#not sick or freaky to enjoy it

[clownboybebop]

sorry but I don’t consider people unhinged or esoteric or particularly strange and unusual for enjoying horror. it’s a very popular genre. and consuming disturbing or scary media isn’t inherently subversive (though it can be). and as much as I enjoy certain horror properties, in general media consumption still doesn’t qualify as a personality or an inherent truth about how someone moves through the world

[heavensenteden]

✎ caught you! | nsfw fic 🔞

☆彡

i finally pulled myself up to write a TKaTB fic.

i wanted a reader who was freaky like sol and matched his freak LOL, so we have reader who is aware and not a complete airhead!!

i’m also brain rotted about this man sooo bad it’s insane guys help!

enjoy ;P

link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62611723

word count: 3747

pls minors dni and dnr ⭐️

cw: stalking, semi-public sex, blowjobs, manipulation

🌱˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

The library was quiet today, save for the soft rustle of pages from students studying diligently and the occasional creak of the old bookshelves that your university so desperately needed to replace.

You liked it this way, a nice, quiet place far away from everyone, where you could just relax and be alone, and where Solivan’s eyes could follow you without drawing much attention. He was sitting nearby, alone at the end of the big oak table tucked away in one of the library’s four corners.

You had purposefully chosen a spot where he could watch you, presenting yourself out in the open for him. Pretty generous of you, honestly. You could feel it. Sol’s gaze, always lingering on you, his presence a shadow at the edge of your peripheral vision.

Occasionally, you’d glance up on purpose, just to catch a glimpse of his eyes meeting yours before he buried himself back into whatever book he had open, his face flushing that pretty red colour.

It was comforting in a twisted, intoxicating way. You already knew he was infatuated with you. It started off quite tame, to be fair; you hadn’t really noticed him before since he always sat at the back of the class, away from judgmental eyes.

But then the little things started. A shadow following you home, or that burning feeling of being watched.

Then one windy evening, you came back home to your apartment to find your window lock broken, and the place freezing because of it. Naturally, you freaked out. You called Crowe to come assess the damage, check if anything was missing, and to keep you company while you tied a flimsy ribbon around the latch, hoping it would be enough to keep your stalker out.

Unfortunately, Sol needed a lot more than ribbon to deter him.

That same night, he oh so easily undid your makeshift lock and slid right up next to your unconscious sleeping body, stroking your hair and holding your hand as if you were lovers.

Unlucky for him, you were a light sleeper, and the slight brush of his hand woke you. The room was so dark, save for the beams of moonlight streaming through the same window Sol had crept through not too long ago. You could only catch pieces of green and black hair shuffling around as you lay, somewhat petrified, in bed.

Then he spoke.

“My sweet pumpkin… sorry about your lock. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispered to you sweetly.

You felt him shift, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before sliding out of your bed, bidding your “sleeping” self goodbye as he slipped back out through your window. By the time you scurried to see his figure outside, he was already gone.

The next day, his actions couldn’t have been more different. You met him face to face in your art class, where you were paired as new partners for the upcoming project.

“My name is Solivan Brugmansia. Sol for short,” he said.

It was the same voice.

At the time, your blood ran cold as you realized the tall, brooding man in front of you was the same one who’d been lying next to you in bed the night before, breaking into your apartment just for a few moments of bliss with you. You.

Were you creeped out? Of course. Scared? Maybe a little. But for some sick reason, you were flattered that he’d taken such a liking to you.

“Sol… like the sun? That’s so cute, considering you’re dressed so… alternatively,” you said, deciding to experiment a little.

You stepped closer, your hand brushing against the thick black-and-green choker he wore. Your fingers moved lower to lift the key necklace around his neck, examining it carefully. Hmm. It didn’t look like a key to your apartment, so that was good.

You looked up at him, offering a sweet smile as you stepped back. You noticed how red he’d gotten and how he murmured under his breath about how pretty you were, clearly under the assumption that you hadn’t heard.

Oh, you were going to have fun with this one.

-

Today, you decided to push him further and tease him a little to see how he’d react.

Standing up from your seat, you knew Sol’s eyes would already be on you, watching and studying your every move as you walked over to the English section. To be fair, you actually did need some books for an upcoming research paper but you grabbed one at random in all honesty.

As you scanned the shelves, you found the perfect target: a book just out of reach. You stretched your arm dramatically, fingers brushing the spine but never quite making contact. You let out a dramatic, frustrated sigh, even pouting a little as you looked up at the book, knowing full well Sol was watching.

“Having trouble?” His voice was velvet, smooth and dark, as he appeared from nowhere. His tall figure loomed just behind you, towering over your own, and close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

You turned to him, feigning surprise. “Oh, Sol! I didn’t see you there. Could you help me, please?” You looked up at him with pouty lips and big eyes, clasping your hands together as you played the damsel in distress. And he was eating it up.

His pierced lips curved into a small smile, but his eyes, those intense, bright eyes, burned with something else. “Let me help you.”

He reached over your shorter body, effortlessly pulling the book from its place. His arm brushed yours, and you shivered, allowing the reaction to linger longer than necessary. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Oh, thank you, Sol,” you said softly, looking up at him through your lashes. “God, you’re such a lifesaver for me!”

Something flickered in his gaze. Satisfaction? Possessiveness? Maybe it was a bit of both. “Anything for you,” he murmured.

You took the book from his hands, letting your fingers graze his. A deliberate move, subtle but effective. His breath hitched, barely audible, but you caught it.

“Are you studying by yourself?”

Holding the book he’d just grabbed for you close to your chest, an idea popped into your head.

“Yeah, I was uh… sitting over there.”

Sol’s gaze shifted as he gestured to the big oak table he’d been seated at earlier. Thank god he’d picked a more isolated area to reside in.

“Oh my god, perfect! I’ll come sit with you!”

Before he could get an answer in, you zipped back to your study area to gather your bag and papers, carrying it all over to the empty table, save for Sol’s setup, and dropped it all on top.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know,” he said, glancing at you as he slipped back onto his chair. “I’m fine on my own.”

“I like being with you, though,” you replied, your voice now more quiet since, well, you were in the library. “With you.”

He blinked, his cheeks flushing as he tried to focus back on his book, but you weren’t about to make it that easy for him. You slipped into the chair beside him, leaning slightly over the table as you pretended to skim through the pages of the book he’d grabbed for you.

“Hey, Sol,” you said, your tone sweet but laced with mischief. “Do you think Edgar Allan Poe was really that depressing, or do you think he was just dramatic?”

He looked at you, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. “Poe… was a complicated man,” he began. “His life was filled with tragedy, but I think he used his writing as a way to… cope.”

“Hmm,” you mused, tilting your head as if deep in thought. “I don’t know, some of his stuff just seems so… intense. Maybe I’m just not smart enough to get it?” You leaned in closer, your shoulder brushing against his as you gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look.

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, his voice firm. “You’re incredibly intelligent.”

“Aww, you really think so?” you cooed, leaning even closer until your face was mere inches from his. His breath hitched, and you swore you saw his grip tighten on the edge of the table.

Before he could respond, you shifted, swinging a leg over to settle yourself on his lap. His entire body went rigid beneath you, and his face turned a deep, furious red.

“What are you doing?” he stammered, his hands hovering awkwardly near your hips, unsure of where to place them.

“Getting comfortable,” you said simply, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned in close, your lips nearly brushing his ear. “Is that okay?”

He swallowed hard, his hands finally resting on your waist as if he couldn’t help himself. “Y-yeah, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his breaths came out more quickly, staggered, and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him. The hard press of his cock hidden beneath the layers of clothing between you only confirmed it, and you smiled to yourself, savouring the bit of power you held over him.

You hummed, pretending to be clueless about his… growing problem as you skimmed your books, jotting down notes here and there, while Sol struggled to even get through one paragraph of the book he was reading, your body on top of his becoming too much of a distraction.

The girl of his dreams, the one he snuck out to see every night, the one he studied so closely and had fantasies about, was, right now, in this very moment, sitting on his lap. Her plush ass perfectly slotted against his body. And it was driving him insane.

“Sol?” you asked suddenly, your voice cutting through his haze. “You haven’t turned the page in a while. Is it boring?”

His eyes darted to yours, wide and panicked, as if you’d caught him doing something forbidden. “N-no, it’s fine,” he stammered, his hands flexing against your waist. “Just… distracted.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Distracted? By what?” You leaned in close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Is something on your mind? You can talk to me, you know…”

His breath hitched again, and he clutched you tighter as if grounding himself. “No,” he whispered, voice low and strained. “I-I’m okay.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, savoring the way he froze beneath you. “If you’re so sure,” you murmured, your voice laced with a little bit of concern. “Because if you need to talk I’m always here for you sweetness.”

Yeah that did it.

Sol’s pants felt so tight as the curve of your ass shifted on and off his hard, clothed cock, and he bit his lip to try and stifle any noises as you moved around. His hands gripped your waist as he spoke into your ear, low and raspy.

Sol’s hands trembled as they clutched your waist, his knuckles whitening with restraint. “Please… sit still,” he begged, his voice strained and heavy with need.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider his plea, your lips curling into a wicked smile. “Hmm, I don’t know,” you teased, shifting just slightly, enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. “You seem a little tense, Sol. Are you sure you’re okay?”

His eyes darted to yours, wide and desperate. “I-I need… I should go.”

Before you could respond, he gently lifted you off his lap and bolted from the table, his long strides carrying him toward the exit of the library and to the left, down the hall to where the bathrooms were tucked away.

You watched him disappear through the library exit, a slow grin spreading across your face. How adorable. He thought he could hide from you.

Leaving your things behind, you followed. The hallway leading to the bathrooms was dimly lit, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above, reminding you for a moment of how shitty this university could be.

You pushed the door open silently, locking it behind you with ease and stepped inside, finding Sol leaning over the sink, his head bowed, gripping the edges so tightly his knuckles were pale. He was panting, looking as if he might pass out from just being teased by you, his hard-on visible to you as it strained against his pants.

“Running away from me, Sol?” you asked, your voice lilting as you closed the distance between you.

He froze, lifting his head up instantly, his reflection in the mirror staring back at you, panic swirling in his bright eyes. “W-What are you doing here?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he turned around to face you.

You stopped just behind him, close enough that your breath brushed along the nape of his neck. “You ran off so suddenly… I got worried,” you murmured, your fingers trailing lightly along the edge of his sleeve, brushing his fingers with yours. “What’s wrong, Sol? Did I do something wrong?”

“N-no,” he choked out, refusing to meet your gaze. His hands flexed against the sink, and you noticed the way his shoulders tensed, his whole body tense with barely-contained frustration.

“You’re lying to me,” you whispered, stepping closer, your chest now pressed flush against his. You slid your hands up his arms slowly, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. “You’re so worked up, Sol… what were you planning to do while you're here?”

“I—I wasn’t going to–” he stuttered, but the words died on his lips as your hands moved to his waist, your fingers brushing along the waistband of his pants.

“Shh,” you cooed, standing on the tips of your toes and brushing some of his hair out of the way to press a gentle kiss to his neck. “No need to lie to me sweetness. I already know.”

His breath hitched audibly, and his hands clenched the sink harder as he fought to maintain control. “You can’t just… do this to me,” he rasped, his voice breaking with desperation.

“Do what?” you asked innocently, your lips trailing to his ear. “Help you? Because it seems to me like you need it, Sol.”

You let your fingers dip lower, teasing the button of his pants as you whispered, “So tell me… do you want my help?”

His resolve crumbled in an instant. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice barely more than a whimper. “Please.”

Sol’s hands gripped the edge of the sink so tightly, his knuckles were turning white with restraint, but his body was betraying him. He was trembling with need, his chest heaving, every breath shallow and hitched. You could feel his thighs tremble as your hands deftly moved to unzip his pants, undoing some buttons along the way.

You took your time, savoring the moment with this gorgeous man crumbling under your touch and gaze. Slowly, you pressed your body flush against his, feeling the heat of his skin against yours. You could feel the stiffness of his arousal, throbbing against the confines of his boxers, and it made your own… area pulsate in response.

“Sol…” you whispered against his ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. So desperate for me.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands still resting against the sink, his body shaking as if he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

“I can’t… I can’t take it anymore,” he groaned, his voice cracking. “I need you… now.”

You smiled, a wicked grin spreading across your face. You knew exactly what he wanted, what his body was begging for. You slid your fingers down the waistband of his boxers, barely grazing his skin, and Sol’s breath hitched, his hips jerking forward in anticipation.

“Patience, Sol,” you teased, your fingers circling his cock gently, slowly, barely touching but just enough contact to make him shudder. “You’ve been so good for me so far, haven’t you?”

His hands flexed against the sink again, and he let out a low, guttural moan. “I need you,” he whispered again, more urgently now, his voice raw with desperation.

You didn’t make him wait any longer.

With a swift motion, you freed him from the remains of his clothing, your hands finally wrapping around his cock completely. Sol’s body jerked at the contact, his head falling forward onto your shoulder as a sharp gasp left his lips. He was so sensitive, so responsive, and it made your heart race.

“You’re mine now,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding. You began to move your hand slowly, torturously, teasing him just enough to make him squirm, but never enough to let him find release.

Sol’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with need, his hands gripping the counter as if it was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart. “Fuck…” he muttered. “Please… I can’t take it.”

“You can take it, Sol,” you whispered, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’ve made it this far, haven’t you? You’re going to finish when I tell you to. Understand?”

He nodded his head, never disagreeing with your demands, his eyes were glazed with lust for you, his body twitching with every slow stroke from your hands. “Yes… Yes, I understand.”

Sol whined softly to himself, as you jerked your hand up and down. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, only for you to sweetly tell him to open them back up, of course he obeyed, watching your slow, deliberate movements. The way you were hovering over him right now, your eyes boring into his, as your hands were wrapped around his cock, applying more pressure.

“You’re being so good for me Sol…” you purred, slowly sinking towards the ground, not caring about being in a bathroom, or even caring that you were doing this at your university. You looked up at him sweetly, asking him politely to hold your hair back, and he did it right away, after all how could he refuse?

He gently pulled all your hair back, somewhat neatly wrapping it around his hand, careful to not pull too tightly. He felt your warm hand gently stroke his cock, your lips just inches away, so so close.

Then you started to tease him. Licking up the underside of his length, gently pressing kisses from the base to the tip, your tongue teasing him as he whimpered and started to shake underneath you, completely submitting himself to you.

He could feel your hot breath as you hummed and toyed around with him. You slowly started to take his whole length into your mouth, inch by inch until your nose was pressed against his pelvis. He was in heaven.

Sol gasped at the sensation, his hand tugging at your hair as he watched you bob your head up and down, your hot, wet mouth, and shivered at the way his cock hit the back of your throat.

“P-Please… hah… pumpkin…” Sol called out for you. His legs shook gently as his climax slowly built up, soft moans and whimpers escaping his lips as he bit down on one hand to muffle his noises, your tempo never letting up as you continued to suck on him.

“Can I cum? Please… let me cum for you pumpkin.” He was begging quietly in the bathroom, watching you suck and hearing you make a muffled ‘mhm’ noise with your pretty plump lips wrapped around him, granting him permission without words.

Within seconds, his hands flew to the back of your head, pushing you down as he came into your mouth, moaning softly as he did, and you graciously let him, taking it all as you felt his fingers dig into your scalp. After a few moments he took a deep breath, releasing his grip on you, and falling back against the cool countertop of the bathroom sink.

You looked up at him sweetly, sticking your tongue out to show him that you had swallowed it all.

Freak.

Slowly, you started to stand up with a satisfied smile, your eyes meeting Sol’s pretty red-orange ones. He was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling, his skin flushed with heat.

You took a step back, eyes never leaving his, and fixed your own clothes with a bit of deliberate slowness, just to tease him. You tucked your shirt back into your uniform skirt, your fingers trailing over the fabric that dipped between your breasts, noticing that Sol’s gaze followed your every movement, still dazed, and still processing everything that had just happened in the bathroom.

Once you were finished, you stepped closer to him, your body just inches away from his. You tilted your head slightly, studying him with that playful glint in your eyes.

“Guess we’re even now, huh?” you whispered, your lips curling into a sly grin.

Sol’s eyes flickered to yours, his confusion evident even with that lingering haze of pleasure clouding his mind. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “I know you’ve been sneaking into my apartment at night, Sol… I can hear you when you’re outside my window, and well… playing with yourself in my bed.”

You pulled back, eyes locking with his as you saw the way his pupils dilated, the sudden panic flashing in his gaze. “I’ll make it easier for you though and leave the window unlocked for you tonight, darling,” you purred, your voice dripping with both sweetness and mischief.

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you straightened up, straightening your clothes one last time, watching as Sol stood frozen, his expression a mixture of disbelief and awe.

“Don’t keep me waiting, okay?” you teased, giving him a quick kiss, before turning away and walking towards the door.

You pulled it open, leaving him standing in the bathroom alone to process what had just happened, as you stepped out into the hallway. The last thing you heard before the door clicked shut was his soft mutter, “Damn… she knows?”

You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself as you walked away, knowing exactly what would happen that night. He was yours from now on.

🌱˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

[anyaeras]

Agatha & Rio Kinktober Thoughts

A/N- Happy Kinktober for all my little freaks, I sadly haven't had time to write all my fics but I did come up with some NSFW head cannons so enjoy

──────────────────────

Aftercare— Agatha, she was always great with aftercare her go to method would be a bath, she would run a nice bath after a hard session and relax with you while you let everything melt away in the warm tub.

Body Parts— Rio was obsessed with your body, touching you physically as often as she could. But your eyes, a part she couldn't touch but she just loved to hold your gaze, let looking longingly into your iris while her deep colored eyes searched yours

Cum— Agatha loved the idea of being able to breed you, she often would use her magic to enchant her strap, making the whole interaction feel so real as she pounded her cum deep into you.

Dirty thoughts— Rio had an active imagination, her thoughts ran wild with ideas the things she could do to you but her favorite was, Rio longed to use her magic bounding you to the bed with her vines so she could ravish you, edging you while you were tied unable to move, hours of endless playtime all while flowers and vines wrapped around you until your couldn't take it anymore. The found the joy in your struggles, being a slight sadist and all.

Experiment— Agatha was very willing with you, she adored trying things to with you, Agatha was very precise on how she tried things nonetheless, she would research things you wanted to try offering the best experience for the both of you.

Favorite Position— Rio Was a stone top, she loved having you under her, she also loved to see your face while she played with you. So she would always love tying your legs open while having you lay on your back, forcing you to be at her mercy but she could watch your emotions display on your face. All your pain and pleasure.

Guidance— Agatha was a soft domme out of the bedroom, she liked to be in control with things in their lives. Agatha would often step in to order for you, help you get ready, do simple task for you till you were dependent on her help.

Humiliation- Rio had no issue teasing her sub, playing little games to keep them a blushing mess. Rio would mix praising and Degrading to keep her sub embarrassed, Rio would also give you task that were impossible to complete setting you up to fail just to punish you for failing like a sick little game.

Intimacy— Agatha loved the freaky and kinky sex, but she also loved just holding you. Agatha loved physical touch and honestly needed it, the action would often reassure her. Sometimes Agatha felt the best when you and her were cuddled up on the sofa watching tv just with you in her arms.

Jack off— Rio didn't allow you to touch yourself without her, but tying in with her humiliation kink sometimes the witch wanted a show. Rio would order you to touch yourself for her watching with a smirk while you played with yourself just for her. "Aww don't hid your face let me see how good you feel" Rios voice would whisper anytime you tried to avoid her gaze while doing so.

Kink— Agatha biggest kink, was her size kink, the idea of stretching you out on her strap or toys just watching you take everything she gave you like a good girl made every bone in her body melt. She adored watching your cunt swallow everything thing and toy she shoved inside you. She got creative with it.

Latex, Lingerie, and Leather— Rio often wore Leather, she wasn't a Latex person but adored wearing Leather and she knew you liked it when her gloves would rub on your skin. She also had a few whips and Floggers made of Leather that she would use on your body.

Mommy/Mistress— Agatha had a mommy kink and honestly was a mommy dom, to no one surprise she loved when you called her mommy, in and out of the bedroom, tying in with her love for Gentle domination she loved helping you, and babying/ caring for her sub.

Name calling— Rio would often do a bit of degrading mixed in with her Praises. Her favorites being "my dirty whore" or "you like being a play toy? My little slut?" Rios voice would be low but full of lust whenever she got to degrade her little pet.

Orgasm Control— Agatha trained you to be the perfect little pet, you knew better the to cum without mommy's permission. Agatha had you trained to not be able to cum without her orders so you always relied on Agatha's touch for your pleasure.

Power play— Rio loved a good challenge, she actually wanted you to fight back, try and dominate her, all because she knew you'd end up under her begging for her to let you cum after you tried so hard to be so big and strong only moments ago.

Quicky— Agatha didn't mind quickys but they are from from ideal, she would much more prefer to have you for a long period of time, giving her time to really enjoy you. Nonetheless sometimes quickys worked as great punishments when you were being a brat, pulling you to the side of an event out of sight just to finger you till you were close to cumming, then pulling out. Leaving you wet and needy until she had time to handle you.

Ropes— Rio did like to tie you up, but not with ropes, she wanted to use her vines and green magic to tie you up, if she was really feeling it maybe a few thorns would be in the vines. Depends how sadistic she was feeling that day.

Spanking— Agatha used spanking as a punishment, when you were being a brat it was often her method of correction. You would often find yourself acting out just to be bent of Agatha's knee held down with your pants around your ankles.

Toys— Rio had quite the collection of toys for playtime. Yet her favorite was her green strap that had many ridges along the shaft. It also paired well with a small vibrator she would put on your clit.

Unfair— Agatha did play dirty, her tricks were much kinder then Rios thought, she wanted you to fall into her trap as her sweet submissive pet, she knew ever trick to dumb you down and turn you into her perfect pet.

Vibrators— Rio absolutely loved how many uses Vibrators had, she would have you wear them like clothes for her fun. Adding them to your outfits like a little accessories watching you squirm in front of others throughout your day as she turned it on and off edging you slowly. Leaving you overstimulated.

Wild card— Agatha had no problem taking out her anger and emotions during playtime. When Agatha was stressed the sex just got better. Sometimes you didn't see it coming when you got shoved up against the wall into a heated make out sesh leaving you feeling her emotions on your lips.

eXtreme— Rio could be a bit much sometimes, her most extreme kink was knife play, sometimes she would drag her dagger down your chest laying it flat like a threat as she pounded you into the bed, the excitement of the risk brining you both pleasure.

Yearning— Agatha has a lot do trust issues, and when she found you, someone she longed for she couldn't let you slip away, She would keep you close and away from others to the best of her ability.

Zzz— Rio loved to wake you up with her tongue between your thighs, wrapped around your sensitive clit watching you whine and squirm awake.

[parfaitblogs]

loml ❀ s. reid x reader

in which even six years apart isn’t too much time for spencer to come see you.

pairing: ex!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst/comfort sort of tags: that freaky shit (soul crushing angst). a lot of nothing. approximately the time morgan left the bau (it's mentioned). spoilers for 5x9 (‘100’) if you haven't watched it yet... fade to black.  word count: 1.2k a/n: heyyyy… enjoy my the contents of my sad brain lol. this can kinda be a waiting room pt. 2 if you squint. i’m super sick right now so here’s a draft i wasn’t going to post until august (although it’s july 31 so is it technically august?) because i have no energy to write rn. whoops. enjoyy

Your mother once told you she doesn't think you can be just friends with some people. 

They're either there to be in your life forever, souls so deeply woven together that you have to be more than friends. Or they're fleeting, and your lives will line up for a short enough period of time that they'll impact you, and then you'll never see them again. 

You wished Spencer Reid was the latter.

Not at first. No, at first he was the man you were going to marry. You were certain of it. Discussing your wedding with your friends because it was going to happen, and you were picturing him at the altar. You had fantasised what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life so many times, dedicating so many hours to the concept of it, that when you lost it, you mourned the loss of it as much as you mourned the relationship. 

But Spencer Reid was the former. Unfortunately so. Losing so many years to a man you didn't even speak to anymore, because you just can't get over it. Can't get over how you could give someone so much of you, and they will still throw it all away for a narrative they've made up in their mind. Can't get over the narrative he made up of you. 

It was justifiable, you supposed. His boss had just lost his (ex) wife because of the job. It was tough for everyone on the team. You didn't think it was so bad he would freak out as much as he did, though. 

Because in his mind you were next. He was going to lose you as well. And even that stupidly large brain of his couldn't see how ridiculous that sounded. He refused to listen to you when all he could hear was the screaming in his head of you being next, and the statistics of female abductions. Statistics that were no different between the day before the incident, and the day he broke up with you. They were just louder to him.

An achingly long amount of time had passed from the last time you spoke to him. A pathetic meeting you had requested two months after the breakup, because your life was falling apart and maybe seeing him would make it better.

It didn't. 

You wondered if you'd still be shedding tears over him if you hadn't met him that night.

You heard your name, and so your head lifted from your lap. Right, you thought, bitterly. He was here. In your apartment. The same one he used to sleep at, for days on end.

