him. he was quick to stop them and the boys froze, their eyes wide in realization.

“huh? but we saw santa..where did he go?” the older one asked, clearly confused. their plan had failed.

“um.. ho ho ho? merry christmas?” xavier scratches the back of his head awkwardly as he sets their toys down on the couch.

“papwa where did santa go?” the youngest asked, his voice trembling as tears were welling up in his eyes.

“santa was in a hurry tonight,” xavier says softly, kneeling down to their level and pats both of his son's head. “santa was nice enough to lend me his suit..so i became santa’s helper.”

you crouch down beside them, trying to calm them down. “why did you attack your father? i’m sure santa wouldn’t have liked that.” you asked softly.

“we saw santa kiss you momma!” they exclaimed in unison.

xavier turns his gaze to, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “santa kissed you?”

you had to explain to xavier later that he was santa after you put the boys back to bed.

Zayne:

it was well past midnight meaning it was officially christmas. your daughter was tucked into bed while you and your husband just waited a little longer to ensure she was asleep before starting to make it look like santa visited.

your husband loved you and your daughter more than anything. which is why tonight he was determined to make it perfect and the reason why he was wearing the santa suit you had secretly bought him. it was an effort to see that big smile on her face when she woke up. however you try to hold back your laughter every time you pass by him in that red suit.

zayne used his evol to make a few final touches to the scene. he conjured up a powdery snow on the floor, carefully leaving footprints to mimic santa’s path. he made sure to eat the cookies and drink the milk that you and her left out, also leaving snowy handprints. zayne also made sure to leave a beautifully written thank you note near the empty plate, making sure it was written differently than his.

once everything was perfect, you leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around your waist, the other gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in for a soft kiss. as he pulls away, he whispers, “merry christmas my love.”

but neither of you were unaware that from the spot behind the stairs, your daughter had peeked through the railings, watching you kiss santa.

christmas morning

your daughter came running into your bedroom, squealing in excitement as she jumps onto your bed. she tugs both of you to get up as she drags you both down to the living room where a mountain pile of presents laid under the tree.

but there was a moment of hesitation on her face. you exchange a curious glance with zayne as your daughter stopped in front of the tree.

“what’s wrong dear?” zayne asked, kneeling down to her level.

she twiddles her thumbs nervously, her gaze darting back and forth between you and zayne. “well..” she hesitates, “i-i know i wasn’t suppose to be awake last night.. but i hear santa’s boots and i wanted to see if he was really there. and he was!”

you raised a brow, realizing what she meant. but you didn’t understand why she seemed so conflicted. “you heard santa? did he wake you?”

you daughter nodded eagerly, “yes i saw him! but..i saw mommy kiss santa!” her voice trembling.

you both froze for a moment, exchanging a look. zayne tried his best not to crack a smile but you could see the corners of his lips twitching.

“no, no hon,” you try to reassure her before it escalates to anything else, “i didn’t kiss santa.”

zayne nods along, “it’s true she didn’t kiss santa. she was just giving him a hug, my love.”

your daughter’s eyes widened with curiously as she darts her gaze between you and zayne, “really?”

zayne smiles softly, lowering himself to her height. “yes, mommy was just thanking santa for all the presents because you’ve been such a good girl this year.”

relief flooded your daughter’s face, making you both relax. her smile lights up the room as she threw her arms around you both, hugging you tightly. “yayyy! santa must like mommy a lot then!” she chirps happily.

“of course he does. now, let’s see what he’s brought you this year.”

Rafayel:

surprisingly it did not take you that long to convince rafayel to play santa. sure, it was meant for you rather than for the kids but he took the role very seriously even when the children weren’t evem around to witness it.

all he had to do was eat the cookies, stomp around in his boots to make sure the kids could probably hear him in the living room and neatly arrange the presents under the tree. but no, rafayel decided to go all out. and honestly, you couldn’t say no his dedication and work.

he starts by making a grand entrance, the sound of jingling sleigh bells ringing near the children’s room, only for it to backfire. the noise woke up the kids and they all debated if they should sneak out to see if santa was really here.

rafayel didn’t stop there just yet. he called a in a few of his friends, the seagulls, to nibble on the carrots left for the reindeers, making sure there were a few crumbs scattered to ensure they were eaten. he even made sure to leave tracks outside the house to show that reindeers were definitely there.

but that wasn’t the end of it. using powdered sugar, he carefully creates santa’s footsteps around the living room to make it look like santa himself had walked around and set up the presents. as you finished up filling the fifth stockings and stepped back to admire the scene, you couldn’t help but feel excited when your children wake up in the morning.

rafayel steps out of the powdered sugar footprints and saunters over to you with a playful grin. “well? give santa a kiss?” he says, spreading his arms wide. you rolled your eyes playfully but you couldn’t resist. walking into his arms, you lean up to press a soft kiss against his lips. his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer while the other tangled gently in your hair, deepening the kiss.

but before either of you could fully enjoy the moment alone, you heard a small thud and a very panicked rafayel. “hey!! glub glubs-!”

the kids had been watching the entire kissing scene unfold from the stairs and before any of you could react they rushed over, tackling santa rafayel. the squealing stopped abruptly when they looked up. their faces frozen in confusion as they realize it’s their father.

“fawther?” one of them asks, eyes wide.

“papa?” the other repeats, staring at him in total disbelief.

“you..you’re santa?”

rafayel sat up as he brushed himself off, “listen glub glubs..don’t tell anyone okay?” he winks at them, motioning for them to come closer. “you see.. us lemurians actually work with santa. we have an important job in making sure sharks don’t eat him if the reindeers fall asleep. and this year.. santa needed a little help making sure your presents came in extraaaa safely!” he closes his eyes dramatically while nodding. he knew he played it off well when he hears the kids gasp and squeal in excitement

rafayel grins, standing up and playfully ruffling their hairs. “yupp! now let’s get you all back to bed. ya know you shouldn’t be up right now or santa might come back and take all your presents away!” he teases as they gasp in unison, shaking their heads furiously.

“what if he comes back and kisses mommy this time?”

rafayel chuckles as he turns his gaze to you and raises a brow, “puh-lease. as if i’d ever let him.”

Sylus:

it was a few hours past midnight, meaning christmas had finally arrived. while your daughter was tucked in, you and sylus worked under the warm glow of the fireplace and the tree lights, setting up presents and carefully arranging them to make it look like santa paid a visit.

you thought it would be funny handing him a red suit and boots to stomp loudly on the floor but little did you know sylus had his own revenge. with a smirk, he hands you a silly oversized elf hat. ‘my perfect little helper’ he teases.

you carefully stuffed extra toys and candy into her stockings that hung over the fireplace as sylus made a show eating a few of the cookies you had baked together with her, making sure to offer you a couple bites as well. he made sure to leave her a special postcard for her and made sure to ‘accidentally’ drop one of santa’s golden bell.

when you both finished setting everything up, you stood back and admired both your work. everything was perfect and you couldn’t wait for your baby girl to see that santa had visited.

sylus slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close. he lowers his height and presses his soft lips against yours as you slip off the ugly elf hat he’d given you. but neither of you knew that your daughter along with mephisto was quietly watching from behind the banister.

her eyes widened in disbelief as she exchanges looks with mephisto. how dare santa make a move on her mommy? before either of you could react, she charges down the stairs.

your daughter rushes straight at sylus, who was dressed as santa while mephisto swung at you instead, squawking extra loudly as it flapped around you. your daughter tugs at santa sylus’s boots, wailing, “go away leave mommy alone!”

but when ‘santa’ crouches down at her, her eyes widened with shock. she realized that it was her father underneath the suit. he gently scoops your daughter up as he stops mephisto from attacking you. “what’s the matter, sweetie? you know you’re not supposed to be awake right now,” he says gently.

her eyes threatened to spill tears while her lower lip trembled, “i-i..i heard santa and I just wanted to see him! and then i saw mommy kiss santa!” she whimpered

sylus glanced at you with a raised row, trying not to crack a smile. “sweetie..don’t worry. mommy would never kiss anyone else but you and me,” he says softly, brushing her hair from her face. “santa knew you were awake, so we switched places.”

you daughter gasped, sitting up in sylus’s arms with wide eyes. she looked back and forth between you both, “waaowww!”

you were honestly equally impressed by how quick he had come up with an explanation and at how well he played along. “now, now..let’s all get some sleep and we can see what santa left us in the morning, okay?”

“yayyyy!” she cheered, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

[cattjull]

hii hehe,just before I request I wanted to say thaf I enjoy your fics a lot!! But do you think I could get Abby who gets home late fron partol to reader sound asleep but she’s just so needy and pent up from today patrol she can’t keep her hands to herself? It could be dom or sub doesn’t matter just need her to grind my ass

The promise.

a/n: I'm so sorry it took me forever! Also I suck at writing smut so I hope this lives up to your expectations. I'd really appreciate feedback from you!

cw: porn with barely minimum plot, somnophilia, ass humping (r!receiving), strap-on usage (a!receiving), dom!reader, sub!abby, hair pulling.

wc: 2200k.

As always, Abby had lost rock paper scissors against whoever-the-fuck it was this time. And as always, now she'd have to do the latest patrol, as you so much hated since you didn't have your pretty girl to cuddle you and help you sleep.

Now, Abby was frustratingly getting ready for patrol. As it was spring, she didn't need to put much clothes on. Easier to take off. You stared at her up and down as she took off her pajama shorts and tank top, leaving her in only her underwear. She acted so nonchalant while you were getting wetter and wetter with every single move she made, it was frustrating.

"You look so hot." You praised her, looking up at the big woman from your place on the bed. Your voice came out sultrier than ever, you were so turned on.

The look in your eyes, fiery, almost predatory, didn't go unnoticed by Abby. She carved a need in you so effortlessly it almost scared her, like you would never get tired of playing with her pink little hole. It was also one of the things she loved about you.

Abby's initial instinct when she noticed the tone in your voice was to look at the clock in your bedside table. She was already late.

"We can't, babe." She warned you as she put a grey tank top on that hugged her figure and made her biceps stand out.

"Why not? You'll be a few minutes late." You insisted with fake innocence, sitting up and already taking off your shorts.

"Last time you said that you tied me up for three hours." She retorted sternly as she finished pulling her pants up, trying to sound resentful as if she hadn't loved it. You snickered internally at the memory.

"You should learn about forgiveness." You said with a roll of your eyes as you took Abby's your oversize shirt off.

"When I get home you can fuck me." She promised you with a smile, showing her eagerness in her oh so beautiful eyes.

"But it's like... Three hours!" You complained. "I'll have to wait too much." You pouted slightly.

"Go to bed early, yeah? I'll eat you up as soon as I come back." The golden haired girl asked you gently, about to close the door behind her instead of giving up to your desires.

"No, baby, I promise I won't." You reassured fervently, even if she was asking for quite the opposite.

"I'll wake you up." She promised, as many times before.

"You're lying." You accused her, seeing right trough her lie.

Abby always told you white lies, and it was irritating at times. Telling you she'd wake you up when she came from a late patrol, saying she's not injured, lying to protect your poor heart. But it felt just annoying sometimes, so annoying you wanted to push her against the nearest surface and finger her until she forgot her own name.

"I'm not. I'll wake you up, yeah?" She insisted softly.

You wanted to make sure she woke you up this time. You sat up and walked to her, holding her hand and bringing specifically her middle and ring finger to your cunt. You moved your panties to the side and massaged yourself with her fingers, wettening quickly due to the slick that formed just by just seeing her changing clothes.

As you did that, you stared up at her, looking right into her blue eyes.

"You'll wake me up, will you?" You asked as you rubbed her fingers against your clit desperately, making you gasp.

"I..." She was at loss for words; you never failed to turn her on. "I will." She affirmed, a bit more surely this time as her voice turned breathy.

She quickly pulled her hand away from your underwear and walked out quickly before the temptation took over her and you found yourself dressing up again with annoyance.

You'd stay up, waiting for her. You'd show her.

Abby entered the house, tired from staying up for so long. Luckily she was not hurt; she didn't even face any infected or scar. It had been a quiet and unnecessary patrol, but at least she had had Manny by her side to keep her awake.

Even if in the first hour of patrol she had been eagerly thinking about coming back home and riding your thigh, or taking your fingers, or whatever you wanted her to do, she was too tired to wake you up and have sex. You could do it in the morning, like always.

That's the opinion she maintained until she opened the door to your shared room. There you were, as beautiful as a devil, sleeping like an angel. The only piece of clothing you had on was that lacy g string she loved so much, face down with a pillow between your legs. Her pillow.

All the neediness you gave her before patrol came back and crashed her down like a tsunami, drowning her in lust at the mere sight of your sleeping form as the ache between her thighs returned.

You had, indeed, did that on purpose, ensuring you fell asleep on that position.

She wouldn't wake you up, not when you looked so tired... She would be quiet, and gentle. Your ass was already up, maybe she could hump it. You had done the same with her other times and she woke up, but that was because she was a light sleeper... It wouldn't be the same for you.

As she finished reasoning, she quickly walked to the bathroom to clean her hands and came back to the bed. In a record time, she got rid of her boots and clothes, trying not to make any noise.

She jumped to the bed beside you and started rubbing slow, strong circles around her pulsating clit while she stared at your sleeping self, all quiet and pretty. It was all good until she realised she needed more.

Then she tried straddling your thigh and grinding on it. After one or two minutes, she gave up. It wasn't good enough.

She finally moved to your ass, which provided her the firmness she needed, the flesh being jiggly and perfect for her to ride, as if your ass was made for her to grind her pussy against it.

Time passed by as she grew needier and faster. Her pace slowly but surely grew rougher, her whimpers louder, and you already were soaked with her juices and she wasn't even that close to cumming.

A particularly rough grind, followed by a loud cry of your name, abruptly brought you back to lucidness. You felt Abby's weight over you, and at first you just didn't care. You fucked her when she wa asleep, she did too. No worries.

But then you remembered her promise.

The way she was using your poor sleeping body for herself, not even deigning to keep her word and wake you up to fuck you made your blood boil. How could she break such an important promise?

You waited until you felt her get weaker, her hands trembling at your sides. That's when you shifted, trying to get up and ruining her orgasm, what left Abby frozen in a mix of excitement and fear. You could be dangerous when she wasn't good or honest.

She immediately got off of you and you turned around, feeling her wetness all over your right buttcheek.

"I thought I told you to wake up." You reminded her, your voice already threatening even if you were still under the effect of sleepiness.

"Babe, you looked so peaceful sleeping..." She excused herself, her voice trembling and breathy. "I just wanted to cum." She said weakly with those doe eyes you loved, rubbing her thighs together as she tried to get back the pleasure she was feeling a few moments ago, but it was no use.

"Ass up now." You commanded, opening the drawer to take your clear strap. You quickly put it on, adjusting it, and climbed to the bed. You were still sleepy.

By the time you had finished adjusting it, Abby was already in her fours, back arched and her big, juicy ass on display just for you.

"Hmm, and now you're pretending to be a good girl." You said mischievously as you kneeled in front of her. "But I don't think you were. You promised to wake me up." You brought it up again, your voice cruel as you held the fake dick in your hand and introduced her in her mouth.

She tried to talk, but all that came out was a choked gagging. You took the strap out, wettened by her saliva in a way that made your walls clench.

"I'm so sorry. Didn't want to disturb your sleep." She gasped out, seemingly desperate for you to use your strap in her cunt and not just making her suck it.

"Too late." You retorted, and she knew from that tone in your voice that she wouldn't be treated any nicely.

"Please fuck me." She begged you, staring at you from her position.

"I was already planning on doing so." You admitted, your voice softening for a moment. "But first, suck it." You commanded, pushing your dick into her mouth roughly; she barely had time to open her mouth.

You spent around three minutes just making her suck your strap, making sure she got desperate. You didn't feel anything but an almost nonexistent brush against your clit, but the sight of her swallowing as much as she could from you almost made you feel like the silicone was a part of you, filling her mouth with precum.

Your clit pulsed so violently that you just pulled her braid back to stop her. You leaned against the headboard, still kneeling.

"Please." She pleaded almost religiously, as she should. Her blue orbs stared right into your soul, filling it with a sinful mix of compassion and lust. You would've loved to make her suck your strap and beg for you much more, but you also needed her. You yanked at her braid a little harder, earning a soft moan from her throat.

"There's no please. If you want me then fuck yourself on me." You replied simply in an icy yet mocking tone, hoping to fullfill your own needs.

She turned around and positioned herself with her ass right against your strap. She started moving up and down, letting the tip of the silicone rub against her, making her even more wet than she was already from her previous orgasm.

She then finally let your dick slide easily inside of her, letting out a soft whimper of relief.

"You're so wet." You mocked her.

"I just missed this..." She sighed out as she started bouncing back against you, using enough force so she was hitting your clit just the way you needed it.

Her braid was right there, adorning her back, inviting you. You yanked it back, drawing out a gasp from her and seemingly motivating her to get herself off on you with more force than before. Her pace was slow, but firm. Her ass bounced and slapped against you in that way that would leave you dazzled and drooling every time.

She grew needier and needier as time passed by, becoming more desperate and unable to speed up due to the position in which she was. You noticed she was close to cumming, probably due to her own arousal rather than because of the little amount of pleasure she was receiving from you.

You noticed her legs started trembling. That's when you placed your hands in her waist and started slamming your hips against her with no mercy, not only for her but also because you needed more friction against your clit.

You felt so close now that you were the one strapping her and not her fucking herself on you since you could apply as much force as you needed for the base of the strap to rub your clit just right. Your climax was slowly approaching you, and so was Abby's.

You started thrusting faster and harder. Since the whole time you hadn't made a move, you had enough stamina to fuck her as hard as you wanted, slamming into her walls rapidly.

"Can I... Babe..." She cried out loudly, clearly affected by your pace. Your hand gripped the back of her hips tightly, moving them as you pleased against you to get that sweet relief you needed.

"Yes! Oh my god, Abby, yes!" You screamed, already cumming. A loud moan followed by a trail of curses came out of your mouth as you moved faster, riding out your orgasm.

Abby's orgasm crashed her like a wave, slow but intense enough to drown her in pleasure.

"Fuck! Yes baby there there there...." She begged until she started babbling stupidly, encouraging you to push the strap deeper and deeper inside of her pretty pussy.

You kept going and ruthing your dick into her at that same relentless pace until she started sobbing and gripping the bed sheets hard. You weren't really into overstimulation; seeing Abby uncomfortable made your heart twist and clench and want to stop working. So as soon as you noticed her orgasm had already gone, you gave her one last thrust before sliding out of her entrance and kissing her cheek.

"Eat me out as you promised and we'll go to sleep, alright?" You asked demanded her sweetly.

[kbstanny]

Treatment (Zayne/Reader)

✿ Fandom: Love and Deepspace

✿ Pairing: M/F

✿ Tag: NSFW

✿ Mentions: smut, mild injury mentions

✿ Word count: 5,051

✿ Summary: She had no choice but to see Dr. Zayne for treatment after a Wanderer left her injured, but his cure for her anguish wasn't quite what she had in mind.

✿ A/N: Hey! This my first fic on this website, and it's on a game I only started playing a week ago 😭

Because I'm a new player, I don't really know the world or the story very well, so if there are inaccuracies then you know why. However, I've also avoided specific plot details for this very reason.

I hope you enjoy!

Damned Knave.

