#might write a fic about this lowkey

[carrotoplyn]

taylor analysis under the cut because people don’t talk about her enough

as always, i’m writing this late at night, because that’s when my brain seems to work the best. i apologize for any typos, please ignore them

when it comes to taylor, no one seems to talk about how she is just self sufficient as tyler is. both her AND tyler ‘lost’ their mother, and even though tyler promised to take care of all of them as family, obviously taylor had to do thing by self. if feel like even though no one has actually stated it, i feel as if people have characterized younger taylor to practically be the same as marianna.

now, you may be wondering what i mean by her being characterized as marianna, it means that they make just kind of think that she couldn’t do anything and isn’t self sufficient. ( also if you don’t think this, good for you. i don’t care this just a general assumption)

but the thing is, she is obviously self sufficient because guess what club she’s in; the mechanics club for crying out loud! even though mechanics can obviously work together, let’s simply just use the stereotypical car mechanic as an example. majority of car mechanics work on cars alone. ( think of a car mechanic going under a car and working on it or something )

she might’ve took a interest of fixing things around the house when she was younger, and thought ‘if i do mechanics i can learn even more self sufficiency and learn how to fix things and help around the house even more!’

another reason the mechanics thing goes with the self sufficient thing is because of the fact that taylor mainly does mechanics so she can go to college and have stable job. it is quite literally canon.

i could write more, but i don’t feel like so feel free to add on.

[kindaasrikal]

How tf did this fanfic actually reach 5k words already on chapter one and its not even half way completed.

The things i do for morro 😭

[3lliesan]

A different type of genius.

I'm not good at trying to describe scenes with complex language to make not it seem "simple" by most people, but, if I learned anything from reading multiple works and trying to understand characters, is to write about "feelings" and "perspective."

It's kind like anthropology in a way, since I do the same thing to actual people sometimes. How I want to study what kind of thought process these 'characters' have even in the mundane moments, how they perceive things, what kind of philosophy they follow through actions, what makes these things so interesting.

That's why "insane maniacs," "masked characters," or any complex character, interests me.

Especially geniuses. (Or just extremely smart people pls don't come at me for trying to sound cool 😭)

Whenever I try to mimic their train of thought based on what I know, technically, I can think the same way as them for a short period of time.

However, for a 'smart person', you can't just waltz around pretending to be smart as if you were aware of everything before everyone else. The goal is not to pretend, but to think the same way an extremely intellectual person does, even for a few seconds.

They think in a way not a lot of people do, have different habits, different ways of approaching their own interests, notice things that most people don't. Not to mention that there are different types of intelligence aside from just IQ or being very informed.

You have to be specific about it. Simplify it in a way so that it doesn't seem as unreachable as it should be, ask yourself questions that you hadn't asked before, think about the smaller things that you might've missed or the bigger picture.

Think about absurdity and make it a friend to learn more about, and what you can do to gauge what kind of reaction you want from it.

I can see this as an interesting idea for Yuu! Since they can understand people in a different way most people do, easily see through facades, decipher hidden intentions, help their friends because they can just understand.

Maybe better than anyone else could.

I can also see how interesting it'd be for times when Yuu puts the... mindset analyzation to the test.

Like when they were playing detective in chapter 2. Piecing all of the clues together before Leona's plot was revealed, noticing the prince's behaviour and a gut feeling about the incidents. It can also be how they noticed a certain snake's or the four diamonds's facades within the first few minutes of their first interactions.

All of this would lead others to think that their friend, Yuu, is another terrifying force to be reckoned with when it comes to a battle of minds...

Until exam results come in as barely passing.

But maybe that's just me. :P

[beelsjuicytitties]

Somewhere Only We Know

solomon x gn!reader

warnings/tags: slight angst, emotional hurt/comfort, reverse comfort, established relationship, partial solomon backstory spoilers?

summary: You hadn't heard from Solomon in weeks, and you were worried. So you go out in search of him.

—

AN: haha... its been a hot while since i posted my own writing here..... wrote this in like june when i was extra emo about solomon lol. title taken from Somewhere Only We Know by Keane. read on Ao3

—

You were worried. You haven't been able to get into contact with Solomon for weeks. It wasn't exactly unusual for him to be somewhere he had no reception, but he'd always let you know beforehand. Everyone you had asked simply apologized, saying they had no clue where he was. And so, you decided to go and look for him yourself, remembering all the different places he's shown you, or told you about. You brought some provisions along, unsure of how long it would take to find the witty sorcerer you loved so dearly. 