You knew triggers like the back of your hand. They were usually things that made sense. Loud noises, blood, anniversaries. Could you justify your trigger being a whole person? 

You hadn't known he was a trigger until that evening, when he had showed up at your apartment door with a bouquet of flowers that you didn't really want, and an insultingly pretty smile. You had broken down, right there in your doorway, crumpling to the floor in a hyperventilating, miserable heap. 

He had held you, and frustratingly so, it helped. He didn't speak when he had done it, until you were calmer and were muttering apologies to him, embarrassment replacing the upset. 

At which he shushed you. You listened. 

"Why are you here?" you broke the silence that followed his calling of your name, voice shaky.

He exhaled audibly. "I wanted to see you."

"No, Spencer," you sniffled. "You don't get to come over with flowers just because you wanted to see me. Why are you here?"

He fell silent, and you wished you could crawl into his brain to see what he was thinking. You presumed a million things. 

"Morgan left," he said, quietly, and you felt your mouth go dry. 

"Oh."

Then; your eyebrows furrowed. Because did he really have no one to go to? You stared back at him for a few seconds, and for a moment, you let yourself forget about the weight between you two. Staring into his eyes was an easy way to forget that, apparently. It was comforting for you, but perhaps uncomfortable for him. 

Because he cleared his throat, and adjusted his position on the couch. "I didn't know where to go. And you said if I needed anything, you would be there and—"

"—People say that as a courtesy, Spencer," you breathed out.

"I know," he said, quickly. "But I really needed someone, and I genuinely didn't know where else to go."

You couldn't slam the door in his face even if you wanted to. Because now you were registering more than just your own emotions. The red rimming his eyes, the dusting of pink on his nose and above his lips. 

So, you nodded your head. "Okay. Come here," you said, opening your arms, and took him in between them. Albeit hesitantly. On both ends. 

This time he broke down, and you let him. His face pressed into the crook of your neck, your fingers entangled in his curls, scratching at his scalp in the best soothing motion you could. 

He cried until he had dehydrated his body, and your arms had begun to cramp from the position they were in. When he pulled back, your heart cracked a little more at the sight, his face wet with tears that stuck his hair to his cheeks, that you cleaned up. 

"I miss you."

You froze. He did as well, but for an entirely different reason. At the idea that he had said it. Not you. Him. The words decorated the air and hung there for minutes as you fell silent. 

Finally; "You don't mean that."

"Yes I do," his response was quick, as if expecting you to deny him of his own feelings.

"You're upset, and I'm comforting you. You miss Morgan. Not me. Transference," you mumbled, hands dropping from his face. 

"This isn't transference."

"Spencer."

You were right. You knew it in the way his shoulders sagged in defeat, and his lips parted as if to say something, only to clamp shut in mental defiance. 

"Maybe," he finally said, quietly. "But I do still miss you."

"It's been five years," you answered. He nodded his head in agreement. You exhaled. "I miss you too, Spencer."

He lips twitched, but never reached a smile. "You aren't seeing anyone, then?" he asked. 

"You can deduce that, I'm sure."

You were right, he could, and he nodded his head, lips reaching a smile, albeit sadly. "Yeah. Me neither."

"I also figured," you said. "You would've gone to your girlfriend if you had one."

"I would've," he nodded his head, laughing a breathy, awkward laugh. "Instead I went to my ex-girlfriend."

"You did." More uncomfortable silence, before you let out a sigh. Again. "Movie?"

"What?"

"Do you want to watch a movie?" you say the full sentence, a little slower than what was probably necessary. You knew him well enough to know that he hated talking about his feelings, he was an awful communicator. Had been, your brain screams at you. He could've changed. 

It seemed he hadn't, because he nodded his head, a smaller, more genuine smile painted his lips. "Yeah. Okay."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[marscantread7]

Idk where I'm going w/ this but mdni😭🙏🏾

But like, basically js imagining u finally convince all the LIs to have one crazy orgy w/ u. Like, honestly here's what I'm thinking.

Rafayel and Sylus would be like a little jealous and confused bc like??? 😭⁉️ ur my girl, wtf do u mean an orgy w/ 5 other men, two being ur childhood best friends???? But they live w/ the mindset of "if u like it, I love it ig" and they'd agree to it. They're both some really horny, freaky fucks and not to be on that cuck shit, but they'd lowkey really enjoy watching u get fucked by the other guys bc they're js freaky like that idk. And ngl, Rafayel getting passed around too, Sylus having the honor of fucking the brat out of him first😛😛😛

Caleb and Xavier would flat out refuse bc??? Bitch do u even know me😭⁉️ I'M CRYING AT THE SCANDALIZED LOOK THEY'D GIVE U. Like??? Bro ur insane for even asking that, genuinely. But then they think on it, and they're like actually tweaking out, Xavier crashing out the worst, but then it's like... lowkey it might be kinda hot... bc like... idk they freaky like that too. Like honestly, as long as they can constantly touch u at any point or u touch them, they might be able to handle it. I can imagine Caleb and Zayne bumping heads for whatever bs reason, and Xavier side eyeing Sylus the whole time. Rafayel and u wondering wtf these niggas got beef for when y'all not even naked yet😭⁉️ I imagine Xavier would also be passed around too tbh.

Zayne would honestly be the most chill w/ it. Like, "Is this what u really want?" And ur js like, "I mean, it'd be cool to have u all in the same room, doesn't necessarily have to be sex." And he js shrugs and is like, "Nothing against ur other friends, but I think we should all use protection." And u readily agree😭🙏🏾 anyways, Zayne would be chill w/ all of them. He thinks Rafayel is a little annoying, and he doesn't quite know where tf u found Sylus at, and he's almost asked to check Xavier's vitals like 20 times within the first fice minutes, but they're cool. Where his problem lies is Caleb... bc why is bro tryna size him up??? Buddy we were childhood friends too what😭⁉️ I think Zayne would eventually get sick of it and put Caleb in his place bc let's be honest... Zayne topping in that relationship, let's not be dumb...

Anyways, let's js say evb would leave w/ e/os numbers and a gc would be made, private messages would be sent, secret link ups that really aren't that secret bc all these niggas suck at lying😭😭😭 especially Rafayel. "Hey raf! I didn't give u that hickey?" "A turtle bit me." "Okay man."

And if this ends in one giant poly relationship then well. Uhm. Idk man, that's between y'all and God or smth idk💀💀💀

--------------------------------------------------------

Oh yeah, and in this, u don't have an established relationship w/ any of the boys. Ur literally friends w/ all them and js so happen to be a little more than friends and u decide to spice things up😛😛😛 js silly thoughts that I have😭😭😭 ik some of these might be ooc, but it's js lil headcanons and thoughts LMFAOO

[xsleepinggoodx]

morning sex <3

WARNINGS: somnophilia, horny Mikey, Mikey being lovedrunk on you, foreplay, oral (fem receiving) fingering. (Fem receiving) sub! Reader, service dom Mikey, softdom Mikey, tender love💕

Mikey with long black hair is extremely underrated.

This song has literally nothing to do with the story the instrumentals just give me black long hair Mikey vibes I don’t know how to explain it😭

Enjoy💕

Waking up hard wasn’t foreign to Mikey. But it was difficult to take care of. Especially when his lovely wife is sleeping so soundly next to him.

The soft early morning sunlight on your body on just the right places made him admire you for minutes. Almost drooling on how the golden lights cascaded on your body like a professional painting. You were sleeping so soundly though, a happy and relaxed expression on your face. Fabric marks on your arms. You were probably having a fun dream.

He felt guilty for even considering to bother you, but a memory flashed in his mind to where you and him were discussing your secret kinks.

You’re blushing face, hiding away from Mikey’s shocked eyes.

“Since when were you that kinda freaky,baby? That came outta nowhere!” Mikey’s jaw dropped.

“Stop acting like your don’t have worse ideas…I’m just saying it’d probably feel good and I wouldn’t be opposed to you d..d-doing it to me..” you cursed yourself for stuttering. His laughing echoing loud.

He chuckled from the memory and how you were too bashful to even make eye contact with him. Poor, sweet baby. He thought.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ears. A love-sick smile on his face from how delicious you look right now. He carefully got on top of you, kissing you cheek, moving to your jawline. Leaving hickies here and there, softly moving to your neck. Enjoying how even in your sleep, your whimpering subtly.

Sucking on your sensitive skin, You smelled of vanilla and flowers. Warm from the long bath you and him had from last night. His hand in yours, squeezing it softy and oh so tender. He seemed to be wrapped around your finger.

His kisses moved down to your collarbone, sucking more. Hickies appeared more and more as he moved down. He lifted you blouse up to reveal your stomach, kissing it softly. His hands clasping around your pants, pulling it down with ease.

Once you were finally only in your panties. He had to stop himself to devour you whole. Your thighs squeezed together, making them look plushier than they already are. His calloused hands gently smoothing them apart. He kisses on your inner thighs, a soft sigh leaves you as he kisses so softly on your thighs. You repositioned yourself, your lower half getting closer to his head. He smirks at this as he’s midway to your center.

He licks your center, right on your panties making you softly moan. Your thighs lightly twitch and he chuckles. Vibrations right in your core. You whine in your sleep, your dream slowly combining with reality.

Painfully slow, he slides down your panties, revealing your wet pussy. He groans. His cock hardening more at the sight. You’re asleep and you’re still wet. So naughty.

He kisses your inner thighs moving closer to your center. Black onyx eyes on your face like a hawk. He licks a long lick from your entrance to your clit. A jolt on your body as you whimper. He smiles as he kisses your sensitive clit, circling figure 8s on it. Your other hand, unoccupied by Mikey’s hand, unconsciously gripping the sheets below you. Soft, needy moans escaping your mouth.

“A-ah! m-Mikey…mmmh” you moan loudly as you throw your head back.

He hums as he speeds up his tongue on your clit, from side to side to up and down slowly, enough to have you awake. Your eyebrows furrowed, a bratty whine escaping your lips as you wrap your legs around Mikey’s head, chasing your orgasm. Your hips arched as he sucked on your clit, your wetness dripping down and he happily licks it all up.

“M-Mikey! I’m- oh!.. I’m g-gonna cum.—“

Speeding his tongue once more as you orgasm with a breathy moan. He has never heard anything more beautiful. You whimper when he continues to suck your clit, coming down from your high. You get up on your elbows as he finishes cleaning you off with his tongue. Getting up and immediately attaching his lips on yours. Tongue in your mouth, tasting yourself as your moan in kiss. He pulls back, saliva connecting your lips.

“You taste so good, love~” he says, a teasing smile on his lips. You only look away bashfully.

Your positions changed to you on your side with Mikey making out with you. His hand wandered as he groped your breasts, deepening the kiss. His hand slides down to rub tight circles on your clit. Going faster and faster as you moan, too tired to keeping making out with him as you catch your breath in his neck.

“M-Mikey!” You try to grip his arm but he only sighs, his mouth in an ‘o’ shape. Groaning on your cunt pulsing.

he kisses your earlobe, increasing your stimulation. A loud gasp escapes you as he stuffs two fingers in you, not hesitating to thrust them in and out. Curling his fingers on your g-spot, earning whines and whimpers from you. He speeds up as you squirt on his fingers. Earning a loud groan from him as you twitch under him, moaning loudly. As you come down from your high. He kissed your cheek and kissed your lips again. Mikey loved kissing.

Moments passed and he already had you cleaned up, in your soft pjs again.

“Was that a good morning?🥰” he said as he teasingly looked at you, you only flushed deep red.

“I could do better~” you finally said back.

“Oh really?~” he said, grabbing ng your face to kiss you again.

You got too lucky with him.

[melinoelliones]

The morning after Pomni had arrived you noticed Jax hadn't turnt up for breakfast like everyone did every morning. What was up with him?

MINORS DNI/AGELESS BLOGS DNI/ANTI DC DNI/18+

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Warnings: Handjob, Blowjob, Tears, Dacryphilia, Cursing, Slight Manipulation (if you squint real hard), Face Fucking, Dirty Talk GN Reader BUT I did use dollface as a nickname as I liked it

2k words

Have I been foaming at the mouth over this large sassy rabbit man..... Anyways just want to note that there IS A PART TWO TO THIS, don't ask me when it'll be up cos I do not know. Reader has been at the circus for a year, reader n Jax are not dating. Also I know rabbits don't have heats but today they do. Hope you all enjoy <3

Thank you @suyacho my baby for helping me with this 😭

“Can’t you come back like tomorrow, we are literally stuck here forever, we have all the time in the world”, “Oh shut up Jax, I’m coming in” you huffed, letting yourself in the dark and clammy room, the air so thick it was almost visible as he sighed, “G~God you are so hardheaded”.

After the wild night you all had had prior, you were all stunned to see that Jax hadn’t turnt up for breakfast, he wasn’t one to skip a meal, nor was he one to miss out on the opportunity to make a sharp comment about the day before at an inappropriate time such as the breakfast table. So you had decided to be the one to go check up on him, not that anyone would have gone if you hadn’t.

You could just about make out the figure of the tall purple rabbit sprawled over his bed, sheets a mess and the sound of heavy breaths coming from the pile, “Jax are you okay? What’s going on, you didn’t come to breakfast” you questioned, creeping over and perching on the edge of his mattress. 

“Oh I’m fine, I’m fine, just a fever yanno” he jested, flailing a hand in the air from the mountain of duvet crowding his shivering body, “a fever? You know we can’t get sick here” you tilted your head in confusion. What was going on with him today? A fever? Maybe it had something to do with Pomni’s arrival.

Rolling his eyes as dramatically as he possibly could, Jax shifted to face you, “did you forget I'm a freaky human rabbit hybrid? We go into heat dollface, never heard of the term “f%$!#ing like rabbits?”.

As you went to shoot a rebuttal you stopped yourself, it was all clicking now, it all made sense, the humid room, the disheveled sheets and the fact that Jax was huffing as if he had run a marathon before dawn. It was almost turning you on to see him like this, minus the fight talk you could blatantly see how needy he was, his body ever so slightly grinding against the sheets even as he spoke to you, it was almost as if his body was moving on its own. All you could do was snicker to yourself as you took in the sight.

“You kn~know what, I need a little less of that and a little more help” Jax sassed, sprawling onto his back and swinging his arm around to your waist, his chest heaving as he felt your body. Without even needing direction you straddled him with ease. 

A deep heat pooled in his stomach as you leant forward, your eyes sinking into one another's not wanting to break the gaze, “tell me what you want Jax” you teased, whispering softly into his ear, not truly taking the situation seriously.

“J~Just touch me……. Please” he groaned, hesitating at the end. He wasn’t used to begging nor asking for things, this vulnerability was new to him but he knew he needed to be, you were the only one who could help him right now, “alright alright”.

The air between you grew thicker as you slithered your hands up towards the straps of his overalls, unclasping the golden buttons as he stared at the ceiling, attempting to control his breathing. He wanted nothing more than to grab your body and use it for himself to ease the pain of how pent up he was, fuck you till he could go no longer, but not now.

You felt as Jax attempted to swallow his huffs as you trailed sweet kisses down his front, sucking ever so slightly on each one, nibbling down every so often while you slid down his clothing. This was too easy, you knew you wouldn’t have to do too much as he looked as if he could cum from a simple hickey in this state, or so you thought.

You slipped off him, feeling the heat that radiated from his body. But your teasing had barely begun. With a seductive grin on your face, you crawled between his legs, running your hands slowly along his torso to his waist. The grin on your lips was punctuated by a light flick of your tongue against the top row of teeth as his eyes moved to yours, still refusing to move from his position to avoid using you.

You slowly moved your hands down to his hips, pulling the fabric to reveal him and closing your hands around his weightful cock, its size taking you completely by surprise. “Hey hey, be gentle with that will ya” Jax sharply breathed in, finally perching up to see you mesmerized by it, “you really are pathetic” you giggled

“What did you just sa~ ah %$!#”, Jax hissed through his teeth whilst you ran both hands along his already hard member. You felt as he grew harder and harder with each movement of your hands, you tried not to show how taken aback you were by how large it had just gotten, however it only aided in your unusual excitement.

“So sensitive” you mewled, meticulously mounding your fingertips around the rim as you watched the glistening spout of precum leak from the tip, his eyes fixed on your lustful gaze that was on his cock. “You seem to be en~joying this a bit too much dontcha think” Jax groaned through the moan he managed to let slip through his lips, your momentum only fastening as he spoke.

Jax’s patience began to draw thin as you teased, alternating the speed of your hands every time you felt his breaths get heavier. He desired more, this was far from enough but begging was not going to be the method of choice this time, that was unlike him and seeing how eager you were, he knew he could be himself.

You halted your movements as you felt a large gloved hand cup your face, you could almost feel his demeanor shifting as your eyes met his. “I think we should move on to something else” Jax prodded, “something else?” your eyes widened, reevaluating the scene in front of you. You had never done anything like this before, maybe the idea of something new and exciting totally pushed out any sense you had had out of your head.

“Cmon, you know you wanna. You came in here after I warned you, and gave me a handjob on top of that?” he snickered, trying to hold back his urge to finish the job himself with your body. He needed you to do this, so much so that he was willing to almost manipulate the situation in a way so that you thought you initiated this. “I mean, you’re not wrong but”, “You brought this upon yourself kid, now suck it”.

A large smirk adorned Jax’s face as he ran his thumb across your cheek, soothing any worries you had. You had never given someone head before, let alone in this place, you were nervous but it wasn’t as if this hadn't been on your mind for the past year. Jax was hot, definitely the type of guy you would've had a crush on back in the real world but never approached, nor would he have approached you, in human form that is. 

Your eyes flitted between the tip and the base, Jax was considerably large and there was no way in hell you could fit it all, but it was worth a shot. “You got it” he reassured, removing his palm as you leant forward. 

Extending out your tongue you allowed a trail of saliva to grace his tip, your grip tightening as he writhed in anticipation. In one fluid motion you skimmed your coated tongue along the shaft before taking as much as you could into your waiting mouth, the warmth bringing a shallow moan to his lips.

“W~Wasn’t expecting t~that” Jax gasped, watching you bob your head up and down aimlessly, using one hand to pump the remainder of his cock while the other was placed on his thigh. He was far too big, so much so that tears almost instantly appeared, your glossy eyes struggled to stay open as you moved.

“Uh uh, look at me. I want to see those p~pretty eyes while you take it” he stammered, feeling the initial ache in his stomach soothe itself. He could tell you were new at this but at this point he couldn’t care less, your attempts at sucking him off was enough for him.

“I think you can take a little bit more, what do ya think?” Jax cooed, not even waiting for your response before placing his large gloved hand against the back of your head encasing it, pushing you down further and further as your eyebrows furrowed. Your lips felt like velvet against his shaft, pulling him closer and closer to ecstasy. 

“Oh yeah”, he moaned out, rolling his head back while caressing your head, applying more and more pressure with each stride, “That’s it.. %$!# baby”.

You may have been a newbie, but what you were doing was sending him into overdrive. Your sweet eyes showing nothing more than a need to please him, your desperate yet subtle cries sending vibrations to his sensitive cock while it forced its way past the walls of your throat, allowing his crown to be pressed against the back of your throat repeatedly.

Hot tears streaked down your hollowed cheeks landing on his bare thighs as strings of saliva hung from the corners of your mouth, your fingers also coated in the concoction as he precum mixed with your spit resulting in a noise that sent Jax crazy. 

Doing your best to keep up with his relentless thrusts your body trembled with pleasure, your nails digging ever so deeply into his thigh with your spare hand as you continued, lapping your tongue around the tip and sliding it between his slit lustfully before taking as much as you could back in, desperate to show Jax how much you wanted him. 

His mixture of curses and choked out moans were like music to your ears, the burn in your own stomach starting to rise as you squeezed your thighs together for any type of stimulation you could get, making sure to focus on the task at hand.

“A~Ahh just like that, I’m so close kid” he purred, ears wilted he gazed into your clouded eyes, “now m~make sure you take all of it, understand?”. All you could do was nod, not knowing what to truly expect. Jax was at his absolute limit however, the pleasure pushing the limits until he could hold on no longer, “#$!#€£@”.

Before you could overthink it you felt him twitch between your lips, his body jolting up as he cursed relentlessly. The grip on your hair tightened as he thrusted one final time until his crown was resting against the back of your throat once again.

You whined as you felt his warm release spill down your throat, coating it white with each pump before pulling away, the milky concoction still connecting your lips to him, “Now swallow” he commanded, sniggering to himself as he watched you struggle to take it all down in one but trying so hard to do so.

“So obedient” he mewled, wiping the corners of your mouth as you breathlessly knelt up, the pool in your stomach aching to be helped as you did for Jax. “T~That was fast, all that fuss for you to be done now?” you chirped, knowing damn well your jaw was near to falling off but your cockiness remained.

“I wouldn’t s~speak too soon dollface that was just a warmup, I haven’t had a chance to properly get my hands on you. I think you’ll have to stay here all day to help out this pathetic rabbit?” Jax grinned mocking your original insult before pulling you into a rough and needy kiss.

All the possible scenarios played back to back in your head as your lips glided over one anothers. What was in store for you now I wonder?

[mermaidsirennikita]

Sadly, the Wuthering Heights furor has also led to people (many of whom, let us be real, simply dislike the book or otherwise only think of it when it's brought up) to discourse about the content of the novel versus the wrongness of Emerald Fennell's choices with regards to the movie, which of course, has opened up the classic "IT'S NOT A ROMANCE! IT'S NOT A LOVE STORY! BAD PEOPLE! HATE STORY!"

... Which is... also a bad take.

First off, to be very clear, "Romance" is not inherently "genre romance", which is the thing I blog a lot about that was solidified in the latter half of the twentieth century (and which, no doubt, was influenced on some level by WH as much as Jane Eyre, Austen novels and so on). Wuthering Heights is a romance, it's just not a genre romance/romance novel. And indisputably, Wuthering Heights is a love story.

It may not be a love story you like. It may not be a love story with a happily ever after (though I will say—this is one of the few books where I think it's pretty debatable, as "wandering the moors as ghosts", if that is what happened, is kind of... what Cathy and Heathcliff would've wanted... and their ultimate desire was to be TOGETHER, regardless of whether or not it damned them, so is it an HEA in their freaky minds? Maybe so lol). It may ALSO be an abuse story in which the lovers act horribly to each other.... though, I gotta say, MUCH WORSE to literally everyone else in their lives than they do to each other...

But it's a love story. That is one of several things it happens to be. The entire novel is driven by this central love story between Heathcliff and Cathy—a love that is, contrary to what a surface-level reading or reading by word of mouth would imply... very much mutual. I've already gone on about how Cathy Earnshaw is not Heathcliff's victim the way Isabella Linton is, and how Cathy is very much as involved in the love affair as he is. But truly, while their individual internal struggles are the framework and what keeps them apart in many ways—Heathcliff being a man of color and subject to racist abuse, Cathy conforming to society and classist pressures when her natural temperament is very much not of society—what propels the story is this romance.

Because they are supposed to be read as extremely similar, and as two people who do not truly identify with anyone but one another. They're supposed to be read as like minds. They're supposed to be read as thwarted. Some of the things those two say about each other and to each other are legitimately some of the most romantic lines I've ever read.

I mean, are they also kind of sick and wrong? Sure! But I do find it kind of rich to see people who are totally fine with reading dark romance wring their hands over the public at large interpreting Heathcliff and Cathy's relationship as an epic romance. I don't have an issue with anyone enjoying either! But. Let us be real. Part of why y'all are even enjoying work like that is the standard that books like WH set, and the fact that WH does speak to the lure of the dark and the tragedy of people who are super imperfect... and also super in love... continuously fucking up their own lives (and the lives of basically everyone around them) in this push-pull of denial and desire.

When people say "HOW COULD ANYONE EVER INTERPRET THIS AS ROMANTIC?" I just have to question... did you read the book? Because even if it's not for YOU, if it's not romantic TO YOU, surely you can see why other people (me and mine lol) read lines like these and go, "Wow, romantic":

“Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you--haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe--I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!”

(fun fact: I do have a part of the above quote tattooed on my body and I'm very happy about it)

"My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it."

"Hush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I'll stay. If he shot me so, I'd expire with a blessing on my lips."

[said when her damn husband is almost at the door lol]

"I’m not wishing you greater torment than I have, Heathcliff. I only wish us never to be parted: and should a word of mine distress you hereafter, think I feel the same distress underground, and for my own sake, forgive me!"

"'Heathcliff, dear! you should not be sullen now. Do come to me, Heathcliff.’

In her eagerness she rose and supported herself on the arm of the chair. At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking absolutely desperate. His eyes, wide and wet, at last flashed fiercely on her; his breast heaved convulsively. An instant they held asunder, and then how they met I hardly saw, but Catherine made a spring, and he caught her, and they were locked in an embrace from which I thought my mistress would never be released alive..."

"Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?"

[Read: she is the murderer he is talking about. He's saying she doomed herself to death a long time ago, and he hates her for it. While also crying and kissing her lmao]

They're sickos! Nobody can argue otherwise. But that does not mean they're not in love, and it doesn't mean this isn't a love story, and wagging your fingers at people who read this as the obviously destructive love story this is and find it romantic... doesn't change that.