She tightly gripped the gash on her thigh, limping her way down the dark deserted path. She'd received reports of disturbances down at the old munitions factory and had gone to investigate. Wanderers had been sighted after hours, so she'd gone late into the evening, and solo, as her ever-elusive partner had been unavailable. She'd handled herself fine, but a rather tricky Knave had managed to cut right through the top of her thigh.

Once she eventually hobbled her way to a street lamp, she could investigate her injuries properly. Shakily, she removed her blood-stained hands from the wound, then hummed — It didn't look too severe. The gash was long, but not so deep, stretching from her inner thigh up toward her hip. The blood made things a lot nastier than they needed to be, and the pain was bearable, at least for now. She'd hail a taxi and treat the damage at home, and if it didn't feel much better by morning, she'd consult her physician. But Dr. Zayne was a last resort.

Once morning came, she did not feel better.

The pain woke her up before her alarm did. It stung intensely, and the surrounding skin was hot and numb. Clearly rubbing alcohol, a cocktail of painkillers and gauze wasn't going to cut it. Carefully, she unwrapped the bandage to take a look at her injury — it still didn't seem too bad. Inflamed, a little gnarly, but far from incapacitating. Just painful. But she'd faced foes much fiercer than some stupid Herte Knave, and obtained injuries far more gruesome. For now, she'd suck it up. She had a job to do.

—

"Oh my god!" Tara gasped. "When did that happen?" Her friend asked her, leaning in to the picture on her phone. She'd snapped the pic before getting ready for work this morning, thinking it would be a funny story to tell to Tara at the office. But her friend's reaction was a little more alarmed than she'd anticipated.

"Last night, at the factory. There were some serious beasts down there, but you wanna know caused that? A Knave of all things." She chuckled, shaking her head. Tara didn't look so amused.

"Aren't you hurt? Have you been to the doctor?"

"It's just a scratch, Tara, I'll be fine."

"That is not just a scratch! That needs stitches!—"

"What needs stitches?"

Captain Jenna approached the two, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She had a scrutinising look in her eye, one that said 'Why are you chatting and not working?' It reminded her of her old teachers.

The hunters were silent, looking between each other. She shot Tara a warning look, but Tara ignored it, turning the phone to face Jenna. "This does."

Jenna leaned in, her eyebrows raising, breaking her steely expression. "Why yes, it does... Is this you?" She looked to her, and she sighed softly, a little embarrassed.

"Yes, but I feel fine. I promise. If I didn't, I'd take the day off."

"Have you had it treated?" Jenna cut to the chase.

"...No." She admitted, and Jenna sighed.

"Well go. At once. That could easily get infected." The captain straightened up, her tone commanding. There was no room for negotiation. "Honestly, I thought you'd have more sense than to leave an injury like that unattended." With that, Jenna walked away. She waited until her captain was out of sight before standing and addressing Tara.

"Did you really have to snitch on me?" Though she already knew she would — anything to impress Jenna. Tara gave a sheepish look.

"Well I had to do something! I'm only looking out for you." But she pat Tara's shoulder, shaking her head and smiling.

"I know, I know, you're right... as usual. I really shouldn't ignore it. Thanks Tara." Tara gave a knowing smile.

"I am usually right! Now go and see Zayne. He might be a little scary but he knows what he's doing." They both chuckled at that.

Tara knew what her friend was hesitant to admit: It wasn't that she was ignorant of the risks of open wounds, nor was she a particularly nervous patient. She just didn't want to see Zayne.

Not because the doctor was in any way cruel or unpleasant, he wasn't even scary as such. But the doctor was so cold, and the icy chill of his eyes permeated her core with a mere glance her way. Zayne had been an old forgotten friend, a dear one, but now he was a figurehead for her ailments. All that time they'd spent together as children seemed meaningless now. They couldn't have drifted further apart. Zayne was a bad omen, and a sign her past had been well and truly shattered.

But that was only half of the reason. The other reason, the more embarrassing one, was that she found Zayne stupidly attractive. Not only because he had the face of an angel and a body carved from marble, but for his work ethic, his dedication, his intelligence. And of course, she couldn't help but feel sentimental toward him over the time they'd spent together as kids. She yearned to reconnect with him. He had a potent effect on her. When she was near him, his mere presence was enough to suck the words out of her mouth, to reduce her to a shrinking violet with no resolve. Like a silly teenager with a crush. And that wasn't like her at all. She hated not having control.

She wasn't certain whether the feeling was mutual. There was something about the way that he looked at her, on occasion, that made her heart flare up. Sometimes she thought he had a tenderness to his tone that he just couldn't have used with everyone, but maybe that was wishful thinking? His concern for her health and wellbeing seemed obsessive, too. Never had her previous physicians been so zealous, but Zayne was a renowned surgeon. Perhaps it was just a sign he was good at his job, and nothing more? She didn't know, and she didn't like thinking about it.

With a deep breath, she rapped on the door to his office. With any luck, he'd be busy, and she'd be forced to return to HQ and schedule an appointment the long way.

"Come in." He answered — Damn.

She walked inside, standing by the door with her hands behind her back. Zayne was busy typing away at his computer, and he hadn't even spared her a glance. She hadn't realised she'd been quiet until Zayne spoke up again.

"Can I help you?"

She snapped out of her daze. "Yes, if you're not too busy. I injured myself while dealing with a Wanderer. I was hoping you could take a look."

It was upon hearing her voice that Zayne decided his patient was more interesting than his computer, and he turned to face her, scrutinising her slightly crooked form, and the way she carried her weight. He thought for a moment or two.

"Your left thigh." How did he know that? She looked down, but her injury was completely concealed, and no blood had seeped through her clothes.

"Yes, how did you—"

"What happened exactly? Take a seat." She nodded, heading to sit down on the chair opposite the doctor, but he shook his head.

"Not there. On the examination table."

"Right."

As she sat down, Zayne quickly punched one final sentence into the keyboard, before turning to face her, waiting for her answer.

"It happened yesterday. A Wanderer, as I said." She clarified, and Zayne hummed.

"So the Wanderer attacked you directly? You didn't sustain this injury through any other means during the battle?" She shook her head. Zayne made a note of this on his computer.

"And do you have any other injuries?" She told him no again.

"Alright. I need to examine you, if that's okay."

She nodded, looking down to where her legs were outstretched on the table, before coming to an awkward realisation: She was wearing pants. She couldn't just pull her skirt up, she'd have to strip the item off entirely.

"Yes, of course." She began to fiddle with the button to her pants, before Zayne stiffened, taking the curtain that surrounded the table.

"Tell me when you're ready." With that, he shut the curtain around her. She released a sigh of relief, grateful for the privacy, though she felt a little stupid for not closing it herself. She wasn't sure how she'd compose herself having to undress in front of him.

Once her pants were off, she came to a second mortifying realisation: Her underwear. The item was black and lacy, made from sheer mesh, hardly concealing her delicate areas. The type you'd wear for a lover, and not at all the sort of thing you'd wear to work. But she'd washed all of her more practical undies yesterday, and thanks to one pesky Knave, hadn't found the time to dry them before morning. If she'd known she'd be stripping down in Zayne's office for an examination, she would have stopped off at the shops on her way to work to buy something cheap and appropriate. Hell, she probably would have bought boxer shorts.

"Shit." She hissed under her breath.

What would Zayne think of her? Surely he'd think it was deliberate. She'd approached him for treatment, and she just so happened to be wearing semi-transparent lingerie? There was no way he'd find that coincidental. He'd think she was some sort of pervert. Was it too late to get out of here?

"Are you alright? Or are you struggling to get changed?" Zayne asked from the other side of the curtain. Her chest felt tight — how long had she been sat there worrying?

"No, I'm fine. I'm ready now." She panicked, blurting out the words despite herself, cursing internally as Zayne pulled back the curtain. The doctor said nothing as his eyes drank in the sight of her, nor did his expression give anything away — Not that she'd know, she avoided his gaze like the plague, staring intently at the floor. But despite his composure, Zayne certainly noticed her indelicate attire. And despite his healing instincts, and the rather prominent gash on her thigh, her panties were the very first thing that held his attention.

Zayne sat beside the bed, on the side of her injured leg, leaning in close to the cut. He took a long look at it, reticent as ever, before finally meeting her gaze.

"What time did this happen yesterday?"

"In the evening."

"And you didn't think to call me when it did?" Zayne pressed. Her words were trapped in her throat for a moment, before she finally pushed them out.

"Well... no. It was late, and it didn't seem so bad at the time."

"It's never too late to check yourself in to a hospital." Zayne stated the obvious. "Whether I was available or not, you should have had this seen to immediately." His tone was stern, his stare unwavering. She said nothing. "When something like this happens, you need to call me, no matter how late it is. I'm your primary care physician, it's what I'm here for. And if I can't see to you personally, I can find someone who can."

"I understand. I will do, next time."

"You really ought to take your health more seriously. You have a duty, as a hunter, to protect people. Lives depend on you. And you can't protect anybody if you can't take adequate care of yourself. Being anything less than thorough with your wellbeing is selfish, and neglectful of your duties." His words made her brows furrow, a mixture of annoyance and shame, but she still didn't respond.

"Injuries sustained through Wanderer attacks are more susceptible to infections. Some are serious, and fast-acting, as you should well know. I cannot stress enough the importance of getting wounds like these seen to as soon as possible—"

"I know, Doctor." She interrupted, a little snappy. "I told you already. I will next time, and I'm here now, aren't I?" But did she have any right to be annoyed with his tone? Deep down she knew she didn't, that she was only being stubborn, but she couldn't help herself.

"Please don't be so reckless next time." Zayne asked her, his tone softer, his eyes so tender she couldn't stand to look at them anymore. She couldn't take it when he scolded her.

The doctor sighed softly through his nose.

"This will need sutures, but I'll need to clean the wound and check for signs of infection first, which requires a physical examination. Is that alright?" His words nearly made her melt.

"That's fine." She composed herself well enough for an answer.

Zayne brought a gloved hand to her thigh, and although the gesture was purely clinical, she couldn't help the heat that rushed to the spot between her legs. His hands were cool, and his touch gentle, so gentle that if she closed her eyes and pictured a different context, it could've been a loving caress. Zayne pressed his fingers firmly against her thigh.

"Does that hurt?"

"No." She answered honestly. Zayne repeated the motion to the space surrounding her injury, his fingers travelling in a small circle, starting from the bottom of the cut, until they creeped inwards. Zayne gently pulled at her thigh, widening her legs as he continued his examination. She was trying her best not to react.

She cast her gaze downwards, to the fingers between her legs, and her heart dropped. From this angle, under the stark white lights, she was clearly exposed. Nothing was left to the imagination. She was so embarrassed she nearly screamed, looking to Zayne to try and gauge his reaction — but she couldn't. He was too focused on the task at hand.

Her breath became shaky as she observed the way he prodded at her, how his fingers crept ever-closer to her arousal. Just one budge in the opposite direction and those tough, broad hands would be swept over her cunt. Imagining how his fingertips would tickle the mesh of her panties was enough to make her wet.

She heard her name in the recesses of her mind, and then again. Only the second time did she realise it was coming from Zayne's lips.

She snapped back to reality, looking back at him with eyes wider than intended. He stared back at her with a cutting gaze.

"I asked you whether it hurt, where I was touching you." He repeated. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was a few moments before she could cough the words out.

"No— no, sorry. I was a million miles away." She chuckled sheepishly.

Zayne looked back at her, giving nothing away. How exciting, he thought, that he could tell exactly what was going through her mind, yet she didn't have a clue what he was thinking? Zayne was extraordinarily good at hiding his emotions, but his patient? Not so much.

She was embarrassed, that much was clear. Whether the lingerie was a wardrobe malfunction or a bold decision she quickly came to regret, he wasn't sure.

What was also clear was that she liked it — what he declined to express was that he did too.

How could he not? If it were anybody else, he wouldn't give such scandalous attire a second thought. As a doctor, he was indiscriminate; a body was just a body. He'd seen the hidden corners of countless beautiful women and it never swayed his commitment to his work or hindered his professionalism — not once. But she was different. Surely, despite how reserved he was, she could tell that she was different? That this tension between them was all but ordinary?

"I don't believe you have an infection, but I'd like to see you in a week for observation. If anything changes, let me know immediately." He told her, his tone as stoic as ever. Yet his hand lingered at her inner thigh, so close to her cunt she was sure he could feel the heat through his gloves. Eventually, he did move his hand. Despite his feelings, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

Zayne then proceeded with the usual cleaning and dressing procedures, and she suppressed a hiss as he swabbed the wound with antiseptic. During this entire exchange, she'd been uncharacteristically quiet, whereas Zayne was as quiet as usual. The silence was unbearable, she wasn't sure she could ever recall a time where she'd felt so awkward that it hurt. Her body was so tense, and her lust swelled so needily that she couldn't suppress the words that left her mouth next.

"I'm sorry about the underwear." She blurted, her apology cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. But it didn't take long for the searing metal to scorch her skin — she regretted the words almost the moment she'd said them.

Zayne paused, placing down the suture needle he was prepping before staring straight back at her. There was a hint of mirth behind his eyes, that came into fruition through a small, teasing smile.

"Don't apologise." His tone was gentle and neutral.

Did he say that so things wouldn't be uncomfortable, or because he liked the look of them?

"I didn't wear these because I knew you'd see them, all my other pairs hadn't dried. And I wasn't even going to see you in the first place, I only did because Jenna told me to!" She couldn't help but explain herself, a grimace on her face, but Zayne remained quiet as he brought the needle to the cut.

The anaesthetic numbed the pain. She felt uncomfortable again, with Zayne's sudden silence. She wondered whether he'd respond at all, whether she'd made things too awkward, but Zayne was simply mulling over the best thing to say.

"You don't usually wear lingerie to work, then?" He enquired, meeting her gaze once he'd pulled the stitch through. She chuckled bashfully, dipping her head.

"No. Never. They've been irritating me all day." Zayne hummed at this, continuing with his sutures. "Why, would you prefer it if I did?"

She wasn't sure where such boldness had come from. Likely it was that her lips below were talking for the ones above, despite how twisted up she felt inside. Yet again, she quickly regretted her pitiful attempt at flirting, until Zayne seemed to bite.

He met her eyes again, his smile wider now. He loved seeing her so playful. "I'm not sure I can come up with an answer that's both professional and true."

Her desire burned at his words, so brightly that she swore she could feel a hole forming in her chest. She clenched, unwittingly, never had she been so eager to feel him. A Cheshire-cat smile stretched across her face, the type of smile that she was sure made her look silly, yet Zayne found it endearing.

She began to laugh, though at first it was deep in the pit of her stomach, and Zayne continued with his work. But she couldn't help her laughter, the swell of emotions overtaking her. Embarrassed, yet immensely satisfied. How unexpected that things were beginning to work out for her?

Zayne finished the sutures, gathering fresh gauze as he began to dress the wound, amused by her reaction. "Do you truly find me that funny?" He asked in a level tone, and her laughter died down so that she could respond.

"Zayne, you are the furthest thing from funny." Though she didn't elaborate, as there was no need. Her belly full of butterflies was clear without words. The doctor hummed and finished dressing the wound.

She watched him as quiet settled over them again, but this time it wasn't an awkward silence. Instead, it was charged with sexual tension. Zayne stopped looking at her thigh in favour of the warmth between her legs. He stared, unabashedly, and the look on his face struck a bolt of fresh arousal through her heart.

He took his gloves off, then slowly, he reached over, tracing his fingertip over the lacy edge of her underwear. "Why do you have underwear like this anyway? Do you have a partner?" He asked her. She thought he sounded almost a little possessive, but it was clear another man in the picture wouldn't stop him anyways. His eyes flitted up to hers.

Her face felt hot at the question. Goosebumps prickled up across her skin in an instant, her cunt twitching from the subtle contact. "No."

"No?" He tested, taking his finger directly over her heat, stroking it up and down over the thin mesh of her panties. He could feel her wetness soaking through, and the way she twitched under his touch. "Then I'm right to assume that these are only for me?" There was a mischievous glint in his eye, one that she mirrored.

"That's right."

Her answer pleased him. She spread her legs a little wider, resisting the urge to moan despite the fact he'd hardly touched her. Zayne slipped his fingers beneath her underwear, finally feeling her properly. The sensation made her gasp.

He merely trailed his touch along the length of her cunt, between her folds, sticky with her slick. He was teasing her, taking his precious time as he lapped up the look on her face.

"You're already so wet."

His voice was collected. He was completely in control, while the woman at the end of his fingers was quickly unravelling by the second. She said nothing, releasing a shaky breath. Zayne stood, sitting opposite her on the table.

He took his fingers from the lips below to the ones above, tracing them gently, before taking hold of her jaw. He pulled her forward, and their lips collided in a greedy kiss. She poured her desire into him, clasping him tightly, pulling him closer, her eyes clenched shut as he expelled the tension from her form.

Yet Zayne, as always, appeared composed. He parried her hungry affections effortlessly, his grip on her jaw becoming firm. Zayne led the charge, as he guided her lips against his, eventually setting their pace. She slowed down to appreciate him, but before long the kiss was broken. Zayne pulled away with a soft smile, his lips a little puffy as he pressed them chastely to her cheek.

He brought his fingers to her lips again. "Suck them for me." His command was gentle without losing its timbre, and she obeyed, sucking on the digits without question, briefly, until he pulled them out of her mouth. Zayne brought his wetted fingers back to her cunt, pulling her underwear to one side and sticking his fingers firmly against her.

She huffed at the sensation. His fingers were still a little cold, warmer now thanks to her mouth. She clenched, feeling empty, needing him inside of her.

Zayne rolled his fingers over her clit, and not too slowly, which took her by surprise. She moaned already, widening her legs for him. He wore a focused expression, lust sparking beneath his pointed gaze.

He sat more comfortably between her legs, taking her thigh, before inserting a finger into her cunt. She whined, though she was wet enough to offer no resistance. He pushed it deep inside of her in one, smooth motion.

She clenched tightly with her core, as if to hold on to him, wanting to keep him inside of her, sighing as he pulled his finger out, only for him to add a second.

This was a tighter fit. She moaned, trying to keep her voice down, angling her hips up to feel him better. Zayne slowly began to pump both his fingers, up deep inside of her then down to the tips. The friction of her walls against him was marvellous.

"You feel wonderful." He told her, his eyes locked on hers, fixed on every micromovement. Everything about her, from the sound of her voice, the small parting in her lips, the sight of her so uninhibited before him — it was poetry in motion. This woman, as capable and stubborn as she was, was helpless at his touch.

I do feel wonderful, she thought, scoffing at Zayne's compliment. She felt blissful, like a ball of a thousand knots had at once been untied, releasing a deep strain she'd been harbouring in her stomach. Ever since she'd reunited with Dr. Zayne, those ties had knotted. Every time she'd seen him, the palpable tension between them had grown and grown. Until now.

Zayne sat up straight, then hoisted her up, taking his fingers out briefly to pull her panties off entirely, carelessly discarding the item on the floor. It was only a momentary distraction — soon Zayne's fingers slipped past her walls yet again, though this time he was positioned beside her, his other arm hooked around her waist, holding her close.

He pumped his fingers faster, his motions mechanical, his rhythm never wavering, and she struggled to contain the sound of her mewls.