  You spent most of a day checking around the devildom, teleporting from place to place without any signs that Solomon had been there recently. Settling down onto a large stump with a sigh, you pull out some of the food you had brought. All the teleporting was starting to wear at you, but you couldn't possibly stop now. It took only a few minutes to finish the food, the taste barely registering. You quickly packed up your things and stood. There was no time to rest, there was still the human world to search. You steeled yourself, before teleporting once again.

—

  Solomon wandered through a quiet field. The clear air helped to sooth his wrecked thoughts, but not enough. The sadness and grief he usually held at bay had overwhelmed him once more. In times like these, he tended to isolate. To run away and keep everything hidden from those around him. He hated this part of himself. The part of him that was a sad, lonely little boy. A boy that had lost anyone dear to him. A boy who curled up in the corner of the dark basement he lived in. His face was tense as he walked a game train through the tall grasses around him. The trail led him to a small ruin. A fallen tree that once stood proud and tall, next to a crumbling stone wall. He ran his hand along the once familiar stones, a deep melancholy gripping his heart. He sat gently on the fallen tree, and gazed up to the endless sky. Dusk had begun to settle in, the clouds painted in dark blues and saturated oranges. His tears were silent, slipping down his face and dropping onto his clothes.

—

The sky was growing dark as you finally felt traces of Solomon. Even without casting anything, his magic tended to seep out and stick to his surroundings. You followed the trail you were sure he had walked, steps quickening as you felt him more and more. Finally, after searching hell and back, literally, you see him. There's barely any light now, but you could never mistake his frame. You broke into a run, a sound of relief bursting from you. He looked towards you at the sound, surprised. He was less alert in this state, less aware of everything around him. The moment you reach him, your arms are around him, holding him tight to your body as you fall to your knees in front of him. It took Solomon a moment to fully realize what was going on. He looked down at you, seeing the way you clung to him as though he was your lifeline. The way you pressed your face against his chest, quiet sobs shaking your shoulders. 

  "How.. How did you find me?" Solomon inwardly cringed at the way his voice wavered. 

  "I looked everywhere. Everywhere you've ever taken me, or told me about. I was so worried Sol, I was so, so worried." You pulled back, just enough to see his face. His eyes were red and puffy, tear stains evident on his cheeks. He looked like he hadn't slept the entire time he was gone. Knowing Solomon, it was entirely possible. You raised a shaky hand to his cheek, cradling his face softly as though he might break. "I couldn't get in contact with you, no one knew where you were, I thought.." You swallowed back your tears. "I thought something happened to you." 

  Solomon's eyes widened, how long had he been gone? Everything was one big blur as he tried to recall how many nights had passed. "You know nothing can happen to me, I've always survived any mess I get myself into." A defensive smile tried to make its way onto his face, but it looked more like a grimace. "I'm okay, you don't need to be so worried MC." 

  "Please Sol… Please don't lie to me." You raised up your torso, so you could press your forehead to his. "You're always there for me when I need you, let me return the favour." Solomon took a few shaky breaths, tears threatening to begin falling once more. He raised his arms to wrap around you, leaning against you. The two of you stay like this for a while, just holding each other and breathing. Your legs were straining to keep you up but you didn't even notice. All of you was completely focused on Solomon in this moment. Without realizing, you began to hum. A gentle, soothing tune that Solomon had hummed for you countless times when you were broken down. A soft, sad smile made its way onto his face. 

  "My mother used to hum that for me. During the cold dark nights, when I would cry, she'd come down and hold me. When I was a very young boy."  You cracked your eyes open, and looked at him through your eyelashes. 

  "Is it alright?" He gave an affirmative hum, and you continued the tune. Solomon shifted his head down, nuzzling into your shoulder. You leaned your head against his. You weren't too sure how much time had passed, before he pulled back. 

  "Why don't you come sit next to me?" His voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sure your knees would appreciate a rest." You nodded, finally noticing how stiff you had grown as you moved beside him. You laced your fingers with his, and leaned against him. "... I'm sorry. I never wanted to worry you so." He squeezed your hand. "Thank you.. For coming to find me." 

