#or even better they do but they run with it to get more info

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ☃️ try again / zayne x reader

synopsis; right person, wrong time, but even after a year, the heartache remains. you looked for him in everyone you met, and so did zayne — but when the universe lets you cross paths again, will it be kind enough to let you try again?

🍎 pomme's notes — i made a playlist for this fic! this is loosely based on jaehyun and d.ear's try again, but all of these songs were played while i was writing and i think they make the reading experience better!! also if there are typos forgive me i finished writing this at 5am oops

✴︎ 5.5k words ⋆ hurt/comfort ⋆ set in a world with no evol (also caleb cameo and zaynecaleb are best friends because i said so) ⋆ fem reader ⋆ 2nd person

it was a snowy december night when you decided to mutually break up.

the night was quiet and so peaceful, but your heart was in turmoil upon seeing his defeated face, and so was his when tears started to fall from your eyes.

it wasn’t always like this though.

you met him in college, he was two years your senior and you’d been taking the same ethics class — one he'd pushed off until his last semester before his residency. always kind and soft-spoken, you eventually got to work on a group project together and when the other people in your team decided to play hooky, zayne was the one to let the professor know and invite you to work together.

he eventually started reaching out to you under the pretense of studying together at a new cafe, only for the both of you to talk endlessly, with no real studying being done. your bashful expression when he'd compliment your new earrings didn't go unnoticed, and you also didn't miss the shy glances followed by a cough when you glanced back.

this went on for two whole months, until you encountered one of zayne's friends, caleb, at a party you both attended. drunk out of his mind, with zayne following in tow (sporting a worried expression that you found quite cute), he spotted you and made a beeline for you. the brunette pointed at you, and spoke with a slurred speech.

"you. you're the girl he's been talking about non-stop right? the cute one from his ethics class? dude, zayne's in looooove with you."

at a loss for words, you glanced at zayne — who was running a hand over his face, clearly flustered out of his mind and trying his best to get caleb to shut up.

the butterflies in your stomach were batting their wings furiously, and your own face started feeling hot. before you could even speak though, caleb spoke again, a little more agitated now.

"poor guy cannot take you off his mind, so for my mental wellbeing, please date him. i can't keep living like this, my ears are gonna fall off if i hear one more thing about you — no offense. if there's an equivalent to the bechdel test for men, we're failing and we're failing haaaaard. all because of him. i'm gonna grab another beer but you've gotta date him. please."

as caleb walked away, you stared at zayne. it was a clumsy indirect admission of feelings, but gosh was it a sweet one. his face burned red, unable to stop his friend from revealing all of that info to you — but it's not like it was a lie. whenever the two of them would hang out, he'd ask caleb for advice on what to wear for your next outing or check whether or not a text you sent him had a hidden message. hell, zayne would text him asking for good date spots to take you to.

running a hand through his hair, zayne watched his friend walk away and cleared his throat before grabbing a hold of your hand, his serious expression not doing much to distract you from the red of his cheeks.

"this wasn't how i planned on letting you know how i feel and asking you out but.. he wasn't really lying."

his cold hand gripped yours a bit more tightly, before he exhaled in a feeble attempt at steadying his nerves.

"i really do like you though, and i'd love to take you out. not as the guy from your ethics class that you're stuck doing a project with, but as your boyfriend."

that's how it started. loving zayne was comfortable. it came as easily as breathing. the late nights he'd spend in your dorm room, reading one of his cardiology textbooks while you slept soundly on his chest were your favorites. no words needed to be exchanged, his heartbeat told you everything you had to know about his love for you.

when you received a job offer from your dream company, zayne was there with a bouquet of your favorite flowers to congratulate you. kissing your face softly and whispering sweetly about how proud he was, and how he knew you'd get in. you melted in his embrace, remembering the times you'd cried in his arms, afraid of being rejected while he held you and gave you soft reassurances.

in return, you were there for him — preparing boxes of snacks for him to keep in his car while he did his residency. his own apartment was left neglected, as he preferred spending nights at your place, sleeping only for a few hours before he went back to the hospital.

it was comfortable when you were still in university, but life caught up with you rapidly. your job was rewarding, but the long hours and the overtime you had to work because of how new you were, drained you.

zayne also had a hard time. his mentor was spread thin, and he had to take on more responsibilities as a resident physician than he'd had to during his internship. coming back home to you was difficult, the shifts seemed never-ending — basically working 24 to 36 hours regularly.

the date nights became more and more sparse. you spoke to each other less and less, not wanting to drain the other further. zayne would spend more time at his place, given that it was closer to the hospital, and you'd be exhausted from the overtime to visit him. he called you during his breaks, but more often than not, he got interrupted by responsibilities or different emergency codes, only being able to talk to you for two minutes at most if he was lucky.