"Shh. You need to be quieter." He hushed her, gently. "As much as I love hearing you, the walls here aren't so thick." He managed a chuckle, dipping his head to her neck, pressing a short trail of kisses down its length. This made her shiver

"That's— that's the wrong way to get me to be quiet." She scolded, playfully, matching his smile. Her words were breathy and choppy from her efforts to conceal her pleasure.

"Noted." Zayne turned her head toward his, then caught her lips in another kiss, one more frenzied than the first. Zayne used his lips to muffle the noises coming out of hers, eating every moan and whine she poured into him. He pushed his fingers as deep as they could reach inside of her, stroking her walls with a beckoning motion. Meanwhile, he played with her clit with his thumb, breaking their kiss to observe her reactions.

She looked divine. Her lips were wet and inflamed, dripping with saliva, her hair tousled, her expression languid. And he could see how she tried so hard to keep quiet for him, how her whimpers bubbled in her mouth, how hard she breathed through her nose. She felt she must have looked silly, but Zayne didn't think so at all.

"So you can do what you're told?" He teased, sounding more playful than she'd ever heard him. She huffed at this, far too wound up to retort.

He suddenly began to pump his fingers again, faster than before, which took her time to adjust to. She gasped, but caught most of the sound in her mouth, her eyes fluttering shut.

She could feel her climax swelling. It couldn't be far away. Her body felt tight and hot, her face clenched with the torment of having to keep quiet. She held his hand, leaning into him, her movements becoming fidgety as she tried to channel her stimulation. Again, she clenched at Zayne's fingers, bucking her hips to take more of them. Seeing her so desperate for him was so exciting.

"You're doing so well." He didn't tease her anymore, cooing into her ear. His husky tone was enough to make her moan again, that one slipping right past her defences, ringing loud and clear. Oops.

She bit her lips, flashing Zayne an apologetic look, though he didn't seem to mind, nor did he slow down. Another pang of pleasure rippled through her, and at that she knew it was time.

"Zayne— I'm close—" She just about choked the words out, her hand coming to clamp her mouth shut. Somehow, in the heat of things, she'd forgotten she had that option.

He sped up a final time, his fingers flashing in and out of her with a series of thick squelches. Zayne fingered her like a machine, one clever in its design — to be so quick and accurate without being brutal. She felt her whole body tense, a flush of great heat washing over her, choking out her gasps as she buried her head in Zayne's shoulder. Then, at once, she reached her release.

Her body quickly went lax, the heat and strain fizzing out of her, skin tingling. It took her a few good gasps to regain her composure, eyes slowly opening. When she looked down, the light sheet on the table had been soaked through with her release, her legs glistening with sweat. Slowly, Zayne pulled his fingers out of her, earning a whine from the weary woman. He brought those fingers to his lips, sucking away her juices.

He sent her a smile, pulling her against his chest. "Did you like that?" Surely the answer was obvious, and she sent him a look that spoke a thousand words. His smile deepened. "I'm glad."

"I hope I wasn't too loud..." She mused, looking to Zayne, who leaned in to press a soft kiss to her temple. A delicate gesture that made her heart stir.

"You were. But don't worry about it." She scoffed at that, too tired to do anything but listen to him. Before she could return the favour and get Zayne off, she needed a few minutes to gather herself.

But Zayne didn't seem the least bit concerned about his own satisfaction — seeing her hit ecstasy was all he needed. He rubbed at her inner thigh, the one that wasn't injured, giving her a slightly regretful look.

"I have an appointment in twenty minutes, so unfortunately you're going to have to leave soon." The words weighed heavy on her chest, even though she knew that was stupid, nodding at Zayne with a cheeky smile.

"That's not a problem, I can make it quick." She reached over to the tent in Zayne's crotch, but he took her hand, moving it away.

"I can sort myself out." He assured her. She couldn't help but feel a little rejected. Sensing this, he stroked her cheek.

"You can make it up to me another time." They both smiled at that, staring at each other for what felt like hours.

"I'll never avoid making an appointment again."

They probably would have kept staring if it weren't for the startling knock at the door, and the concerned voice of one of the nurses that followed.

"Doctor Zayne? Is everything alright in there? I heard a lot of noise!"

[julymusings]

I just can't get the idea of soulmate!jason where you share scars out of my head. Jason is a canvas of scars. We all find them beautiful and wouldn't judge him even if we were held at gun point.

But imagine you were getting those scars at the same time he was... it would be hard. Of course you are worried about your soulmate, but when you wake up with a permanent, very purposeful J branded onto your face, can you really tell me you wouldn't be embarrassed to go outside? Afraid of meeting your soulmate who seems to be either a criminal or in a very dangerous victim situation? Would you not be even a little angry that now your face is ruined?

(I know there is makeup, but we are ignoring that for a second)

Yes, you share these scars with your soulmate and somewhere along the line you'd find peace with them. But in the moment when you look in the mirror and find an autopsy scar... I can only imagine what you would feel.

Oh, and poor Jason. He would never be able to forgive himself. He probably wouldn't even realize he has a soulmate because if you get a scar he wouldn't notice it beside all of his.

This isn't a request. I just wanted to share my thoughts and hear yours.

Oh absolutely. I’m wondering exactly how far the scarring would go— would you have burns from the explosion? Do you wake up covered in bruises from the crowbar? A bump on the bridge between your eyes from a broken nose?

I imagine you’d be pretty resentful toward the universe if you woke up with a J branded on your face and marks from injuries that aren’t yours all over your body. And finding the autopsy scar?? Grieving someone you don’t even know? How would you recover from that? Especially so young; Jason died at 15, so you’d probably be around the same age. Imagine going into school like that. Teenagers are awful. They take one look at you and assume you’re bad news, because why else would you look so roughed up? Stay away from people like that, their parents whisper through side-eyed fear. Whoever your soulmate is, you hate them at least a little bit.

And if you follow the storyline where the pit heals all of Jason’s scars from joker and before, imagine waking up one day, almost two years later, and everything’s just gone. Would it be relieving or terrifying? But then you start to get some more, different from the old ones but it’s still as if they never left. Callouses on the pads of your fingers from squeezing a phantom trigger. Slices on the tip of your ear (Jason narrowly dodged three daggers launched by a furious Damian after he accidentally stepped on Titus’ tail). Is this some kind of joke? Is your soulmate pool confined to a singular street gang that gets into the same fights every night? (Luckily open wounds are few and far between now. Maybe it’s professional fighter who finally invested in some body armor, your friend jokes.) At least there’s no branding this time. I guess whoever they are, they’re better protecting their face this time around. Either way, it doesn’t matter. You’re not sure you want anything to do with them anymore. Who’s to say someone hurt this bad is capable of not hurting you?

But he is, he’s so capable and deserving. It breaks your heart to learn the origins of those marks you stared at in the mirror, judging and hating. If you thought having those scars was hard on you, he must have felt it tenfold. You try to act like it never bothered you, but you both know it did. The look on Jason’s face when you absentmindedly mentioned you never really made friends until college because everyone saw you as unapproachable in high school— it took a full week of loving reassurances on your part and therapy sessions on his to get back to your normal.

But sharing his scars helps, even if just a little, in understanding every part of him. You understand his loneliness and fear because you felt it too. Some nights you swear you can feel the trace of a burning knife down the front of your torso, or bits of glass piercing your palms, so you know. You know that ice packs help with the ache, that aloe vera gel soothes the itching irritation from tiny cuts, and regular Hatha Yoga provides just the right stretch to loosen aching joints. He gives you a funny look when you gift him an aloe Vera plant for his windowsill, but says nothing, agreeing to take care of it when you ask him to keep it alive. One night you notice him repeatedly rubbing his red, burning palms down the front of his jeans and lead him to sit down before taking a clean knife and slicing off one of the stems, cutting it open to spread across his cuts. That silent statement of understanding, of seeing him in a way no one else does, has him welling with tears.

So, sure, having to grow up with only signs of him, not knowing who he was aside from anonymous messages on your skin was pretty difficult. But now when you trace across the bridge of his nose over the line of jagged skin, he can do it right back to you, and both of you can’t help but feel a little grateful.

I think I went a little off topic idk man I was just saying stuff but I love the idea of soulmate!jason where you get each other’s scars and that results in you feeling the same/similar but lesser symptoms of them and therefore knowing how to deal with them for him without him having to tell you🤭if someone wants to write a fic like this I will gladly read it

[eideticmemory]

SCRIBE | SPENCER REID

You: I need someone to document everything I say.

Spencer Reid: Done.

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: Older!Reader, FamousRealityStar!Reader, Fuckboy!Gradschool!Spencer?? My brand I guess?? PreBAU!Spencer. And smut of course!!!

There is a perpetual knot in your neck. You cannot remember the day you woke up with it, but when doctors ask you about it, you estimate that it’s been there for about two months. Around the time the current season went on air. It is located between the base of your brain and your shoulder blade. It’s hard to raise your right arm too high. It is prominent and sharp at the most inconvenient times and only rests when you are asleep.

Today, it is giving you a migraine. You are slurring your speech in interview from interview, only halfway focused on each person. Each bright eyed, ivy bred, I-Am-The-One candidate with words per minute as high as 290. You are sitting at your desk, elbows resting on the glass as you rub the back of your neck, grimacing.

“Are you having a stroke?” Spencer asks.

“What?”

“Are you having a stroke?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Um…concern?”

“I’m not having a stroke.”

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Good.”

You shake your head, “How many words did you say you can type a minute?”

“Oh, like, on the computer?” he asks. You actually look up at him when he says this and he is chiseled in the face. Leaned back in his seat, his head held up by his hand. “Like…70, maybe?”

You look him dead in the eye and say, “70?”

“Yeah, around there.”

“Around there?”

“Plus or minus 5.”

You take a deep breath and your head hurts. You put both arms on the desk and ask, “What’s your name again?”

“Spencer.”

“Spencer, right,” you nod. “How, exactly, did you make it to the interview round?”

“Oh, I slept with your personal assistant. He’s a fiery little guy.”

And for a second, you think about Luke, you look at this pretty little boy and you think that it is plausible until Spencer says, “Oh, my god. Is that really all I had to do?”

You’re stunned, and you keep having to shake your head because there is no way this interview is happening.

“I have an eidetic memory. I don’t need to type. I just stand there and look pretty. Kinda like what you do.”

“Bite me.”

“Sore spot?”

“Okay, thank you for coming,” you say and you start to get up from your chair. Your head hurts with movement.

“Are you having a stroke?”

You stop in your tracks, you look at him, and with every fiber of your being, you say, “What?”

“Are you having a stroke?” he continues. “Why would you ask me that? Um…concern? I’m not having a stroke. Oh, okay, good. How many words did you say you can type a minute? Oh, like, on the computer? Like…70, maybe? 70? Yeah, around there. Around there? Plus or minus 5. What’s your name again? Spencer. Spencer, right, how, exactly, did you make it to the interview round? Oh, I slept with your personal assistant, he’s a fiery little guy. Oh, my god. Is that really all I had to do? I have an eidetic memory, I just stand there and look pretty, kinda like what you do. Bite me. Sore spot? Okay, thank you for coming.”

You stare at him.

“And the conversation repeats from there,” he nods.

You continue to stare and he says, “I know. It freaks people out. But I thought, hey, a job as a scribe. I’m perfect for that. I’m not that ugly I can be on TV-“

“When can you start?”

“O-oh,” he stutters. “Start? I can start tomorrow.”

You pick up the stack of applicants on your desk and drop them in the trash and tell him, “Luke will show you out.” And you go home to take a nap.

This is the one interaction in your life that was not filmed. Figures. Something of substance, something truly integral to the coming months of your life and it is done in private. How it should be, supposedly.

On Spencer’s first day, you are negotiating with Vogue. Vogue. The crew is there an hour before you. And he has the nerve to show up in sweats. A slutty little shirt with sleeves that cuts off at his elbow. He has prominent blue veins that run down his forearm and he is unbelievably pale today. His hair is disheveled and he walks in with his hands in pockets. Truthfully, there has not been much contact between the two of you, most communications running between him and Luke, who has a massive crush on Spencer.

He’s just so magnetic, Luke says. And the fact that he couldn’t care less is just soooo attractive.

But he’s a dick. He says to you, “You look professional.”

“You look sloppy. Did no one send you a dress code?”

“No, just a tax form.”

You roll your eyes, “Someone needs to dress you,” and with a snap of your fingers, you call, “Marcie!”

“Do you always snap at people like dogs?”

Marcie dresses Spencer in spare clothes. A nice button down and slacks. There are no spare shoes in his size so he has on his sneakers. He is sitting at the meeting room roundtable and from the waist up, he looks a bit more distinguished. He has bags under his eyes that have to be touched up with makeup.

You sit down beside him, because, after all, he is your backup here. He leans over and whispers, “Is every day like this?”

“Every minute, pretty boy, keep up.” You rub the back of your neck.

“Oh,” he smiles at you. “You think I’m pretty?”

You give his question some thought, get nervous when the two of you make eye contact. And then the cameras are rolling.

For most of the meeting, Spencer is leaned back. His eyes flicker from person to person, from camera to camera to you.

His eyes fall on you a lot.

In the weeks to come, he is, surprisingly, good at his job. He submits transcripts at the last minute, and he still hasn’t nailed the A-List dress code, but his work is immaculate. With every day, every week, every month that goes by, there is a new reason not to fire him. There is subtle assurance that you will not find a better scribe, even if you tried.

He comes to your home while the cameras are rolling and winks at Luke, who has to hide his face as he blushes.

“What are you doing here?” you ask him. You are poking around your walk in closet, fabric swatches for your upcoming fashion line splayed across the floor.

“The Elle Magazine meeting? Doesn’t it start soon?”

“Not for another hour,” Luke tells him. He’s giving Spencer this gooey, lovesick smile.

“Well, hey, look at that, I’m never early,” Spencer laughs.

You turn around as he plops down in your loveseat and you groan.

“What?” he asks. “What?”

“Come with me,” you order. You are at your limit. You leave the room and Luke and Spencer look at each other. “Now!” and they hop out of their seats.

Cameras trail behind you all through your massive home. You grab your car keys and Luke asks, “Where are you going?”

“We,” you explain. “Are going to get this boy some new clothes.” You stick your finger in Spencer’s face and he is very tempted to smack it away.

“I don’t need any new clothes,” he says.

And you only reply by looking him up and down. His gym shorts, his white shirt.

“Oh, spare me, little miss I-have-a-new-versace-outfit-for-every-day-of-my-life,” he rolls his eyes. “I dress just fine.”

“No, you don’t,” you tell him, and he crosses his arms over his chest like a child. You look over at the camera crew, “Tell production we’ll be behind two hours.”

Spencer is overwhelmed by paparazzi. He is in utter shock over the way they invade your space, crowding your car before he can even get out the back seat. He pops open the door and a flash goes off his face and he shoves the guy out the way.

“Hey!”

“Get out of the way, dude!” he grumbles.

“I’ll sue!”

“I know [y/n] [y/l/n], I’d like to see you try!”

Luke looks over at you from the passenger seat. His cheeks are red. “Could he be any hotter?”

Spencer has never set foot in any of these stores. GQ, Maxfield, Fred Segal. He is in awe by the size of these stores alone, and even more so by the price tag on everything. Luke takes the lead, strolling through each department, plopping shirts and pants over his forearm in collection. Cameras and faces are pressed against the glass, watching you all like animals in a zoo. The pain in your neck is starting to radiate down your arm and you take every chance you can to sit. You offer comments from the sidelines, watching Luke dress Spencer from head to toe.

Spencer comes out in a polo and khaki pants and says, “I feel stupid.”

“You look amazing,” Luke grins, and he takes this opportunity to touch Spencer. Fix up his collar, smooth out his chest.

And while he may feel stupid, Spencer looks so good. The thought flashes through your mind for just an instant. You’d be blind to ignore it. The black fabric contrasts starkly against his skin. His waist is hugged by the fit and his hair falls into his face just enough that he has to tuck it behind his ear. You do not realize you are staring until he looks at you. His eyes catch yours and you look away.

“Oh, yes,” Luke grins, placing one last touch on Spencer’s shoulders before turning to the sales associate. “This is perfect. Evan, add this to the tab.”

You look back at Spencer and he has not stopped staring at you. He is fixated and holding your gaze. He gives you a small smile and you avert your eyes once again.

You drop five grand on Spencer and he cannot believe it every time you swipe your card. “Holy crap,” he says. “Thanks, sugar mama.”

Luke chuckles and you cut your eyes at him. Security surrounds you as you put shades on and leave the store. Spencer attends the Elle Magazine meeting in the polo and khaki combo. He has a tendency to make people nervous, the way he just sits there and watches and listens. When executives ask about him, you say he’s a scribe and you say nothing more. You’ve asked him to bring a computer, something, to make him appear less crazy, but he is incapable of listening.

“And, so, basically, what we would do, [y/n],” an executive says before clearing his throat. “Is use your image to promote the skincare line and divide those residuals amongst your team with, of course, you taking forty percent off the top.”

“It should be fifty,” Spencer says. Everyone’s eyes cut to him, including yours.

“I’m…” the executive laughs anxiously. “I’m sorry?”

“It should be fifty. [y/n] should be getting fifty off the top.”

“No…no, scribe, I’m pretty sure it’s forty.”

“Really? Hm?” Spencer tilts his head. “Clause 4, paragraph 5 of the contract sent to Miss [y/l/n]: Elle Magazine agrees to distribute remaining residuals amongst the [y/l/n] team, provided a fifty percent split profit between Elle and Miss [y/l/n] as per applicable profits. Now, I don’t have the document with me, but I’m willing to bet that fifty percent that I’m recalling correctly. Y’know, as a scribe and all.”

You take your eyes away from Spencer and turn to the executive who has gone red in the face, “Trying to pull one over on me, Vince?”

Vince sputters, “Of course not, [y/n]. I-I simply misspoke. Um, Eva, can we get an updated transcript to reflect the fifty percent divide, please? Thank you.”

You slowly turn your head back to Spencer, your lips pursed. He winks at you and leans back in his chair, tapping his finger to his forehead, “Eidetic memory,” he whispers.

Business discussions are very rarely filmed from start to finish, but once you exit the meeting room, you wish you hadn’t made an executive exception today. “What the hell were you thinking, dude?” you snap at Spencer.

“They were trying to go over your head. Isn’t that what I’m there for? To make sure contracts you signed are being honored? Why am I in trouble? Vince should be in trouble.”

“Actually, Spencer, that’s not your job. Your job is to sit and listen and document. Did you read the duties in your job description or what?”

“I can list them off the top of my head right now. Attend all relevant business and editorial meetings…”

“Okay, I can’t - I can’t do this right now,” your neck hurts. “Luisa, scrap that footage.”

“No can do,” Your producer responds. “We’re keeping that in.”

“What?” you cut your head to him and wince.

“In fact…” Luisa trails off, stepping closer to you and Spencer. “I think we should shoot the scribe here more often.”

“What?” you and Spencer ask at the same time.

“We’ll chat,” she tells Spencer. “Let’s get you some updated forms, a new NDA, and you’re gonna need some new clothes.”

“This shirt was five-hundred dollars,” Spencer pinches his polo. “What more do you want from me?”

“Luisa!” you interject.

“We’ll chat,” she touches your shoulder and walks off.

You sigh, pinching your neck and rolling your head back.

“You okay?” Spencer asks, reaching in to touch your neck, but you flinch and step back.