  "Always, I will always come find you Sol." The promise warmed Solomon, helping him return to himself. "I love you Sol, I love you more than words could ever say." You turned to look at him, your eyes so full of love and care. Solomon had no clue what he had done to deserve you. His adorable little apprentice, who could calm his heart without even trying. Who warmed the forgotten parts of himself, that had been stuffed away by the years and years of pain and sadness. Who took the hand of that little boy, and brought him out into the warm sunlight. 

  "And I love you too, my Dear. more than I've ever loved anything. More than anything I've ever felt." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "I'll try to rely on you more, I promise. There are things I still can't bring myself to talk about, but I hope I can one day." A tired loving smile found its place on your face. 

  "I will wait as long as you need." This time, he pressed a kiss to your lips. It was such a tender kiss, so full of yours and his love. It was then that Solomon's stomach let out a growl. Come to think of it, he can't remember the last time he ate. He gave a sheepish laugh, worried he had somehow ruined the moment. "I brought some food, we could eat together?"

  "That would be wonderful, my Dear." You started pulling things from your bag, the meal was rather simple, prepared in a rush. Then you pulled out the soft blanket you had brought in case you had to sleep outside. You spread the blanket out in front of the tree and sat down. Leaning slightly against the tree behind your back, you pat the space next to you. Solomon sat down, pressing into your side as you passed him some food. You ate together in a comfortable silence, staring up into the starry sky. Solomon's hand found your own once more, the warmth welcome in the chilly night air. You stayed there til morning, pointing out constellations and talking. Solomon told you a bit more about his childhood, and you shared a bit of your own, before you both fell asleep against each other. 

[satisfactuality]

can't stop thinkin about the rat grinders and their probably absolutely fucked action economy

[voidscarredadjudicator]

I must inquire how both life and writing are treating you. I crave life update.

Well, I've got good news and bad news. Nothing's canceled, don't worry. It's kinda rambly, so I put it under the keep reading tab, but tl;dr is that more personal life stuff occurred that has dramatically altered the way I go about living for the time being. If you'd like to know more, go ahead.

The good news is that my schedule has recently opened up quite dramatically as of late, which theoretically means I have much more time for writing. The bad news is that the reason for this is that last week I injured my knee bad enough to where I can no longer walk on my own, and therefore no longer work. Very likely a meniscus injury, which is to say the best case scenario is that I need a few weeks of physical therapy to be able to walk again. I've got an MRI scheduled for tomorrow, so I'll know what's going on for sure following that.

On the bright side, I don't live alone, so I've been able to live a relatively comfortable existence despite that - just a lot of adjusting and having to rely on others (which is anathema to me btw bc my dumb ass brain keeps trying to convince me I'm burdening other people despite the fact I literally cannot help myself right now). This was also an injury that happened on the job, so I'm likely covered by Worker's Compensation. From what I understand, it's a pretty common injury among athletes, but an athlete I am not. I've already gone through the low points mental health-wise regarding all this, and these past few days have been spent just taking it easy and doing my best to make this entire situation something I can laugh about.

Sorry that this is just something that I'm dropping out of nowhere, but life does like to just throw shit at you like that - and I in particular can't seem to catch a break. But hey, if I'm feeling up to it here soon, I've got a lot more time on my hands to get back to work on Act 2.

[sibylsleaves]

tired: asking me for spec on eddie's dead wife doppleganger (derogatory) storyline

wired: asking me for spec about what happens after eddie and buck get together

[agnimybeloved]

regarding that last post... not that black butler's canon has to be uplifting or have dadbastian or a happy ending to be "good" (i'm actually partial to tragedies especially the cyclical kind and would love for the series to straight up end with despair and the collection on the contract lol) but i do think that toboso's largely fumbled the found-family/interpersonal,/introspective aspects of her story and sacrificed a lot of narrative and thematic meat there for low-brow and off-putting comedy.... which is really exactly all she does with ciel's trauma as well-- shallowly using it for the purposes of trauma porn and/or comedy/inappropriate fanservice.

ciel only seems to have reasonable responses to his trauma when its aesthetically convenient if that makes sense. i honestly could go as far as to say that she depicts his trauma fetishistically-- every instance i can recall of ciel having an extreme traumatic response (i.e. vomiting, flashbacks, psychosis) is represented with (imo but honestly.... i'd be shocked if this wasn't intentional...) sexual undertones. his episode during the green witch arc doesn't have one of these moments within the episode itself as far as i can recall, but certainly i think the preceding/inciting medical emergency that forces him and sebastian to bathe together contributes to the reoccurring sexualization of "sickness" (physical & psychological).