And the thing is that the book makes it pretttyyyy clear that even if Heathcliff and Cathy has assholery programed into their personalities, WITHOUT the contexts of how they were raised and the society that expects them both to conform to prescribed roles, they would probably just... be together. Like, they victimize people, especially Heathcliff. But they are also victims. The book isn't about a critique of two people Emily Bronte dreamed up; it's a critique of the CIRCUMSTANCES by way of Gothic, subversive melodrama. At the end of the day, their feelings, however passionate they are, are not inherently subversive. Their feelings are NATURAL. But they're twisted and contorted into something ugly through circumstance and the characters' responses to those circumstances.

For Heathcliff, A LOT of those circumstances that did twist him are in fact out of his control. Which is why we hate that casting, right?

But all that said, a love story being dirtybadwrong and about Bad People doesn't mean it isn't a love story, lol. Again—we don't even expect genre romance to be about good people.

Like. Yeah. We know Heathcliff and Cathy are assholes. You're not breaking new ground with that take. The book is still, in many ways, about those assholes being in love.

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 13.

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content. It's a kinky writing challenge, so expect anything at this point, (nothing freaky, don't worry) but it's a surprise calendar so I won't spoil it! (Also, English is not my native language) Contains brief reference to Dec.11 (Temptation)

Summary: You and Dean manage to piss off an Amor and in return he "gifts" you with a life-swap with two strangers for the next hours. Not much of a deal for you two, you think. You're hunters after all, so how bad could it be? Oh how wrong you were. Remember one of Dean's biggest fears? Yeah. About that.

Words: 3,100

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! And let me know whether you enjoy it so far! <3 A/N: Alrighty, this was a bit of a wild ride.

I really need to write less and yet I end up writing more every time and keep screwing up my sleeping schedule damn it. This is the first time I've written this much dialogue. :') I'm still new to writing fanfics and now I'm a bit anxious about posting it haha. I really hope I got Dean right - I didn't get to proof read it yet, so maybe I'll adjust some small things tomorrow (or rather when I'm awake again in a couple of hours). EDIT: Yeah, I did edit it now. Just a quick heads up. Although I am still not entirely satisfied with it… I might rewrite this one someday but for now I gotta move on to the next prompt.

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

13th Dec. - Freaky Friday

"Love is in the air!" The amor chanted before popping off. At that point you didn't know yet that naked bastard meant it quite literally.

Next moment you open your eyes, you're stuck on an airliner with a screaming Dean next to you, in pilot uniform.

“I’m gonna kill that crotch-faced angel!” Dean yells, his face beyond pissed.

“Jesus- What the hell just happened!?” You sputter, blinking at him rapidly. You find yourself clinging to the armrests as your body tries to catch up with the sudden shift of surrounding. One moment you’d been standing in a dining kitchen, next thing you know you’ve been hurled into a cockpit’s seat 30’000 miles in the sky.

“Goddamn sky nudist, that’s what happened,” Dean growls, hands instinctively patting down his new clothings in search of his colt. He grits his teeth with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, “Of course he stripped me of my stuff.” His eyes roam the cockpit, the realization slowly settling in and his stomach twisting into sickening knots, “This gotta be some kinda sick joke.”

“What joke?” A voice startles both of you, Dean even briefly clasps his chest with his hand. You both snap your heads around to face a young, scraggly guy who looks like he’s one sneeze away from lifting off.

“Who invited you to the party?” Dean asks sarcastically, eyebrow arched and eyeing the poor lad with scepticism.

“I- uhm – I’m part of the cabin crew… I’m Bob.” He sputters, his fingers fiddling with his name tag before his eyes dart back and forth between you, curiously. “What party?”

“He’s being sarcastic, Bob.” You crack an amused, lop sided smile.

“Great, we’ve got ourselves another birdbrain. Just without the angel-juice.” Dean quips, rubbing his face in annoyance. “You better buckle up, kid. This’ll be a bumpy ride if it's real.”

“Maybe… it’s just a dream?” You try to reason, although you are pretty positive that this is anything but a dream, “I mean, he’s an angel after all. He wouldn’t put you in charge of 200 passengers, right?“

“660,“ Bob chimes in matter-of-factly, „It’s 660 passengers. Plus 16 cabin crew and that’s-”

“Bob. Not helping.“ You cringe inwardly.

“Including me…” he adds in a small voice.

“And who gave you permission to add your crap?” Dean deadpans at Bob before his head snaps back at you, “And you kiddin’ me? When did angels start to care about any of us?“

“Right - fair enough. Then, uh, let‘s just get the co-pilot. Bob, where‘s the man of the moment?” You turn to glance at the steward again.

“Uh,” Bob mutters with a nervous smile, “That would be you, miss.”

“What?” You look down and notice just now, that indeed, you were wearing a pilot’s uniform. “Really? No stewardess? Well, uh, that’s… refreshing.”

“Fantastic. Just fantastic.” Dean mutters next to you.

„Tell you what — I‘m gonna call Cas,“ Dean fumbles for his phone, „He can shazam us out of this shitshow- Nah! Come on!“ he cuts himself short and throws his hand in the air, “That son of a bitch took my phone as well!“

“Dean - breath - you’re panicking-“ you try to calm him down but get cut short.

“I’m not panicking! I’m peachy as fuck!” he retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just because I‘m a little worried about being stuck up in this flyin’ tin can of death doesn‘t mean I‘m freakin’ out.” Dean defends himself, his eyes narrowed, trying his best to act tough and offended. When in reality his grip on the armrest is close to a breaking point.

You reach out a hand to place it on his arm, when suddenly the plane shudders and Dean’s eyes go as wide as saucers, his grip on the armrest now enough to strangle the life out of a man.

Bob pipes up with recovered confidence, “It‘s just a little bit of turbulence, Captain. I fly this same route every day, it‘s perfectly normal.”

Dean’s head whips around to shoot Bob a deadpan glare, “Yeah, ‘cuz you’re totally unbiased, aren’t ya?” Bob blinks at him, seemingly not understanding a single word he said. “I’m not your Captain, kid.” He clarifies with an exasperated groan.

Bob looks like his face has been hit with a wet towel, “But… you’re wearing a pilot’s uniform.”

Dean shoots you a sarcastic smile. “Oh, bless his heart.”

You sigh, “Thanks for stating the obvious, Bob.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“So... you are pilots.” he concludes.

“Shut up, trolly-boy.” Dean snaps gruffly before he turns back to face the sky in front of them. He runs a frustrated hand down his face, unsure what to say with his usual bravado seemingly dissipated.

“I need a drink,” Dean mutters to himself after a moment of silence, the sweat beading on his forehead.

Bob takes this as his cue and proudly hands him a bottle of water.

“This better be gin.” He grumbles and uncaps the bottle, downing it in one go. He sets the empty bottle down on the ground, his eyes flicking across the dashboard of the cockpit. His hair gets ruffled by a frustrated hand of his, before Dean suddenly pushes himself off the seat, muttering. “I need some fresh air.”

“Sure, let’s just open a window - are you insane??” You shout after him, turning in your seat. Bob shoots you the look of a deer caught in headlights, his face drained of all blood as he watches him walk out on them. You roll your eyes before you get up to rush after Dean.

“Just keep the damn plane in the sky.” You clap him briefly on the shoulder, at which Bob stutters something along the line of ‘this not being part of his job description’. But you cut him short with a mocking smile and a brisk slap to the chest. “It’s your lucky day, pal. You just got promoted. Now just don’t screw the pooch ‘till we’re back.” And off you went, slamming the cockpit door shut behind you. Leaving poor Bob back with nothing less but 10,000 switches, dials and buttons. And an empty water bottle.

***

You hurry after Dean who just disappeared in the lavatory. “Dean, wait-” you get inside as well, already feeling a slight deja-vu of the cooped up situation in here, but choose not to comment on it now. “Look, I know this sucks but… I think I’ve got an idea how we can get out of this.”

Dean tries and fails to pace in the narrow cabin. He’s now running his hand through his hair in a frantic manner instead. “Oh yeah? Please, indulge me.” He says sarcastically, his breath slightly shaky.

“Dean, listen to me,” you pause, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose, “God… I can’t believe I’m saying this but…” you take a deep breath, fighting the urge to curse out a certain naked love-angel, “The way I see it… Right now, the lives of 676 innocent people depend on your dick.”

“Uh-“ Dean stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, “Are you trying to flirt with me? ‘Cuz that’s one hell of an odd pick up line.” His lips shift into a mischievous smirk, “It’s kinda hot though.”

“DEAN,” You groan in exasperation, “I’m being serious! Lives are at stake here!” You reach over to lock the door with a bit more force than needed. “Including my ass!” You add as you whip around to face him again.

Dean throws his hands up in mock surrender, “Okay, okay! I get it! Just sayin’, it’s a weird thing to say to your boyfriend!” He plops down on the toilet seat behind him, his expression one of mock-seriousness, his lips twitching, “So what’s my dick gotta do with the fate of this plane?”

You sigh and lean back against the door, your knees almost touching his in the narrow lavatory. “Love is in the air.” You state matter-of-factly before you continue, “That’s what the Amor said, remember? It’s a lesson, Dean - we gotta… ya know-” while you speak you make an obscene hand gesture to get your point across, “- do it.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, nearly disappearing into his hairline, “Whoa, whoa, whoa - slow down there, Squeak. You can’t be serious, you really want us to-”

Before he could finish the sentence, the plane lurched suddenly, causing you both to grab for each other and almost knocking heads. Your eyes lock, realization dawning on you that time’s ticking. Fast.

“No time for explanations,” you blurt out, “You just gotta trust me on this.” You drop to your knees between his legs, your hands working the buckle of his belt. When suddenly Dean pipes up.

“I can’t.”

Your mind just came to a screeching halt at those two words. “What?” You sputter, looking up at him in disbelief.

“I can’t do it.” He repeats in a low voice, clearing his throat this time. And his eyes dart around the lavatory in an attempt to avoid your flabbergasted look.

Silence.

“We literally fucked in a public fitting room the other day and you want to tell me you can’t do this?” You stare at him wide-eyed. This entire situation seemed like a stupid joke to you. Dean’s dismissing a chance to bang you? Ridiculous.

Dean looks taken aback by your argument, his face scrunched up in an offended manner. “Hey! That wasn’t 30’000 miles in the air - s’not the same!-” His voice turns into a little screech when you cup his privates in the middle of his arguing, “Hey, hey- whoa- easy there!” He sputters, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. His fingers wrap around the edge of the toilet seat in a death grip, forcing himself to regain his composure in front of you.

His cheeks flush with a faint pink when his eyes finally meet yours again. “He’s-” he croaks out before he cuts himself short. He clears his throat and forces his voice to its usual confident, gruff tone, “He’s scared. Alright?” His jaw clenches and he looks away again, forcing a sarcastic smile when he scoffs, “Go on, laugh it up.”

Oh. Now it clicked in your head. You suddenly feel bad for snapping at him, but you still can’t help the hint of an amused smile tugging at the corner of your lips. He felt so embarrassed, it was almost endearing. “Well,” you smack your lips, your soft voice carrying a hint of teasing, “Guess I’ll just have to step up my game then.” You push yourself to your feet and before Dean gets to object, you disappear out the door with a quick wink at him. Dean stares at the door in confusion, his eyes occasionally darting down to his half-exposed boxers and its non-existent bulge. His jaw clenches and he curses a silent “Damnit”, already regretting that he told you.

A few minutes later, the door to the lavatory swings open again. And Dean’s breath hitches at the sight in front of him. “I thought you’d like this, Captain Winchester.” You drawl out his name in an extra sultry tone. Your finger playing at the neckline of your tight stewardess outfit. And his attention was effectively drawn to your subtly bobbing breasts whenever the plane shook. It had taken some smooth talking but you had managed to trade clothings with one of the stewardess’. Not without raising a few eyebrows though. But hey, lives are at stake here. And if the Winnichester needs some coaxing then you’ll damn well do so by wearing a super short blue skirt and a tight blouse with your pushed up boobs hanging out halfway. “Damn,” Dean swallows thickly, his voice cracking slightly, “You- uh- you look hot.” He starts to fidget around on the toilet lid, his eyes roaming you up and down with a sudden look of lust.

“So do you, Captain.” You hum, your teeth grazing your lips slowly. The pilot uniform fit him perfectly. Just how you had always imagined him. You secretly always hoped that the day would come where he’d need to wear one for a case, but of course that chance never came. Until now. And damn, the sight made your stomach tingle and the fabrics of your panties dampen.

But the moment is ruined by another strong turbulence, making the plane lurch again, this time stronger. You stumble forward and Dean panics, his hands braced against a wall each, “Oh come on! This can’t be normal!”

You take the chance and with one ‘wrong step’ you land on his thighs, both your knees straddling his hips. Taking the moment back by force. Dean startles for a moment, gasping for air as he’s torn between panicking from the planes sudden alarming noise, or feeling turned on by your bold action.

You shift on his lap, your wetted panties grinding against his covered crotch. Dean’s eyes briefly flutter closed, biting back a groan. Without another word, you lean in and capture his lips in a passionate kiss, which Dean quickly succumbs to. After a moment, you break the kiss again, leaving him breathless and still a bit befuddled.

“You listen to me,” you command in a sultry tone while you cup his cheeks with both hands, holding his gaze, “You will fuck me now as if our lives depend on it. Ya hear me, Dean Winchester? I know you can do it.” Because our lives do depend on it, you add mentally.

Dean swallows thickly, his mouth suddenly going dry. After a moment of silence, despite the unsettling increasing clattering of the cabins and the rattling of the floor beneath them, Dean nods. “Yeah, I hear ya.” He replies huskily.

You can see in his darkened eyes how his fear is slowly dissipating and making room for excitement and lust. His hands slide off the walls to move to your waist and he rolls his hips up against you to show the effect you’re having on him. And indeed, his erection is twitching against the fabrics, begging to be released now. He looks up at you with that cocky smirk of his, finally carrying his usual confidence again. “Ready to be air-boned?”

“Seriously now?” You snort with an amused chuckle, your eyes roaming his pilot uniform, “Come on, Captain,” you playfully swat his thigh and then lean in, your lips grazing his ear, “I’ve always dreamed of gettin’ laid by a pilot. Hard.”

At that Dean’s green eyes glint with eagerness and desire. He raises an eyebrow and chuckles, “That so?” Without a warning, he grabs you by the hips and he pushes off the toilet lid. With a tight grip on you, he whips you around and bends you over the small washbasin. You gasp when you suddenly find yourself shoved into the mirror, your hipbones pressed firmly against the edge.

He leans down next to your ear, whispering gravelly, “Hold on tight,” His fingers dig into your hips to angle them slightly up, making you arch your back. “’m gonna make this so much better than your dream, sweetheart.” You shudder from his touch, the heat already pooling between your legs. He runs his hands up your inner thighs until he reaches your skirt which he slowly nudges upwards until he’s got his eyes on your exposed ass. He bites his lips with a low groan. “Damn, you look so beautiful, baby.” His fingers hook under the hem of your panties pulling them down to your knees in one swift movement. You stifle a moan, your thighs already dripping wet. Dean pulls his boxers down and his hard erection twitches against your ass as he leans down again, his chest firmly pressed against your back as he traps you underneath him. “Gonna fuck you ‘till we touch down. That sound good for you?” He growls with a cheeky smirk, his hot breath tingling your skin.

A low whine escapes your lips, pleading with a “y-yes- please.” You’re begging for him to take you already, to pin you down and fuck you like an animal. Your throbbing clit was aching for relief by now. You pant against the mirror and you feel your mind going hazy. Your head drops forward when you feel his fingers brush against your slick folds with a low groan of his.

“Jesus, you’re killing me sweetheart…” he whispers against the nape of your neck. He hooks his two fingers into your cunt to pull you back with a quick tug. You moan loudly but quickly get muffled by his hand, his middle finger slipping past your lips for you to suck on. And you suck hard, drawing a moan out of him this time.

“You ready to be banged to the heavens?” he asks deeply, his fingers slipping out of you again to part your folds open.

You nod, eagerly, a low muffled moan leaving your jammed mouth. Dean hums satisfied with your response and next moment he pushes his thick cock inside you. Despite his size, you take him with ease by now. But not without a guttural moan and you buckling for a moment. Dean quickly slips one hand underneath to your stomach to hold you in position. He doesn’t hold back long, after a few slow in and outs, he thrusts into you like there’s no tomorrow. Seemingly unloading all the pent-up tension from before. The hand on your stomach dips a bit lower, his finger flicking over your swollen nub, determined to get you there along him. His other hand leaves your mouth to push down on your lower back, pinning you down beneath him while his teeth graze at the skin of your neck. He grunts and groans, slamming into you like an animal. You meanwhile whine and whimper, your legs shaking from the relentless thrusts of his cock getting driven inside you, the turbulences only adding to the sensation. He picks up his pace, deep and rough, just the way he knew you liked it.

It didn’t take long for you both to reach the edge. Equally panting and trembling. When you finally come undone with one last hard thrust, you almost scream his name and your walls clamp him, taking him over the edge with you. Dean collapses on top of you with a shuddering, exhausted groan, but quickly makes sure to not bury you beneath him by propping himself up on his elbows.

After a moment of catching his breath, he whispers softly, “Damn… that was… intense.” his forehead drops to your shoulder and he pants heavily against your back, his damp hair tickling your neck. “You doing good, sunshine?”

You finally manage to flutter your eyes open again and it takes you a second to realize where you are. “Oh my God, Dean.” You exclaim breathlessly. You tip your head back, nudging him with your back-head. Dean slowly raises his head, just enough to look over your head, expecting to see his reflection in the mirror. But instead is faced with a swaying kitchen pan.

“Jesus,” he mutters a bit shocked, “Don’t tell me-” “Yes!” you cut him short while wiggling free from underneath him, “It worked! Love is in the air, baby!”

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Tags:

@ariasong11 @deansjacket @literallylexa @lmpala1967 @foxyjwls007 @impala67rollingthroughtown

[venusbyline]

Gwayne Hightower — Merciful Gods (3/3)

chapter three

(previous chapter)

— summary: Gwayne Hightower is back in King's Landing. Just as you are willing to try to avoid your uncle at all costs, he is more than eager to finally show you the price for his silence.

— pairing: Gwayne Hightower x niece!reader

— type: dark, smut

— word count: 2.4k

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, dark!Gwayne, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Hightower Incest (uncle/niece), dubcon, fingerfucking, vaginal fingering, cowgirl position, loss of virginity, rough sex, blood kink, dacryphilia, crying, praise kink, unconscious sex, dubcon somnophilia, fainting/collapsing, blood and injury, violence, gore, sexism, religious conflict, religious guilt, corruption kink, dumbification kink, age gap (older man/younger woman), hair-pulling, biting, rough kiss, body worship, finger sucking, piss kink (BUT NOT REALLY), watersports (BUT NOT REALLY), curse words, referenced non-con voyeurism, referenced oral sex (male receiving), gaslighting, manipulation, abusive and toxic relationship, obsessive behaviour, mommy issues, Alyrie Florent mentioned, breeding kink, creampie, overstimulation blood licking, butt slapping, sadism, sub!reader, dom!Gwayne, ambiguous/open ending, sad ending, prince regent!Aemond, Targcest (older brother/younger sister), minor Aemond Targaryen/reader, rape/non-con, breast worship, asphyxiation, nipple licking, nipple play, forced marriage, dark content, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: Merciful Gods is a threeshot series. It involves dark content about religiosity (The Faith of the Seven), incest relationship and women's repressed carnal desires.

— author's notes²: Each chapter contains its own trigger warnings.

— author's notes³: GUYS I'M SOOOO SORRY ABOUT THE LATE UPDATE 😭😭 This month I had some health issues (including a quick admission in the hospital lmaooo) and I'm dealing with a really deep writer's block too. But anyway, I'm so happy that you enjoyed following Merciful Gods! I loved writing this series, I loved the characters and especially Gwayne's freaky and sick mind. I appreciate so much those of you who had patience to wait for the last part, I hope you really like it 💚💚

❥ Merciful Gods masterlist

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • Gwayne masterlist • HOTD masterlist • main masterlist

The moans echoing through the chambers were like a great song to Gwayne's ears. His skin was on fire with every second passing, every second feeling the softness of the curves that he longed to deflower during years.

One hand squeezed your milky thighs, almost pinching and digging the nails into that smooth spot, the other calloused hand still busy with the task of extracting the best sounds coming from you.

"Is that how you felt, little niece?" Gwayne questioned with a husky voice, his mouth close to your ear as he fucked his fingers in and out, not really caring if the speed was too much for your tight inexperienced hole.

You were too focused on moaning, your hands grabbing your uncle's shoulders, wanting to push him away but wanting his fingers to go as deep as possible at the same time. Those reactions were confusing, pathetic whimpers begging Gwayne to slow down the movements a little, also begging him to add one more finger.

Even though your cunt was already filled with three digits of him, you kept craving everything. If Gwayne ordered, you would even force yourself to endure the man's entire hand fucking your insides.

"I asked you a question!" He growled, letting go of your thigh and grabbing your chin until their eyes met, their violet irises, completely clouded with pain and pleasure watching the darkness in front of them. "Is that how you felt when you fingered your own little cunt at the Sept? Did you feel all that pleasure?"

You struggled to answer him, even though the drool was running so much that it seemed impossible to say anything without a bit of choking. Then you just shook your head, an amused chuckle rising from Gwayne. "It was not as good as what I am doing now, was it?" He moved the three long fingers deeper, a cry of pain echoing from your throat when the tips touched your softest part. "It was not so good because even though you are a disgusting little whore, you are still a silly young girl who had never touched a man before touched me that day."

Your legs were shaking as if you were going to pass out at any moment, Gwayne's thumb rubbing your bud with the necessary friction to the point where you feared you would piss yourself in a few minutes.

Your uncle seemed to understand the meaning behind the confused babble, calming you down by hitting his mouth against yours, not giving you enough time to think straight, now just letting him devour you and silence the loud moans, the metallic taste increasing while he nibbled on your lips and tongue, clearly not at all disgusted by the drops of blood painting both of your chins.

"U-Uncle... Please." You tried to get off of his arm when he moved his face away so you could breathe right again. "I cannot... I cannot hold back..."

"Oh, you cannot do it?" Gwayne scoffed, followed by a chuckle, rubbing your clit rougher than before, licking the tears from your cheeks. Your legs were shaking so bad that it was almost like the horror stories Aegon told you to scare you during the childhood. "Tsk, tsk. You did not piss yourself at Sept that day..."

Gwayne's teasing made you cringe and cry louder, your bundle of nerves pulsing and your pretty hole burning like hell.

However, despite the dark thoughts and desire to see you wetting his sheets, Gwayne finally stopped the movements and removed his thumb from your sensitive spot, although he did not remove his three fingers yet. "Look at me, little one." He ordered and you nodded before opening your eyelids. Gwayne checked on your features... Your face rosy from crying, the red spots coloring your chin and the bruised lips, your violet eyes waiting for more orders or some sarcastic comment.

You were so physically different from his mother, Alyrie Florent. Your silver hair was a cursed inheritance from the Targaryen part of your bloodline... And yet, you had inherited the submission and pathetic devotion to the Gods just like your maternal grandmother. Gwayne loved his mother, he mourned her death every day since he was a child...

Gwayne saw her in you. He wanted you from the moment he noticed how Alicent planned to make you a living copy of Alyrie.

Of course, you had gone against it at first, not understanding the importance of the Faith, wanting to discover more about your own pleasure, allowing your uncle buy your silence with a sexual way... That was your Targaryen blood. It was the blood of debauchery, promiscuity and lust.

It was what he needed to save you from the same fate as your grandmother.

"My beautiful little girl. So fucking beautiful..."

You were caught off guard by Gwayne's words, the kiss that followed shutting down the questions that flooded your mind. For the first time since it all started, Gwayne kissed you calmly and with so many devotion. As if you were one of the goddesses his family believed in and honored — or at least they should do.

Gwayne’s fingers left your walls, taking extra care not to push you over the edge. He held back the impulsive urge to bend down and eat you out, his arousal already too hard to prolong any longer. Instead, Gwayne broke the kiss to bring his hand wet with your juices towards your mouth. He did not need to demand anything, your brain already too broken to consider resisting.

You cleaned his skin, licking everything and tasting yourself there, as well as the taste of the blood he extracted due to his aggressive behavior inside your maidenhood.

"It is so much better than candies, is not it?" You only nodded at his mockery teasing, not knowing what else to say and also not wanting to stop pleasing him.

After that, Gwayne distanced himself from your body, releasing you and taking a look at your curves then stroking his cock, moaning at the sight of your legs open and your core swollen and reddened due to the recent intense friction. Gwayne ordered and switched your positions on the bed, sitting down and pulling you on top of his lap. You did not look like you were in the best condition to ride him, Gwayne knew that. It was exactly the reason why he put you on him.