“I’m fine,” you snap. “I’m going home.”

“Want me to give you a neck massage?” Spencer asks. “We could add that to my contract.”

But you have professionals for that. You lay on a massage table, your favorite masseuse’s hands on your neck and Luke is standing in the corner, his hands clasped together, going, “Please, [y/n], please, please, please.”

“Lucas!”

“Pleaseeee. He’d be so good.”

“The boy has star power, [y/n],” Luisa chimes in and you groan. “You can’t deny it.”

“Do we have to talk about this right here? Right now?”

“I’m not quite saying we make him a regular. No,” Luisa continues. “But we get a few decent shots over the next few months, start off with that Elle debacle, maybe script a few more business disagreements. Oh, it’s perfect.”

“Why don’t you just offer him his own show?” you mutter.

“Well, y’know, the sexy broody genius thing is not a bad pitch.”

“Oh, he’d be so good!” Luke exclaims.

“Luke,” you sigh. “I’m begging you, just fuck him already.”

“Oh, p…please…like he’s interested?” he chuckles. “Why? Why? Did he say something to you?”

“That’s it!” you pop your head up and your neck cracks and you wince, “Fuck! Out, now!”

Nothing goes without your permission. Nothing is done, nothing is said. Nothing is written, nothing is signed. Spencer knows this. Yet, when he sits down to read and sign a new contract, he looks you dead in the eye and asks, “This is what you want?”

You avert your eyes, rub your neck without thinking.

“[y/n]’s already read over the contract, finalized filming schedules, updated your salary,” Luisa rambles and Spencer only gives her a quick, tired glance and looks back at you.

“This is what you want?” he repeats himself and he stares at you until he catches your eyes.

“Mhm,” you nod. “You’re already on camera enough. It makes sense.”

“It makes sense?”

“It makes sense.”

Spencer scoffs. It’s more of a huff. He glances down at the newly revised contract and shakes his head, “No.”

“No?” Luisa cuts her head to him.

“No,” he says to you. “No. I signed up to be a scribe, not some TV personality. I have classes, I have…goals. No.”

And you don’t say anything. But you look at him and you smile. Just a small smile, but he’s a smart boy and once he sees that smile, he stands. He leaves.

Luisa scoffs as she looks at you, her mouth open in shock. You drop your smile, purse your lips tightly.

You shrug, “It’s a shame I can’t fire him. He really is such a good scribe.”

He is. He knows his job description, he knows it well. He performs nothing more and nothing less. He authorizes the use of any film prior to the ill fated meeting and whenever he works, he thinks about that smile.

Hard as he tries, he can’t go unnoticed. He’s too pretty. Too…nonchalant. He’s not there to make friends, though the crew strikes up conversations when he can. He’s not there to get laid, though pretty girls and boys flock to him when he’s least expecting it. It’s obnoxious. The whole too pretty for the room thing. You don’t actually expect him to show up to the wrap party but he was explicitly invited.

Throughout the festivities, you massage the incessant pressure point on your neck, exhausted from doing nothing at all to put this party in motion. You’re there as a figurehead, an image to be photographed and immortalized. But your neck is fucking killing you. It’s the one thing that can kill the facade very quickly and it’s working overtime. You tuck yourself away in a corner and just across the room, Spencer is leaning against the wall, practically pinned underneath a tall, slender girl who drunkenly fiddles with the top buttons on his shirt. You can see the signs she’s spitting out from a mile away yet you don’t see him rejecting them. He even wraps his long fingers around her wrist and scrunches his nose up at her and whatever he’s saying is so funny that her laugh actually echoes.

With a vocal, “Ugh,” you roll your eyes and march to the bathroom, a single stall with a crystal mirror and a toilet that somehow sparkles. You splash water on your face and the cold grounds you just a bit. You rub the water into your eyes and press your frozen palm to the back of your neck. Blinking, you reach for a paper towel and press it into your cheekbones. It’s while you’re temporarily blind that you hear the door swing open. You gasp, coming face to face with Spencer who looks the most apologetic you’ve ever seen him.

“Oh! Sorry!” he implores. “Sorry. Thought it was empty.”

“It’s fine.”

He notices the way you lean on the sink, your head ducked down like you’re avoiding eye contact, so he naturally asks, “You alright?”

“Fine. I’ll get out of your way.”

But when you go to exit, he steps in front of you. “Woah,” His arms reach out to caress your shoulders but he stops himself so his hands hover over you. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” you shake your head. “Clearly you’re having a good time so don’t worry about me.”

His eyebrows raise and furrow in such rapid sync with his confusion that his face eventually just falls flat. “Yeah…the fancy spring water is a real rager…”

“And all the girls.”

“What…” he stumbles, he laughs, “The…brunette?”

“Oh, that’s what you call her? It looked like you were already on a first name basis.”

“Her name’s Erica,” he shrugs. “But it wasn’t relevant to our conversation.”

“Oh, well, then, please. You and Erica carry on. Just avoid the vertical dry humping.”

“Oh, the…” he dissolves into chuckles. “You’re exaggerating.”

“It was pornographic.”

“And why does that bother you so much?”

It’s the first thing to actually throw you off guard because you don’t have an answer. So you shrug, “It doesn’t.”

“You sure?” he takes a step closer to you. “I don’t remember a no flirting, no dry humping and no sex clause in my contract.”

“Um, actually, it kinda is in your contract. It’s about the image.”

“The image? There’s people sniffing coke out there!”

“It’s tacky. It’s a PR nightmare.”

“Is it?” he takes another step and you instinctively step back even though he smells so good. “I mean, is that really what it’s about?”

“What?” you roll your eyes. You step back further but find yourself backed against the sink. “What are you implying?”

“That you think I’m pretty,” he grins.

“Ugh! Whatever.”

“That maybe…you wish you were the girl pressed against me? Not the brunette.”

“You are something else,” you shake your head. “Just so full of yourself.”

“I think you’re pretty,” and at the same time he murmurs the words, his hands run up your thighs. All the air leaves your lungs so you’re done talking. “I think you’re the prettiest girl at the whole party. Don’t you?”

His hands reach underneath your dress and when you don’t swat them away, when, instead, you stare him down and climb up to sit on the counter, he persists. “I knew you were the prettiest girl the second I met you.” He starts to rub you through the very thin material of your panties and you have to lean on your palms just to keep from falling back. You suck in a quick breath and exhale it with a soft moan. He grins, he presses against you a little harder.

“I just thought…” he kisses your cheek once, softly, and you all but melt. “She’s too tense. And you are, you’re too tense.”

You agree. By the way you’re rolling your hips against his hand, your body fully agrees.

“Can I push these to the side?” he asks, his fingers hooked onto your undies. He only hooks them further once you nod. He shudders at the feelings of his fingertips instantly drowning in an ocean of your own creation. Or…his? Either way, it’s nice and inviting. He shoves his fingers all the way into you and instantly, your thighs clamp down around his wrist. You release this strained moan before you clamp your hand over your mouth. Self satisfied and emboldened, Spencer starts to pump his fingers against your tummy and his dick is sooooo jealous. But this will do for now.

He wraps his arm around your waist to keep you right where he needs you. He peppers kisses all along your collarbone just so your muffled sounds are right beside his ear. Although his wrist aches at the angle and his veins are threatening to break through his skin, he never loses his rhythm or intensity. He presses his crotch against your knee but it’s too much, he doesn’t trust himself not to explode in his pants so he pulls away, counters it with a hard flick of his wrists that makes your body jolt.

And when the wave starts to roll over you, dangerously close to pulling you underneath, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him close. Spencer’s crotch lands in the warmest place possible and he realizes he’s gonna have to finish this fast before he loses his dominant aura. He follows the cues of your body and increases his pace and determination and you have to bite down on his shirt to maintain control of your volume. It all happens so fast that when you tense up, dig your nails into his back, Spencer’s mind struggles to keep up. He pushes his fingers even deeper just to feel the way your pussy tightens so perfectly around them and then he withdraws them slowly.

He rubs your back, gives you another kiss on the cheek as he wipes his hand on your thighs. He tries to help you pull your dress back down since all you’re doing is whimpering but you huff, “I’ve got it…I’ve got it.”

“Okay.” Spencer steps back to let you off the counter and you wobble as your heels hit the floor. “Not bad for a guy who can only type 70 words per minute, huh?”

You break a smile and shake your head, “This…never happened.”

He figured. Is it a fun thing to hear? No. But nothing could ruin his mood, not right now. “What never happened?” he shrugs and leaves the bathroom.

You splash more cold water on your face. Immediately after, you’re driven home where you have a nice, warm bath and the best night’s sleep you’ve had in a long time.

Where, for the first time in an eternity, you awake in the morning without any pain in your neck.

And it’s like it never happened. Spencer got the memo. He’s the scribe who’s primary duties include attending all relevant business and editorial meetings, document all verbal communication within said meetings, and fingering Miss [y/l/n] whenever she’s in the mood. He just hopes you’re in the mood soon.

He has no idea that you’re doing your best to keep him out of your thoughts. That your feelings are all scrambled inside since the dust was shaken off your g-spot. Every time you hear his name, your tummy caves in like it’s missing something it only had once. So when Luke says, “Would it be crazy to shoot my shot with Spencer?” you just say, “Yes.”

“But I know he likes boys. He’s always flirting with me.”

“You’re always flirting with him.”

“Exactly, so we should hunch.”

“Ugh,” you gag. “Lucas.”

“[y/n], I need him so bad. It’s driving me insane, do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Oh, yes. You do. “Since when is the lanky, scrawny nerd your type? Don’t you prefer them a bit more big and beefy?”

“Aha, see, that’s the illusion. The beefy muscle men get all the hype when in reality, it’s the lanky, scrawny nerds who can put you through the mattress.”

You scoff. You roll your eyes. But what a concept.

As if the universe knew you needed a distraction, you’re pulled into a PR crisis. Immediate damage control is required and when that happens, there is a very specific change of events that must occur and in a concise amount of time. Like world leaders preparing for war, you gather with your team and assume your Barbie position. As in, wherever you need to be, you’ll go. Whatever words you need to say, you’ll speak. And by the end of it all, you’ve ground your teeth dust and you can hardly swivel your head on your neck.

At home, you drink directly from a bottle of wine. Your mouth around the rim is necessary to live to fight another day. When your doorbell rings, you’re dubious that it’s one last command, coming in to stage and pose you in the required manner but it’s not. It’s Spencer. His tall frame looks so tiny on the front porch, a camera peering down at him from the corner. You open the door and he can see there’s no light left in you so he’s soft when he speaks, “Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Tough day.”

“Yeah…”

He invites himself in and you’re stunned but not surprised. You just close the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, “Just wanted to check on you.”

“You don’t need to check on me…” you shake your head. “I’m a grown woman. If anything, you need someone to check on you.”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“I’m fine!” you implore and the vibration causes an ache in your neck so you grab your shoulder. “Fuck…I’m okay.”

He sighs, “You know, you should really get that checked out,” and he touches your throat so lightly.

“It’s fine! I’m…you’re not gonna do this.”

“Do what?”

“Swoop in a-and end up inside me again. It’s not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Spencer.”

“Why not? You had a nice time. I had a nice time. That’s…a-a nice time. That’s nice.”

“Eloquent.”

“You don’t even have to pay me for it. I’ll give it up for free.”

“You are…a child.”

“A…I’m 23!”

“Just a baby.”

“I can buy alcohol.”

“And my employee.”

“I can buy cigarettes.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“What else you got?”

“It would be a media shit show if word got out, you could end up suing me, I could end up being labeled a cradle robber, and for what?”

You are trying so hard to convince yourself.

“I wouldn’t sue you. And I wouldn’t tell a soul. And I would-I would do whatever you asked and whatever you needed and…”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you groan and with a careless force, you pull him in by his shirt collar and kiss him. He moans but it could just be the shock or the wine on your lips. Either way, he wraps his arms around your waist, his hand grabbing anything they can reach because holy shit! Being absolutely pathetic works!

“Come on,” you order and his feet scurry immediately as you drag him into your bedroom.

His first thought is that he’s never seen a bed this big but then he’s thrown on top of it and watching you undress.

“Oh my god,” he exclaims. He actually holds his face in his hands, his jaw dropped wide open.

You have to bite back your smile as you tear off your panties, step out of them. “Okay, hot spot, your turn.”

And he thrashes around as his pants fly off and then his shirt and then his boxers and his out of breath already. His entire body is so long, so pale, save for the red blush on his nose and chest. He reaches for you, his hand grabby and pleading. And as soon as you run into them, there’s so much commotion that the fitted sheet pops off the mattress.

Spencer is so eager that he forgets to purse his lips so every time and everywhere he kisses you, his mouth is wide open and wet. You can’t stop shuddering because he can’t stop groping you and his hands are big enough to spread warmth throughout your entire body. The rush is the only thing distracting you from his dysfunction but he’s vividly aware of his inability to get it up. The anxiety of finally having you is making him so insecure that his cock refuses to get hard. So he slides his fingers into you again but it’s nice because this time he gets to pin you down and watch your face. He gets even deeper than he did last time and you don’t have to be so quiet. It’s nice.

When you reach for his flaccid cock, he goes straight to eating you out because he’s not ready yet. He buries his face between your thighs and he starts off rough, pushing his entire tongue against you so you lose the ability to think. The trick, he suspects, is making you come. He grunts as you pull at his hair and scoot away from him because his mouth is just too much. That’s it. More, more, he needs more.

Once he gets past it, the anxiety, the nerves. Once he reaches the ideal maximum blood flow and his soldier stands straight up, once you roll the condom onto him so swiftly, he puts you on your back. He throws your legs over his shoulders and yeah, Luke was right.

Spencer puts you through the fucking mattress.

Afterwards, you’re upside down on the bed and wheezing like you’ve punctured a lung. You can’t even feel your legs. When Spencer starts kissing your angle, all the way up your knee, it helps you get the feeling back a bit. He kisses your lips, your cheek, your neck. He doesn’t want to stop.

“You okay?” he breathes.

“Yeah,” you huff. You wipe the sweat off your face and nod, “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Oh, now, that seems much more honest,” he grins and you can’t help but laugh. He’s quite proud of himself. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh.”

“What? Sure you have.”

“Nope. Trust me, I’d remember. You laugh much more on TV.”

You cut your eyes at him, tilting your head, “You watch my show?”

“Of course,” he shrugs, like this is common knowledge.

“You just don’t strike me as a reality TV guy.”

“Oh, well, thank you.”

You chuckle and prop yourself on your elbows, “Wanna take a bath?”

His eyes widened because he expected to be kicked out three minutes ago. But a bath? Completely unexpected and completely accepted. “Yes. Yeah. Yes.”

And in this bath, which is big enough to fit you both with room for one more, your bodies recover and your guard is down and you ask Spencer all the things you probably should’ve asked when he was first interviewed. Turns out, he’s a genius. Turns out, if you give him a chance, he’s funny. You don’t know if you keep inviting him back for the orgasms, or the fun facts or the laughs. Who cares?

He keeps coming back.

Spencer keeps coming back and each time, he’s nervous, but a little less than the time before. He’s great at still performing his scribe position like he hasn’t seen you naked. He’s still accurate and precise. He still has your back when executives don’t quite remember every clause of their contracts as well as he does. The sex. The baths. The time you eat Chinese food on the floor together. All of that is just a perk. Charge free.

You should’ve known it was doomed because it’d been weeks since you felt an ache in your neck. You should’ve known. The pain is your true state of equilibrium. The cloud you’ve been riding on was doomed to burst.

“What is this?” your publicist, Clara, asks as she sets a photo down in front of you.

It’s clearly Spencer, leaving your house at some ungodly hour, but you shrug, “That’s my scribe.”

Clara chuckles but it’s far from genuine. She glances at Luisa and back at you. “Mhm. What’s he doing at your house at one in the morning?”

Another shrug, “Scribing.”

“[y/n], what are my four D’s?”

“Oh, god,” you roll your eyes. “Clara…”

“You are required to tell me about all dates, dick, disasters and disagreements. That’s my rule.”

“Well…I forgot.”

“Yes, the dick option is well known for causing amnesia.”

“Paparazzi shouldn’t be allowed past the gate, that’s the whole reason I live there.”

“Oh, they’re not. A neighbor’s friend took this. Crazy inventions, those smartphones. They really make my job a lot harder.”

You sigh, “So…what do I do?”

“You gotta fire him, babe,” Luisa chimes in and it’s the casualty with which she says this that makes your head swivel, which it can now do with ease.

“What?”

“Look, I could’ve spun the scribe to lover storyline if he had let me, but he didn’t. Now, it’s not a good optic. I’m sorry, but pretty boy has to go.”

“Is that not more incriminating than just keeping him on?”

“He can easily be replaced. He’s a background character, it won’t cause commotion. Plus, if you wanted, this frees him up completely to be your boy toy.”

“Oh, my god…” you shake your head, put your face in your hands.

“Hey, plenty of scribes out there,” Clara shrugs. “Problem solved.”

Yeah, there’s plenty. But one like Spencer?

Never.

You go to his apartment with the full intention of telling him. You locate his address on file and take yourself to a neighborhood that you’d normally never frequent. You knock on his door and when he opens it, it’s only for a second before he slams it in your face. Stunned, you listen to the commotion on the other side. He is tossing clothes in the hamper, tidying up his bathroom, stacking books in some type of order to make them appear less scattered. This is as good as it’s gonna get so he opens the door back up.

“Hi. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting you.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t call,” you shake your head. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course.”

You step into the small studio and it’s exactly how you pictured it. Tiny, cluttered, dark, but charming. Maintained.

“Can I get you anything? I don’t have that fancy spring water but, um, there’s tap.”

You chuckle, “No, thank you. This place is cute.”

“Ah, rich people speak for crap pile.”

Now, you cackle, “Nooo. No, not at all. It’s nice.”

He smiles as he wraps his arms around you. It’s so casual, so mindless. He’s so happy to have you here. You can see it all over his face. Feel it in the gentleness of his touch. So, you fuck him. For a while, you rattle around on his tiny bed so hard that his neighbor ends up banging on the wall. It’s spineless of you, to use your body to procrastinate, but you have to admit. It helps.

“Coffee?” Spencer offers and you haven’t fully landed from the stars yet so you give him a weak nod.

He kisses your forehead and springs into action, walking around naked in the kitchen. You pull his bed sheet around your body and keep a hold of it as you wander around his apartment. You check out all the photos and the books and the mess overrunning on his desk. You catch a quick glimpse of his assignments and all the numbers and big words hurt your brain so you salute him silently for managing it all. What truly catches your eye is the FBI logo buried underneath the chaos. You think it can’t possibly be the actual Federal Bureau of Investigation so you look closer. Despite the obvious invasion, you read through the letter.

You pick it up, your eyes flicking off the last word and over to Spencer. “What-what’s this?”

Spencer looks up at you with a smile but it quickly drops when he sees the paper in your hand. Awkward. “It’s…” he breaks eye contact with you. “It’s a job offer.”

“Oh,” you respond immediately but not for the reason he thinks.

“I-I…wasn’t sure I would be accepted. I’m not at all buff or tough or anything of the sort but, um…the behavioral analysis unit…it’s a pretty big deal.”

“Yeah…” you nod, floating over to him with the sheet hugging your body. “I could tell just from the stationary.”