not to mention ciel's subsequent episode is treated as the dramatic peak of his ptsd and something that he "overcomes" through sheer force of will (and the threats of sebastian... neither of which are a proper/reasonable way to handle such an extreme trauma response) and doesn't really battle going forward in the story. of course a lot of stories take this "one dramatic moment and then its fixed" approach to representing mental illness, and it makes narrative sense for toboso to want to more or less settle that thread to gear up for the important blue cult arc, but i think toboso's handling of mental illness in general goes so far beyond suspension of disbelief and tastelessness that i think she should lowkey be brained for it. the way she intermittently writes ciel's traumatic experiences as something horrifying and wrong and to be given sympathy meanwhile relentlessly putting ciel in inappropriate fanservice situations that diminish the severity of csa & pedophilia as well as disrespect the complexities of trauma and turn them into comedy... mind boggling...

overall though i think that black butler shows a real mastery of narrative arcs while falling short in terms of character arcs. most of the time these arcs are shown in retrospect with the addition of new backstory, but it feels as if the characters in present have barely grown at all... not that every story has to be character driven and a static character type makes sense for someone like sebastian, but for all that ciel is a unique and mature thirteen year old due to the circumstances of his life, he is still a thirteen year old, and one that has experienced a significant trauma quite recently at that. not allowing him coming of age-esque character arcs considering all that sort of breaks the believability of his character imo.

but i think that coattails does a lot in staying loyal to ciel's character and experiences while also respecting his trauma and bringing the depth and flexibility of adolescence to his worldview and actions that toboso unfortunately seems disinterested in. i love that aforementioned chapter of coattails and its sentiments especially with how it reexamines ciel's actions at kelvin's manor and the worldview that lead to burning it down with the children inside... not that it was an out of character decision for ciel in the moment, but i think it established a lot more severe facts about his character and worldview than toboso is willing to address in her writing and therefore feels unresolved. coattails' remedy to that awkwardness by coming full circle is so intriguing and fulfilling in contrast... it shows how adolescence and trauma can work together to so completely convince one of hopelessness and yet how just a bit of hope can change that worldview entirely. literally just the honest love of a random dog and the mundane care of a guardian... there is a cure and it is this..... what da helllll....

[alpinelogy]

One mutual bingo please!

mutuals bingo

new mutuals but i am glad that we are mutuals!! you are such a lovely person!!

[louwhose]

TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK TOCK

[deathandthemaiden23]

you ever purposefully write shit that makes you giggle and blush like an enamored schoolgirl

[southpark-realvoice-edits]

New video! Happy Tree Friends Voice Acting Comparison (+ Appreciation!), in the same style as my SP voice acting comparisons. 🖤

I know I'm an SP blog but I was possessed by the adhd demons and a long dormant fandom to make another video. Also this is the only place where I talk about my incredibly basic-bitch video editing work. 😅 Voice acting is still my special interest! In all its forms, so I cranked this thing out.

I get if its not your thing, but if you also have an interest in voice acting if nothing else, I'd appreciate a watch! I put a lot of work into everything I do 💖

[beesinspades]

CREECHUR FIC LIVES i finished chapter 5's draft!! :3 I'll edit it thoroughly over the next couple of days and then I'll send it to betaing so you can expect it next week like I hoped! (probably)

[bnhatrashsideblog]

Omg I don't know about you guys but sometimes when I think of a specific scene or moment I lowkey act the way it should go and it brings me so much pain/hapiness/despair/depends which scene I do and at the end I'm all like,,, gosh I wanna write that down so bad is so good omgvwgdhsbjsjs

Earlier I was thinking about the sport festival and that fight against Bakugou and Todoroki and somehow started acting as I was thinking and, yk, turning and moving and doing all the moves I had in mind for Bakugo and and idk man I was no longer me but Bakugou fighting Todoroki yk and holding him by the jacket and yelling at him to "Fight me with all you got! I can't win like this! I have to... to prove him..." and then I'm literally falling on the couch and I open my eyes and ausgejdjurueus I WANT TO WRITE THAT OMG IS LIVING RENT FREE IN MY MIND RN IS SO GOOD AND RAW AND AHHH