Still keeping you away from his arousal, Gwayne reached out to grab something near the dresser, a necklace with a large pendant that symbolized The Seven-Pointed Star shining in front of you. "No! Uncle... P-Please..." You tried to squirm from the holy artifact, not even getting any results when Gwayne pulled your silver hair to stop you from continuing to cry like a spoiled and scared child.

"Stop this fucking drama." Gwayne growled, placing the necklace around your neck and ignoring your desperate protests. He knew he could be going much further than he should, affronting the Gods like that... Condemning you to commit the sin of promiscuity and incest along with him, the symbol of The Faith of the Seven between your breasts.

Gwayne did not wait another second. You were his, you should have always been his. He was your God, you were his Goddess. He would not let a stupid religion stop the two of you from what you desired. Gwayne Hightower would not let you be weak and devout like his mother had been.

The cry that echoed through the room as soon as Gwayne thrust into you was loud enough to draw the attention of guards passing through the hallways, but none of them seemed really interested about knocking on the door to question anything, probably believing that Gwayne was just delighting with some loud young lady or whore.

As a precaution, Gwayne used his palm to muffle your tearful noises, almost covering your entire face, his free hand grabbing your hip to hold you on top of him, impaled on his cock and trembling even while he waited for you to get a little bit used to the sudden intrusion, the remnants of your innocence staining Gwayne's thighs when he finally began to guide you up and down.

"Does it hurt, sweetheart?" He asked between low growls, kissing your neck, squeezing your flesh like a starving man. Your velvety walls crushed him, more pleasurable than any cunt he had ever fucked in all those years of his life.

You whimpered an agreement under his skin, trying to balance yourself on his lap and holding Gwayne's shoulders. "So much, Uncle..."

"Good..."

Realizing that you were too weak to ride on your own, Gwayne slapped your ass harshly and loudly fives times, starting to use both of his arms to roll you back and forth, enjoying how your breasts jiggled close to his face, enjoying how the holy necklace glowed there, encouraging him to go faster.

"Seven Hells!" Gwayne cursed with the jaw clenched, nails scratching the skin of your waist and drawing blood, his head arched back, the red hair damp due to each deep thrust.

There were no more Gods stopping the two of you from committing any sins, there was no longer anything to fear. Gwayne would make you his. He would fill your womb even if it cost him his life.

There was nothing more in the whole world he wanted than to be yours. Gwayne would no longer care about dying in that damn war, nothing would have been in vain. He had already achieved all he desired since you were born.

"Mine. Mine. Mine. All mine." Gwayne's words were like a prayer, his big eyes watching the large pendant condemning the unclean and disgusting act. "I need you. I need your body, your heart, your soul... I need you so bad."

He knew that your consciousness had already disappeared a few minutes ago, taking the opportunity to move his hips up rougher and faster, moving you on top of him like a doll. Gwayne's lips kissed your smooth skin, teeth biting you and the tongue licking your blood as if you were the only Goddess that Westeros' people should worship.

"Sister..." A deep voice woke you from the heavy sleep, hands caressing your damp scalp with a previously unknown tenderness. You tried to turn yourself away out of instinct, being stopped from doing this by the pain throughout your body. "Shhh, it is okay. You are safe now, I am here."

Your brain took a while to recognize Aemond's voice, your eyelids opening almost immediately. Your gaze resembled of a scared puppy, lips aching due to the wounds from the previous night. All the memories felt fuzzy, cloudy... too confusing for you to be sure of what happened.

Gwayne was not by your side, the emptiness at the other part of the bed making you feel sick to your stomach. For a few seconds, you stared at the sheets that were once white, now stained with blood, more blood than had come out of you during sex.

For a few seconds, you wondered if it had all been a mere dream, despite knowing it was impossible. You were in your uncle's chambers. Your entire body was decorated with Gwayne's bites and scratches. There was a disgusting mixture of blood and cum sticking to your inner thighs. And the necklace remained between your breasts with red and white stains already dried on the Seven-Pointed Star pendant.

"Where is Uncle Gwayne?" Aemond raise an eyebrow at your question, not exactly surprised.

The current Prince Regent walked to the dresser, taking the aluminum cup and bringing it to you, ignoring your facial expression and simply making you swallow the bitter liquid. Moon Tea, you realized. "Ser Gwayne... He is under arrest. I ordered the guards to send him to a cell after finding out he raped you."

Your world stopped at that moment. Your heart raced, eyes widening with horror and staring at Aemond from behind the rim of the cup, even when you brought your fingers to his wrist to stop him from forcing you to drink the liquid.

Aemond continued to push the aluminum against your lips, hurting you even more. When the last drop was swallowed and you were about to choke, Aemond released you, his smirk mocking the sight of your face flushed and gasping for air.

"I need a wife, little sister. You know that. Now that I am the Prince Regent, I need an heir. And who better than my own blood to marry me?" Aemond teased, his fingertips caressing your chin with sadistic excitement.

"A-Aemond... Please..." The sobs filled the room, increasing the pleasure inside your older brother's mind. "Please... Gwayne did not force me, he just—"

He silenced you again, a cold and angry kiss on your forehead. "Oh, I know, sweet sister... He forced you." The single eye stared at you with a certain lack of patience. "This is the story that will be written in future books about our family, because that will be the truth we will tell to the people. The books will tell about how Alicent Hightower's brother raped his own young and virgin niece. They will tell that you were saved by your protective brother Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent and the next King. They will tell that I saved you and avenged your honor, condemning our uncle to a dark and disgusting cell forever. They will tell that I loved you so much that I took you as my wife, even though you had already been stained by Gwayne's seed..."

Aemond played with your nipples, trundling them between his fingers, squeezing the mounds and bending down to suck on the peaks already injured by Gwayne during the previous night.

Your cries and screams were ignored by anyone who passed around the chambers, guards probably too busy with their own problems to care about the fact the Prince Regent was threatening, raping and forcing himself on his younger sister.

"I am just doing my duties, sister. I am saving your life and our family. Perhaps the Seven Gods are being more merciful to you than our uncle thought." Aemond mocked while he lined himself up at your entrance, the sight of his bright sapphire making you so disgusted as the smell of Gwayne's blood on the bedsheets and the sound of the Seven-Pointed Star pendant moving as Aemond started to fuck your sore cunt. You were no longer a luxurious Goddess to be worshiped and loved, you were just a broken whore. Aemond Targaryen's future broodmare. It was the destiny that the Gods laid out for you. It was the eternal punishment for every sins committed.

[marksbear2]

Don’t know if you’re taking requests rn or even for this character but Pietro maximoff x male reader headcanons? Can be sfw or nsfw (if nsfw top male reader please)

Pietro Maximoff x Top male reader

⚠️Warnings!!⚠️— SFW at the top NSFW at the bottom. Romantic and cute at the top then freaky at the bottom.

— Pietro can be impulsive and reckless at times, but when it comes to you, he’s surprisingly protective. He’s always the first to step in if anyone tries to hurt or insult you, even if it means risking his own safety.

— Pietro loves to tease you, often using his super-speed to steal your things or make you chase after him. He finds it adorable when you get a little frustrated, but deep down, he knows he’s only playing.

— Despite his fast-paced nature, Pietro enjoys quiet moments with you—whether it's laying on the couch together, talking about your day, or just holding your hand while watching a movie. He finds calm in being near you, especially after a stressful mission.

— Even though he might seem like the cocky, thrill-seeking type, Pietro knows when to slow down and listen. If you ever feel overwhelmed, he’s there to talk, offering a kind word or making you laugh with his wit to take your mind off things.

— You and Pietro often have fun little races, whether on foot, with vehicles, or just seeing who can get to the kitchen first. Of course, he always wins, but the challenge is part of the fun, and he’ll playfully boast about his victory.

— People often see Pietro as a fast, brash hero, but with you, he lets his softer side shine through. He’s a sucker for small gestures like holding hands, giving you little surprise gifts, or cooking breakfast for you after a long night.

— Pietro can be a bit possessive when it comes to you, though he doesn’t always show it outwardly. If someone flirts with you or gets too close, he might speed up to your side or subtly brush it off with a teasing remark, but deep down, he’s a little jealous.

— When you’re sick or injured, Pietro is more than just quick to act—he’s incredibly attentive. He’ll keep you company, fetch you anything you need in a flash, and insist on staying close, even if you tell him you’re fine.

— One of the best parts of your relationship is the playful banter. Pietro loves to challenge you mentally and joke around, often throwing out sarcastic remarks, but always with a grin that lets you know he’s joking.

— Sometimes, Pietro doesn’t need to say anything to show how much he cares. He’ll watch you from across the room, his eyes softening when you’re busy doing something you love, or just casually brushing against you in passing, showing his affection without words.

NSFW BELOW

— He’s sucking your dick at super speed. He tries to go as fast as he can to make you cum quick to tease you afterwards how you only lasted a few seconds, he’s also jerking you off using his powers just to abruptly stop before you cum.

— Very needy, he’s always suggesting you two should sneak off and have sex somewhere.

— His biggest kink is dry humping, you two making out while just humping each others dick against one another. Feeling your bulge against his own crotch or it being pressed against his ass is enough to get him going, though he’s impatient during foreplay.

— He’s very loud, he would be whining and moaning mumbling words in Russian or English, begging for your cock and you to be faster. He likes it rough, rough and as hard as you can go.

— Since he’s impatient he’s very bad at edging. Whenever he tries to edge, he gets frustrated immediately wanting to cum. Even if your edging him he’ll cum all over himself the moment your all the way inside of him.

— He also likes getting choked or anything kinky, it sends his body thrills whenever your hands wrap around his throat while you force your cock deeply inside of him. He’ll be gasping while a smirk on his face. Pull his hair or slap him with your cock he loves anything you give him and will take it.

— Lots of times the reason why you two have sex so often is because he’s a really easily jealous man. He’ll make it clear that he jealous and would want sex with you in order to remind himself that yours his. He’ll mark your body with hickeys and bites.

— He loves riding your cock. He likes to take things at his own pace, holding onto your thighs to balance himself as he fucks himself down on your cock. He’ll be moaning his ass off calling your name and whatever pet name you like.

— He’ll also praise you and worship your cock, even when moaning and rambling in Russian, he’s obsessed with your cock. He becomes stupid the moment he sees your cock.

— He also likes to have sex ag night, it’s the mischievous feeling the fact that the bed shaking and him moaning your name super loud which is probably causing the neighbors not to get much sleep it excites him. He would tell the world how much he loves you and you fucking him. He’ll be louder every time someone complains about the noise.

THE END

[lis-likes-fics]

Is That a Challenge?

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader Word Count: 8.1k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, abo themes, omega!Spencer, alpha!Reader, (mentions of alpha!Emily) heat/rut mentions, sexual innuendos, multiple orgasms, edging oral (f! receiving), biting, claiming, praise, sub/dom themes, aftercare... A/N: This was so hard to write because I'm not really used to writing dom!Reader. I'm also not used to writing sub guys because I'm used to wanting all my blorbos to rail me so...this was new to me. I will eventually write a fic where Spencer does the railing though, TRUST! But here it is! I hope you and enjoy. Happy Halloween!

Traffic was a fucking nightmare, but at least you're here. People were moving slowly this morning for a reason unbeknownst to you. Your coffee is the only thing keeping you sane so far, and you're pretty sure it's by mere placebo.

You set your bag on your desk with a heavy sigh, saying your lazy hellos to the girls. You guess Morgan's in his office since he isn't here.

“Where's Rossi?” you wonder briefly as you switch your computer on.

“Hotch,” Emily mumbles. You hum.

“Spence isn't here today?” JJ wonders as she glances around for your boy genius.

You shake your head, plopping down in your chair with your arm thrown over the back. “No, he had to stay home,” you answer. “Not feeling too well.”

Emily turns, raising a brow. “He's not sick, right?”

You hum, tilting your head slightly. You busy yourself with your password. “Not exactly.”

You hear her before you see her. She's wearing something dangly today.

“Where is my cutie patootie?” She sounds playfully vexed. “He hasn't come to see me yet.”

“Wow, everyone is worried about my boyfriend today,” you say, turning in your chair to face all your girls.

“Well, your boyfriend doesn't miss work without plenty of notice,” Emily replies.

You purse your lips, turning away to focus on your work. You're sure there's plenty of it today. “Something came up…”

There's a very brief silence. JJ chuckles, catching your unintended insinuation. “Oh…” she says, “was that something him?”

You crinkle your nose, turning right back around to show her how unimpressed you are by her joke. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”

You probably should have confirmed or denied because now they're very interested. To be fair, it was a rather inappropriate response to respond to (not that that has ever stopped any of you from prying into the other's personal lives).

Penelope’s face shifts from her confusion into something rather mischievous. “Oh. Oh! Oh.”

Emily leans forward, a smirk on her lips as she sets her elbow on her leg. “Why aren't you staying home then?”

You cross your legs, your foot over your knee to pull close to you. “Proving a point.”

“Oh,” Penelope says again. “Oh.”

“Are you going to keep saying ‘oh’?” you question, shaking your head at her.

She sits on your desk, her enthusiasm leaking out of her ears. Maybe if you let it, she'll deflate and have to go refill your air supply.

“Yes,” she nods definitely. “Because—Oh, my God. I knew you were both little freaks.”

She is way too excited about your sex life.

You roll your eyes at her. “What's freaky about me proving a point by coming to work?”

“The fact that your point–” she pokes you, “–is so freaky.”

Emily and JJ are eating this up. They've both fully abandoned their work to turn toward you and pry. JJ’s got her legs crossed, Emily's got hers spread as she leans forward. They're all holding coffee mugs in their hands in place of tea cups.

“What’d he do?” Emily asks. She's bobbing her brows.

You laugh, covering your face with your hand as you sigh. “If I tell you, you cannot tell Morgan. He will never let Spence live it down.” Poor Spencer would have to go through that every day. It's just mean.

JJ’s the first to respond. “Deal.”

“He's getting nothing outta me,” Emily nods.

“You have my silence.” Penelope pretends to lock her mouth with a key. She stuffs said imaginary key in her bosom.

“Promise?” you warn.

“Yes!” she exclaims. “My lips are sealed. That's what the key was for.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your hesitant smile as you go through the morning. “The…” you chuckle lightly. “The heat snuck up on us this morning.” Their understanding comes in various hums and mumbles. “Obviously, I'm a little hot, too. I told him I would call in to be with him, and he agreed because,” you lick your lips, effectively conveying your slight annoyance, “I'd likely ‘be too frayed to focus anyway’.”

“Oo.”

“Yikes,” Penelope winces.

You nod. “And I told him that I could last longer than him. He pulled out all his statistics, said that my ‘kind’ was statistically less controlled at this time than his. I took that as a challenge.”

JJ hums, “So would I if I were in your shoes.” She brings her cup to her lips.

“Please,” Emily scoffs. “If my girlfriend said that to me, it would be all over for her.”

You shrug. “I told him that I'd last the day without so much as a text. First to make contact loses.” You glance at your phone, searching for anything and finding nothing. “He's doing well so far. I thought he'd tap out after the first hour. He was really bad this morning.”

“Only…” Emily checks her watch, “seven more hours to go.”

It's only been an hour since you left the house. One hour. Singular.

This morning has been so slow, and it's only been an hour.

“Seven?”

You might give up now.

Emily chuckles, though she's sympathetic to your cause. “Hang in there. Make us proud.”

Penelope shrugs. “Hey, chicks before private parts and all that, but I will be rooting for Spencer. I have faith in him.” She makes a fist to show her firm stance in this race.

JJ sighs. “That's sweet, Pen, but he'll probably tap out within the next hour. I know I probably would.” She shrugs. “But it's not for a lack of trying.”

Penelope laughs at that. “And so would I, but he's strong. Right?”

You turn back around to face your computer, snickering to yourself. “You should see him in bed.”

You hold your hand out behind you. Emily smacks it before swiveling in her own chair. JJ and Penelope roll their eyes. She scoots off your desk to leave.

~

When your phone rings, “Penny” is shining on your screen like she's already in your face. You answer.

“I need news. Anything yet?”

You roll your eyes. She hadn't even waited for a hello. “You called me for this?”

“Has he texted you?” she insists.

Your leg starts jumping. “Nothing yet.”

It's a little frustrating. You've been here for how long? Spencer was about to burst this morning. After he'd proposed his little facts, you didn't even help him out before you left. Now he hasn't called or texted or even asked about you through any of your friends.

Penelope is ecstatic. “See?” She squeals.

“He's still got another three hours,” you say. “He'll break.”

“Oh, my wonder boy?” She giggles. “Never.”

You run a hand down your face at her support of him. It's sort of annoying because she's sort of right. Spencer is very stubborn when he wants to be. That's what happens when you know everything.

She hangs up on you. You put your phone down with a sigh and focus in again on your work. If you don't, you think you might lose (which would never happen).

“Pen?” Emily mumbles.

“Who else?”

~

It's the end of the day. The sun will be gone by the time you make it home. Not a single peep.

You're surrounded by the girls as you all step into the elevator. Penelope starts to say something, but you see Derek first.

“The door, the door, the door!” you whisper-shout.

You all start jabbing the close-door button, and you think briefly that you'll break it. All the boys look on, entirely taken aback by such behavior.

“Wait. Hold on!” The doors close in Derek's face.

You let out a breath of relief.

“He actually did it,” JJ smiles.

Emily shrugs, though she sighs a little. “I'm impressed.”

“No. No,” you wag your finger. “Not yet. The deal is no contact, not no texting. When I get home, he'll be all over me, and then he'll lose.”

Your annoyance is funny to them. 

Penelope almost whines. “First to touch? That's evil.”

Emily doesn't sympathize. “But worth it. Gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Wait, so what happens if you win?” JJ wonders.

“Spencer has to wash the dishes for a month No questions asked.”

“Oh.” Penelope hums, then she sighs. “Underwhelming.”

Emily leans against the wall. “I thought he already does dishes.”

“He does,” you say. “Gladly, I might add, because he knows I hate them.”

The doors slide open on the main floor. They continue to follow you.

“Then what's the challenge?” Emily asks.

You shrug. “Dignity.” Your car beeps as you press on the key fob.

“Oh, please,” JJ scoffs. “It's pride. She just wants to prove she's better than him ‘cause she's an Alpha.”

You don't look at her. “Two things can be true.”

“So what's the real deal, huh?” Penelope’s voice shifts down, and her nose crinkles in a gremlin-like manner. “Loser gets down and dirty? Are we talking who'll cry first?”

You all turn to look at her. Her smirk fades a little, and she rolls her eyes with a scoff. “What? I might be rainbows and unicorns but ya girl gets down in poundtown.”

JJ’s brows raise. She smiles as she nods, “Alright, then.”

To be honest, the parameters of the deal were fuzzy. Whatever you propose, Spencer will love. Whatever Spencer proposes, you will love. You're compatible in that way.

The ideas are making it hard to pretend you've got it together.

“I guess we'll never know.” Emily leans on your car, crossing her ankles.

“Know what?”

Morgan's voice breaks the four of you from your huddle. You turn to him as he comes forth, the Hotch and Rossi in tow. He puts his hands on his hips.

“What do you mean?”

Derek scoffs, as if to say “don't play with me”. You look at him expectantly, and he just shakes his head at you. “You said you guess you'll never know.”

You continue to play dumb. It's rather fun that way. “What won't you know?”

Derek crosses his arms over his broad chest. He raises a brow at all of you, waiting for someone to break and not expecting it to come from you or Emily.

“Does it have something to do with the kid?” He glances at Penelope, and you have to fight the urge to stare her down and remind her of the deal.

But alas. “Hearing you call him ‘kid’ in this context is really tripping me up.”

“So it is!”

“Penelope!” you scold.

She winces, covering her face to hide her blush and her smile. “I'm sorry!” Everyone's laughing by now.

You sigh, turning back to Derek. “Spencer is fine. Hotch knows. He was a little under the weather this morning.”

Everyone looks at Hotch. His face is as blank as ever. Until it isn't.

It is so, so slight. But the faintest glimmer of a smirk curves his lip, and you know it's over. The traitor.

“Oh-ho!” Derek claps. “I saw that.” He turns to you. “You mean longin’ to be under those sheets?”

You think it's funny that Derek thinks he's funny.

“Good job, Garcia,” JJ laughs.

“Sorry!”

Emily pokes fun. “Hotch, what happened to poker face?”

His hands come up. His smile is wide.

“It's fine. Spence is fine,” you insist. You begin to realize that it has been all day since he's seen you, and he's probably going to lose his mind soon. “And if you'll excuse me, I need to go make sure he's doing okay.”

Derek laughs, lightly smacking your shoulder. “Go rock his world, girl.”

Penelope raises a stern finger to him, “You are in time out, mister!”

“Oh, yeah?” He raises a brow. “Well, hopefully I can be in time out with you. How's that sound?”

They both walk away cheerfully. Derek glances over his shoulder at you, waving and then pretending to zip his lips. You smile back at him. At least Spencer can live in relative peace then.

Emily nudges your shoulder with hers. “Make us proud.” Her phone chimes. You watch something in her face change as she sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Speaking of which, I have to get home.”

She leaves abruptly, making haste in getting to her car to what you believe is going to be a good night for her.

JJ laughs as she leaves. “Still rooting for Spence.”

You look at Hotch and Rossi. “He'll be in tomorrow,” you promise.

“Oh!” Rossi’s brows shoot up, and they both laugh heftily. “Okay, then.”

“Take care. Both of you,” Hotch says. “And let me know if he's still…sick.”

You purse your lips as you nod. “Will do.”

Rossi starts backing up, wagging his finger at you as he does. “You two have fun now. But not too much fun.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Gramps.”

“Hey. Respect your elders.”

Hotch laughs again. “Have a good night.” He pats Rossi on the shoulder as they both turn to leave. You open your door, stepping inside as you wave your goodbyes.

~

“Spence?” You peek your head past the door, looking around the living room to find him absent. “Baby, I'm home.”

When you close the door behind you, you're hit with it. His scent is everywhere. It's like he decided to rub his body all over every square inch of the house. If you weren't hot before, you definitely are now.

You press your thighs together, placing a hand on the wall to support you as you try to focus. How were you supposed to win if he has scented the whole house? You know he did it on purpose, too. He did this last time, when you actually stayed home. You didn't leave the bed for two days. (When you did leave, it was only because you got called in for a case.)

It's bad when you get to the bedroom. The door is closed, and you can smell it leaking out of the crack under the door. You think maybe you'll hold your breath when you get inside, but it seems highly illogical, so you don't.

As you push the door open, you're almost dizzy with the scent. “Oh, my,” you mutter, your eyes finding a lump in the bed surrounded by clothes and blankets. “It's hot in here. You should really open a window.”

Spencer sits up. His chest is bare, so are his legs, and you assume the rest of him. His hair is a tousled mess on his head. He looks almost precious like this.

“You're late,” he states plainly. He looks more grieved than he does upset.

“Sorry, baby. Got caught up talking.” You walk past him to get to the window, cracking it open to let some fresh air into the room before you lose. You turn to him, your hands on your hips as you smile. “Are you hungry? Been wanting to cook all day, for some reason.”

He shakes his head. He almost looks tired. His face is pinkish. “I'm not hungry.”

“No?” You lean against the side of the bed, facing him with a tilted head. “What's wrong? You look upset.”

He shakes his head weakly. “I'm not upset. I'm just… I want…” His voice is slightly slurred.

You bend down to him, so close that you can smell every little thing on him. Conditioner in his hair, lotion and sweat on his skin, you. He's almost shaking when your faces are so close that he thinks you'll kiss him.

“You look like you're burning up,” you mutter, keeping your breath shallow. “You sure you're okay?”

He wishes you would touch him. Any touch. It didn't even have to be a kiss. You could put the back of your hand on his forehead. You could brush your knuckles over his cheek. Anything.

You'd have to admit, you're wanting the same thing. But, no. He started it. You're not going to finish it.

“Please.”

Oh, what music.

You raise a brow, tilting your head to the other side. “What's that?”

“I'm sorry. I was wrong.”

You contain your grin. You play dumb, looking over his face and humming. “About what, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head. “I didn't last longer. I tried, but I couldn't.”

“That’s not true,” You see him start to lean forward. You pull back, gutting gently. “You didn't text me. Not once. You didn't call anyone. I haven't heard a thing.”

He almost whines. “Are you angry with me?”

“Angry?” you smile. “Of course not . That was the challenge. I can't be mad just because you tried to win.”

You linger there a moment, but it's getting to be too much. You straighten your spine slowly. You almost mess up as you reach your hand up to stroke his cheek, stopping halfway just to drop it back to your side. You sigh and walk away.

“How were you,” you wonder, “while I was gone?”

“Please. It hurts.”

He sounds so sad, you almost give in just because. You don't want him hurting. But you have a point to prove. Besides, the longer you wait it out, the better he'll be by the time you're done with him.

So you continue. “What hurts?” You slip your shoes off by the door, stretching your arms over your head with a long sigh.

“Everything hurts.” He can't think straight. It's becoming too much.

“Poor baby,” you mutter.