He laughs, but it’s uncomfortable. He feels like he’s been caught. So you want to assure him. “You…want this? You want this job? You’d move to DC?”

He exhales a long breath out of his nose and he knows he has to look at you, “It’s a solid offer. I don’t see any reason I shouldn’t accept it. Is there…”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “Is there what?”

“A reason I shouldn’t take it.”

Fuck. You want to say there is. Any reason. Any reason at all. But, “You should take it.”

Spencer feels like his entire chest just got cracked open. He can feel the ache in his sternum like he’s been shot. But, he just nods. He holds up a mug, “Coffee?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Informally, that night is his one month notice, even though he doesn’t come into work any more after that. He still gets two final checks. And severance. Major severance. That was your call.

The next time you visit his place, you don’t make it to the bed. His stuff is all in boxes, his bed doesn’t have any linens, his plane is taking off in the morning so there’s no time. You stand in the middle of the living room and hold each other tight. You smother each other with your lips, making out so passionately that you can hardly breathe.

Spencer has to take a moment just to catch his breath. Just to touch your face, “If…you ever find yourself in DC…”

You laugh. It’s sad, but you laugh. “You think they’ll let me into Quantico?”

“Oh, yeah,” he nods. “I’ll leave your name at the door. [y/n] [y/l/n], allowed entry any time.”

You giggle and you kiss him. And you kiss him and you kiss him. You roll around on a bed with no sheets and then you refuse to spend the night. If this is it, you demand to do it yourself. You demand to be the one to leave. You never say it out loud but Spencer understands. It’s the reason he doesn’t fight you on it. Instead, he hugs you. For an eternity, tight. Tight, tight, tight, tight. You can feel the pressure decrease as soon as he lets you go. You give him one last kiss. You whisper, “Give ‘em hell, pretty boy.” And he swears he will, just because you asked.

You walk out, you close the door behind you and almost immediately, you cradle your neck.

Author’s Note:

As always, thank you for reading!!! Please like, reblog, comment, all the things!!! Thought of this while I was binge watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians so this fic was entirely inspired by Kris Jenner randomly deciding to get a scribe to document everything she said. Been in the drafts for a while!! SingleDad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader coming up next. Love you all, stay safe out here! Mwah 💋

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

The Polar Express, 2004

Pairing: Buck x Reader

Word count: 3k

Notes: I don’t think you understand the phone shit I’m going through right now, especially with how I only write on my phone it hurts my FEELINGS so yeah this is not edited and I’ve done my best okay I literally am currently finishing it as I’m typing this

Buck stands at the counter, tapping his fingers against the smooth marble.

“Okay… the cookies are in, the bread is proofing, the cake is cooling, the scones have another 10 or so minutes until they’re ready to be iced…”

He scrolls on his iPad, reading through all his notes and recipes. He was stressed, incredibly stressed, he’d hesitantly asked Athena two weeks ago if he could host Secret Santa and then they’d all migrate over to her place for dinner and presents.

She graciously agreed, it gave her more time to get everything ready and less to stress about on Christmas Day. But now here he is, at one in the morning, the kitchen is a disaster zone that he’s disappointed in because he always cleans as he goes, the cookies aren’t going to have anywhere to cool if he doesn’t get cleaning and he hasn’t even started on buttercream.

Why the hell he thought this was a good idea he doesn’t freaking know, he doesn’t know why he volunteered, he doesn’t know why he put himself through this he doesn’t know why the bag of powdered sugar is on the floor, he doesn’t-

He jumps a little, he hadn’t even heard you pad softly down the stairs, he hadn’t heard you trying to get his attention. It’s like everything just stops as soon as you put your arms around his waist, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

“Buck? You in there?” You ask quietly, you sound sleepy. He takes a deep breath and turns in your arms

“Hey baby” He smiles softly, leaning down to kiss your nose “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, kinda woke up on my own” You rest your chin on his chest, blinking sleepily “You okay?”

“I’m fine, really”

You pull back a little, giving him a skeptical look. His disheveled appearance screams anything but fine. The mess around the kitchen is a little cry for help to sort through the mess that is his anxiety right now.

He just wanted everyone to be proud.

You pull away from him and go over to the little hooks in the corner, grabbing your small pink apron and tying it around you. You grab the matching pink scrunchie with it and pull your hair back.

“What do you need from me, Chef?”

“It would be a big help if you helped me clean up a bit? Maybe watched the cookie timer? And then helped me dip the scones when they’re ready and-“

You come over to the counter and start collecting everything and moving it to the sink, you stand on your toes as you pass and he bends down to peck your lips

“One at a time baby boy,” You tell him calmly “We can handle this”

He melts as you kick your stool in front of the sink and dump everything in to start washing. He always made fun of you for it, but it was easier to rinse from higher up okay.

He sits back for a moment, watching you clean the dishes without any complaining, just…getting straight to work to help him out. He comes over and wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in the back of your neck

“I love you, so fucking much” He mumbles and you smile, leaning into him a little

“I love you too, you’re doing really good Buck. They’re gonna be really impressed”

“I’m just, I’m so worried things won’t turn out”

“You’re seriously talented Evan,” You tell him, glaring at him a little “Don’t let your brain tell you any different”

“Easier said than done” He reaches forward, taking the dish from you and rinsing it

“This would be way sexier if you were helping me with the bread earlier”

You snicker and push him back a little, grabbing the dish and setting it on the rack

“Just start on your buttercream weirdo”

He takes a clean bowl and sets it up on the stand mixer, with you helping keep things clean suddenly his mind isn’t as cluttered, the cookie timer goes off and he doesn’t even have a chance to turn around before you’re pulling them out and setting them down on the counter space you’d cleared for them.

You check on the cake for him as he’s getting the bread into the oven next and then start on the glaze for the scones. He’s watching you mix it by hand while his buttercream goes in the stand mixer and his heart aches at the sight of you, you’ve got bubbles in your hair from the dishes and a little dash of powdered sugar across your face. You smell like fresh lemons and sweet raspberry scones, and god do you look good enough to eat… he doesn’t miss the tiny pajama shorts you’re wearing and one of his large t-shirts slightly tucked into it.

You reach over and pull the little lever to stop the stand mixer and he blinks rapidly

“You’re gonna over mix it” You warn him before going back to your glaze, he looks down at his perfect vanilla butter cream, his perfect raspberry scones you’re dipping and his perfect cake sitting on the counter waiting to be iced.

And then he looks at his perfect you, and suddenly everything isn’t so bad anymore… that anxious tension between his shoulder blades is gone, that slight tremor that nearly ruined his royal icing borders from a batch of cookies earlier is gone…

“What are you doing?” You watch as he puts the crumb-coated-cake into the fridge, lays a tea towel over the cookies and puts the rest of his dishes into the dishwasher

“We can finish those in the morning, it won’t take long”

You set another scone onto the tray and he hands you the next one, his body pressing against yours, soft and warm…and something hard pressing into your side

“I think you forgot to take one of your spatulas from your apron” you chuckle as you swirl the scone through the creamy white glaze and set it on the tray. Buck pushes your hand away as you reach for another and he reaches into the bowl, scooping up some of the sticky, white, mixture.

“Hey! I’ve still got four-“

Your words are cut off as he slides his fingers into your mouth, his lips ghost over the shell of your ear as he pulls you closer to him

“Clean ‘em up for me baby”

You do as he says, running your tongue over his fingers and sucking them clean, he kisses your neck softly, fucking your mouth with them before pulling them away with a wet pop.

“Good girl”

He unties your apron, setting it aside before taking your shirt off next, his hands come up your sides, leaving a trail of flour. He palms your breasts running his thumbs over your nipples and you let out a shuddering sigh as they pebble under the cool air and his touch

“Every day I fall more and more in love with you” He mumbles, kissing you with a heated passion, his tongue slipping past your lips as you gasp. He grabs your hips tighter and sits you on the counter, stepping between your legs

“I know what you mean” you reach behind you, twirling the honey wand before pulling it back out and letting the sticky substance drip down over your breasts

His eyes widen as he watches the golden liquid trickle down your chest, pooling in your cleavage. He licks his lips, his cock twitching with anticipation.

“Fuck, that's hot” he breathes, his hands trembling slightly as he reaches out to trace a finger through the honey, gathering it up before bringing it to his mouth.

“Mmm, you taste even sweeter than I imagined” he murmurs, his tongue swirling around his finger.

He leans down, his tongue darting out to lap at the honey on your skin, his hands cupping your breasts and kneading them gently. He takes his time, savoring every drop, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin.

His hands reach down, tugging on your panties and you lift your hips as he pulls them off. He runs his fingers through your soaked folds teasingly

“So fuckin’ wet for me already, aren’t you?”

He slips his fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing against your clit and you pant softly, leaning back on your elbows as he fucks you, his fingers curl upward and you gasp desperately, letting your head fall back, pressing your back into the flour covered counters. Your hands come up to tug at the roots of your hair, sugar sticking to your forearms as he works you open with his fingers. He pulls his fingers away, licking them clean and you whimper at the empty feeling

“Shhh baby” He drops his basketball shorts and his cock springs out, hard and thick, the tip leaking precum already. It drips down from the tip of his cock and you lick your lips as he steps onto your little stool

“Arent you already tall enough??” You poke at him and he grabs your hips, dragging you to his cock. He rubs his tip through your glistening lips, staring into your eyes with so much love and adoration.

“Just gives me a better angle to make love to you” He rocks his hips, shallowly thrusting the tip in and you gasp, biting your lip.

“You’re so pretty baby” He teases your clit again, rubbing slow torturous circles until he finally slowly pushes forward, his cock sliding deep inside your tight walls. He groans at the sensation, his eyes rolling back in pleasure and you sigh dreamily, your eyes rolling back too.

He sets a slower pace, flour covered hands leaving prints behind as he thrusts slow and hard, his hips kissing yours each time. He growls lowly, a primal noise coming from his chest as he works you on his cock.

His hands roam your body, caressing your tits, your stomach, your thighs, leaving trails of flour and sugar in their wake. He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours, the intense sound filling the kitchen and echoing in your ears as he slowly starts to lose control

“Holy shit, Buck” You pant, arching your back up and moaning for him, your heart pounds in your ears in time with his thrusts and you slowly remember the reason you’re always so gone for him

He moans deeply, placing his palms flat on the counter and rutting into you and you whimper with each thrust, your mind spinning at the way he fills you up.

“I want, I want to try something” He pulls out slowly, his chest heaving as he rubs his thumb through your soaked folds. You squirm underneath him and his finger keeps going, your eyes nearly pop out of your head as he pushes against that tight ring of muscle

“You think it’s been too long since we…?” He manhandles you onto your stomach, helping you place your knees on the counter

“N-no I think- I think I could handle that”

“You really think so?” He reaches forward and you just see a jar disappearing from your peripheral vision “I don’t wanna push you”

You put your forehead against your hands waiting with bated breath, his hand slides over your ass, pulling your cheeks apart and your back arches deeper. What he doesn’t know is that this was definitely going to be apart of his Christmas present this year and you’d been wearing a plug all week before taking it out before bed.

“Jesus you’re gonna give me a heart attack with the way you’re presenting yourself” He chuckles lightly. You hear a soft “tink” before you feel the sweet honey dripping over your ass, he moans as it slides down over your pretty, puffy lips and he can’t take it anymore.

You squeak as he dives in, your ass spread wide as he licks at your hole, his moans vibrate up your spine and pretty soon you’re moaning with him. He pulls away, drizzling a little more honey over your hole and kissing your cheek before pulling your legs down so you’re hanging off the counter.

“You ready for me baby?” He spreads your cheeks again and spits, and you squeak. He gives your ass a little smack, smirking

“Earth to bunny”

“I’m ready” you punctuate your words with a little shake of your hips and he takes the honey wand again, drizzling some over his cock and stroking it slowly before lining himself up. He taps your cheek lovingly before pushing into you carefully.

Your jaw drops slowly at the intense pressure as he slides into you. He groans loudly, his palms sliding over your body as he lays against you, his chest firm against your back.

“Feels so g-good Bunny” his hips stutter as he tries to keep from plowing right into you. He works you on his cock slowly, getting you used to his size again and you lay plastered against the counter, moaning softly and taking everything he’s giving you.

“You think you can take me harder baby? Faster?” His teeth are gritted, like he’s fighting even harder now to hold back and that sends a thrill right down to your core. He feels so impossibly big in your ass, stretching you in a way he hasn’t in a good while.

“I can handle it” You reassure him again, eagerly moving your hips on his cock and he grins wickedly

“Thats my slutty little Bunny”

He takes it slow for a minute, working you up to a faster pace before you’re making little squeaking sounds again with every rough thrust. His hands leave sticky fingerprints behind, marking your body with all the dirty things he’s doing to you. He drizzles more honey over his cock as he thrusts in and out, moaning at the little tendrils that stick you together over and over.

You reach out, holding onto the heavy stand mixer to brace yourself as he pins you down to the counter, his hand on the back of your neck

“You're so fucking sexy like this, spread out for me, taking my cock like a good little slut” he growls, his words filthy and degrading, but filled with a twisted sort of affection.

You babble in response and it just drives him crazier, he holds your hips in hands, definitely leaving behind bruises that you absolutely welcome.

Your eyes roll back and you dig your head into the counter, he reaches backward awkwardly for a second and rips a towel from the stove, he leans forward pushing inside you deeper and you cry out his name, your legs shaking.

“I’m sorry baby” he snickers, lifting your head gently and putting the towel underneath it, it’s not much but it’s something. His movements become a bit slower, deeper, and you grip that stand mixer with everything left in you as he makes love to you. His hand slides over your torso, his fingers rubbing your clit slowly, and you let out a shuddering little sigh

“There’s my pretty girl, nothin’ in that head of yours but my cock huh? Love it when you get this way”

You nod dumbly at him and he groans, his head falling back as his hips smack into yours rougher, his finger start rubbing your clit faster and you arch your back and bring your knees to your chest. He holds them in place, hissing at how tight you are around him, his pace becomes erratic again as he loses his mind inside you.

He messily places your hand over your clit and sinks his fingers inside you. You shriek as he plunges his cock in and out of your ass, his fingers working in tandem in your pussy

“Come on bunny, fuck cum for me please, I need to see you fall apart first please bunny please”

His whiny, begging, tone sends you over the edge as you scream his name, tears streaming down your face as your back arches fully off the counter and you squirt over his fingers, he moans your name loudly as he finishes inside you, fucking his cum as deeply as he can into you. He rolls his hips with each thrust before holding it inside you, pushing into you.

You lay on the counter stunned, your body shaking as you let your body turn to jelly underneath him. You weakly wipe at the tears on your face and he steps down off the stool, sliding you off the counter with him and staggers over to the couch. He plops down heavily onto it, before letting his body fall slump down, keeping his arms tightly around you.

You lay together for a while, panting softly in his neck while he rubs your back soothingly, occasionally placing weak little kisses to your temple. He can’t move very much either after that and neither of you have a problem with this.

He’s distractedly humming underneath the tree when he suddenly shifts a little, getting you both more comfy

“I think I broke my dick”

You snort into his chest as he grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it haphazardly over the two of you.

“I don’t think you broke your dick” you tell him and he scoffs

“How would you know? It’s inside you, you can’t see it!”

“Okay. By that logic, neither can you. Buck I think we’d know if you broke your dick… if that’s even possible”

“Oh it is, I’ve seen it before” his eyes close and you lift your head, looking at his peaceful expression as he starts to fall asleep.

“You’ve seen a broken dick before???”

Suddenly his bread alarm goes off and he jumps, accidentally knocking you off of him and onto the floor.

“My bread!!”

“My kidneys”

[sturniololuv08]

On The Tenth Day Of Nickmas...

Day 10 of Juno's 12 Days Of Nickmas

"Hey, Nick." Matt came around the corner into the kitchen. Nick just cocked his head up. "I didn't hear Jared leave last night." He said, opening the fridge.

"He didn't," Nick said, suspicious of Matt's statement.

"Oh?" He raised a brow.

"Yeah?" Nick sipped his drink. After their kiss, they went to sleep, but when they woke up entangled in each other's arms, the heat inside Nick's core started growing again. Jared wrapped around him perfectly. Nick watched Jared sleep for a while before slipping out, careful not to wake him, and coming out to the kitchen.

"Any special plans today, then?" Matt was giving Nick a look he couldn't decipher.

"None that I can think of. Whenever he leaves, I will probably just take today as a day of peace and quiet before I have to deal with everything tomorrow." Nick clapped his hands together when he said the words peace and quiet. Matt giggled at his brother's dramatized answer.

"Afternoon." Jared came around the corner stretching. They still had on their matching pajamas.

"Cute." Matt looked back and forth between them.

"It was all Nick," Jared said, starting the coffee pot.

"Interesting." Matt looked at Nick and sipped his Coke can.

"A gift for Christmas," Nick grunted. He knew what Matt was doing. They shared the talk at the lodge, so he knew Matt was trying to meddle. Little did he know they were already walking that fine line.

"Aren't they cute?" Jared was oblivious to what Matt was trying to do. As coffee streamed down into a cup, refilling the air with the burnt bean aroma, Jared held out the hem of his shirt so Matt could see it.

"Very cute," Matt smirked and made eye contact with Nick again. "Do you have any plans today?" he asked Jared.

"Just gotta go home and tidy up. My sister's flight lands tonight." Jared grabbed the creamer out of the fridge.

"You hear that, Matt?" Nick took this as his chance for a little counterattack.

"Yeah. Why is she flying in?" Matt scratched the back of his neck, becoming flustered.

"I had talked to her a few days ago, and she said she didn't like the idea of me spending Christmas alone, so she booked herself a flight."

"You could spend Christmas here." Nick offered up. "You know we wouldn't mind." He reassured.

"I'll talk to her about it. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Oh, something tells me she won't." Matt glared down Nick for hinting at his fling with Jared's sister. Jared was stirring his coffee, not paying attention to their glances.

"I'm going to go shower." Matt excused himself awkwardly.

"He really likes her doesn't he?" Jared chuckled while blowing on his coffee steam.

"I guess so."

"She'll probably be fine coming over on Christmas, but I do want to just spend time with her tonight if that's okay?" Nick was confused as to why Jared was asking for permission.

"You can do whatever you want. I'm not holding you hostage." Nick wanted to keep the conversation light just in case it became serious.

"Okay." Jared sighed.

"Are you good?" Nick didn't want to outright address anything, but he wanted to make sure what they were doing was okay with Jared.

"Yeah, perfect," Jared blushed. Nick didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound cheesy, so he just smiled back. They finished their late wake-up, and Jared left to run his errands. Nick was cleaning up the kitchen that had been neglected over the holidays when Chris and Matt cornered him.

"We need to talk to you." Nick turned around and grabbed a dish towel to pat dry his hands.

"Okay?" He stared at them with a side-eye.

"We know you like Jared." Matt blurted out.

"I don't like Jared." Nick immediately started blushing.

"You are literally blushing Nick." Chris pointed at his brother's cheeks.

"It's just hot. I was cleaning." Chris folded his arms, and Matt sat down at the kitchen table.

"I saw the car video." Nick hated that it was one of his favourite moments, and Jared was used against his denial.

"It was just a silly video." He rolled his eyes.

"Nick..." Chris groaned. "Just say it. Say you like him!" Chris was being a lot.

"He is my best friend, that's all." Nick felt the words burning his tongue as he lied.