[afterglowsainz]

i wish i hated you | max verstappen

pairing: actress!reader x max verstappen

summary: max has an open relationship but he starts falling for you, compromising his relationship and your reputation

fc: havana rose liu

warnings: so i know this is not technically how open relationships work however for plot purposes this is how i will portray this one specifically

a/n: this fic shouldn’t have took me as long as it took me to write but whatever, max won in brazil after an incredible race and he deserves all the flowers 🥹

—

liked by redbullracing, danielricciardo and others

maxverstappen1 3 🦁🏆

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maxverstappen1 ���

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redbullracing our world champion 🥳

liked by maxverstappen1, kaiagerber and others

yourusername me and my doppelgängers

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username i know that face card is never declining

maxverstappen1 😄

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maxverstappen1 magical city

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username out of all the places in the world new york was the last city i expect max to go to

username well deserved vacations?

username on his own might i add

username and his girlfriend?

username in paris

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername favorite place in the world🍎

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username GORGEOUS

username so real

username wait max liking this and he’s also in new york? ….

username lando liking also ….

username could be just a coincidence 🤷🏽‍♀️

username or could mean nothing

username yep he has a girlfriend too, hope this helps!

liked by f1wags and others

f1gossip red bull driver max verstappen was seen with actress y/n y/l/n together in new york during the winter break

tagged maxverstappen1 and yourusername

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username uhmmmm guys ???

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username HE DOES

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liked by nicholasgalitzine, maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername petition to be your favorite bloody cheerleader🦧

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kaiagerber petition accepted!

username i need her biblically

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username omw to see this movie for the 372838 time

maxverstappen1 fun 😉

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liked by yourusername, gfusername and others

maxverstappen1 always playing

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username who is he trying to soft launch here

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liked by maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux and others

yourusername very vogue 🌸

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username max in the likes AGAIN

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username the way she doesn’t even try to hide itttt

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username babes you can’t post a thirst trap and expect us to forget about the cheating (although it’s lowkey working)

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maxverstappen1 😍

username nah this is just too much

liked by gfusername, charles_leclerc and others

maxverstappen1 🥰

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username speechless

username men will really flirt with women on the internet and then post a picture kissing their girlfriend

username guys he is a MAN what did we expect

username alexa play that should be me

username well if his girlfriend forgave him for shamelessly flirting with y/n i can too

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gfusername love you💖

maxverstappen1 ❤️

username the way i would commit actual murder

liked by gfusername, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername i’ll always have new york 🥨

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username baby…

username i’m sorry but i can’t stay mad at her look at her smile

username she was born to serve

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username ALLEGEDLY

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[parfaitblogs]

fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end.  word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be. 

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all. 

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not. 

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide. 

And then he was free. 

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished. 

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened. 

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break. 

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met. 

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again. 

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit. 

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was. 

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be. 

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry. 

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming. 

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened. 

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped. 

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed. 

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again. 

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more. 

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him. 

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more. 

You couldn't complain. 

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch. 

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body. 

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later. 

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind. 

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you. 

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin. 

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered. 

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously. 

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face. 

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up. 

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away. 

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?" 

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again. 

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up. 

"Lots of people say oral," he defended. 

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head." 

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping. 

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping. 

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so. 

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?" 

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose. 

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests. 

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter. 

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him. 

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him. 

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have. 

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded. 

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone. 

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat. 

He liked to hear you. 

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either. 

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face. 

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest. 

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?" 

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body. 

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time. 

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make. 

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit. 

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin. 

"Touch myself?" 

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again. 

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head. 

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again. 

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you. 

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you. 

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could. 

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more. 

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it. 

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin. 

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't. 

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling. 

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome. 

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were. 

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to. 

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating. 

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered. 

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after. 

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after. 

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck. 

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter. 

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again. 

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there. 

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips. 

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking. 

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here. 

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more. 

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move. 

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move). 

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second. 

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled. 

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little. 

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again. 

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure. 

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were. 

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots. 

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever. 

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that. 

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever. 

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly. 

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared. 

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely. 

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone. 

Thankfully, you didn't have to. 

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee. 

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub. 

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt. 

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless. 

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways. 

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach. 

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh. 

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. 

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face. 

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort. 

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 

"Okay."

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