He needs you to do something, but he doesn't want to accept defeat. It's not fully a conscious decision. Spencer has always had trouble asking for help. It's what happens when you know everything. It's just more fun for him when he doesn't feel like he's burning from the inside out.

“I wasn't good,” he tries. “I tried to fix it on my own, but I couldn't. I knew I couldn't, and I tried anyway.”

You hum. “That's okay. What else were you going to do? Wait for me?”

“I'm supposed to.”

You shrug. “You are supposed to.” You walk to the edge of the bed, tilting your head at him. “But you didn't.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving closer. He holds his hands out, palms up to offer them to you.

“I'm not falling for that, Spencer. If you want me to help, you know how to do that.” Any second now. “Don't you?”

Spencer just stares at you for a second, his face seemingly pained with his need. He sits up on his knees, the blankets falling away from him as he cradles your face in the palms of his hands.

Your lashes flutter at the feeling of his soft hands on your cheeks, but you continue to watch him, your face blank.

He gives in. “Please.”

You cup his elbow with your hand. With a sigh, Spencer leans in and captures your mouth in his. It's hot and rough, full of a raw desire for the other.

He's insistent in the way he kisses you. If he hadn't been so needy before, you'd think he was making you concede. His hand cups the back of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist as he brings you flush against his body.

You let him move you for now, setting your arms over his shoulders as you run your fingers through his hair.

When you grasp a handful of his soft, brown locks, he whimpers when you pull it back. You have to fight the urge to clench your teeth. “Shh, it's okay,” you whisper against his lips. You keep him firmly in place, kissing his forehead and his nose and his lips. “You weren't very good today, were you?”

You feel his body tense against you. “You are angry.”

You shake your head, rutting gently. “I'm not angry with you.” You let go of his hair to glide your fingertips along his hairline. “I'm just disappointed.”

He tugs at the hem of your shirt. “That's not better.”

You smile. “It's not, is it?” You pinch his chin in your hand, brushing your fingers along the length of his neck. “But don't worry, baby, we're gonna fix that together, okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

You kiss him quickly before stepping out of his grasp. “Lie back.” Spencer sits back on the bed, awaiting you with pleading eyes. You smile. “I'm gonna go get ready for you. When I come back, I want you to be right there. Okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

“Good.”

~

When you return, Spencer is laying back against the headboard like he's dying of the plague. You lean your bare body against the doorframe, sighing gently as you watch him.

You gently knock on the wall, bidding his eyes open as he turns his head to you. His breath hitches, catching again as he sits up some more.

Slowly, you make your way to the bed, climbing on top of the sheets and crawling over to him. Your lips meet as you straddle his waist, hovering over him as you relish in the closeness.

With a feather light touch, you reach down to take his cock in your hand. He winces, inhaling sharply through his teeth as his eyes squeeze shut. You pull back to look at it, swollen and weeping. It looks painful, and you suspect it is. “Oh,” you sigh lightly. “Look at what you did to yourself, baby. How will I be able to do anything with this? You're already ready to burst.”

He whines. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.” He gasps woefully when your thumb brushes the head. “Can you fix it?”

You do not envy him. Your clit is aching, your nipples are peaked, and you'll start sweating any moment now—but Spencer is suffering. He really needs this, and you're about to be cruel.

Oh, well. At least he'll learn a lesson.

You sigh, letting go of him. “I have an idea. But I need to be warmed up first, yeah?”

You kiss him before throwing your leg from over his body. He sits up, switching spots with you to let you sit against the headboard, your legs spread wide. You've been needing this all day, but you can't admit to that yet. At least Spencer had the whole house, filled with your scent in every fiber of fabric or every splinter of wood. You've been trapped at the office with nothing but his desk too far away from you to keep you company.

Spencer scurries to the spot between your legs. He might as well be salivating with how excited he is to be there. He slips his arms underneath your thighs, scooping them up and pulling you in close. Before he does anything, he looks up at you. “May I?”

He asks so sweetly. It'd be cruel not to oblige.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

Spencer's mouth is on you in a second, his hot tongue laving through your folds and his lips suckling on your clit. He's eager and desperate to taste you, to run his mouth over your cunt and cover himself in you.

You moan as you card your fingers through his hair, bucking your hips up into his mouth every time he moans right back. He eats you out like you're a feast fit for a king, licking and sucking and slurping you up.

“Oh, fuck. That's it, baby. Keep going.” You huff, savoring each flick of his tongue. “Good. Good boy.”

He makes a dreadful sound, so filled with pleasure that slick and spit seep from you like sap. You grip his hair tight, encouraging him with grinding hips and deep moans and fluttering folds. “C’mon, baby. Doin’ so good f’me.” He plunges his tongue inside of you, moaning into your dripping cunt.

He's always been very eager to do this, to taste you and to lick you whole. He's always been very good at this. You're on the verge already—all the pent of desire between the two of you makes it all the worse.

When you cum, he's all over you. His tongue and his lips devour you. Your thighs clamp around his head so tight, you think that you'll crush his skull. Not that he'll mind much. He's always enjoyed being in this position—you think he'd consider it a wonderful death.

The pleasure rushes through your body and makes you tremble as you arch your back and soak in the feeling of it all. And when the trembling has eased, you let out a heavy sigh and guide Spencer away before he works toward a second or fifth orgasm. He will, and he has.

“Good‎. Good job, baby,” you smile drunkenly, carding your fingers through his hair as you tilt his head up to look at you. His face is pink, almost darker. His chin and nose glisten with your arousal. You kiss it from his face.

He stares at you like your approval is going to make him cum all on its own. His lashes are fluttering, and he looks like he's barely holding on to reality.

You kiss his forehead to bring him back again. “Now lie back, and let me take a look.”

Spencer does as he's told. He sits up and trades places with you once again. As he lays against the pillows, you shuffle through clothes and blankets to half-straddle his legs.

He's gotten worse (as you supposed he would). When you touch his aching cock, he winces again. “Ah!” he exclaims, like you'd just hit him in the gut.

You shush him gently, using your fingertips to brush over the length of him. His arousal is pooling at the tip of his weeping cock. You do not envy him right now. You do pity him.

Though not enough to give him what he wants.

You drag your fingertips gently along his cock, grazing your thumb along the head and watching his belly tense and un-tense. You lean down, pressing your lips to his chest, and then to his belly, and then to his lower belly.

He whines when your breath fans over his erection, even worse when your lips kiss the base of his cock, and then come back up to kiss the head.

He's muttering little pleas under his breath, but he's too unfocused to form any actual sentences. You scarcely lick and suck on him, not nearly enough to get him off, but enough to elicit desperate moans and whimpers from your poor boy.

Your fingers curl around him, teasing the veins running underneath his cock or gliding gently over his balls. He's trembling, he needs you so bad.

You really should just put him out of his misery, but you find it too sweet right now. You clench your thighs and bite your lip. You bring your own free hand to your clit and rub inefficient circles over the bundle of nerves. It won't be enough right now to help you, but it sure does drive him crazy.

Spencer can't keep up with his own breath. He struggles to keep it steady when you touch him like you do. Every time you think he'll cum, you grip the base of his cock until that malcontent fills his eyes, and then you start again. You've done it a lot thus far, he's so close to the edge that everything you do nearly sets him off.

You stroke his length with a lazy, limp hand as you look down on him. “How's that? How do you feel, honey?”

Sweat sticks to his forehead, his neck—he's covered in it. His eyes are dazed. You're not entirely sure he's present right now. He's definitely not here enough to string together a coherent sentence on the first try.

“Please,” he whines. “I need it. Need you.”

There's no emphasis, or perhaps the whole thing is an emphasis. He's too far gone for you to tell.

“Yeah?” You try to catch his line of sight. His eyes find you and stick to your face, but you can tell it's not quite processing fully. “That's not what it felt like today.” You shake your head, tutting as you keep stroking, slowly building your pace. “You said you could last without me. Now look at you: you can't even make a full sentence.”

You grip the base of his cock as you feel him beginning to buck into your hand. He groans, clenching his teeth and slamming his eyes shut. “‘M sorry. I'm s-sorry.”

“You are?” You sweep the pad of your thumb over the slit in his tip. “Sorry about what?”

He sits up on his elbows. “What I said. I was wrong,” he insists.

You tilt your head just as you flick your wrist. You watch the muscles in his neck tense. “What were you wrong about, Dr. Reid?”

His hand reaches out to hold your side, grasping without grabbing you. “P-Please.”

You lean forward, pulling his face close to yours as you continue to stroke your fingertips along the underside of his cock. “No. You don't get anything from me until you say it.”

His breath is entirely unsteady. He struggles to keep up as he makes these pitiful sounds. “Omegas don't have more discipline,” he huffs out, his words coming in a rush in an attempt to get them out. “I was wrong. I would-wouldn't last longer than you. I didn't. I lost, I was wrong.”

His hair sticks to his forehead. He looks like he might start crying.

“Good,” you smile, brushing the hair from his face and pressing a kiss to his temple. His nose nuzzles in the crook of your neck, his lips stick to your own damp skin. “Good boy. So good for me.” He whines lightly, worse when you rub his tip. “I just need you to do one more thing for me now, okay? Can you do that?”

He looks at you with glossy eyes. “Yes. Anything.”

You smile gently, your face unchanging as you simply say, “Apologize.”

His brows pull together. A tear rolls down the side of his face. “I did.”

You shake your head. “No,” you squeeze his base, “you said you're sorry, and that you were wrong.” He sighs shakily. “I want an apology. A good one. What did you do? Why did you do it? Why won't you be doing it again?”

He whimpers when you tickle his balls with your fingertips, pulling your hand away to watch his face scrunch up discontentedly before continuing again.

“C’mon, baby,” you encourage.

“I-I’m sorry for saying I don't n-need you,” he stammers. “I do. I thought I knew everything, but I don't. And-and–”

You raise your brows. “And what, Spencer?”

“And I won't do it again because–” His words are interrupted by a moan when you tug on his cock.

“Because what, huh?”

He places his hand on your cheek, gazing up at you with teary eyes and a face red as cherries. “Because I need you. Because I love you. Please, I love you.”

Your hand stops entirely, looking upon him with softened eyes and a gentle face. You bend down to whisper against his lips. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he breathes. “Fuck, I love you.”

You set a hand on his cheek, brushing your thumb over the reddened skin and easing hair from his face. His face is so warm, he's burning beneath your palm. “I love you, too, Spencer,” you smile. He hums into your mouth as you kiss him, leaning into you and your warmth. He missed you so much.

“See?” You cup his neck in your hands, cradling him in your palms as you look over him. “That wasn't so hard, now was it?” You kiss him again, but he's shaking beneath you. You hover above him, straddling his lap and placing a hand on his chest.

“You ready?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, grabbing at your sides and letting his hands feel your hot skin. “Yes, please.” He starts to ramble again.

“Shh. It's okay, it's okay,” you whisper against his lips.

You line his cock with your pussy, almost as needy as him as you anticipate the feeling. You sink down on him, and you're so dreadfully wet and aching that he slips right in with ease.

You both moan, long and deep sounds that reverberate in your chests. Your eyes fall shut, your folds flutter around him, your mouth parts. A gentle curse falls from your lips, and Spencer is glad he isn't the only one who needed this so bad.

He sits deep inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cock. He's so hard, you can feel him pulsing inside of you. His hands take hold of your waist and squeeze so hard that you think you'll bruise. You clench around him and try to keep your breath steady.

He really needs you to stay focused right now, you know it. You set your hands on his belly, holding his close as you slowly begin to grind yourself in him.

He really isn't going to last long. You've been teasing him for the better part of ten or fifteen minutes, pulling him to the edge just to ease it and watch him suffer. You'll be surprised if he holds out the first minute.

“That’s it, baby,” you sigh, your voice a little pitchy with your own pleasure. He grasps your hips and guides you a bit as you roll your hips steadily atop him. Your gentleness only lasts a moment. In the next, you're grinding atop him like you’re the one who's been trapped in the house all day begging for an Alpha to come help you.

Your sounds mix with his, almost as pitiful as you both whine and moan, blinded by the pleasure finally being awarded to you.

Spencer's head tosses back into the pillows. He clenches his jaw and tries to stifle his moan as he holds your hips down on top of him. You grip his shoulders, gasping as he cums inside of you. He moans your name, grabbing at flesh like he's kneading dough.

You shush him gently, easing your pace just enough to let him come down. Once his breaths settle down, you kiss him as you start again.

If there's one thing you love about this time of the month, it's how fast Spencer recovers. He can go for rounds and rounds at a time before he needs to rest.

You pick up Spencer's hand, guiding it to your belly as you press his palm into you. “You feel that?” you mutter, adjusting his hand. “That's you. That's you inside me. You're so—Ah!—so fucking deep, baby. Making me feel so good.”

He huffs, thrusting up into you suddenly. He laughs a little when he feels the way it moves, hears the way you moan. “It's perfect. You're perfect,” he rambles. He buries his head in the pillows.

When his dull nails dig into your skin again, you take his hands and pin his wrists above his head. He gasps and moans as you fuck him, riding him with all the vigor you have.

“You like that?” you huff, your control slipping with every roll of your hips. “This feel better?”

“Yes!” He's a mess, laying there and letting you ride him. “Yes, so much better.”

You can feel some of his cum leaking out of you, joining your arousal and making the schelp! of your thrusts easy. It soaks your thighs and his waist, creating this loud smacking sound that fills the bedroom.

Holding both his wrists in one hand isn't easy but it's manageable as you bring your hand to your clit, rubbing fast circles that immediately spur you on.

“Fuck,” you huff. “Spence, I'm gonna cum.” He answers you by thrusting his hips up some more, meeting your thighs as you come down.

Your legs shake as you cum, your cunt fluttering and gushing around him. One of your hands slips under his head to pull at his hair, enjoying the way he gasps. You attach your mouth to his throat, biting and sucking and licking.

It's like that for a while. It gets really wet and really loud. You ride Spencer for a while, holding him and kissing him and biting him while you both keep coming undone, moaning and gasping each other's names and grabbing at limbs to keep you steady.

Spencer is trembling beneath you. He's a complete mess, grabbing at your thighs and bucking his hips up to meet yours. His hair is all over his face, you keep having to brush it away. You praise him with every roll of your hips, grinding down on him and telling him how good he's doing. He whimpers every time you do.

The dynamics are always so different during heats like this. Spencer requires your lead, and you enjoy taking it. But when things are normal, when the need isn't so high, it's not so desperate.

That's not what this is. It's a raw feeling that sits in the pit of your stomach and demands attention as you hold Spencer down by his throat and sink your teeth into his flesh as you shudder around him in the middle of another orgasm (which makes him lose it and cum inside of you again).

You look at him as you settle again, catching your breath as you move slowly on top of him. His eyes are glossy, he's beet red. He looks so precious. His hand reaches up to cup your breasts, grazing the pad of his thumb over your nipple.

“Better?” you breathe. “Does that feel better, honey?”

He nods, not fully present. “Yes.”

“Good. That's good.” You sigh, bending down to kiss him gently. “Can you do something for me, love?”

“Anything.”

You brace yourself, pulling yourself up from his lap as he slips out of you. He whines, bucking his hips up to meet you again. “Shh. It's okay.”

You're shaky as you sit down, reaching over to grab his cock. It looks better, but he's still hard. He's got a couple loads left in him. If you weren't in a rut, you don't know how you would be able to keep up.

“Go ahead and get on top of me, okay?” Your voice has lost some of its intensity, replaced with breathless gentleness. At this point, you're just trying to make sure Spencer is okay, and you're losing some of your energy to guide him on top.

You lean into the plush pillows, keeping your hips up as he sits up to follow. Spencer grabs your hips gently, guiding himself inside of you once again as he presses his chest into your back.

You groan into the pillow when he thrusts, reaching one hand to card through his hair and setting the other palm up for him to hold. Spencer buries his face into your neck, kissing you needily as one of his hands plays with your breast. “Do whatever you want, I'm okay,” you whisper, clenching around him. The rock of his hips becomes insistent. He thrusts into you in quick movements, though not as rough in fear of hurting you. 

“It's okay, baby,” you breathe again. He whines, squeezing your hand a little tighter. He listens anyway, adjusting his pace as his hips snap into yours, reaching deep and groaning with every thrust. You moan, pressing your face into the pillow. “Good, just like that.”

Spencer lets go, rocking back and forth and moaning and grabbing. He holds you carefully as he fucks you recklessly, enjoying the shudder and the swell of his body when he cums.

His fingers find your clit, and he rubs at it as he continues to thrust. He rubs tight circles, coaxing the frayed nerves with every intention of making you feel as good as he does. He kisses the back of your neck, he grinds his hips deep inside of you.

You hear the way his breath starts to rise again, the way his hips stutter once more. You grip his hair a little tighter, clenching around him and huffing when your own edge starts nipping at you.

“Baby,” he whines. “M’so close. Almost there.”

“C’mon, honey.” Your voice is a whisper muffled by the pillows. “C’mon, c’mon. I got you, c’mon.”

He flicks his wrist, and you gasp. Everything is covered in a white haze as you clench and gush around him. Spencer moans weakly, burying himself deep inside, pushing forward against you just to get closer. With a final thrust, he spills inside of you with the most dreadful sound, filling you to the brim with the warmth of his cum.

Spencer wraps his arms around your midsection, keeping you close to him and sticking together with sweat and warmth.

He rolls onto his side, taking you with him. He's still buried inside of you, refusing to pull out just yet as he lays there, catching his breath. You lay there, resting against the bed and enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. You don't know how many times he came, but you do know that if you weren't so dedicated to your medications, there is no earthly way you would come out of this without being bred.

It takes a while for Spencer to fully come back around. By the way his breath slows and his arms hold you, you'd say he'd fallen asleep for a moment. You don't blame him, you've dazed out a couple times as well.

When he comes to, he presses his lips to your skin. “Baby?” he mumbles, slipping out of you on the way to look at your face. Your eyes are closed, and you look tired. “Are you okay?”

You nod, smiling a little when you feel the way some of the stickiness is spilling out of you. “Mhm,” you hum lazily. You turn over in his arms, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your cheek against his chest. He's forced to move his arms to sit over your shoulders. He doesn't mind.

“I missed you today, Spence,” you whisper. “Fuck, I thought I was gonna die.”

He hums, smiling a bit. He kisses your forehead, petting you gently. It takes a long time for him to move, to bear to pull away from you just to stand and go to the bathroom. He comes back with a cloth that he uses so carefully to clean the both of you up with. You're absolutely stuffed.

You drape an arm over your eyes, sighing heavily. “Next time this happens, we stay inside.”

“Agreed.”

You stuck your pinky out, and he interlocks his with a smile. He goes back to the bathroom to rinse off the cloth.

You sit up, leaning into Spencer when he comes back to the bedroom, sitting next to you with an arm around your waist. He really must have missed you because he buries his face in the crook of your neck and stays there.

After a while, you hear his stomach growl. It's this deep, monstrous sound that pulls you away from him.

You look at him expectantly, standing up and taking his face in your hands. “When was the last time you ate?” Spencer blushes, glancing away from you. You sigh, though not unkindly. “You haven't eaten today.”

He swallows thickly. “I was focused on other things.”

You chuckle lightly, kissing his forehead. “C’mon. Let's get you fed.”

You go to pull him with you, but he squeezes your hand. You return to his grasp. “I can do it.” His arms wrap around you and hold you tight so you can't escape.

“Hush,” you tap his nose. “I'll cook, we'll eat.”

He considers this for a moment. “Can we have sex after?”

You laugh, guiding his face to your chest as you tuck your chin over his head. You stroke his back. “You're so needy,” you laugh giddily.

He hums. “Sorry.”

A sour feeling threatens to curl in your belly. You pull him away to look at his face. He looks a little sad. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” you tell him, soft but firm. “Nothing.”

His brows furrow slightly. “But you said–”

“I wasn't upset with you. I was just playing it out for you.” You stroke your thumb over the apple of his cheek. You could never be upset with your Spencer.

He pouts now. You can't help but giggle at the way he looks, lips pursed and brows furrowed. He's silly, you think. “That was mean.”

You shrug. “You like when I'm mean to you.”

“I know.”

You pull him in and kiss him again. He's insistent on pulling close, always insistent. “I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

His voice is so small, so gentle. You taste his love on his tongue. “I love you, too.”

He brings you back in, and you slot your lips along his neck. He tilts his chin up to give you space. You kiss and suck at his skin, knocking his chin up some more as you find a nice spot beneath his ear.

Spencer hums when you bite him, sinking teeth into flesh to lay claim to him once again. His hands tighten around your waist. You feel his tired length bob against your thigh. He's yours. He'll always be yours.

When you kiss it better, Spencer dips his lips to your neck to do the same.

“Now let's go eat,” you smile, running your hands through his hair affectionately. You make him stand, tucking yourself into his side. You both need the support. “I'll make you whatever you want.”

He sounds almost pleading when he asks you. “And then sex?”

You chuckle heftily. “Of course we're gonna sex again.” He smiles excitedly.

~

You both return to work the day after the next day. You had to call off when you woke up with Spencer's head between your legs. You'd both mentally prepared yourselves in the car beforehand for the stares you were going to get from the team.

You walk inside next to Spencer, standing so close to him that it's no wonder they all immediately smirked at you. Even worse, Morgan is sitting on your desk.

“Nice outfit,” Emily points out, gesturing to Spencer in his purple turtleneck. He had to hide his blush, and you know he wished he could hide it in your neck.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. She glances at you, raising her brows expectantly. When you gave her a very small, very brief thumbs up by your side, she made a little “yes” as she spun back around to her desk. She sticks her hand out to JJ, who grumbles as she opens her wallet.

“You're lookin’ good kid. Guess you're all healed up now?” Morgan quips. When Spencer comes to his desk, which sits right across from you, the man whistles. “You're smellin’ ‎good.”

Yes. Spencer smells like you. He smells exceedingly like you. You'd spent a full day wrapped up in each other, and you'd bitten him more times than you can count. (Spencer could count. He'd say twelve times. It was eleven, but you bit him before you left the house. He's not at all upset by it.)

“I see the brains and the brawns have returned.” Rossi walks in with a newspaper under his arm, and Penelope at his side.

You roll your eyes, shooing Morgan away so you can sit down. Penelope shuffles up to you and bends down to whisper in your ear. “Did one of you cry?”

You purse your lips, considering for a moment before nodding with a stifled grin. “Yes! I was right,” she whispers.

“How was your fever?” Morgan nudges Spencer, whose mouth opens and shuts in a struggle to respond. He glances at you for help.

“Spence, how many files do you have on your desk?”

Without looking down, he answers. “Thirty-one.”

“Wow! And I have…” You look down.

“Forty-four.” Christ.

“Forty-four,” you repeat. “So I think we should get to work, huh?” Spencer nods enthusiastically.

Morgan chuckles, holding his hands up in defense as he backs away. “Okay, I get it. You get to work, little lovebirds.”

“Glad to have you back.” Penelope hugs Spencer. A look flashes across her face when she catches a whiff of his hair. She looks at you, covers her grin, and then rushes to join Derek.

Everyone decides to leave you alone. You've started turning on your computer when Spencer stands and reaches across your desk. He picks up eight of your files and sits back down with them added to his stack. When you go to reach for a couple to even it out, he lightly smacks your hand without even looking.

You roll your eyes, smiling at your screen as you tap in your password.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic @princess76179 @hc-geralt-23 Dr. Reid taglist: @swwanlake Tag yourself here...

[kii-nami]

NIGHTBRINGER'S EPITAPH | PHAINON & MYDEI

Mydei drops Phainon’s title shamelessly, as if he is not standing here in this empty alleyway with you, holding you in his embrace so delicately behind Phainon’s back. Have you two no guilt? Does your shame really run that shallow to betray the man who loves you so dearly with such graceful ease? With his brother in arms, no less. How little self-respect does the crown prince have, to chase after a taken woman?

cw: 10k words; ; fem!mc; mydei's spinoff is here, mc is involved with both of them at the same time but fujos dni; no actual cheating; part of a wider hsr au by me and my friend; written from a pov of my other oc from this fic; i am not a honkai lore scholar i'm simply freaky; if you have any questions feel free to ask

They meet you for the first time with the fog of the hot water settling heavily in their lungs.

Burdened by her unavoidable involvement with this world’s struggles, Stelle is a little tense beside Shuhua. Their close brush with death – curtsy of Aglaea’s fierce dedication to protecting the secrets of Amphoreus – left the group somewhat shaken. Everything has been overwhelming ever since the cart crash-landed; so much so that Alisa started doubting Stelle’s decision to stay, instead of returning back to the train.

Despite accepting and enjoying her life of Trailblaze, this time things felt somewhat different. There was too much at stake to simply vanish and end up dead now. And they just had to get stranded without any way to contact the Express and leave sick March behind to be looked after by that suspicious Memokeeper hitching a ride.

Maybe asking Sunday, who is yet to settle down properly without following her around everywhere, to stay back and keep an eye on the situation was a bad idea on Alisa’s part. Even Aventurine, unfortunately roped into their shenanigans by Shuhua yet again, is suffering the consequences of their decision to leave them behind to have a nice trip as a family.