"Nick, it's okay to like him." Matt was trying the comforting approach.

"But I don't." Nick scoffed.

"Nick, just listen to us." Chris held his folded arms.

"What?" He was now irritated. He was already struggling internally about his feelings, and now being forced to confront them when he wasn't ready was annoying and awkward with his brothers.

"We like him. He is good for you. You get along well—" Matt started easily.

"And somehow he puts up with your attitude. We think you should stop this denial shit and go for it." Chris was the bad cop. Nick looked between them, realizing he was being ganged up. He sighed. "Yes! He admits it!" Chris triumphed.

"I'll figure it out. I don't want to talk about it. And if you ever do this good cop bad cop shit again, I'll actually commit murder." Nick pushed past Chris to go up to his room. He flopped on the bed even more stressed about Jared. Now, he had to worry about Chris or Matt saying something stupid; more so Chris than Matt.

Nick smelled him lingering on his bed. It was nice. He laid right in the spot Jared was in last night. He pulled out his phone and opened up the notorious car video. He couldn't resist watching it every chance he got. It wasn't anything special other than the look in Jared's eyes as he looked at Nick's lips. Nick ached for that look. He loved the idea of anyone wanting him like that. Nick started to feel a tingling sensation work its way down his waist. He didn't want to be that weirdo that jacked off to a video of his best friend. "Were we only best friends now?" He thought to himself. He watched the video again and felt the tingling sensation flow down like a wave again.

"Fuck it," Nick whispered to himself. He was upstairs in his room, away from Chris and Matt, so he knew they wouldn't know. He let the video play on a loop and started reminiscing about them changing in the small bathroom for the Space Camp shoot. He wasted no time to slip his hand under his waistband. He was already fully hard to the touch. He hissed quietly as his cold hand grabbed his girth. Immediately, he started pumping up and down hard. He didn't want to take it slow, not now, and not for their first time. Should that ever happen. He fabricated images of Jared's green eyes, glancing up doe-eyed at him as he pushed his way past his lips. "Fuck." He whispered. He made an O shape with his thumb and pointer finger, trying to mimic the sensation he assumed Jared's lips would provide. He needed something more. He rolled over to be on his knees, pumping himself down towards the bed. He nuzzled his face into the pillow Jared had used last night, huffing in his scent. "Mhhhmm." He groaned. He felt a little ridiculous in his new position, but with his new posture, he was able to rock his hips into his own fingers. He started to feel sweat, making his hair matte to his forehead. "Fuck." His whisper was muffled by the pillow. He was close. Closer than he thought he'd be, but something about thinking about his best friend sucking him off was pushing him to his limit faster than anything else had.

He wanted to see Jared when he busted, so he shuffled around, not once, dropping his tight rhythm gripping his throbbing dick. He pulled up a photo of Jared on his phone, and he felt a familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. The warm body temperature fluid leaked all over his hand. "Mhhhmm... Jared." He moaned out as his cum dripped through his fingers. He tugged on himself a little tighter to make sure every drop of release came out of him. He collapsed on his back, careful to avoid the wet stain on his bed sheets. He looked at his phone and smiled at Jared's face. "Fuck." He whispered, realizing how down bad he indeed was for his best friend.

Taglist: @trevorsgodmother @strnilolover @chrissbug333 @kirby0strombolli @abbilmao @ksturnz @marrykisskilled @thenickgirl (IDK why i was even worried about this chapter.... i actually know i delivered ON ACCIDENT)

Dividers: @issysh3ll (dont think i tagged the last few Nickmas' so I didn't annoy her BUT I'm only using this divider for this themed post so all her every chapter)

[its-crowning]

Something tells me you would like urethral births(a draft if you don't mind!): Boys can't get pregnant. Or so you thought. You didn't have the anatomy to be and you were just developing a gut....then why did you feel the compulsion to hide? Why did you feel this dread deep in your stomach that spiked whenever your stomach "twitched"? Or the concerning thought that kept flashing in the back of your mind of that horror scene with the alien bursting out of that woman's stomach? It was ridiculous. You pushed all that deep down. Nothing could or would happen. That's what you told yourself until you woke up abruptly one night, dick swollen and aching. You struggled to get up and waddle to the bathroom and flicked the light on. Jesus Christ. You pulled down your underwear and you just stared at how bright red your dick was, four times its normal size. What the fuck! You had to rush to the hospital. You had to. But you couldn't budge. Instead you found yourself squatting down. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck! is all that your mind could process as the ache deep inside you, pushing you apart spread further and your shaft kept increasing in size. You were starting to freak that it would rip open. Why couldn't you fucking move? Shock must have set in because you were far too removed to notice that you were bearing down. But you looked up at yourself in the mirror once again and then it clicked. You were giving birth. Giving birth to something, maybe a baby. But that didn't matter now, all you knew is you had to get it the fuck out. Seeing as you couldn't do anything else, you widened your stance and bore down harder, ignoring the shrieking nerves between your legs. You were not made with the anatomy for this. This had to be worse than what most people had to go through, because they didn't have to push through their clits. But somehow you were the medical marvel, the first person ever to give a urethral birth. Gritting your teeth, you reached to tenderly pick your penis. It could only go up so far without meeting a solid resistance at its base. You massaged it and whispered apologies, it would be fucking wrecked after this. You dropped your dick and suddenly gasped, grappling for something hang on to as a...was that a contraction? Whatever the fuck it was zapped the strength out from your legs. Sobbing, all you could do was cling to the towel holder and push with the littlest strength left. It felt like hours later when something split your glans open, tufts of something sprouting out. Shakily you reached back down toward your penis and carefully inspected your slit with your fingers...that felt like hair. No, you weren't ready. This wasn't happening- and then a scream ripped itself from your throat as your slit was ripped wider to allow the thing out. Panting, you thought that maybe this was meant to be. There was nothing more pathetic than you right now, weeping and pushing with blood and some unknown fluid everywhere on a cold bathroom floor. That this is what you deserved. You did this to yourself, you hid it for so long and now there was no one here to help you.

holy shit anon…

i’m actually usually not into urethral birth but you might have just shown me the light. usually it’s a bit too cock-explosion-y for me to get horny about it, but i liked the way this guy’s labor means his cock gets large and warped. the part where he’s rubbing it and apologizing to it…he can already feel the baby’s head at the base, heavy and unyielding…i can only imagine how hard pushing something through a penis would be, especially a baby.

this is good. i love how ashamed and scared he is. if you revisit this draft, please give us more details about his belly—I’m so curious 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[aalinaaaaaa]

2024 In a Gift Box

Hey, everyone, greetings after another year that has flown by all too quickly! Featuring new friends, a few awards and 400% more holidays (rip my wallet lol), this has been a wild year for me. And that's only half of it.

For some strange reason, my desire to write increases with the hecticness of my life. Much of Obsidian Sapphires' revival/troubleshooting phase occured during the latter part of the year, from October onwards (though I had been tinkering with its plot for some time now). All because I woke up one morning with the solution to a plot hole appearing in my head.

Anyway, preambles aside, here's a few major highlights from my year (in writing terms):

First up, thanks to @druidx for the Year in Review Tag! The premise of the tag is to post one's favourite five or so pieces that they've written throughout the year.

To be truthful, some of Obsidian Sapphires' scenes would make this list only the respective chapters for them aren't completed yet 😅

A Pawn for a Greater Cause — I had a ball writing the starting dialogue, and the prompt gave me a few revelations regarding Petrius' character.

Regrets — This made me cry at 1am, the catharsis was unreal.

To Perpetuate Life — Amazing how almost falling asleep gives me ideas. This piece helped me answer a few questions about Orlaith's backstory, and also gave me extra questions surrounding the lore.

Blue Moon — This feels like a nice deviation from my usual style, it's more dreamy and whimsical. Also, this reminds me to go and work on its second part, lol (because the scope was too big for one piece)

That angsty pining scene — This is not posted as one scene, but rather in splinters because parts of it are dripping in spoilers for Obsidian Sapphires. However, I enjoyed writing this scene too much not to post some snippets.

WIP Roundup

First things first, an ode to the WIPs that I've put on ice to focus on Obsidian Sapphires.

The Lady's Lament, a brief idea born out of a plot bunny inspired by a plot on Wattpad. The idea sprouted in April 2023, but it lives on in the form of worldbuilding ideas for South Arobyre.

And then also, Flamebearer, one of my oldest wips but also arguably my most complex one. It's a story of grief, religious dilemmas and romantic/familial drama, all under the backdrop of sociopolitical turmoil. It's going to take a lot of research and planning, that much I know. Hence why I want it to be as perfect as I can make it, when I have the knowledge and writing practice to do it justice.

In April this year, one of my Flash Friday pieces (Duel to the Debt) sowed the seeds for another piece (An Endless Round) in May, and later on Soulswapped derived from it. I intended it to be a short enough story, a novella of sorts that would be woven into a larger compilation, but it's become it's own thing. Already, I think it may get a sequel. But I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Obsidian Sapphires

So its' progress this year has been skewed. Like, 'a lot of its progress spawned in October or thereafter' sort of skewed. I woke up one morning and the cogs for the rigmarole surrounding what is currently Chapter 2 all clicked, to the point I yanked out my laptop and starting writing notes until I had to run for class.

Since then, I've had a bunch of ideas, but currently I'm deliberating on the story I wish to tell. It seems more cohesive and easier to plan for when I cut Eshani's perspective out, but at the same time, cutting her perspective would cut or at least hide much of her character development. That and I love her to bits, and she may/may not be a readers' favourite also.

In terms of actual tangible content, bits of the angsty pining scene got posted, as did sections of the first and second chapters. It even came with a few memes, lolololol. (And there's more memes sitting in my gallery/Scrivener notes, this story's quite memeable honestly).

The antagonists got their time of day, however brief so far. And not just the lead meshai, but also the septet of folks angry at the meshai and his fellows.

And this gets onto something that has existed as tags and headings and brief little mentions. A collection of pieces, leading up to answers surrounding some major events in the history of the country Obsidian Sapphires is set in.

That would be This Blood-Stained Charcuterie. It is going to be the anthology of short stories and one-off pieces surrounding Morilast's High Councillors (and indeed, the Court's other denizens and its namesake himself!). A lot of juicy details surrounding certain characters' backstories are going to feature here, I can't wait to get into it. (It's also my excuse to figure out all the bits of lore and convoluted ancestries [who murdered who], lol).

When I finish with Obsidian Sapphires, that is about when I'll start releasing this one. The title could change upon me getting to the end, but we'll see.

Flash Fiction Friday

I started doing these pieces in late 2023, so it's been about a year since my first one (Contemplations). In all, I've completed a total of 28 pieces so far :D

The masterlist came about in early January, because I was inspired by other people who had masterlists for their pieces. It's very satisfying to see it develop from a few pieces to what it is today, a decent few pieces.

Whatsmore, it reflects the trends in my writing, such as the wips that the prompts inspired me for, and what periods I was consistently doing it week-by-week and when the major gaps were.

For whatever reason, I have a tendency of getting inspiration for these at about midnight or so. Even if I get a handful of basic notes written down, it may not still be until late in the night that I can get a piece together, lol.

To commemorate the end of the year, I've started a series known as Flash Friday Flashbacks to celebrate what I've made and show off behind-the-scenes when it comes to notes, context, deleted scenes, etc.

There are a few pieces left in this year's version, which will be reblogged close to the end of the month (to celebrate the New Year).

Next year's edition is going to feature the December 2024 pieces in addition to all the 2025 stuff (which hopefully is a lot). There will also be a 2025-specific masterlist too.

Writeblr Community Events

What is writeblr without its community? It's beyond a pleasure to be part of a group so lovely and talented, everyone has something amazing going for them.

As part of this, there are some people here who create events, discords and/or other initiatives that bring people together. Shoutout to everyone who has done/is doing something along these lines ❤️

Special mentions in my case go to:

@flashfictionfridayofficial for taking the prompt submissions, making the posts, and reblogging everyone's stories (woth fantastic comments) every week

@writeblrsummerfest for making a lovely event spanning the entirety of August, encompassed by a well-organised theme and all

@bardic-tales for establishing the @creators-club and doing all the various types of ask/tag games to foster interaction and support

@agirlandherquill for her first ever Writemas! These prompts are impeccable and it was really fun looking forward to the next day's prompts! I wish I could've participated more, but alas, that's how the cookie crumbles. (Also, high five, we're in the same timezone, woo!)

Plans for 2025

Continue with Obsidian Sapphires — I'd love to get the draft finished

Doing as many of the Flash Friday prompts as well

Reblogging people's posts more and hopefully improving at reaching out to people

Learning to draw is something that I've always wanted to do, but I want to get focused with it this year. It would be cool to put my characters in visual form

Getting a handle on the lore and background information needed to compile This Blood-Stained Charcuterie

The Tags

That brings this post to its natural course, the end. Merry Christmas everyone ❤️🎄

Giving a Year in Review Tag to everyone who is on at least one of my taglists (ask, comment, etc to be added/subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @original-writing @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @rae-butter @corinneglass @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @outpost51 @mundanemoongirl @scarletteflamerald @ceph-the-ghost-writer @flock-from-the-void @mattresses-and-macaroni @limitlesswritingvoid

...As well as all these people I'm tagging here: @winterandwords @finickyfelix @wintherlywords @anyablackwood @cherrybombfangirlwrites @kaylinalexanderbooks @angelfevr @thatndginger @thepeculiarbird @ominous-feychild @oh-no-another-idea @space-writes @veneritia @the-golden-comet @jev-urisk @cljordan-imperium @an-indecisive-nerd @mauannacreates @laureleavess @theeccentricraven @paintedbutton (@/bardic-tales, @/agirlandherquill, both of you are tagged for this too)

...And most importantly, here's a tag for everyone in the audience!

Here's to a hopeful 2025! 🎉

[moon-lv3r]

whenever giorno lets his hair down, he looks like fugo ~

🦋 category: scenario

🦋 characters: giorno, bucciarati, abbacchio, mista, narancia, fugo, trish

🦋 summary: in which whenever giorno lets his hair down, he looks like fugo. sometimes the members of bucciarati’s gang gets them mixed up

🦋 warnings: bunch of sillies and everyone lives !! trish is part of the gang idc what anyone says

🦋 notes: i love this headcanon of mine, it’s so cute

giorno giovanna ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

🐞 literally does not realise

🐞 woke up one morning and was too lazy to do his little donuts and let them fly

🐞 bucciarati saw him and greeted him as fugo so giorno turned around and saw a sleepy mista, who also greeted him as fugo

🐞 hm weird

🐞 even abbacchio’s weirdly nicer to him

🐞it didn’t take long for him to realise what’s happening

🐞it’s giorno of course he figured it out

🐞he was going to call them all out but he simply didn’t have the chance to

🐞”oi fugo, pass me that snack” “oi fugo, look at this document, you know a lot about crime right?” “oi fugo help me with this equation!” “fugo let’s watch a slasher film!” “fugo do you mind following me to buy some new clothes?”

🐞being fugo feels like being a slave

🐞he keeps trying to say something but noooo not a chance golden boy

🐞 let’s see how the members of the gang realise that giorno isn’t fugo

bruno bucciarati ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

🤐 he’s abit confused on why ‘fugo’ suddenly dressed differently when he asked for him to look at some documents

🤐 “fugo, i think you look great with this new style”

🤐 “uh thanks bucciarati”

🤐 too focused on work to tell that he mixed them up

🤐 it wasn’t until he realised that giorno was nowhere to be found that he started to be suspicious

🤐 order of the members waking up: abbacchio, bucciarati, giorno, trish, fugo, mista, narancia (afternoon)

🤐 “eh where is giorno i need something…”

🤐 “bucciarati i am giorno”

🤐 poor bucciarati, he thought it was a stand attack, mixing everybody up. until he saw giorno’s eyes and realised it’s different

🤐 “apologies for mixing you up with fugo… it’s the hair. but you still did a decent job in helping me with the documents, i’ll get fugo to check them later”

trish una ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

✖️she knew right away

✖️look she’s a girl

✖️have we not seen the stockings and makeup she had narancia buy? of course she knew

✖️”fugo has a different shade of blonde”

✖️giorno is glad that there is one person that he doesn’t need to explain himself to

✖️”the both of you are very different. fugo uses strawberry scents, you don’t. the hair length is different too. your hair is also brighter compared to fugo”

✖️trish does agree that they look similar with the hair

✖️ then she dragged giorno to do some shopping with her and returned somewhere in the afternoon

✖️they bought food and other necessities, alongside random items some of the other members needed

✖️however giorno’s arms are now covered in eyeshadow, lip gloss, lipsticks and other makeup products

pannacotta fugo ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

🍓”what the fuck?!” when he saw giorno

🍓 he had just finished looking through the documents that bucciarati showed him

🍓 he kept thinking if it’s a stand attack

🍓 it wasn’t so he continued staring at giorno

🍓 “bucciarati… do i have a long lost twin?”

🍓 “no”

🍓 bucciarati decided not to say anything and let fugo figure out all on his own

🍓 fugo decided to confront giorno but he didn’t know that it was giorno that he was confronting

🍓”oi is this some kind of joke?!” he grabbed giorno’s shoulders and roughly spun him around

🍓”oh.”

🍓yeah he realised after spinning giorno around

🍓 he apologised. a lot

leone abbacchio ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

🍷he actually doesn’t care enough to differentiate between them

🍷 he thought it was weird that there were two fugos but figured it out

🍷 didn’t want to pay attention to the differences they had though

🍷”oi fugo come here” and the person he dragged is giorno

🍷”giorno! get your ass here” and it’s fugo

🍷he’s nicer to giorno when he thought that giorno was fugo

🍷fugo is honestly fed up with being treated like shit while giorno doesn’t really mind

🍷even the strawberry scent that fugo wears did little to help

🍷”wearing fugo’s stupid scents now i see” to fugo, thinking it’s giorno

🍷 yes abbacchio is not a fan of sweet scents

🍷bucciarati had to tell him but does he care who is who? no he still mixes them up, on purpose now

🍷 abbacchio noticed some of the makeup on giorno’s arm, asked about it and decided to buy them the first chance he gets

🍷 he just took the opportunity to kinda make them do his work

guido mista ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

🔫 well well well… he could not tell the difference at all

🔫 “fugo where is your sweet scent?” when he’s talking to giorno

🔫 “where is giorno” he asks giorno, who he thought was fugo

🔫 fugo somehow hasn’t lost his temper

🔫 giorno and fugo just looked at each other in disappointment

🔫 it didn’t help that abbacchio mixes them up too so there’s just two grown men mixing up fugo and giorno

🔫 trish decided to mess with mista and join in

🔫 bucciarati is busy doing his mafia boss stuff to engage

🔫 poor mista is just getting confused every 10 seconds

🔫 trish is loving this too, just constantly messing around with mista

🔫 he only realised what’s going on when trish absolutely lost her shit and started laughing

🔫 trish and mista decided to mess with narancia, much to fugo and giorno’s dismay

🔫 giorno is secretly enjoying it while fugo just wants to get on with his day

narancia ghirga ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

🍊 the above is his exact reaction to the scene before him

🍊 trish and mista used makeup and contact lenses to make fugo and giorno look the exact same, except for the hair

🍊 fugo was protesting of course

🍊 “no you will not! my eyes! what are these?!” he screams as mista puts in contacts for him. trish is gentle with giorno

🍊 narancia rubbed his eyes, there’s two fugo’s in front of him

🍊”aha that’s fugo’s brother! nice to meet you i’m narancia!”