you were having a hard time too. trying your best to text him, but your boss seemed hellbent on making sure you were always hard at work, never allowing you the time to send zayne a quick text. the mandatory overtime was irritating to say the least — always menial tasks that took an infuriating amount of time and that kept you in the office for hours, forcing you to come home late at night. staying up was an almost impossible ask, no matter how much you loved zayne. your eyes practically closed upon entering your home, and you'd forget to wipe your makeup way too many times. the rare times you'd stay awake, he'd have to stay later, because of a young patient having a heart attack or a new admission at the hospital.

it was exhausting, and neither of you were to blame. the universe had made it difficult and you couldn't hold any resentment because you knew how much this job meant to zayne. on the other hand, he also didn't want to ask you to accommodate him — feeling that it'd be unfair to ask you to stay up, knowing just how tired you were.

eventually, it had been enough.

you tried your best to push that feeling down, convincing yourself that you two will be alright, that this is just a hardship that will pass, but it was eating away at you. you missed zayne so much, and this whole thing just wasn't doable. it wasn't sustainable for either of you. when your friend tara said, "right person, wrong time! it's unfortunate, but you can't help it," you never thought it'd apply to you. never in a million years would you have thought that this relationship would be a fleeting thing, that it'd be rendered difficult and heartache inducing. zayne was perfect for you, as you were for him — but whichever divine entity looked down upon you didn't seem to agree. the days seemed to drag on, and you missed your boyfriend so deeply, but life seemed set on making you and zayne exhausted, not even having the time to see one another.

you were the only thing on zayne's mind while he worked. the surgeries never ended, and he just wanted to take a nap in your arms, but his attending seemed keen on making him work until he keeled over. he was so worn out, every single one of his limbs sore, but he still thought about you and how lonely you must feel. this job is his dream, saving people is something he's always yearned to do, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he feels like the worst boyfriend to have ever existed. you never complained, never asked him to abandon his job to spend time with you, and whenever he'd have to cut your calls short, you'd tell him it's okay, your voice laced with an unspoken sadness.

he sometimes wished you'd get angry at him. demand he spend some time with you but you were always understandind and patient. you were too good to him, and zayne felt so selfish. you didn't deserve to wait for him, especially not when you already had so much on your plate with your new job and boss. his conscience weighed on him, and he couldn't let you keep going and be unhappy.

and so, he told his supervisor that there was a personal emergency, and he headed over to your place after sending you a message; one you dreaded but expected in the back of your mind.

"love, we need to talk. i'll come over to your place in 20 mins."

his heart ached upon sending it, and he only wished that your heart hurt less than his — unfortunately it was far from being the case. you had just gotten home when you received the text, and you could already feel tears welling up in your eyes. you knew what was going to follow, but you were exhausted, and you knew he was too. you wanted to fight for this relationship. you loved zayne so much, so desperately, it made your heart hurt, and god, you knew he loved you too. you wanted to fight, but you felt selfish doing so. in your heartbreak, you still cared about him so much. his eyebags were getting more and more pronounced, and there was nothing you could do to take away from his tiredness. at this point, you just wanted him to rest, and if you could take away one thing off his mind at the cost of your own unhappiness, you'd do it.

zayne drove to your place, his hands tight on the steering wheel. he didn't want to do this, but he loves you so much. he loves you so bad, he cannot let you wither away, waiting for him. you deserved the world and he couldn't even give you a full hour without being interrupted by a call from the hospital, or without him desperately needing sleep. he started going through his memory, trying to remember the last time he took you out on a date. the last time he gave you his full attention, the last time he saw you laugh, the last time he made you blush. all these instances seemed so far away, and he couldn't forgive himself for leaving you alone for so long. you deserved too much, and if you could be your bright, joyful self without him by your side, then so be it.

it was snowing outside, so softly. it felt as if the universe was mocking you, as if it interpreted your relationship as an insult towards itself, and was hellbent on getting rid of it. your heart was breaking in anticipation, but the world would keep on moving.

you choke back tears.

no matter how much you wanted the earth to stop spinning, just for a moment with him again, it never would. you were doomed to stride forward, whether you wanted to or not.

the twenty minutes went by at a grueling slow pace, yet it didn't feel like enough time for either of you to prepare for the inevitable. when you hear that familiar rhythmic knock on your door, it suddenly feels like the beginning of the end. there were so many thoughts going through your mind — what if you didn't answer the door? would he still stay by your side? no, that was too cruel. your stomach hurts at the thought of paining him further, and so you stood from the couch where you were sitting and walked towards the door. your whole body felt weighed down when you opened it, only to see zayne — a painful expression painted on his face. he seemed thinner than before, more tired. you wanted to reach up and cradle his face, one last time, but you held back. you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

all he wanted was to hold you in his arms, as tight as he could, and tell you, "we'll be alright, we'll be okay."

you looked so worried about him, it shattered zayne's heart. he couldn't believe you still cared, even after being so worn out from the long work hours. even in your most tired moments, when you looked so fragile, when your eyes held back tears, you still cared about him so much. he didn't want to hurt you, never wanted to — but he'd ended up doing it, and he couldn't keep dragging this on further. he didn't want to tell you how much he loved you, how much it broke him to do this.

when you invite him in, hesitant to hold his hand in fear of your resolve wavering, he refuses. if he took a step inside your home, he wouldn't want to let you go. you look up to stare into his eyes, only for him to shake his head and inhale shakily.