And it’s not like Alisa hasn’t entertained the idea of trying to use the powers of Repudiation, but the possibilities of what-ifs were far too great for her to risk the lives of her friends. So none of this seems extremely enthralling now that Alisa has to constantly watch her companion’s backs, trying to make sure she doesn’t need to mend them together body part by body part.

At least now that Aglaea isn’t trying to actively kill them, the group can finally relax just a little. And now that they’re about to go on a quest to kill a Titan – a God? surely not an Aeon? – Shuhua decided that it’s the best time for them to be as greedy and lazy as possible and soak in the healing waters of Amphoreus.

Maybe this too, as per usual, is a bad decision.

From under the weight of warm waters everything is coated in haze. Despite the promise of these baths healing not only body and mind, but also soul, Alisa is yet to feel any different. Being immune to everything has its ups and downs and right now she got the short end of the stick, unlike the rest of her companions.

Shuhua, as restless and as dedicated to playing a martyr as she usually is, spots Phainon first. Her mood pers up instantly, wet tail swishing excitedly in the hot water of the public bathhouse, sprinkling the droplets all over her companions. Through half-lidded eyes Stelle groans slowly, almost spitting the bathhouse water that got into her mouth. Lethargically scooting away from Shuhua to not get assaulted by her enthusiasm any longer, Stelle continues her nap in relative peace.

Noticing how nobody seems to appreciate her elation, the foxian finally decides to calm down a little, pointing unceremoniously to the faraway corner of the bath, “Look. Over there.”

Dan Heng, bored and half-invested into Shuhua’s new scheme, follows her line of sight languidly, only to be met with a picture that is a bit too perplexing even to someone like him. “Is that Phainon?”

A rhetoric question it may be, but it surely wakes Stelle up from her warmth-infused drowsiness, “Where?” With one eye open, sleep still clouding her vision, she looks in the direction that holds Dan Heng’s attention, just to finally wake up when she does spot Okhema’s unwilling hero. “Oh… It’s not that I’m judging, but…”

“That’s a little shameless even by my standards.” Shuhua snickers, a little devious chuckle, before she sinks under the water to tug Alisa up to the surface.

Finally releasing the breath she was holding, Alisa wipes the water dripping from her lashes and focuses on whatever got Shuhua act all scandalized. And considering that the foxian had little to none of said shame in her body, it must be one hell of a scene. Involving Phainon of all people, no less.

Elbows resting on the edge of the bath, he’s leaning back against the tiled wall. It's almost odd to see him so exposed, or even visiting a public bathhouse of all places, especially when Aglaea offhandedly mentioned that the Chrysos Heirs had their own private one to use however they pleased. It must have been truly an exclusive place with no entrance for ordinary people for him to be here. And considering his obvious company, it wasn’t much of a wonder why he chose to come here instead.

You – whoever you are – slowly step out of the warm waters, wet hair sticking to your exposed back; white, lightweight fabric of your robe clinging to your body, clashing with golden and crimson ink all over your skin. You reach for a bowl of grapes on one of the tables with refreshments, returning back into the bath just as leisurely, and it is only when the waves pick up the length of your hair that Alisa realizes the extent of your undress. Nothing but a thin, flowy fabric of your robe hanging loosely off your shoulders, you press yourself close to Phainon’s side and he eagerly invites you into an embrace, tucking you tightly to his chest. You pluck a grape from the vine, passing one to Phainon, brushing the pink berry against his lips. He opens his mouth, all but literally eating out of the palm of your hand.

Picking one for yourself, you pop the grape into your mouth; only you don’t get to enjoy the taste of it, as Phainon leans close to you, lips pressed against yours in an unannounced kiss. It’s a long moment before you separate, wandering hands of the hero straying a bit too far along your waist for such a public setting, but when he does allow you to breathe again, you huff and scoot away, following with a playful roll of your eyes. As smug as always, Phainon grins triumphantly. The berry stolen from your mouth must have tasted a lot sweeter than the one you offered him.

Phainon says something, slow and well-enunciated, although all the words are lost between the hum of the waves and the chatter of other visitors. You reply, much less careful and much more hurried, yet it still brings a blinding smile to Phainon’s face as he laughs freely. And when he brazenly tugs you impossibly close, with you all but sitting on his lap, Phainon seems much more relaxed, almost free, as if completely unburdened by the expectations this world placed on him resting on his shoulders. It’s as if only the weight of your body against his that truly matters for him; the delicate softness of your touch as your fingers glide along his shoulders until you bring your lips together once more.

And maybe it is so. Alisa does not allow herself to ponder on it any longer, lest it brings unwanted tears to her eyes. Jealousy is a vice, and she might not be holy, but envying someone else’s love this pure will surely drag her to hell if her past doesn’t already guarantee her a spot there. Maybe a little risk is worth a chance of seeing him even for a second.

Dan Heng’s deadpan voice brings Alisa back to reality, far away from the dangerous thoughts she will inevitably regret, “You have zero shame, Shuhua.”

The foxian scoffs, tugging on the tip of her ear to shake the excess water soaked into the fur right on the vidyadhara’s face, “Clearly they have negative shame, Dan Heng.”

 “Should we go say hi?” As if just woken up – full of mischief and yearning to wreak havoc – Stelle darts up to her feet, raining bathwater all over with her chaotic movements, “I feel like we should.”

Alisa has half a mind to stop her. It's neither time nor place and the two of you are clearly busy. Tomorrow is an important and, quite frankly, terrifying day for everyone in the Holy City, Alisa can only begin to imagine how you must be feeling sending Phainon away to battle a literal god. Logically, it’s better to give you some privacy, but has Stelle – or anyone other than Sunday, for that matter – ever listened to what Alisa had to say? The answer is predictably obvious, and whatever protests she voices are all lost on Stelle as she readies herself to march into the mayhem of her own doing.

“I strongly advise against it.”

Only she doesn’t get the chance to, tripping over her own feet, grasping for anything to hold onto and dragging Alisa along with her under the warm waters of the bathhouse. Shuhua and Dan Heng are quick to pull the two of them up, but their movements are far too sluggish under the influence of Thanatos’ power, and it does little to stop Alisa from inhaling some of the water.

“Miss Castorice…” She coughs out a greeting, although it seems to just make the matters worse as the woman takes a guarded step back.  “It’s okay! We’re okay! You just startled us.”

“I apologize, Lady Alisa. It wasn’t my intention.” Despite her rather poor repertoire of emotions, guilt is prominent on Castorice’s otherwise impassive features. Hands locked tensely in front of her, the Chrysos Heir sends another apologetic glance Alisa’s way before focusing on Stelle, “But please do not disturb them. It’s rare to see them here like this. Lord Phainon rarely has the time these days and Lady [Name] almost never leaves the Temple…” Castorice catches herself, putting an abrupt stop to her rambling, although the way she’s carefully watching you and Phainon paints a completely different picture for her sudden decision to stop talking. “Such an awful fate they were given.”

About to press for some answers, Alisa tries to find the question she wants the answer to the most, but none seem not invasive enough. Still, she imagines any would be more tactful than anything brewing in Shuhua’s head and judging by the ever-growing smirk tugging on the corners of her lips, she has a lot of those prepared already. Yet just like Stelle not so long ago, Alisa is not successful in her endeavor.

“Castorice!” Phainon’s voice is as clear as she remembers hearing it for the first time. “Esteemed guests, too.” He waves in their direction, hurriedly crossing the little distance between the refreshments table and their bath. “What a coincidence. Is the water to your liking?”

Dan Heng dips his head in lackluster appreciation, “It’s great, thanks.”

Satisfied with the answer, Phainon doesn’t offer any more questions, although the mysterious something woven into his self-assured smile is a little unnerving this time around, “If you’re free this evening you should come to the Garden of Life. My light has a way with words, her songs will not disappoint you.”

Castorice nods, accepting the offer easily. Even if Alisa wasn’t as intrigued by your relationship, she would have agreed either way. If not for the music, then at least for the rare investment sparking in Castorice’s eyes at the mention of you two.

“We’ll be there, Lord Phainon.” Maybe not everyone, most likely just Alisa and Dan Heng, but she would definitely not miss a free opportunity to listen to a ballad or two.

 “Not you too…” A disappointed sigh following his words, Phainon frowns slightly; blue eyes darting between Alisa and Castorice, he shakes his head, “No matter. I’m gonna go back now, can’t leave my lady alone for too long or she gets stolen by wild cats.” The smug arrogance paints his grin once more; Castorice – so uncharacteristically for her – looks almost amused by the nonsensical joke Phainon made. “See you later!”

He leaves in a hurry, just as fast and suddenly as he approached them, returning to your side. You welcome him, offering to take the wine pitcher off his hand but Phainon just shakes his head in silent disapproval. Opting to pour the pale peachy wine himself, he settles in the water next to you and lifts the goblet just enough for you to drink from it. And when you do take a careful sip from the silver cup, Phainon is quick to steal the wine from your mouth. Although you never seem to truly mind his unabashed behavior in the slightest, indulging it way more than you ever should have.

Maybe Shuhua is right for once, there are people with less than no shame.

Finally turning away, Alisa can’t help but muse over such unrestrained displays of affection. “He loves her a lot.” It sounds almost bitter, but Alisa is glad nobody notices. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Even with her escaping the grasp of Istanai, Alisa will never truly be free unless she returns back to his side. And she can’t right now.

“He does.” Castorice is as solemn as always when she agrees quietly, her next words distorted by the excited buzz of the bathhouse visitors, “I imagine when you have so little to remember of home, what you do have you cannot ever let go. Even in death.”

It’s silent after that. Only the distant hum of the chatter and Phainon’s laughter cutting through the wall of white noise once in a while. They watch Castorice carefully as her unreadable eyes, all but glued to the glow of the sun shining over your head, get mistier by the moment. Tense shoulders, she cannot seem to find peace amongst the foggy air of the bathhouse.

“Castorice?” Stelle calls her name tentatively, but Castorice, too deep in whatever thoughts torment her, doesn’t react. Shuhua nudges Alisa on the shoulder, a little spooked by the idea of a literal manifestation of death being so lost in her own thoughts, and having no choice on the matter, Alisa reaches carefully to tug on the skirts of Castorice’s dress.

The Chrysos Heir flinches ever so slightly, misty gaze clearing up as she looks at where Alisa is still holding onto the fabric of her dress. “Please don’t listen to the rumors. Lady [Name] is not a bad person.” Coming completely out of left field, Castorice’s warning confuses the group even more than her silence ever did. “And do come to the performance, you might gain a lot of insight on that which you never considered to ponder on.” She looks almost conflicted when she says this, as if fighting with reason itself to justify her decision. Although when Castorice does get it off her chest, she seems almost liberated from her self-imposed shackles. Then she blinks, hand pressed over her chest as if she just remembered something important, “I completely forgot… I came here to fetch you, Lady Alisa. Lady Aglaea is interested in striking a deal.”

Shuhua groans. Alisa gets out of the water without much thought. Control is order and you cannot control what you cannot see. Yet again, the daughter of Repudiation is the biggest enemy of order. Only Aglaea is nothing like Sunday. And it’s for the better that she isn’t.

“I guess it can’t be helped.”

Alisa killed an Aeon once, what a demigod compared to rejection personified?

If only things were that easy.

They meet you for the second time with the strumming of a harp and your soft voice barely audible in their ears.

You are dressed far more modestly than you were back at the bathhouse, which isn’t that hard to achieve all things considered. Much of your exposed skin is still painted with golden ink, intertwined with red lines where they form some kind of convoluted patterns all over your chest and back. Your fingers run over the strings with some sort of stiffness one would not expect from a professional musician, and despite the music being nothing short of heavenly, you seem far too detached from the tune you’re playing. Even your voice is far too muted for a crowd that gathered around, and although the people are eerily silent while listening to your romantic tale of a sun’s journey to greatness, nobody is asking you to sing louder.

It's strange. There’s something off about this evening that Alisa can’t place her finger on just yet. Castorice hesitantly learns to accept that the powers given to her hold no effect on the daughter of Repudiation, so she slowly takes some liberties in standing far closer to Alisa than any reason would allow. Alisa lets her, contemplating offering a friendly hand, but deciding against it at the end. She knows better than anyone how overwhelming change can be for a person.

Shuhua, despite her initial unwillingness to join the group for a night out opting to just wallow in misery as she always tends to do at any mild inconvenience, seems to enjoy herself right now. Stelle and Dan Heng stand a little to the side, the deadpan expression on his face gives away an idea or two about the topic of Stelle’s commentary.

Phainon is sitting on the grass close to where you are, unbothered and casual as he always seems to be. Aglaea and one of the fragments of Tribios – Tribbie – are conversing quietly in the far away corner of the Garden of Life, but the leader of Chrysos Heirs doesn’t look all that happy to be here. Even the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos is present, albeit it’s a little hard to read between the lines of his permanent scowl, even more so than through Aventurine’s carefully crafted, mildly amused poker-face.

It's not Mydei’s presence that rubs Alisa the wrong way, it’s the odd absent-eyed looks Aglaea keeps throwing the Nameless that bother her. Despite a quite innocent and harmless deal they struck today, Alisa can’t help but feel even more on edge around the woman. Aglaea admitted she can only see this world through the golden thread, so why does she keep eyeing them so intently? It’s none of Alisa’s business and yet… Survival of her family is her business, isn’t it?

People give you a round of applause and you lift yourself up from the grass, bowing shallowly. Phainon is quick to follow you, taking the harp off your hands and bringing your palm to his mouth in a fleeting kiss. Castorice shifts uncomfortably, closer to Alisa’s side. And Alisa truly doesn’t want to assume anything, but from the corner of her eye she watches Aglaea’s frown deepen.

The crowd disperses slowly. Shuhua attaches herself to Alisa’s arm with a tired groan and an annoyed twitch of her ears, nuzzling against the feathers of halovian wings. Stelle is still rambling about losing her login streak in Wandering Waves and missing some important character’s banner. Dan Heng is the only one to actually care about the performance and even if usually Alisa would be the first to jump into a discussion about arts, her mind is uncharacteristically elsewhere.

With a whine, Shuhua announces that she’s craving a late-night snack before the big day. Both Stelle and Dan Heng pretend they don’t hear anything, not that Alisa expected anything else from them. Not even fighting for custody rights, Alisa drags Shuhua into a different direction that will take them to the Marmoreal Market. Maybe some dromas steak will soothe her friend’s miserable longing.

Yet as per the rules of Trailblaze, its pathstriders can’t stop getting themselves in trouble. And even now Alisa is barely quick enough to tug Shuhua behind a row of shelves full of potted plants before they get spotted by the two shadowy figures standing under the torchlights of Amphoreus’ otherwise dim alleyways. The scene unfolding before them leaves quite an unpleasant aftertaste in Alisa’s mouth when she swallows thickly. And now the fur of Shuhua’s restless tail doesn’t feel all that pleasant against Alisa’s skin amidst the heavy, warm night air.

“Is that who I think it is?” the foxian mumbles, a little confused tilt of her head, ears pressed tightly against her head.

“Please be quiet.” Alisa is trying to save them from being inevitably discovered, although her efforts go unappreciated, as Shuhua huffs, scandalized and offended.

“Hey, don’t shush me!” Despite being nothing but a whisper, the sheer force with which Shuhua delivers her line is nothing short of a scream. “You start sleeping in the same bed that smug, undercooked chicken wing and now you’re turning evil.”

Turning blind eye on the usual, albeit even more colorful, insults thrown Sunday’s way, Alisa covers Shuhua’s mouth with the palm of her hand, “Shush.”

Shuhua’s exasperated hissing is muffled, but it’s not audible enough to reach outside the little corner they’re hiding at. It’s for the better that it is that way, as the shadows grow nearer, heavy footsteps fall to a standstill under the darkness of a little shop across from the shelves covering them and Alisa can only pray the plants are enough to mask the bright fur of Shuhua’s tail.

The skirts on the back of your dress drag along the dusty ground and you don’t rush to lift them, slowly albeit deliberately walking past Mydei who remains standing near the bakery’s window. The annoyed crease between his eyebrows deepens as he catches up to you, stopping you by your forearm, the gentle touch not matching his permanent scowl.

Your gaze is planted firmly on the ground, someplace where your shadows intertwine. Mydei steps closer to you, hands moving along your skin until he holds your face in his hands, lifting your head up. “Why won’t you look at me?” He speaks differently. Less brash. Way slower and just as well-enunciated as Phainon was addressing you not so long ago. “Don’t tell me you’re still upset.”

“Of course I am, Mydeimos.” You talk just as quietly as you sing, with a tiny rasp of hesitation to your tone. Yet right now it’s mixed with something so bitterly vulnerable, it’s almost easy to forget that you are a taken woman. And with how compromising your position is, it’s all but effortless to misinterpret the situation for what it isn’t.

“I am immortal.” Mydei states plainly and you scoff.

He’s still holding your face in his hands despite your arms hanging limply by your sides. It’s hard to see under the shadows of twilight, but even in such darkness the hurt pooling in your eyes is difficult to miss. “Immortality does not take away the pain of death.”

“I am used to it.” It’s unclear whether Mydei is trying to convince you or himself, but either way it doesn’t work.

The bracelets on your arm clink against each other when you finally lift your hand to press your palm firmly to Mydei’s chest. “I told you already, didn’t I?” Your voice trembles like the strings of the harp, as if you are on the verge of tears. And maybe it is so, “Your ache is my agony. Your suffering is my anguish. I must live this life knowing I cannot aid you in your endeavors. History does not–”

Thumb against your lips, dipping ever so slightly into your parted mouth, Mydei interrupts your fervent rambling, “I wowed to battle fate for you. This hasn’t changed.” You are a taken woman yet with the way the Mydei so effortlessly throws earnest promises of eternal devotion your way, it’s easy to forget it is not he who you are officially involved with. “But Deliverer is better suited for that Coreflame than I am.”

Mydei drops Phainon’s title shamelessly, as if he is not standing here in this empty alleyway with you, holding you in his embrace so delicately behind Phainon’s back. Have you two no guilt? Does your shame really run that shallow to betray the man who loves you so dearly with such graceful ease? With his brother in arms, no less. How little self-respect does the crown prince have, to chase after a taken woman?

“You cannot defy who you are.” You whisper dejectedly, not bothered by the mention of Phainon but the fact that Mydei refuses to change his mind. You give up then, tense posture going lax as you sigh heavily in defeat, “But who am I to deny your wishes?”

“My wishes?” Mydei questions, a victorious glint in his eyes. “I have a lot of those, you know.” He steps closer and you step back until you reach the wall, Mydei’s arm against the back of your head so you don’t accidentally hit yourself against the white bricks. “I am insatiable in my greed. Or so they say.”

He doesn’t wait for any response, just dips his head down and presses his lips against yours feverishly. You reciprocate, eager and yearning, all but melting against his body until there is no more empty space between you. But even then, he still draws you closer, free hands itching under the missing fabric on the front of your dress.

Taking your preoccupied state as an opportunity for escape, Alisa once again drags Shuhua into the darkness of the alleyway. There are no words exchanged until they are far out of your hearing range. Marmoreal Palace is relatively empty this time of day, and Alisa feels like she can finally breathe properly. So many things running through her mind, she has no idea where she should even begin. All that Alisa truly knows that it’s wrong. They shouldn’t have been there to see that. You shouldn’t have been doing any of that at all. And yet...

Shuhua, however, never holds back when she has to say something, “This wench!”

“Shuhua, please.” Trying to calm her friend down is futile, but Alisa is known to enjoy suffering to its fullest.

“I have to give it to her though.”  Shuhua huffs in irritation, dusting her tail off any cobwebs it gathered during her stay at the dusty corner of an alley. “How hard is it to swindle those two at the same time?”

Acutely aware that she’s doing nothing more than playing devil’s advocate, Alisa is desperately trying to rationalize the situation, “Maybe this all is a big misunderstanding…” She knows nobody is inherently good, but she's always trying to look only for the best in other people. And Alisa really doesn’t want to believe that either you or Mydei would betray Phainon in such a way. Logic, however, is much harder to argue with.

“Her tongue was in places mine can’t reach.” An irked scoff and a roll of her eyes, Shuhua crosses her arms over her chest. It’s hard to believe such a thing is possible but once again facts win over delusions. “We should tell him about it the first thing tomorrow.”

“Shuhua…” Not liking Alisa’s tone, the foxian throws her glare of disbelief prematurely, before any stupidity can even cross her mind. But as it usually happens, disapproval doesn’t stop Alisa from speaking and she truly has had enough of Shuhua’s bad decisions in the span of these couple of months to last her for another ten years. “I am not condoning her actions, but… I don’t think this is the right time to drop something like that on him. We truly don’t need any bad blood between those two, considering they are quite literally on a quest to kill a god.”

Shuhua blinks, canines biting harshly into her bottom lip. She’s clearly searching for something to counter Alisa’s argument with but can’t find anything of equal value to reason. Eventually giving up, Shuhua sighs dejectedly, “Yeah, okay. You’re right.” Then she grins, a little manic and sort of troubling curve of her lips, as she cackles sarcastically, “We just have to kill a god, how hard can it be…”

Not harder than it was to kill an Aeon. But it’s better for Shuhua to never remember what exactly transpired inside the Realm or Repudiation.

Alisa can only hope that after all is said and done, she doesn’t have to act out on her side of the deal with Aglaea.

They meet you for the third time amongst the sea of passersby, the shining gold of your jewelry flickering with your every movement.

They spot you at Marmoreal Market not long after they successfully take Nikador’s Coreflame to the Vortex of Genesis. They pass by Melpomene, and despite calling out to her, she rushes past them without even a greeting, an annoyed growl falling from her lips as she casts one last glare in the direction of Marmoreal Diner. Confused, Shuhua follows her line of sight, ears perking up and tail wagging when she finally spots you amongst the crowd.

Against both of their better judgments, neither Alisa nor Shuhua told Phainon about their unfortunate discovery after they returned to Okhema. And considering he is still locked inside Nikador’s trial, it is for the better that he is not aware of your infidelity. This, however, is a perfect chance to finally confront you, not only about your unfaithfulness but also about the rumors floating around the Holy City.

After that night in the alleyway, Alisa couldn’t help but put her meddling skills to good use and sharpened her ears as much as possible. Castorice’s cryptic warning aside, the rumors about your person are hard to ignore when one actually listens to what the public has to say. Turns out, people seem to have very mixed feelings towards you. Some deem you an important, vital figure to Okhema’s wellbeing in such trying times: a famous bard, an acclaimed hymnwriter, a renowned poetess, a revered High Priestess of the Temple of Silence. Others think of you as a rotten fruit, slowly corrupting the well-oiled dynamic not only between the Chrysos Heirs themselves but also between Aglaea and the Council of Elders.

And as it so happens, everyone is acutely aware of your not-so-secret affair with the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos. All except Phainon himself. Even stranger thing is that despite your unfaithfulness being a well-known fact, nobody is rushing to inform the hero of it. Whether he lives under a rock or his devotion to you is that unshakable is unclear but whatever the reason for it is, Alisa can’t begin to sympathize with either you or Mydei.

Neither can Aglaea, it seems.

Goldweaver’s threads wrap themselves around Shuhua’s arm, planting her firmly in place, “I strongly advise you to stay away from that woman, Shuhua.”

The foxian clenches her teeth, and Alisa decides to intervene before things escalate someplace none of them wants to, “Lady Aglaea, good morning.”

Heavy blink of her sightless eyes, Aglaea turns to face Alisa albeit she can never truly pinpoint her location, “Good morning, child.” Despite the friendly, polite tone, Aglaea’s detachment from humanity prevents her from truly igniting the warmth in her voice. Alisa can’t blame her for it, neither can she condemn the woman for trying to protect her home by any means possible. Although now Alisa has a faint suspicion that her odd behavior during your performance had nothing to do with the Astral Express but everything to do with you. “Please heed my advice and stay clear of her, there is nothing the Temple can offer you that I cannot.”

“Of course, Lady Aglaea.” Alisa nods, agreeing with the woman without even trying to argue her case. Sometimes to reject something you need to accept it first, and who would understand that better than a daughter of Repudiation? “Please take care.”

Aglaea bows her head in a shallow goodbye, disappearing into the busy crowd just like Melpomene did not so long ago. Shuhua, still trying to come to terms with the fact that there might be a target painted on her back once more, gives Alisa a suspicious side glance.

"She's still spying on us, isn’t she?” Shuhua asks carefully. She is yet to get used to this new dynamic of being the one following Alisa’s lead for once. But to live is to survive and adapting is an integral part of survival, and Shuhua really doesn't want to meet her end here because of some light snooping.

Alisa shrugs, mumbling a barely audible agreement. Just because Aglaea’s golden thread cannot see her, doesn’t mean her spies cannot hear her. Breaking their agreement with the leader of Chrysos Heirs will put her family in danger, but despite his smug, overconfident attitude, Phainon is a good man. Sunday might be right: her kindness is her weakness ready to be exploited; but he’s not here to stop her, so what else Alisa is supposed to do?