🍊 mista and trish lost their shit. giorno giggled and fugo sighed

🍊”yes… my long lost brother…” fugo played along

🍊 narancia kept asking ‘fugo’s brother’ about their childhood together. the brother is a year younger than fugo, just like giorno

🍊 mista shouted for abbacchio and bucciarati to come over and watch what was happening

🍊 bucciarati was amused, abbacchio thought it was abit stupid but egged it on anyway

🍊 “don’t you think fugo’s brother is as stupid looking as giorno?” abbacchio added

🍊”now that you mentioned it, i see it! fugo you should have your brother meet giorno! eh where is giorno?” narancia is just getting played at this point

🍊this is basically free entrainment

🍊 it only ended when bucciarati spoke to giorno, like he’s giorno because he needed giorno for something

🍊 “wait… that’s giorno..? MISTA!”

[gnxosblog]

The new boy

Pt 1

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ✵ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧?

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⁂ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠.

Matt x reader

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝*

~

I woke up from my alarm. Ugh school. Summer break had already ended. Time flies when you’re having fun. I mostly hangout with Kira, Josh and Aiden. I was kinda excited to go to school again but not to see my teachers. Especially not Mr Phill, he was an annoying and boring old man. I was most excited to just get out of the house everyday and see my friends. I didn’t like being home because my parents would fight almost all the time except for when other people were around. I was never good enough for them, I never did anything good. Home didn’t feel like a home to me.

I got up out of bed and walked over to my closet to pick out an outfit. I put on some grey cargo pants and a white top. I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth and hair and put on makeup. I liked to have my makeup kinda natural but still glowy. You could still see my freckles really well because of the sunny weather. I put in my earrings and a silver necklace with a small shark charm. I have always loved the sea since I was a little kid and was most fascinated by sharks. When I saw them I wasn’t scared like most people, I would just admire them. I loved aquariums but my parents wouldn’t let me get one, not even for some small fishes. We did have a pool in the backyard so sometimes I would just imagine swimming with sharks. I never told anyone about my obsession with sharks, I was scared they would find it weird or frightening. I didn’t make it too obvious, just the necklace and a small shark figurine on my desk. I could talk hours about the ocean, to myself.

I walked downstairs and sat down to eat. I put some cereal in my bowl and poured milk in top of it. My dad had already left for work and my mom was still asleep. I was an only child so every morning I would be alone. I liked the peace, no fighting and screaming. I didn’t even understand why they were still together, I think my mother is too scared to leave. They have been together for more than half of their lives. They didn’t know what life was like without each other anymore. I finished my breakfast when I heard a horn outside. Josh was here to pick me up.

I walked up to the passenger side and opened the door. “Hey, ready for the first day of senior year?” Josh asked. “I guess.” I answered. “You guess.” He repeated laughing. Josh has been my best friend since kindergarten. I could tell him everything, I trusted him the most out of everyone. Kira and Aiden were sitting in the backseat. They have been dating for a few months now and couldn’t leave each other’s side. “Are you guys ready?” I asked turning my head to the backseat. “No.” Aiden said. Kira agreed. I left out a small chuckle. The whole ride to school we just listened to music and talked. Circles by post Malone was now playing. I always loved that song. We arrived at school and I let out a small sigh. Josh looked over at me. “You good?” He asked. “Yeah.” I smiled. “Just a bit nervous.” “Oh okay, alright let’s go.” Josh said. We got out of the car. Me and Kira went to the bathroom real quick and Josh and Aiden already walked up to class.

“So you excited to be a senior?” Kira asked. “Yeah I guess, but I kinda like being at school with you guys.” I replied. She agreed. “It’s kinda sad that after this year we won’t be going here again.” Kira said. “Yeah but luckily we still have a year and stop now before I cry.” We laugh. “Okay, okay alright let’s go to class. We don’t wanna be late the first day.” Kira said. We walked to class and sat down in the middle. “Okay welcome class, are you ready for senior year?” The teacher asked. No one reacted. “We also have some new students joining us.” Three boys walked into class, they looked alike but there were still some differences. I looked at all three of them but my eyes stayed on one of them. He had dark brown hair which fell over his forehead, he had these magnificent blue eyes and pink lips. He had tattoos on both of his arms and that outfit that damn outfit. He was wearing blue jeans and a black t shirt. I scanned him head to toe when I noticed his earrings, we were wearing the same ones. The Vivienne Westwood planet studs. I didn’t realize I was staring until all of the sudden I made eye contact with him. I quickly looked away and pulled my hair from behind my ear and let it fall in front of my face. I felt my face getting red as I tried looking back. He was still looking at me, I felt his gaze, it was strong. I quickly looked over at Kira. “Yo they are hot.” She whispered. “Kira you can’t say that, you have a boyfriend.” She scoffed and looked back at the teacher. “Boys please introduce yourselves.” “Hi I’m Nick Sturniolo.” One of them says. He also had some tattoos and a nose ring. “Im Chris Sturniolo.” Another one says. He had no tattoos. “I’m Matt Sturniolo.” The last boy said. So his name is Matt. “Hi boys, welcome to class.” They nodded as they walked to their seats. Matt sat in front of me on the right. I stared at his back for almost the whole class until we got assigned an assignment. I quickly looked over at Kira. “What do we need to do?” I asked her. She laughed. “Were you to busy staring?” She asked. “No I-I wasn’t, shut up.” I said feeling myself get a bit red. “Alright well we need to read the first chapter and then answer question 1-20.” She said. “Oh okay thanks.”

-

We were sitting at lunch and I still couldn’t stop thinking about him, Matt. “Yo y/n, you coming This Saturday?” Aiden asked. I snapped out of my thoughts and looked up. “Mmh what.” He smiled. “Are you coming this Saturday ?” “What’s Saturday?” I asked. “Jake’s party, he invited all seniors.” Aiden said. “Uhm sure I’ll come.” I said. “Yayy!” Kira said as she hugged me. I smiled at her. I looked around the cafeteria and saw him again, Matt sitting with his brothers. I have never had a boyfriend, I have never kissed or anything else. I have never really liked anyone nor loved anyone. Of coarse I love my friends and I do love my parents but not in that way not love love. But why did he stay in my mind what was different about him? I decided to just try and ignore it but could I?

-

After school Josh dropped me off at my house. I walked up to the door and reached for my keys. I could already hear the screaming through the door. I unlocked the door and walked in. It went quiet. “Hey honey how was school?” My mom asked. “Fine.” I said. Before I knew it, the yelling started again. I ran up to my room and slammed the door. I put down my bag and turned on my box. Again by Noah Cyrus and xxxtentacion played throughout the speakers. When music was on I could just forget about my problems and enjoy the sound of it. I couldn’t hear the yelling anymore and I opened my phone. I sat down on my bed and I clicked on instagram. Before I knew it I had typed in his name, Matt Sturniolo I tapped on search and clicked on the first profile that popped up. It was him. He had a few posts, I scrolled through them. I jumped as my mom barged into my room. My phone flew out of my hands. “Y/n put that music down right now!” I just looked at her. “Why are you on your phone, don’t you have homework.” She asked with a mad look on her face. She would always find a reason to get mad at me after she just fought with my dad. “Can’t I relax for a bit, geez.” I said. “Don’t give me an attitude now young lady, go on make your homework.” She walked out of my room. I sighed as I reached for my phone who was now laying beside me. “SHIT!” I said out loud.

I slammed my hand on my mouth. I had accidentally liked his post, probably when my mom barged in. I quickly unliked it and hopefully he didn’t see the notification. I felt so embarrassed. What if he noticed? I put on my headphones since there was complaints about the loud music. I started making my homework but I couldn’t focus that well. I kept thinking about me accidentally liking his post. He also definitely saw me staring at him today at class. I opened my phone again. Phew, no instagram notifications. I left out a small sigh. I quickly clicked away his profile and deleted my search history. I decided to text Josh.

To Josh

Hey watcha doing?

From Josh

Hi just watching some TikTok, you?

To Josh

Idk I tried making the homework but can’t really focus lol

From Josh

Oh why’s that? Do you want me to send you the answers or come over and help?

To Josh

No you don’t need to do that I can do it

From Josh

Y/n please just let me help you’re my best friend

To Josh

Okay fine please send them

From josh

Np 🤗

*Josh send 4 photos*

To Josh

Ily thanksss🫶🏻

I finished the homework thanks to Josh’s answers. I am so thankful to have him as my best friend. He was always there for me. “Dinner’s ready!” I hear my mom yelling from downstairs. Ugh I kinda liked the peace in my room. I walked downstairs and sat down. “What are we eating?” I asked. “Just some pizza.” My mom answered. “Oh okay.” I answered. I was kinda excited to eat pizza until I saw what was on the table. “What is that?” I asked. “Pizza.” My mom answered. “Well it doesn’t look like it.” I said. “Eat or eat nothing.” My mom answered. On the table was a green round thing with cheese and weird greenies on it, It was probably one of those *healthy* recipes my mom found online. I ate the ‘pizza’ and acted like I liked it. I didn’t want my mom to get mad at me again. After dinner I went up to my room again and laid down on my bed. Before I knew it I was thinking about him again. Why did I keep thinking about him. I never thought about a boy so much and not like this. Not about how fine he was, about his gaze passing mine, about his eyes, about his tattoos or about his lips. Damn those lips. They were a pinkish colour, I wondered what they would feel like on mine. I shrugged my head. I had never kissed how can I think about it right now, with him. I didn’t even know how to kiss. I didn’t even know him, I didn’t know Matt and I didn’t know what he was like. Maybe he was a player, maybe he wasn’t even nice. I jumped out of my thoughts as I heard my phone ring. I picked it up.

*Incoming call Kira🤓🩷*

I picked up.

“Heyy” Kira said. “Heyy” I said back. “Watcha doing, I’m bored.” Kira said. “Nothing really just chilling on my phone.” I said. I couldn’t tell her that I was thinking about Matt, the new boy. “Owh wanna do something?” She asked. “Wanna come over and go for a swim?” I asked. “Hell yes, be there in 15.” Kira said. I hung up the phone and walked over to my closet to grab a bikini. I grabbed a baby blue bikini and put it on. Blue was my favorite color of coarse, blue just like the ocean. I put my hair in a bun and grabbed an towel. I already walked to the backyard and placed down my towel on a chair. I sat down waiting for Kira. I turned on my box and soft rap music was playing through it. After a while Kira finally arrived. “Hey girl.” She said as she already jumped in the pool. I let out a laugh. “Hey to you too.” “Come in.” Kira said. I jumped in and made a small squeal. The water was cold on my skin. “Geez it’s freezing.” I said. “Don’t be such an pussy.” Kira said. Kira was part of the swimming team from our school so she was used to cold water. We swam together and just talked for a while. “I’m getting out, it’s too cold.” I said. Kira scoffed. “Well I’m staying for a bit.” I walked back over to my chair as I saw some familiar faces in the corner of my eye. I looked over to the left through my gate and I saw them walking. The triplets were walking past my house! I felt goosebumps come over me as I saw that Matt his eyes were on me. I was in my bikini and he saw me! He looked so good. He was wearing a red hat backwards with his hair falling at the sides. He also had a white t shirt and red shorts that matched the hat. I loved that color red, it was a dark red color. I almost folded at the sight of him. I saw that he had a small smirk on his face. I led out a little smile as I walked to my chair.

————————————★—————————————

A/n 🜸 hope you liked it! This is actually the first series I’m writing. Leave feedback plss 🙏Next part Matt’s pov.

[slothquisitor]

Invisible String: Chapter Sixteen

A Baldur’s Gate III Modern AU.

Chapter Summary: With the exhibition open, Liv can finally figure out how she feels. Here there be smut!

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

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When Liv arrives at the empty apartment, she’s struck by what a relief it is to walk back into a space that is hers. And it still does feel like hers despite all the ways she’d worried it wasn’t anymore. She doesn’t regret leaving, but she does regret telling Astarion it wasn’t her home. Because it still very much is. 

There’s a familiarity in dropping into her own bed in her own room, in the quiet of the apartment. Astarion promised her time, and she intends to take it, but first, she needs to sleep. And then she plans to spend the entirety of the weekend in what she lovingly refers to as goblin mode: in comfy clothes and absolutely not leaving the apartment under any circumstances. 

She does this sometimes, especially when it feels like her social battery has run out. She enjoys a weekend hermitted up alone and ordering takeout and generally not having to interact with anyone. It’s been a long time since it’s felt like a need in the way this weekend does though. 

On Saturday, she doesn’t wake until almost noon. She hadn’t realized just how tired she was until she woke up to discover she slept nearly twelve hours. Several notifications wait for her from her colleagues, congratulating her on the exhibit opening. She’s also missed a call from her sister. All of that sounds like a good thing for Monday Liv to deal with. 

She goes about making coffee, reads a book, watches her baking show. Orders a truly unhinged amount of take-out that will keep her fed all weekend. And then she does the only sensible thing one does in goblin mode: binge-watches the worst romcoms she can find.

The problem with most romcoms, despite her love for them, comes in the third act break-up. Every romcom has them. It is the staple of the genre and important to maintain a cohesive plot structure in an otherwise too-quiet story since the tension of the romantic leads getting together, which holds an audience’s attention until the culmination of the romance, needs to exist in some other way. Now they’re together, what is the thing that is going to tear them apart? And how do they overcome whatever insurmountable odds the writers have placed for them and claim their happily ever after? 

Liv’s issue with the third-act break-up is just that all too often the conflict feels…contrived. I didn’t tell you I was writing an article about how to get a guy to break up with me. Going out with you was actually a bet, but then I caught feelings. All of my wildest dreams have come true, and I’m dating this actor guy but I miss my best friend. Or least likely of all: I matched with my roommate on a dating app, and he figured it out before I did, used it, caught feelings, and then came clean. 

So does that make her the ridiculous one or the fool who forgives an unforgivable offense too quickly or readily for the sake of a happily ever after? Is there real substance here or do the main leads simply have too much chemistry that the audience is willing to believe they can just work it out? Are they on the list of couples that don’t even make it six months past the events of the movie?

Is that what this is really about? Is she afraid that whatever it is they are won’t last? That a single month in and his confession has rocked her to the very core, what happens if she forgives him and they have more time…and it still doesn’t work out? What happens to her then?

Because it’s a lot easier to hold Astarion at arm’s length now, to put that distance between them. Her own family can’t find a way to love her, to choose her, so why would he? And in lying to her, hasn’t he shown her what he thinks of her? But then…he’d also come clean. Not because he had to or because she’d caught him in the lie…but because he values honesty. Because he wanted something real. And where does that leave her? What happens now?

There are a lot of people she could call to talk this out with, but she needs someone who will understand completely. So she calls her sister. 

“How was the opening?” her sister asks. She sounds terrible, already coughing twice over the course of the call and clearly stuffed up. 

“It was great, but that’s not what I called about…I can let you rest though.”

She hears muffled movement of the phone while her sister goes through another bout of coughing. “It might be annoying to talk to me like this, but please distract me. I’m so miserable, and I blame Erin completely.”

“Is she feeling better?”

“Yes, thank the gods. We’re the worst versions of ourselves when we’re both sick. So…what did you call about?”

And so she tells her everything: from joining the app to that kiss on the couch even telling her about Astarion being a vampire. She leaves nothing out, even the way she’d run out of the apartment the other night and the distance she’d kept from Astarion at the exhibition. She tells her about her fears and hopes and everything in between. And Brelia listens. 

“You know, if he’d been any less awesome about you asking for time, I might be more mad at him,” Brelia says. “I feel like his respect for your boundaries says a lot about how much he genuinely cares. He did fuck up, don’t get me wrong, but he is also trying to fix it.”

“Is it ridiculous to want to let him?” she asks. 

Her sister clears her throat. “Oh honey, no. You love him.”

She immediately goes to correct her sister, to realize…that she’s not wrong. She does love Astarion. 

“When I first left the family, I felt like I was wandering around with my hands up, ready to fight anything. I felt suddenly so strong, so able to advocate for myself. And I was utterly convinced that I wouldn’t put myself back into a situation where I was treated like that ever again. What I didn’t realize was just how fucking isolated that made me…made it impossible for me to connect to anyone around me.”

Liv knows exactly what her sister is talking about. “So what did you do?”

“I had to learn how to let people around me in. That also means letting them close enough to hurt you. But you know what I’ve always admired about you, Liv?”

Her sister admires something about her? “What?”

“Your capacity for hope. For seeing the goodness in the world and being good to people regardless if they deserve it. You’ve never let your pain define you, don’t let it shape this either.” 

“You’re very wise.”

“Thank you, it’s the cocktail of cold medicine coursing through my system. Don’t expect it every day.”

“I do appreciate you letting me talk this through.”

“I think this is what sisters are for, but can’t say I’m very practiced at it.”

“Me either.”

“Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

When she wakes on Sunday morning, she feels like a person again. And unlike yesterday, the apartment feels empty. Astarion’s absence is everywhere. She wanders over to the open doorway of his bedroom, coffee in hand, leaning against the threshold. She misses him; it would be a lie to deny it, even to herself. She misses her friend and roommate. She misses the person who wanted to talk about weird theories from Crown of Shadows with her and set out her coffee in the morning so they could chat in the living room. The person who choked down food he doesn’t even eat simply because he wanted to spend time with her because he wanted to feel normal with her. She misses the jokes and the sarcasm and all of the ways he is the most high-maintenance person she’s ever known. 

 And yes, he had lied and obfuscated and it had hurt her. But he had also acknowledged it. Apologized, shown up when it mattered. Astarion is not her family, and it’s unfair to punish him like he is. 

He had called himself a bad draft with such utter hopelessness. And he’s not…like everyone else in the world, he is simply painfully imperfect. 

And at least now, she knows what to do.

***

“How am I supposed to do anything when I don’t know where I’m going?” Astarion says as his operator gets violently murdered in the video game Petras has insisted he play with him. 

“You’ll learn the map. Just look for people with red names over their heads and shoot them,” Petras replies. “Karlach says you walked off the edge earlier though, maybe don’t do that.”

Astarion bites his tongue because it’s not as if he can hear Karlach’s response anyway. He refuses to put on one of those ridiculous headsets like Petras is wearing and ruin his hair. So he simply can’t hear Karlach while they play. 

“Oh! I got a kill!” Astarion says excitedly. Had the person been mostly injured by another player? Yes. Did he still get the final shot? Also yes. That’s all that matters.

“Ayyyy. You’re gaming!” Petras says, but the tone is so patronizing he slaps his shoulder. 

“I won’t keep playing if you and Karlach make fun of me.”

The only good thing about couch rotting with Petras this weekend is that it keeps him from obsessively checking his phone to see if Liv has decided to talk to him again. He feels like his entire life is somehow hanging in the balance, and there’s really nothing to do but wait. He told her she could have time, and well, here he is, playing the most ridiculous white male military simulator…and weirdly having a good time anyway. 

Karlach and Petras are good at this game, moving with practiced ease and dragging Astarion along. He just likes opening loot boxes and gathering as much money as possible and hoarding all the good weapons even though he can barely win a gunfight in the game. He will grudgingly admit that he’s having fun, but he’ll never tell Petras or Karlach that. 