“Lady [Name]!” It has been a long time since she needed to scream to get someone’s attention.

The people give Alisa an odd look or two, some stop to search for the source of a disturbance. You, however, head straight ahead. Box with honey cakes securely pressed to your chest, you never turn their way even when Alisa calls out to you for the second time. Some passersby give them confused side-glances; one quick look over your shoulder at the commotion, you never notice the outlanders, swept by the busy crowd of the market. Walking past them casually, you leave with only the scent of sunlit oranges, ripe pomegranates, and warm cinnamon clinging to the heavy air long after the flowing tails of your skirts disappear from view.

And so, you escape. And so, Aglaea wins.

“Can’t believe she ignored us like that!” Shuhua hisses. Angry and disappointed, she curses under her breath, icy glare digging daggers into the dense crowd of the market.

Something isn’t right at all about this. The omnipresent gaze of Repudiation calls for rejection of all, and even on the endless path of Trailblaze Alisa does not stop defying authority. Mokosha, Penacony, Amphoreus. Her guilt, her love, her longing. Karina, Sunday, Aglaea. To live is to survive. Survival calls for all sorts of risks.

“Maybe she didn’t notice us…” Alisa cannot see the golden threads, they dissolve into dust all around her, but she can spot them weaving through the market, trailing the scent of sunkissed oranges and sugary pomegranate you left behind.

Shuhua cannot see what Alisa can, however. “Stop playing devil’s advocate, I locked eyes with that wench.” But Shuhua wasn’t brought up with the oath of rejection woven into her every breath, so it’s understandable that she does not condone this doubt festering inside Alisa’s heart.

“I think it’s better we just talk to Lord Phainon.” Alisa knows it’s the only right thing to do. The only way to force you to be honest with yourself. The only way to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. The only way to not let Aglaea win ever again.

“Yeah, yeah.” Shuhua grits her teeth, even more vexed than she was before coming here. “Now come on, I need breakfast, or someone dies.”

Alisa doesn’t doubt it. She just hopes it won’t be Shuhua herself.

The golden thread trembles, yet its presence remains.

They meet you for the fourth time illuminated by the sunlight and scorched by fire, as you melt the ice of the memories of the world long gone.

It’s dark inside the Temple of Silence. Nothing but long corridors, dimply lit by torches burning deep purple flames, and imagery of the night sky painted in crimson and gold all over the white walls. Phainon is leading the way with well-practiced movements, all while entertaining Stelle’s barrage of ridiculous questions and Dan Heng’s polite yet distant commentary on some of the more captivating things that the hero has to say.

Shuhua is restless, even more so than usual since they got stranded on Amphoreus. Alisa fears it might be Shuhua's breaking point, but she will cross that bridge when she gets there and for now, they have far more pressing matters to deal with. Confronting you in your own temple is not going to be easy, but with Stelle and Dan Heng now involved in this against their will, things took a turn for the worse.

Noticing just how big the distance between them and Phainon grew, Shuhua exasperatedly mumbles something under her breath and picks up her pace, dragging Alisa along by her elbow. Phainon, finally stopping near the intricately carved door at the end of the hallway, is still entertaining Stelle’s curiosity without complaints. Shuhua throws him an apprehensive side eye, irked glow of her eyes spelling nothing but trouble for everyone involved, but Phainon misinterprets it as something it is not.

“You seem nervous.” He’s wrong, everyone except him is acutely aware of it, yet nobody is racing to correct his assumption. “I assure you, there is no reason for you to feel anxious.”

“It’s just…” Shuhua begins, a strained smile on her face, “It’s a little dark here, that’s all.”

“Oh, sorry about that. Should have warned you.” Phainon rubs the back of his head, an apologetic smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “Well, don’t worry. It’s very bright inside.”

Three light knocks. The dark, purple flames flicker to the rhythm of the drumming of Phainon’s knuckles. The heavy door opens on its own, light drowning the dimply lit corridor. For a split second Alisa’s vision goes blurry, as if blinded by the brightness of the light. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the new environment, but when they do, she almost wishes she stayed blinded forever. She should have known better than to trust Shuhua’s mad ideas, they’re always more trouble than they’re worth.

Shuhua’ grins, “Oh, isn’t it just great.” Dan Heng is quick to silence her before she drops any more unnecessary comments, but he can’t stop a little gasp that escapes Stelle’s parted lips.

Alisa diverts her gaze from the scene of the crime, trying to focus on something else other than the impending fight between an immortal man turned unwilling demigod and a hero acting as the muse to of almost all of your ballads. Eyes wide and pupils blown, Shuhua bites her lip to stiffen any more sounds coming from her, although most of it just seems like the foxian woman is trying to suppress inevitable cackle which is bound to worsen the tension even more.

Mydei’s arm is wrapped loosely around your waist, just to give enough support so that you don’t accidentally topple over and drop the goblet full of pomegranate juice all over the sofa. Or all over him to be precise. On your knees between his parted legs, one gold painted arm pressed against his naked chest, you’re carefully pouring juice into his mouth. He doesn’t as much as blink when some escapes his lips, sliding along his skin and leaving the dark crimson trail until it gets lost in what little fabric is covering his chest. Mydei simply slides his gloved hand along the expanse of your bare back, moving your hair away from your neck and bringing your face closer to his.

Dropping the empty goblet in your hand, you let it hit the white marble of the room with the deafening noise that makes everyone in the room flinch. You don’t seem to mind the noise, just sink even closer to Mydei, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips and when you part at last, you glide your tongue along the crimson trail. Then you sink your teeth into the slope of his neck, an apologetic flick of your tongue over the rapidly vanishing indent of your teeth in his skin. Mydei leans his head against the arm of the sofa, half lidded eyes watching as you leave a trail of bites along his chest.

Phainon, for all his recklessness and flair, is awfully calm even when he positions himself in a way to cover most of your exposed body from their prying eyes. Posture lax, no tension in his shoulders, he doesn’t seem astonished or betrayed, or even simply angry. If anything, Phainon seems almost embarrassed to subject his guests to such an indecent display of affection between his – girlfriend? wife? Alisa isn’t even sure who you even are to him with the way the hero keeps addressing you – and his brother in arms. Knuckles rubbing against his forehead, Phainon clears his throat.

Mydei, unbothered by the presence of another man in your private chambers, doesn’t spare Phainon even a quick glance, “You’re late, Deliverer.”

Canines digging into her lips, Shuhua is barely holding herself together from cackling. Alisa has to admit, that all of this is sort of funny in some twisted way. But all of this snooping around just for them to end up here, intruding into whatever you three knowingly have going on. Oh, how embarrassing indeed.

Phainon, back still shielding most of the view on your nude body, tugs his coat off, “Please inform [Name] that I brought in our esteemed guests for an appointment.”

With a deep, annoyed sigh, Mydei finally looks over his shoulder, “Really now, hero? Couldn’t find any other time?” You lift your head, watching him with mild worry in your eyes as if you just now noticed the presence of someone else in the room. Three light taps on your shoulder, Mydei whispers something extremely slowly and you nod, sitting up straight, moving your hair to cover your chest. “Or person, for that matter?”

Phainon shrugs dismissively, as if trying to play his mistake off as something that is not his fault and then throws his coat towards Mydei, “They seemed really eager to meet our Lady of Eternal Fire.”

Mydei scoffs, catching the piece of clothing and dropping it over your shoulders the next very second, “Oh, I’m sure they were.”

You slip your arms into the sleeves of the coat and get up from the sofa, “Phainon.”

Despite the tender kiss you give him, you acknowledge the hero with some sort of detachment when you say this name of his. But it must be because you, as Castorice pointed cryptically all the way back at the bathhouse, are the only one who knows of Phainon as a son of Aedes Elysiae, and his true name is far dearer to you than the one he chose for himself.

Then you divert your attention to the members of Astral Express, a peculiar smile curving your lips, “Mysterious outlanders from beyond the stars. Welcome to the Temple of Silence.” You beacon them to follow you to the large marble table in the center of the room with a gentle wave your hand, the sleeve of Phainon’s coat flapping as you do so, “Please take a seat.”

They do as you say, albeit a little hesitantly, and settle into a long ottoman, just barely big enough to fit the four of them. Phainon joins you on your side of the table, immediately resting his head on your shoulder, and despite reluctantly leaving the comfort of the sofa, Mydei remains standing behind you with his arms crossed against his chest.

“What brings you here?” You ask, hand running through Phainon’s hair. “Against Aglaea’s… insistent suggestions to stay away from me, too.” There’s a little teasing to your hushed tone. You are far more playful than Alisa initially thought, way less intimidating too.

Despite Stelle expectantly watching Shuhua, nobody says anything. What is there even left to say now that Shuhua can’t hold your trysts against you for her own entertainment? And neither she nor Alisa herself were here with any hopes of actually getting in contact with the Express.

Dan Heng, however, tired of constant childish tantrums of his temperamental fox friend, takes one for the team, “We were looking for a way to contact our friends back home, and Phainon lead us here. He told us there’s a chance you can help us reach through the barrier to contact them.”

One moment. Then two. Three and then four. You say nothing, your puzzled gaze drifting from Dan Heng to Shuhua, to Stelle, to Alisa and then back to Dan Heng. You mutter something under your breath; quick, single word sentences, as if you are trying to decipher something but keep failing at doing so. Phainon lifts his head from your shoulder, once again oddly guilty shine in his blue eyes.

It’s tense, unnerving kind of confused silence that never seems to settle and only continues to grow. “Deliverer.” Mydei sighs, heavy and exhausted, “You didn’t tell them.”

The frustration in Mydei’s usually mildly agitated tone is almost palpable, and Phainon chuckles awkwardly, “I thought it was obvious.”  Then he quickly gets onto his feet to leave the table only to return a couple of seconds later with a heap of yellowish parchment, a bottle of ink and four quills. He sets everything on the marble surface carefully and you thank him, passing the paper to the group. “Apparently not. My apologies, I must have complicated things way more than I initially assumed.”

A simple complication doesn’t even begin to cover the level of mental gymnastics you three forced them into, but even Shuhua’s confused ear twitch is met with Mydei’s almost-warranted exasperation, “Don’t look so damn lost, outlanders. You’ve never met a deaf person before?”

Oh, complicated indeed. Alisa was right to doubt everything, but with the way Shuhua’s ears fall flat against her head she can guess the guilt of assuming things is catching up even to her.

“It’s quite alright.” You dismiss the sudden pitiful glances with a careless shake of your head, instead pointing to the parchment you offered to them. Phainon once again takes a seat next to you, although his posture is far less relaxed than it was before, observing carefully as Stelle twirls the quill in her hand. “Before we begin, you must give an offering to the Temple. Please describe a memory you cherish and feed it to the fire.”

Dan Heng gives you an apprehensive look, doubting your words despite doing exactly what you told him to. Stelle does the same, quickly scribbling something on the paper and dropping it into the purple flames flickering in a large ceremonial goblet installed into the indent in the middle of the table. It takes some time for Alisa to think of a memory she is willing to share with a stranger, and next to her Shuhua grins, folding her paper neatly in half and throwing it into the fire as soon as she can.

Mydei rolls his eyes at such behavior, finally giving up his watch to sit down next to you. He tugs the armored gloves off, placing them neatly near the ottoman and rests his hand on the marble, fingers barely grazing the edge of the ceremonial goblet. You give him a pointed look, the one of a concerned warning, but he dismisses you with a slight, teasing tug to the pointed tip of your elf-like ear poking through the dark strands if your hair. You are about to continue playing a losing game when Phainon once again drops his head on your shoulder, lifting your left hand up to press a tender kiss to your knuckles. Those two, despite all of their differences, know how to distract you when it works to their advantage and succeed in doing so with the ease of a well-oiled machine.

Giving up, you return your attention back to your guests with a fleeting, barely audible apology, then dip your free hand into the fire and pull out five cloudy crystals, dropping them into a silver bowl placed in front of you. Picking the magenta gemstone up, you bring the copper colored one along with it, clicking them against each other. Phainon laughs, the joke is lost on not only Alisa but also on the rest of the Astral Express, although even Mydei seems to get it.

“You two are very special. One is an empty slate, unable to be recorded.”  You begin suddenly, dark eyes drifting from Alisa to Stelle intently. “Another blessed by the gaze of your local gods. What a peculiar life you have, Stelle.”

Upon hearing her own name, despite never introducing herself, Stelle asks a couple of questions you are never meant to catch nor would ever want to answer. You just toss the stones back into the fire and pick a green one, discarding this gem almost instantly as well.

“Rebirth? How interesting…” Looking at Dan Heng, you are searching for something Alisa isn’t sure you can find. But with how the Vidyadhara goes rigid upon hearing your words, something tells Alisa it is not only a single cherished memory of theirs you now have access to. “I am sure that whatever this jade abacus you are thinking about is, it will not help you to leave this world, Dan Heng.”

Smugness on Shuhua’s face deflates exponentially once you get to the pale peachy crystal, her scheme backfiring on her so unpredictably. “Oh, an odd choice for sure, and yet…” You quirk your brow, chuckling lightly under your breath and leaning forward to pass the stone directly into Shuhua’s hands. “Who would have thought that man had it in him to…”

Embarrassed, Shuhua hurriedly hides the peach-colored gem in the pocket of her shorts. You don’t say much more, just sit quietly with an oddly familiar glint in your half-lidded eyes, well-manicured nail in between your teeth. Phainon says something that is lost not only on you but also on the rest of the group. You swipe your tongue over your painted lips, crimson hue glistening even more under the glow of sunlight, and pick up the quill to write a couple of quick notes just to pass them to Phainon as soon as the last drop of ink hits the parchment.

Phainon skims over what you written, a choked cough contracting through his chest, and he crumbles the paper carelessly. “Shuhua’s chosen memory sparked sudden inspiration in me.” You explain then, a teasing lull to your voice, while your nimble fingers straighten the parchment Phainon so thoughtlessly ruined. “I am sure it will not disappoint you either, husband.”

“Aren’t you forgetting anyone?” Mydei asks, fingers that were toying with the edge of the ceremonial goblet now completely engulfed by the purple flames.

“This one sees the appeal of wild cats just like I do…” You say distantly, a subtle shift to the air around you as you tuck the note you wrote into the pocket of Phainon’s coat. “So I have something else for you in mind, Mydeimos.””

 Despite shedding light onto the meaning of Phainon’s bizarre joke and thoroughly embarrassing Shuhua even further with the knowledge of all her previous affairs, your provocative tone contradicts your appearance. Even while replying to Mydei as if you can hear him, you do not look a slightest bit happy or relieved to be able to perceive sound once again. Instead, you hastily free yourself from Phainon’s hold, swatting Mydei’s hand away from the fire and cradling it close to your chest.

Unlike you, the prince does not return from the flame unscathed, although the burnt skin mends itself almost instantly. You were right, immortality does not take away the pain of death, yet Mydei endures the turmoil with ease. True to his promise of battling fate for your love, he is willingly walking into the scorching fires just for a chance of you hearing his voice.

Love of such kind can bring all realms to ruin, yet it is the only kind that you can accept.

As if trying to brighten the mood, a little pink creature that has been following Stelle around ever since her conversation with Oronyx, finally shows itself. Curiously peeking out from behind Stelle’s shoulder, Mem says something that only she can decipher, and receiving a lackluster shrug from the Nameless it slowly floats up to you, fluffy tail swatting Phainon across the face. You watch it with an oddly nostalgic sense of longing littered all over your face like gold dust, strained fingers gripping Mydei’s hand harder. If you know something about Mem’s origin – which Alisa does not doubt even for a second – you keep it to yourself and let the pink fairy playfully bully Phainon some more, until it is completely satisfied and settles on top of his broad shoulders, tail wagging excitedly.

“Are all memokeepers so… eccentric?” Shuhua whispers right into Alisa’s ear and it startles her, dragging her away from her lingering thoughts. “What's up with that fifth memory bubble, anyway?”

Albeit a welcomed distraction, the idea of you being a pathstrider of Remembrance makes things even more convoluted than they initially were, although that power of yours is easily justified by that simple explanation. And considering how easily Fuli extended Their blessings to Stelle, it would be only natural that They gaze upon someone so closely intertwined with memories.

Soft smile of yearning all but completely gone, you look away, returning to the matter at hand. Last, bright pink crystal left lying in the silver bowl, you disregard its existence as if it's just a figment of your imagination. The subtle shift of the air does not seem so subtle anymore.

“Thank you for your kind offerings, Trailblazers.” You speak at last, although there is some sort of tragic finality to the way you deliver your line that tells Alisa you cannot fulfill their wishes. “I must disappoint you, however. What you desire of me is far too ambitious.” Alisa already expected as much, so it does little to disappoint her, but a discouraged sigh that Shuhua and Stelle share hurts her nonetheless. Yet your deeply apologetic expression seems extremely sincere, as you bow your head, “I am not a Chrysos Heir, neither am I gazed upon by an Aeon like the two of you. I am a mere preserver of truthful memories. A dedicated historian, if you will.”

Despite not truly acknowledging yourself as a pathstrider of Remembrance – knowing little of Aeons beyond the information you gathered from their memories – you almost openly recognize yourself as a memokeeper. Just as odd as Black Swan and Reca, albeit a little less suspicious in your intentions and far less invested into the overarching plot of this adventure.

Mydei seems to find some amusement in your claims, however, if a muffled snort coming from his person is anything to go by. He tugs on your ear again, the gold chain hooked to a tiny circular earring in your cartilage dangling as he does so. It's weaved with crimson and navy gems, uncannily reminiscent of Mydei’s own jewelry and the sentimental charm of it is oddly heartwarming.

A huff from you makes Phainon stiffen a laugh, yet another inside joke that goes right above the heads of the ignorant Nameless. He presses his lips against your knuckles once more, far more reserved in his affections than he was back at the bathhouse. Mem shuffles on the spot in his shoulder, tail wagging faster at the sudden disturbance as a bright pink paw hits Phainon square in the face. You giggle, murmuring a couple of teasing apologies in Mem’s stead, yet do not reprimand Stelle to keep her companion at bay. You simply watch Phainon, overflowing fondness in your eyes threatening to spill over.

When you do turn to look at Stelle, your gaze hardens exponentially, “Natural enemy of Goldweaver I might be, but I cannot restore memories like your little friend here does, nor can my power reach beyond these skies. I am truly sorry for wasting your precious time.”

Guilty as you seem to be for not being able to help them, there is something else to the way to shift in your seat. The hand with which you were holding onto Mydei so tightly just a moment ago drops on your lap. Phainon quits his pretend battle with Mem to give you a once over; nothing too out of the ordinary, yet it strikes a suspicion of doubt, nonetheless.

The last memory bubble remains untouched, but from the corner of your eye you keep a vigilant watch over the pink hazy crystal. A memokeeper always has their secrets and all their cards are always tucked close to their chests, under a hundred locks where the destructive forces of time cannot reach them. And right now, you too are hiding something in plain sight, masking your own troubles under the grievances of the Nameless travelers.

“Your time ran out, outlanders.” Mydei states suddenly, no room for discussion left in the way he gets up on his feet to stride towards the exist. “I’ll see you out.”

Stelle is about to say something when Alisa interrupts her, “At least we tried, right?”  It's a rhetorical question and she can only hope her friends get the hint and listen to what she has to say for once. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Lady [Name]. We will be off.”

They do. Confused and a tad bit worried, they follow Mydei to the door. You wave them goodbye, but don't get up to see them off. Neither does Phainon. Spirits low, Mem hops off his shoulder to float back to Stelle’s side.

Three knocks. The doors open on their own. One last glance at you that Alisa is quick enough to steal reminds her how easily her heart aches for others. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Whatever you saw in that last memory was enough for you to keep your knowledge to yourself. And it is for the best that you can trust yourself to make such decisions. Alisa isn't sure she can say that about herself and not turn out to be a liar.

Mydei is far less of a competent guide than Phainon is. The journey is far too fast and now it's evident why this place is called the Temple of Silence. None of the questions they had were answered, none if them were even brought up in the first place. At least Shuhua can sleep soundly now with her conscience clear of any doubt that she's secondhand complacent in someone else’s infidelity. It doesn't seem like enough, however.

So even when Mydei comes to an abrupt stop near the gates of the Temple, Alisa has half a mind to ask at least something. She knows he won't indulge her curiosity, the prince is not Phainon and cares not about faux pleasantries of keeping up with appearances. But as it turns out, Mydei was itching to share a word or two with them already.

“Deliverer is too soft on you, so I’m going to say it myself.” It's one way to put it, but who are the humble Trailblazers to argue with a disgraced prince of a fallen nation. “This is the last time you come here for favors of such matter. That fool might deny it and say we and the Dressmaster reached a compromise, but he made his choice a long time ago. And my pact with Aglaea is fragile and I hold little to no attachment to either the Goldweaver or the Holy Maiden.” A slow yet steady pace at which a warning turns into a thinly veiled threat, “He’s delusional and living on borrowed time. I am immortal and I cannot forget. If you bring danger to her doorstep, I will pay you tenfold.”

Nobody responds. What is even there to say to such a declaration? Even more questions than before, Alisa can't help but wonder just how exactly Phainon and Mydei came to an agreement when it came to sharing your love and how you had it in your heart heart to tie both of them down to your soul so selfishly.

Not like Mydei would ever give her a clear explanation. No longer truly human, Mydei owes the Nameless even less than he did when he was just a Chrysos Heir. All have their own memories to preserve and it's none of their business, anyway.

“You keep bringing up Aglaea but what exactly did we do that's illegal?” Stelle is rarely as tactful as she should be, however. Maybe that's why she gets what she wants so easily. Audacity gets you places tact cannot. “Is your… arrangement not up to her moral standards? Or is it about the–”

Mydei chuckles bitterly, a sarcastic undertone coloring his humorless laughter and Stelle shuts her mouth quickly. “If there's someone who has those so-called arrangements you speak of, then it would be the Goldweaver. You should ask her about it if you are that invested into other people’s private lives.”  For the first time in a long time it feels like they finally crossed the line with the meddling in affairs that do not concern them. Mydei doesn't allow them to wallow in self pity, unceremoniously showing the group to the gates. “That being said, you’ve exhausted your question quota here. Leave.”

No goodbyes are exchanged but nobody expects the prince to send them off with a warm pat on the back. Shuhua, once again melancholic, dejectedly scratches on the shiny fabric of the pincushion strapped to one of the belts of her outfit. Mem is babbling away about something that leaves Stelle in less than elated mood. Dan Heng will surely scold them for snooping when they return to their room, but for now Alisa must embrace the shame.

“And learn to hide better next time, outlanders.”

To live is to suffer. To dream is to survive.

The tears you wept into the silver bowl cover the pink gemstone like ocean water drowns the corpses of the fallen. Even in death, you yearn to preserve a memory that remains nothing but a distant dream in the eyes of those who remember.

Maybe killing an Aeon is easier than salvaging broken pieces of rapidly melting ice.

Only one way to find out.

[smuttysabina]

IVE vs Dreamcatcher

(IVE x Dreamcatcher- 2.4k Words) Tags: Freaky Lesbian Sex, Homoeroticism, Lots of fluff, Just a fun little piece to establish IVE's personalities, Oh yeah, Fingering, Strapons, Cunnilingus (what a fun word), Lesbian domination, Magical girls vs witches, lets be honest here we all know who's winning, verbal humiliation, moral degeneration, also there's a cool robot-lizard thing.

"In the name of justice, we will punish you!" Yujin's voice rings down from on high, where she poses fashionably with the rest of IVE, as they all glare down at the villains below with righteous fury. Yujin bubbles internally with excitement, this was just like how magical girl stories always went, the pretty, clever, heroines taking on the evil, devious, hot, evildoers! Of course, Leeseo was busy fighting some awesome lizard-robot thing half a city away, but she was certain that IVE could take on Dreamcatcher even outnumbered. With haughty Wonyoung, tenacious Rei, zealous Gaeul, just Liz, and of course, herself, the angelic Yujin, they would have no trouble fighting those nefarious witches; it would be a hard battle for sure, but that just made it all the more magnificent! Putting on her best face, Yujin examines the cretins cowering in the rubble below, just look at them, their faces flush with fear, already trembling in terror in anticipation of their sanction, just look at that girl on the side- Her internal monologue screeches to halt as she focus in on the witch, er, Dami? Before awkwardly calling down to the assembled cultists, "Um, is she doing okay?" Their leader, Jiu, raises her eyebrows before glancing over at Dami, who appears to be hyperventilating and staring a hole through Wonyoung. She smiles kindly and calls back, "Oh, you mean Dami, please do not worry dear," Jiu reassures Yujin, "she just gets overly excited around beautiful women!" Wonyoung perks up slightly at this praise, as usual, and Yujin frowns as she processes this. Well, there often was a weird obsessive villain on the enemy team, who would go all crazy while fighting, so that makes sense! Her confidence restored, Yujin resumes her noble dialogue, "Anyways, we will defeat you, and stop your wicked attacks upon this city!"

As Yujin continues her meandering rant, the dark ladies of Dreamcatcher merely smile, and lick their lips in anticipation, everyone loves magical girls...

Yujin's harangue, (which had gone on for several minutes now) is only stopped when Gaeul soundly cries out in alarm and points downwards, "Look! They have brought their disgusting allies as well!" Yujin squints down at the mess of concrete and spots the ominously familiar slimy shape of a tentacle monster, groveling next to its mistress, that depraved summoner Gahyeon. She draws in a breathe to continue, "I see you have some foul minions with you-" "WAIT," squeaks Gaeul, "what is she doing!" Yujin takes a second look, and realizes that one of the beast's appendages was boldly pulsating between Gahyeon's legs, having disappeared up her skirt; and her stomach certainly had a strange bulge in it... Gaeul is practically frothing at the mouth, "Are you fornicating with that, that THING? That is disgusting! Depraved! You sick freak!" Gahyeon meanwhile simply smirks in response, moaning teasingly up at the prudish girl, which only drives Gaeul's fury only higher. Yujin tones out her fellow IVE member's ravings as her brain attempts to justify what she is seeing. While it certainly was a bit lewd, maybe Gahyeon was symbiotically bound to her monster in some way? Perhaps it connected to her tailbone like a tail or something? Yeah that must be it! It's a bit odd, but hey, they were cool and mature magical girls, of course their foes would take things up a notch! While Rei soothes the the raging Gaeul, Yujin begins bantering once more,

"It doesn't matter what perversities you bring against us, IVE will still be victorious no matter what, on our pride as magical girls!" "I'm going to enjoy making you my magical girl," Siyeon calls up huskily. Yujin feels herself blush slightly, but she steels herself, dealing with an older, sexy, seductive lady's empty flirting was simply part of the job, surely Siyeon was just trying to throw her off before launching a sudden attack! Her eyes sweep over the devious witches, watching for any sign of aggression, but instead she sees... "I'm sorry, but is she masturbating?" Everyone pauses to glance over at Handong, who surreptitiously withdraws her hand from beneath her skirt; cheerfully ignoring the wet sheen coating her fingers. IVE stare down at her with varying degrees of disgust, before Wonyoung steps forward to ask what they had all been thinking, "You do realize we're here to fight right, not have... freaky lesbian sex or something?" Dreamcatcher glance at one another, until Yoohyeon lets out an embarrassed laugh, "Wait, we aren't?" causing all seven of the girls to break out in giggles and snorts of barely restrained mirth. IVE roll their eyes and shift nervously, "We are going to punish you gross perverts," Liz calls down angrily, "you will be begging us for mercy!" Which only made the older girls howl all the louder, and Sua begins to salaciously wiggle her ass while spanking herself, "Oh yes! Harder, dear! Harder!" Liz flushes with what Yujin can only hope is anger, as the rational part of her brain, the one she uses during her day job as an idol, belatedly notices that far from looking humbled, Sua looks downright predatory. Oh she is going to break, she thinks, before her blabbering mind takes control once more and resumes its fantasy of being a heroic magical girl.

Yujin stands straighter, and rallies her girls by reminding them what was at stake, pretending not to notice Rei muttering, "Our chastity?", and preparing them for battle. IVE ready themselves with varying levels of enthusiasm, and in response Dreamcatcher lazily prepare themselves as well. With a triumphal cry, Yujin leaps from the building, leading IVE into the fray, bringing light and righteous wrath against their foes; Dreamcatcher respond with darkness, and peals of mocking laughter.

When Yujin blearily comes to, it takes many moments for her mind to form a cohesive picture of what happened. Belatedly, she notices that she is clad only in scraps of clothing, and comes to the conclusion that she had fallen in valiant combat against overwhelming odds; the vast quantities of energy had obviously torn off her clothes, she had read about it many times. The other part of brain screams and beats at its confinement, but Yujin blithely ignores the truth hidden in that box- Siyeon's fingers curled knuckle-deep in her sopping cunt as she plays her pussy like a piano- No no no, Yujin had been defeated in mutual combat, that is what happened! Shaking her head, she glances around at the ruins around her, and spots no sign of those degenerate villains, evidently IVE had managed to obliterate their foul foes and drive them to flight! Thusly reassured, Yujin sets off to find the rest of her girls, worried about their health.

Yujin first encounters Wonyoung, curled up in the fetal position, her fully nude body covered in marks and bruises from head to toe. Yujin shakes her head, that energy blast sure must have been powerful to strip Wony as well! Crouching down, she tentatively shakes her friend, who lets out a pitiful whine, "I'm a pretty girl," she informs Yujin dreamily, her expression one of utter relaxation. Well that's not good, Yujin thinks to herself, the poor girl had evidently been hit with some sort of stupefying blast had rendered her- feebleminded, Wonyoung moans with ecstasy as Dami and Yoohyeon worship every inch over her body with their lips. Sucking and kissing her quivering flesh until she had broken under their attentions and begged for more, so that when Dami's strap-on entered her she thanked her for it with rapturous tears- No, no. Wonyoung had not been reduced to a squealing slut focused only upon her own sordid pleasures, she had been overcome by foul sorcery. Yes, that's it!

Now with more than a touch of desperation, Yujin tracks down her next member, and finds Rei prostrate with her asshole gaping widely; still gushing a stinking pale liquid into the puddle surrounding her rear. At this her delusional fantasy becomes unsustainable, and her mind reverts to it's more ordinary state, and she finds herself entirely unworried by the sight before her. Rei groans in torment and clutches at her butt, prolapsed and leaking what almost certainly is tentacle monster's semen; which for her, was relatively normal. When she notices her leader squatting next to her, the idol moans piteously, "I think they broke my ass, Yujin." Yujin rolls her eyes, "Oh when is it not broken, Rei?" remembering -the sight of Gahyeon with half her arm up Rei's butt, fisting her furiously until allowing her pet to have its way with the girl while she forced Rei to eat out her cunt and suckle upon her leaking nipples. Rei had wailed and blubbered, but her guts had been violated all the same, even as she climaxed repeatedly like the ass-whore that she was- "Well at least they left your pussy alone," Rei merely grumbles in acknowledgement, before shooing away her leader a hand. "When you're doing better, go check on Wony, I think she's broken," Rei snorts, "Not as much as my asshole!" Yujin has nothing to say to that, so she moves on.

Next up is Liz, perched forlornly on a rock, where Yujin tentatively joins, giving her nude body a cursory examination that offers up few clues. She hesitantly touches her shoulder, "You um, are you good?" Liz gives her a frank look, "Are you?" Yujin snorts in surprise, "Obviously, my guts aren't clogged with cum and I'm not braindead, so I think I'm doing pretty well." Liz looks unconvinced, but nods slowly, "Sure. I'll go check in on the other two then, it sounds like they're a mess," she stands up, before giving Yujin an oddly pitying glance, "You... did good too, okay?" Yujin frowns, "What is that supposed to mean?" Oh but she does know -Siyeon's hands clamped tight around her plump butt as her tongue shoves its way down her throat- Yujin forces it down, "Um, you did a great job punishing her there, really showed some Sadism!" Liz lets out a bleak laugh, "If you count cleaning her ass out with my tongue sure, she did let me try though," she becomes thoughtful, "I did learn a lot, even if she did take over at the end." Which was a bit of a lie when -Sua moans lewdly as Liz plows her from behind with her strap-on, viciously spanking the slut in retribution for the evils she had wrought; but also because it aroused her. At least until Sua grows bored of her lackluster domination (after around ten minutes), and shows her how it's really done, starting with a thorough cleaning of her rear- Yujin simply nods reassuringly, before continuing; at least Liz had done decently well.

Gaeul however, is busy bawling her eyes out, as starkly naked as the rest of them, sitting in a shallow pool of foul-smelling liquids; well to most people at least, to an idol it was beyond normal. Yujin splashes through the puddle of spilt sexual fluids and squats down next to the poor uptight girl before giving her a hug. Gaeul furiously pushes her away however, snarling at her leader, "Don't touch me! I'm... dirty. Those. Those. Those perverts violated me!" Oh they had done more than that -Gaeul wails in distress is she is double penetrated, though that does not stop her from squirting all over Jiu and Handong as they fuck her. Jiu sweetly does her best to comfort the girl, even as Handong depravedly plows her ass with abandon; until the pure and innocent idol had been broken. Gaeul had shamelessly begged for it in the end, demanding that she be defiled, being so needy that Yoohyeon had to come over and fill her mouth as well to shut her up- Yujin makes soothing noises, "You resisted them mightily Gaeul, you did all you could!" Gaeul gives her a baleful look, "Which is more than you ever did." Taken aback, Yujin shakes her head, "What?" "Seriously?" Gaeul points emphatically at Yujin's thighs. Yujin glances down, and discovers that somebody had written their number on her left thigh, while the right bore the message, "Call Me -Siyeon" Her face flushes, ohnononononONONO -Siyeon growls huskily as she makes out with Yujin, groping her perky ass with relish until she is satisfied. Yujin had barely put up any resistance once Siyeon's tongue had been shoved down her throat, her natural libido overcoming her paltry delusions of heroism. She had gorged upon SIyeon's cunt for what felt like hours, swallowing an endless tide of fluids until they ran down her neck. Then she had begged for it. The first to break, Yujin had loudly implored Siyeon, even as the rest of IVE watched appalled, still locked in their own battles, their leader had degenerated into a lewd slut. And oh, how Siyeon had punished her for it, properly, making her denigrate herself even further, making her noisily proclaim what a valiant magical girl she was even as she rode her villainous foe's strap-on. Yujin was a very good magical girl, Siyeon had told her that while she was busy painting her wrists with her sloppy cunt juices, her eyes rolling back as she climaxed continuously-

Yujin moans in mortification as the shamelessness of her fall truly hit her, after all of her outward strength she had given in so easily? What happened to her grand morals and ideals? Gaeul allows some sympathy to shine through, "It's okay Yujin, we all knew you were a slut, you just need to be more honest with yourself," they sit in silence for several minutes before she hesitantly continues, "Though to be honest, I think they did hit you with some sort of... arousal spell? Like you were out of your clothes before we even really started fighting them. Normal fighting I mean, not freaky lesbian sex." Gaeul coughs in embarrassment, but luckily for the both of their fragile egos their phones ping loudly, "Oh, looks like Leeseo finally blew up that alligator cyborg, at least she had fun." Yujin groans, "I want to blow up lizard robots too! Why can't we just do normal magical girl things?" Gaeul sighs and stiffly pats her leader's back, "Maybe we should stick to fighting monsters and not... perverted witches?" Yujin perks up a little at this, "That sounds like a good idea," she winces, "It is going to make seeing them at that awards show next week really awkward though, there is no way were are doing this shit in public." Gaeul gives her a speculative look, "What about in private?"

Yujin smiles, oh she loves her IVE, "Well then we can play at magical girls and witches again, and this time, justice will triumph!"

[cloudluvrrr]

Change

a/n: rushed and bad im sick andi have to post chat 😔

boothill x preachers daughter

tw : religous themes, slight implication of freaky, erm bad and rushed, i didnt proof read either 😈😈

-Michelle pfeifer - ethel cain

Boothill was often out at night, his family owned a small ranch a little south of the small town you lived in. You knew of him of course, everyone did. He often did some petty crimes, smoking, stealing from people, getting in fights. He was troubled, often coming into church on Sundays with his family begrudgingly.

He entered the southern style church, looking over at the rows of towns people whispering amongst themselves. Hiding away what they've done before, as if attending could simply wash away the tracks of their sins.

Sitting there with a sour look on his face, as your father preached about how to repent and cleanse your souls seemingly being aimed at boothill. As well as informing the town that the yearly baptism & church picnic was coming, and for those who wanted to be accepted to speak with his wife.

Every time he entered the church he saw the back of your pretty head. All done up with a bow, in your Sunday best. He watched as you highlighted and taking notes in your white bible. Your flushed cheeks, the point of your nose, your soft tinted lips, the frills of your dress. You were the towns girl, always dressed in pretty dresses and on her best behavior. Like a doe, innocent, beautiful, graceful. Boothill was like a snake, with the temptation and promise of leading others astray. Poisoning them, leading them astray from the grace of god.

As his thoughts came to a close he saw everyone getting up, and the pastor finishing up his sermon. He was hunched over, hands in his pocket as a soft hand tugged on his forearm.

"boothill" your soft voice echoed in his head, 'she knows my name?'

"uh.. yeah?" he asked nervously meeting your eyes.

"your not going to get baptised?"

"Why would I? everyone in here is fake as hell, I like to enjoy my you-"

"you're going to hell" you interupt, your brown eyes looking up at him.

"You can't be saved unless you change, ya know." you say stepping back and hugging your bible. "Your loved, you got everythin' and you live like that"

"the hell you mean by that" he snapped, but before you answered your father pulled you away to tend to other followers.

"I told you not to speak to him" your father whispered as he lead to the others "I was helping" you whisper back.

"He's beyond help baby"

--

He was out in his fathers wheat field, stargazing. A dimly light cigarette rest on his lips. His mind thinking of what you said, how he had everything yet he still rebelled. He tried his hardest to think of why, he shrugged it off as just wanting to be free from this shit small town.

His thoughts once more interrupted by a small hum, seeing you walking along the fence. Your hands behind your back, as you walked along the fence. God you were beautiful "hey!" he shouted getting up and standing on the other side.

The sweet sound of you hums stop as you look at him.

"made up your mind?" you ask looking into his eyes.

A fence between the two of you, a divide he placed a hand on the fence "fuck no, what you doin' out?" he ask looking around looking for any sign of your family.

"I like to go on walks"

"alone?"

"this town gossips like wild fire, if i do something it'll get to my daddy before I even return home. I ain't stupid like you" you say with an edge

"I enjoy my life" he scoffed putting out his cigarette.

"change is good"

"no it ain't"

"some times it is" you insist.

"why are you so insistan-"

"I want you to change"

"why? I'm a lost cause darlin' your daddy said so too" He added sitting on the fence

"...I don't think so, I wanna talk to yo-"

"the hell? why?"

"...I like you, your everything I'd like to be" your brows scrunching as you hear your own words

Your words hit him like lighting, you wanted to be like him. "why? You got everythin' your families perfect, y'all rich, you love eachother-" He could give you a million reasons why your family was so looked up upon.

"no, daddys.. Gone a lot, mama drinks, my kid siblings just do whatever daddy wants them too.." you said looking away.

'but I could tell that you wanted out of the family.'

--

So began boothills journey to salvation.

He gets baptized, and for the first time he doesn't get tugged away from you.

The both of you are on a swing set, talking about the most mundane things. Your favorite food, his favorite color, your hobbies anything he could to distract you from the town.

it was often cute dates like this, at the dinner, the lake, anywhere.

yet

he was a bad influence, even if he was 'fixed'. He wanted to show you the world outside of the church.

So on one of the days where your father was out and your mother was drowning in her wine cabinet.

the both of you, sat in boothills twin bed drinking some beer he'd stolen from the local store.

Things got hazey from there, you didn't remember much.

Other than boothill slipping off your purity ring, and slipping off your sunday best.

-

He'd become your world

Your everything

the very sin you'd had been protected from.

Your family had learned to accept him, and your friends envied you.

Yet he left,

just like that.

Packed his bags took his dads truck, and left.

You accepted it, moving on but always thinking of him sending him letters you were never sure reached him.

Eventually you dropped off the last letter along with the ring he'd made you, in his jewelry class

-

Dear, Boothill

where did you go?

This is my last letter, I don't know if you get any of them. But I'm finally leaving you behind, like you did with me.

You're like a demon that follows behind me, a reminder of our time and our fun. I can't deny I didn't like it, made me happy.

It makes me happy,

Especially when you changed just for me.

And just for you to leave.

Did you even exist?

or

was it me?

--

sorry if it started off good then slowly got worst i forgot where i wanted to take it, so YAAY i finished it tho :)

i havent been playing hsr but i will be pulling for sunday :D

actually ive been into the silent hill 2 remake and detroit become human :P

BYEYEEYEYU for now

[dietcokedaydream]

May I Have This Dance?

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Reader (no use of Y/N) is in denial about the possibility that she's pregnant, and Sirius, ever the incredible (yet teasing) partner, is there to help her through it.

Warnings: discussion of periods/pregnancy, mention of pee, mention of the war. It's mentioned once that the reader is a Gryffindor. Let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: Yes, I did borrow the ending from Friends. No, I'm not sorry. I had fun writing this one. I might make this part of a series, I don't know. Enjoy!

Kneeling on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, you can’t help but let out a groan as the front door of your flat swings open, the rattle of keys hitting the table telling you your boyfriend has just returned from the store. 

“Love? Where are you? I got us some of those freaky pointy tropical fruits to try- they cost an arm and a leg, but I figured-” Sirius stops short when he sees you in the bathroom, flushing the toilet and pushing to your feet. 

“Were you sick again?” he asks, concern evident in his expression, the overflowing paper bags forgotten on the counter as he scans your face for any sign of distress.

The answer, of course, was yes. You have been throwing up randomly for a little over a week now. Sirius has insisted you see a healer, and you have insisted it’s just stress, leading to a number of arguments between the two of you. 

“It’s nothing, I promise,” you say, rinsing your mouth at the sink and joining him in the kitchen, placing a kiss on his cheek before starting to unpack the bags. 

“It’s not nothing, that’s, what, the fourth time this week? And it’s only Wednesday,” Sirius says, gently pushing your hands away from the groceries, grabbing your shoulders, and looking into your eyes. 

You let out a sigh, rubbing your face. You had an idea what might be causing it; your period was late. Originally, you wrote it off as a side effect of the emotional and physical pressure you were under fighting for the order. But now, with the nausea, and still no period, well. It wasn’t looking good. 

Of course, you haven’t brought this up to Sirius yet. What great timing would that be? ‘Hey, I know we and all of our loved ones are kind of busy fighting a war against a genocidal maniac, but do you think you could help me put together this glider?’ 

You are torn away from your thoughts when Sirius says something, pulling your hands down from your face. 

“What?” you ask, looking at him again, earning a chuckle and that award-winning crooked grin you fell in love with back in school. 

“Do you think you should take a test?” Sirius asks again. 

“A test?” you ask “Like-”

“Like a pregnancy test. You know, it’s a stick, you pee on it…” 

You let out a laugh, though it sounds more forced than you intend, turning back to unpack the groceries, placing the odd fruit Sirius had bought in the bowl on the kitchen table. 

“I’m not pregnant,” you say, more like you are telling yourself than Sirius “that would be-” You shake your head, unable to finish your thought “I’m not pregnant.” 

Sirius leans against the counter, watching you continue to unpack the groceries with an amused smirk on his face. “And what makes you so sure?”  

“Because, I’m not,” I say, matter of factly, continuing to unpack the bags.

“Well then, what could a test hurt, eh? Just to confirm what you already know if nothing else.” Sirius says, still looking infuriatingly handsome while he watches you anxiously move about the kitchen. 

“I don’t want to go to the drugstore just to-” 

“Ah ah,” Sirius cuts you off, tapping the nearly-empty bag “I’m one step ahead of you” he reaches in and retrieves a blue box, holding it out in front of him. 

You stand there for a moment, looking between him and the box a few times before saying a petulant “nu uh” and folding the empty paper bags, carrying them to the basket by the fireplace.

Sirius, never one to be deterred, follows you to the living room with a small chuckle “Love, c’mon, you’re sick, you’re late-” 

“How do you know I’m late?” You say, turning around with a furrow in your brow and a sharpness in your tone that Sirius knows is only due to nerves. 

“Oh, come on, I’ve been friends with Moony for nine years, I’ve learned to track all kinds of cycles” he tries to joke, but when you don’t laugh, he steps forward, discarding the box on the coffee table, and cups your face in both hands. 

“Darling, we have to know if you are.” He says softly. 

“I don’t want to know” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. 

Sirius chuckles “Well, that’s a hell of a thing to want to be in the dark about” 

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment, before saying “If I am, everything will change, and I like our life. I like us, and this apartment, and- merlin, and we have enough to worry about already right now, we don’t need-” 

Sirius shakes his head, cutting off your rambling. “We’re never going to change,” he says softly “You’re stuck with me, regardless. And I rather like this apartment too, you know. I doubt an infant will take up so much space we have to upgrade from a two-bedroom flat to a villa in the country.” Sirius says, his tone somehow both comforting and teasing as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Don’t you want kids?” he asks. 

“You know I do, I just always figured it would be after the war, when we were older and ready, and it was the right time.” 

“We don’t tend to go the traditional route though, now do we?” Sirius asked with a grin, though his expression had a soft quality to it now. “I would be so bloody excited to have a kid with you, regardless of the timing. And maybe this is a false alarm, and we will get to wait until the perfect time, but please, love, just take the test,” he says, all while rubbing gentle circles on your cheek with his thumb. 

Staring into his grey eyes, you find yourself nodding. “Alright. Fine,” you turn and grab the box from the table, heading straight for the bathroom, surprised when you turn to close the door to see Sirius walking in behind you, sitting on the edge of the tub, looking up at you with kind and expectant eyes. 

With a chuckle, you lean against the sink. “Are you seriously going to watch me pee?” 

Without a trace of humor, Sirius nods, his expression still soft and affectionate. You laugh lightly again, rolling your eyes as you open the box and read the instructions, trying hard not to focus on the way your hands are shaking. 

Just like he said, Sirius sits on the tub the whole time, and once you have washed your hands and set the test face-down on the edge of the sink, you sit next to him, bouncing your leg anxiously and chewing on your thumbnail. 

“How long do we wait?” Sirius asks. 

“Three minutes” you answer, still staring blankly at the little stick sitting on the white countertop. 

“Perfect,” Sirius says, standing and grabbing your arm to drag you up with him, out to the living room. 

“What on earth are you doing?” you ask through a surprised chuckle as Sirius leaves your side to drop the needle on the record player, not even bothering to check what it was the two of you had left on the turntable last night before bed. 

“Three minutes, the perfect amount of time for a dance,” he says, grabbing your hand and taking a dramatic bow as the static from the vinyl fades into the first notes of “Can’t Help Falling In Love,” making you laugh despite yourself as Sirius cringes. 

“You and your bloody Elvis” Sirius mumbles, no true ire in his voice, before he kisses your knuckles, looking up into your eyes. “May I have this dance?” 

You nod, still laughing softly as Sirius stands back to his full height, pulling you against his chest as he sways the two of you back and forth slowly to the music. After a few seconds, you fully relax into him, nearly forgetting about the test developing one room over. Sirius hums along to the music, the vibrations rumbling against your cheek as you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in him. 

When the song fades out, there is a moment of silence, the two of you just swaying gently in the living room before the next track- Rock-A-Hula Baby- starts, causing the both of you to erupt into a fit of laughter, your face buried into Sirius’s black t-shirt while the two of you crack up. 

When the laughter dies down, Sirius gently grips your chin and tilts your head up. “It’s been three minutes,” he says softly. 

“I know,” you say just as quietly. 

When you don’t move, Sirius chuckles, kissing your forehead before letting go and walking to the bathroom, you following behind him, the two of you stopping and looking down at the little, pathetic plastic stick sitting on the sink, waiting to be flipped over, capable of changing your lives entirely in a millisecond. 

You look up at Sirius for a moment. “I love you, more than anything, no matter what,” you say, anxiety evident in your tone. 

Sirius chuckles, smiling at you and kissing your forehead again, and when he speaks, there is a quiver in it that is distinctly uncharacteristic. “I love you too. So so much, always.” 

“Alright,” you nod, looking down at the test and taking a deep breath, poising to flip it before shaking your head, “Nope, you’ve gotta do it,” you say, taking a step back. 

Sirius chuckles, shaking his head “So much for Gryffindor bravery” he teases as he flips the test, eyes flicking from the test to your eyes and back to the test a few times before you finally exclaim “Well?!” 

“It’s uh- it’s negative,” Sirius says with a shrug, infuriatingly nonchalant. 

“What? Neg- are you serious?”

“Always” he replies with a grin, wincing away exaggeratedly as you make to slap his upper arm “Yes, yes, it’s negative,” he says, rubbing his shoulder where you had landed a smack. 

“Well, that’s… that’s good then, isn’t it?” you say, sitting on the edge of the tub, looking at the pattern of the tile on the floor. “I mean, a war isn’t a time to be having a baby anyway, and we’re still so young…” you say, knowing the words are true. But if it wasn’t the right time, why were you so sad to hear the test was negative? One of your hands involuntarily finds its way to your stomach before you look up at Sirius again, asking “Negative? Really?” 

“No, it’s positive,” he says, a grin playing at his lips- the one he wears after a particularly good prank. 

“What? Are you sure?” you shoot to your feet, reaching for the test which he holds out readily “Well, yeah, I lied before,” he says with a chuckle, earning another smack on the arm as you look at the test in your hands, displaying a very prominent plus sign.

One of your hands flies up to cover your mouth, happy tears pricking your eyes as you look up at him “We’re going to have a baby?” 

Sirius nods, his mischievous grin fully replaced by a smile of pure elation “We’re going to have a baby,” he confirms, catching you with a huff as you throw your arms around him and pull him into a bone-crushing hug. 

Maybe this will be alright after all.