“Why are there no stairs in this house? I can hear a loot box,” Astarion says. 

“You’re looting right now? Karlach and I are fighting a team. Get over here!”

He shrugs. “No.” And keeps looking for a way up to the second story of the building. So annoying Petras and Karlach might be where the bulk of the fun is coming from. 

He’s a little disappointed when they all hop off so that Petras and Karlach can get ready for their shifts at the Elfsong later this evening. “You could come in tonight if you want,” Petras says. “Give you something to do that’s not watching your phone.”

Astarion tosses his phone aside on the couch. “I’m not watching it.”

Petras laughs. “You are, but it’s okay. She’ll reach out.”

“Eventually.”

Though how much longer is really anyone’s guess. Which means he’s stuck here for the foreseeable future. He finds he hates it less than he thought. Petras…isn’t the worst company in the world. He’s toying with the idea that maybe he should tell Petras that, but then his phone vibrates and he nearly leaps across the couch to see the notification. Even Petras freezes on his way to the kitchen. 

Liv: Are you still at Petras’s? Do you have some time to talk?

“It’s her…she…wants to talk,” Astarion announces. His chest feels tight like he can’t quite catch his breath. He’s already typing out a reply and doesn't care about how potentially desperate responding immediately makes him look. 

Astarion: Yes, of course. I’m still at his place. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?

“And?” Petras asks. 

Liv: I’m already on my way. I should be there in five minutes or so.

Despite having been waiting all weekend for this moment, he finds himself suddenly unprepared. She’s going to be here in five minutes? And then he’ll no longer be in limbo wondering what is going to happen to them, but what does that mean . Is it a good thing she’s coming here instead of inviting him back to their apartment? 

“Hi. Would love an update here…you’re just like…hyperventilating and we don’t even have to breathe,” Petras says leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Astarion stands up, unable to contain this sudden influx of nervous energy. “She’s on her way here.”

“Like right now?” 

Astarion nods. 

Petras looks around the apartment with concern. “We should clean up.”

It’s not as though they’ve really made a huge mess of the place, but Astarion’s bedding from the couch has been unceremoniously tossed on the floor to make room for gaming and there are empty glasses that were once filled with either booze or blood scattered across the coffee table. They immediately move into clean-up mode to make the apartment look a little less like Astarion’s personal pit of depression. 

A few minutes later, the place looks better and Astarion feels not even a tiny bit more relieved for that fact. “Should I go out front and meet her or…wait for her to knock on the door?”

Should he change his clothes? Should Petras be here for this? The questions all become quickly moot when there’s a quiet knock on the door. 

He and Petras stare at each other for a moment. Liv is here. 

He feels frozen in this moment, staring down the short hallway that leads to the door. Whatever happens next is either going to be very good or very bad. And he has no idea what to expect. 

“Astarion!” Petras hisses, and he’s brought back to his body. “Answer the damn door. Go!”

He nods quickly and hurries to the door, opening it to find Liv. She’s bundled up against the cold, cheeks bright from it. He drinks in the sight of her, unsure for how long he’ll be able to do so. 

“Hi,” she says with a tight smile. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

Behind him, he hears Petras peek around the hallway. “Hi, Liv!”

She offers Petras a smile much less complicated than the one she’d given him. He tries not to resent it. “Maybe we should chat out front?” 

“Sure.”

He doesn’t need it, but he grabs his coat anyway, if only because it gives him something to do with his hands, and follows her back out into the cold, into the small courtyard in front of Petras’s apartment building. 

There’s a mixed sense of anticipation and dread. He wishes he knew whether he was walking towards the death of something or not. He wants to ask, but instead, he decides to wait, she’s clearly got some sort of plan, and…well, he’d follow her anywhere. Even out here. And he tries to make peace with the fact that this could be the end of everything and that maybe in a few moments, all he’ll have is the comfort that he did get to love her, and that will have to be enough. Because he does love her, but he wants her happiness more. Whatever that means for him. 

The silence drags on, but he’s aware it hasn’t really been that long when she turns and begins to speak. “Thank you…for giving me some space to figure this all out.”

“Of course,” he replies, stuffing his hands in his pockets so that she can’t see the way they’re shaking. 

“When you told me about the Weave…and I had to run through all those conversations and memories and pass them through the lens of that new understanding…it felt…it felt a lot like when my mother told me about my half-brother,” she explains. 

Oh, shit. He hadn’t thought… “I’m so sorry, I didn’t -”

She holds up a hand. “I know, and…it’s not your fault that it triggered those memories. You were wrong to keep that from me, and you could’ve just kept going on like that. I never had to know…but you value honesty too much.”

It’s funny to have spent so much of his life lying and pretending. Even his career is in some ways a bit dishonest, the way he hides behind a handle and can’t show his face. But she’s right, in this, with her…honest is the only way he can have it. 

“I should have told you sooner,” he says, gaze falling to the pavement. 

“Yeah, you should have,” she agrees. “But I forgive you.”

The vice grip on his chest loosens, just a bit. “You do?” He looks back at her, her green eyes are soft, full of an emotion he can’t quite place. 

She steps closer, not quite touching him, but it would be easy to close the distance entirely. He keeps his hands in his pockets, lest he does something to mar this moment, lest he’s read this wrong. 

“You made a mistake, but you’ve owned up to it. And I think you’ve been punishing yourself long enough. Don’t you?”

No. Not just for this…but for everything that came before it too. The years and the pain and all the ways that he kept himself locked up there. “Some days I don’t know how to move forward…if I’m even moving forward or just…walking in a circle.”

She nods like she understands, and he knows she does. “Do you want to figure it out together?”

“Yes,” he breathes. He wants nothing more. 

She smiles. “Good, I really miss my roommate.”

Is that all? He wants to be content with that…with whatever and however she’ll have him. “I missed you, too.”

But that is not all he wants to tell her, and he has waited too long and suffered too much to not at least try . “You are the single brightest spot in my life. You’re brilliant and funny and kind. Sometimes, I get overwhelmed just knowing that you exist. I love knowing how you take your coffee and that you watch baking shows when you’re stressed. I love getting to be the person you come home to every day. You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had, but I don’t want to just be your roommate. Liv…”

Her eyes are bright as she gently cups his face. At her touch, all words desert him. He leans into the gentleness she offers. “I love you.”

After everything? Even knowing every bit of darkness? All his secrets…everything he is so ashamed of? She loves him. And she wouldn’t say if it wasn’t true. This feels too big to hold. “I love you, too.”

“So kiss her already!” 

They both turn to look back at Petras’s building, seeing him standing at his bedroom window, head propped on his chin, unashamedly eavesdropping. He scowls and flips Petras off, but then Liv’s hands are back on his face and she’s pressing onto her tiptoes to kiss him and he forgets to be annoyed. 

Her lips are soft where they meet his, but he cannot help but deepen the kiss, arms wrapping around her and pressing her fully against him. She loves him, and he feels the truth of it with every press of her lips and gentle caress of her hands. 

Liv pulls away all too soon. “Do you want to come home?” Home. She’d told him that their apartment wasn’t home, but it is, for them both.

He pulls her back in. “Gods yes. You’ve no idea how dismal the shower pressure is here.”

She laughs into his kiss, and he thinks it might be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

***

Liv books a rideshare back to their apartment after bidding goodbye to Petras. Despite his unabashed listening in on their conversation, Astarion had even thanked him for allowing him to stay there, and there had been some understanding passing between that she was glad to see. If nothing else, the events of the last week have shown both her and Astarion that they are not alone in this city. 

Still, it feels right to walk into their apartment together, falling right into routines and habits as if no time has passed at all. They hang their coats on the hooks near the door and she places her keys in the bowl on the counter. 

Astarion pauses as he enters the kitchen. “You cleaned.”

She shrugs. “Helps me think.”

“And what all did you need to think about?” he asks. Because he would need to know, to understand what kept her from forgiving him immediately, what kept them apart.

She steps closer to him and leans against the counter. He’d held her hand the whole way back here, as though letting go might mean she’d simply disappear. It breaks her heart a little to realize how tenuous this all must seem to him. She needs to explain this, explain it right. “That despite my knee-jerk reaction you don’t and have never treated me in the same ways my family has. For years, I minimized everything they did. I made excuses for the ways they treated me. And it was easy because none of it was outright abuse, no one hit me…no one told me to my face that I was unlovable or stupid or only worthwhile if I did something that they could brag about…It was easy for me to believe I was the one with the problem when faced with their utter indifference.

“So I made excuses and I minimized my own pain so much that when the next thing happened…I was always filled with so much hope it would be different this time that it all felt like fresh betrayal. Every damn time. Until I cut them out of my life, I didn’t realize just how…exhausted I was.”

His eyes are hard. “You deserve so much better than the ways they treated you.”

She nods. “I know. I know that now. If this past year has taught me anything, it’s that…they’re the problem not me. But I did allow it for a long time…so when you told me the truth…I was…I was afraid that forgiving you would be falling back into that same cycle. But it was unfair to you.”

“And I was unfair to treat you like someone who might discard me the moment I didn’t live up to expectations. You’ve always been patient…understanding…kind.” He steps closer, presses his forehead against hers. “We are…both of us…more than what others have made us.”

“I love you,” she says. The words come easier the more she says them, the more he offers them back. And the words are nice, but they have been telling each other how much they care in smaller, more subtle ways for a while now. She thinks the speed should scare her, but it doesn’t. It just feels right . 

His whole face softens at her words. “And I love you.”

“I’m in this, Astarion. All in. No matter the risk.”

He takes her hands in his. “I still don’t know what I’m doing. I might…hurt you again….even without meaning to.”

She squeezes his hands. “We’ll probably hurt each other, but that’s just part of being imperfect people. What matters is what we do every other day, not just the bad ones.”

“You make me feel like all the struggle might be worth it,” he says and then he’s kissing her, lips soft and insistent. Her arms are around his neck and he’s pulling her flush against him while backing her against the counter. They’ve been here before, kissing and touching and holding one another, but this feels different. There’s an undercurrent of need pulsing through them both, as though they’re trying to reach something in each other no one has ever found before.  

They are so often careful with the physical aspect of their relationship, but there is nothing careful about the way Astarion kisses her now, every touch a branding. He lifts her onto the counter, and her legs wrap around his waist, locking him there. Cool fingers ruck her sweater up, run over the exposed area of her stomach and waist before pushing higher to cup her breast through her bra. She is surprised as the sound it coaxes from her, the low neediness of the whine. He drops his attention to her neck, kissing and gently worrying the sensitive skin with his teeth while her fingers tunnel through his hair. 

He pulls back and they’re both breathing hard, but his crimson eyes are bright and alert, and so very present. “Your bed or mine?” he asks. 

“We don’t-” she begins only to be cut off with a fierce kiss from him. 

He pulls back just enough to brush his nose against hers. “I’m all in.”

And what a gift that is. “Yours.” And then she drops off the counter, letting him lead her to his room. She pauses at the threshold. “Not exactly interested in adding another roommate to the mix though, do I need to grab a condom?”

He smiles a little at her attempt at a joke. “I’m not interested in that either, though it’s less of a concern for me. Vampires…can’t.”

“Good to know…I’ve got an IUD, but I’m usually paranoid enough to use both.”

“Now that doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

He pulls her in, easing her sweater up and over her head before discarding his own shirt. She laughs as she nearly loses her balance trying to kick off her shoes and kiss him at the same time, and he’s smiling into every kiss too. This feels different than the night he drank from her, there’s a lightness to it, an absence of shame, still, she is careful in following his lead. 

He removes her bra and she is nearly undone by the press of skin against skin, the drag of her breasts along the smooth expanse of his chest. He pushes her jeans down and she steps out of them, already working at the button on his pants as he presses her down onto the bed. 

When he breaks away to kiss down her chest, tongue circling the peak of her breast, she stays watchful, looking for any sign or hint that this is too much. His gaze meets hers and reads the concern there. He crawls back up her body, and brings them nose to nose, the weight of him a solid press into the softness of the bed. 

“Stop worrying. I’m with you. Besides…I’ve had such plans since the last night we spent in my bed.” There’s no false confidence, no forced aloofness, just a naked earnestness that feels softer, more hopeful than anything he’s shown her before. 

He pulls away, kneeling on the floor and pulling her to the edge of the bed with him. He kisses the inside of her thigh, watching her with an obvious question in his eyes. Her mouth feels too dry to form words, so she simply nods and lets him pull her underwear away before burying his face between her legs. 

Her fingers clench the sheets as he licks her tongue toying at her entrance before darting up to her clit and white-hot pleasure courses all the way through her. It takes every ounce of willpower not to tighten her thighs around his head, worried what he might feel if she boxes him in. She’s lost for several moments in the movements of his tongue, drifting on the waves of slowly building pleasure. 

And then she feels his fingers move inside her and she nearly jumps at the sensation. “Astarion…”

“Hmmm?” he hums with amusement, mouth closing around her clit, the vibration making her see stars. Her hips buck uncontrollably at the sensation, and his fingers move inside her at a torturously slow pace, but all it takes is a flick of her clit with his tongue and she’s coming around him with a soft cry. 

His fingers coax her through the orgasm and when she gathers herself enough to look at him, she realizes he’s watching her with a soft, self-satisfied smile. She’s already pulling him to her, and he follows easily, discarding his briefs as he crawls up her body. She flips him as he kisses her, tasting herself on his lips, his hands in her hair. 

Now, there is nothing between them, just the coolness of his skin against hers. She rocks forward, groaning at the sensation of her swollen clit on his cock. He whispers her name and she breaks away from the kiss, only for him to carefully cradle her face in his hands. His hips roll below hers, and she shifts just slightly to feel his cock at her entrance. It’s tempting to simply sink down onto him, but she waits, breathing hard. 

One of his hands skates down her neck, over her shoulder, and across her waist. She shivers at the soft caress before he pulls her to him, his cock pressing inside of her. Fully sheathed inside her, he presses his forehead against hers, eyes falling shut. She kisses him, softly, tenderly and then they begin moving together in a broken rhythm. 

They move slowly as if this isn’t the first time but the thousandth, hands reverently seeking each other. Liv doesn’t forget the act of trust that this is, how preciously rare. He kisses down her neck, sitting them both up so he has better access to her breasts. He swirls one nipple with his tongue while his hand gently squeezes at the other, it’s all she can do to hold on as she moves in his lap. He leans back up to capture her lips in a hard kiss, his breathing stuttering as his hold on her tightens. 

“I’ve got you,” she whispers into his skin, reaffirming it with the press of her lips on his neck, his chest, whatever parts of him she can reach. 

He flips them in one fluid movement, rocking into her, hips picking up speed. He reaches between them, fingers brushing her clit, another orgasm building at her edges. She meets each thrust of his hips, the friction driving them both higher. The wave of pleasure rolls over her first, his name escapes her in a breathless whisper. He follows soon after, coming nearly soundlessly, arms tightening around her. 

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes a little wide, but they remain connected, his softening cock still inside her. 

She brushes an errant curl out of his face. “I love you.”

He presses his face into her neck, breathes her in. “You are everything.”

And they lay there together, comfortably entwined for a long, long while.

[beef-brisket]

Adam: man, it's been a while since we've been on a long roadtrip. Most of the shit you hunt is relatively close by.

Lucifer nodded: Just thought we could do with getting out of the house for a bit.

Adam: You'll love this part of Canada, kid. It's beautiful.

Charlie: So... Vancouver... what is that?

Adam: Uh... a city?

Charlie eyes widen: Like, with people?

Lucifer: Yep. People. Heaps. And heaps of people.

Charlie: Wow... I've never... you and Lucifer are really the only human looking things I've seen that isn't... myself.

Adam: Yeah. It was rough for me at the start to. But you'll get used to it. We're probably only dealing with just one dude... or chick.

Lucifer: Or a pack. Remember?

Adam rolls his eyes: Yeah, yeah. I remember.

Everyone was silent as they drove, but somethings been on Charlie's mind.

Charlie: Adam? Did you turn into a werewolf?

She winced as Lucifer groaned.

Lucifer: Why don't you tell her, Adam?

Adam: Uh... yeah... I uh... it was only for a few minutes. No big deal.

Lucifer: No big deal...? You basically threw your neck into his mouth. Then I had to take your little bracelet off so you could get the infection out.

Charlie: You... wanted to be biten?

Adam: No! I just... werewolves are cool, okay? I was excited... I forgot I was just a dude, and uh... yeah. Just... got excited.

Lucifer rolled his eyes: Yeah, reeeal excited... twilight ass bitch-.

Adam: Hey! Twilight is a fucking gem! Pure cinema!

Lucifer: Sure, Adam.

Adam scoffed: Come on, Charlie, you're a chick. You like twilight, right?

Charlie: Uh... never seen it, sorry.

Adam: What?! Shit. I know that we're doing when we get home.

Lucifer: Lord help us.

Charlie chuckled.

After another hour of only rock music, Charlie fell asleep. When she woke up, she listened to Adam and Lucifer.

Adam: I still feel like shit... I didn't even think-.

Lucifer: Hun. It's fine. Really. I don't need a kid. It would have been nice, but it was never in the cards. Especially not for us. Not with what I do or what you are. Besides. Heaven and Hell is full of bitches that won't leave us alone. Even after all this time.

Adam: I know... I just... should have done something before going nuclear on Heaven... then making you get involved. It wasn't fair.

Lucifer: Adam. If you think I was going leave you to face Heaven alone, then you're insane.

Adam: It was my fight. I let them get the better of me, and that out you in the line of fire. And now, I have no idea how to help Charlie. I don't know what to teach her... I mean, fuck! Sometimes, I still don't know how to control myself! I fucking... it takes so much concentration. When I'm in the forest, I try so hard... but if I stay that way for too long, I feel myself slipping... hoe the fuck am I meant to teach her, when I still don't know myself?

Lucifer: Because you're older than her. You've had more experience. I know you're still struggling, love. But I feel it'll take you a few thousand years to learn how to control yourself. And that's just because of your age. Things would move slower for you, and that's okay. The power you have is unimaginable. Who knows, maybe you'll never be able to control it.

Adam: Wow. Rude.

Lucifer smiles: I mean it in a nice way. You're incredible, Adam. And you're doing amazing. That means you have a lot to teach Charlie. Even if it's just how to fly. That's more than what you ever got.

Adam: ...yeah..

Charlie smiled. When they weren't being flirty, they were actually adorable. They would have made great parents.

I miss our God!Adam Au

Sequel 👀

In Canada Eh! Lmao

CANADA FOREVER

Yes plsss! I miss our stupid, power-hungry boy 😫😫

[lithi]

I thought… this was the side story announcement….

Just like for the Japanese 8th volume of WMMAP, Spoon has illustrated a new cover for the 10th volume!

I’m just hoping the image will be clearer this time around bc Bookwalker had a very bad image resolution for the 8th volume 💀

“What a shame that you’ll end up like this.”

“You think I’ll let you have your way?”

[thedreadvampy]

sometimes I forget that my experience has been. um. not 'your experiences are not universal' vibes but more like 'your experiences are EXTREMELY atypical'

[little-shiny-sharpies]

Wishing a fun and spooky halloween to you and the dragons 😈🖤

Thank you very much!!! ‘Twas the funnest and spookiest hallow’s end ever enjoyed! 🕸️👻🖤🎃🖤👻🎃🕸️(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Audio from my favorite TikTok ever