"i'm so sorry. i.. i think we should break up."

you heard his voice. you know what he said. you knew from before, knew it was coming, knew it was inevitable.

you knew, but it still hurt.

it hurt so terribly, and you couldn't even do anything to make it hurt less. you couldn't hate him, couldn't get angry, couldn't scream, couldn't do anything.

trying your best not to let your voice crack, you respond while choking back a sob.

"okay. i'm sorry, zayne."

when the tears started falling from your eyes, zayne wanted to reach out and wipe them away. he loathed to see you cry, but the only thing he loathed more than that at that moment was himself. his throat was closing up, and he wanted to fall to his knees.

he wanted to beg you to get angry.

beg you to love him less.

beg you to hate him.

beg you to do anything that could make it less painful for him to end things with you.

he couldn't do it, though. he could never do it, and he felt like a coward for that. so what did he do? he nodded and spoke one last time before leaving your doorstep.

"i'm so sorry. please, take care of yourself. i can't apologize enough."

as zayne walks back to his car, he has to fight with himself to not look back at you, despite the difficult breathing and the sniffles he hears from you. because if he does, he'll just run back to you. but he wants you to be free from him. free from the burden of his love — so he keeps on walking, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying.

you look at his back when he walks away.

you only allow yourself to sob once his car pulls out of your apartment's parking lot. the tears are falling freely, each one more painful than the next, and you can't help yourself from wailing, from silently begging him to come back, to tell you that everything is going to be fine, that you shouldn't break up.

sobbing on your doorstep, harder than you've ever cried before, harder than you thought you could ever cry.

one of your neighbor walks out to see you on your knees, and she asks you "what's wrong sweetie? are you hurt?", and you can only cry out that you love him, you love him so much it hurts, that you just want him. she holds you in her arms, tells you it's okay, that you'll be okay, but it's no use.

your heart hurts so bad.

it's not her you want comforting you.

it's zayne.

you want him to hold you tight, to tell you that everything will be okay.

it shouldn't have ended like this. you didn't want it to end like this, and neither did he, but there was nothing either of you could do.

right person, wrong time.

the day after was terrible. you had no choice but to show up to work, despite your voice being hoarse and your eyes being painfully puffy from all the tears you shed the night before.

everything felt off. you didn't text him during your break, and at no point did he call you. 

it made you want to cry again, but you couldn't. you had to be strong because the world kept on spinning, and zayne wouldn't have wanted you to sob for him endlessly — though you were certain that once you got home, you'd start sobbing and pleading for him in your room. 

the day went by quickly. too fast, really. there was just numbness when you were at your desk, something like autopilot mode kicking in. 

when the clock hit 5, and your boss let you go home with no overtime, you felt the tears resurface. the one day you had wished for a distraction, away from your feelings, your boss decided to be considerate. no words were said, though. you packed your bag and walked out. 

the chinese restaurant you went to with zayne was on your way home. the place where he found out he'd gotten matched into a cardiology residency at akso hospital, where he'd stood and hugged you so tightly, in front of onlookers — so unlike his usual self, who shyed away from PDA. he was so happy to share the good news with you, his favorite person. 

the memories resurfaced, and it felt like you could see him in everything you've ever loved. zayne had left a permanent mark on you, and you wanted to hate him for ruining so many things for you, but you couldn't bring yourself to.

you held your tears back during the entire walk home.

maybe you should call tara. do anything to distract you from this. from feeling like a ghost, a shell of yourself without him by your side. you needed to change, to prepare food, to sleep, to work, and to repeat all of this again tomorrow. so with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, you opened your closet to grab some comfortable clothes — that was when you saw it.

one of zayne's sweaters, one that he'd given you to wear when you were cold during a date. it still smelled like his cologne, like his jasmine fragrance.

it was unfair. you inhaled sharply and looked up, trying your best to stop the sobs, but it was of no use. 

it still smelled like him.

you grabbed your phone before the tears completely blurred your vision and called tara, all while clutching his sweater to your chest.

“hey babe! you got off work?”

and the sobs resumed. you cried your heart out, desperately asking her, if it was for the best, then why does it hurt so bad? why does it feel like a part of yourself got removed when he walked away? everything seemed like a blur, but you remember the door unlocking and her worried face. hands cradling your face, telling you to let it all out, to cry until you couldn't anymore. that it was okay to hurt. you didn't need to put on a front. you didn't need to look so strong — you could fall apart because you'd build yourself back up.

so you did just that. you cried in her arms. you cried for him, cried at the world, cried at the unfairness of it all. she rocked you back and forth, comfort reminiscent of zayne's arms.

you cried harder than the night before. and you kept on crying every single day for a week.

the months passed by slowly after that. you still didn't text him during your breaks, and he still didn't call you. you still loved him, you still longed for him, but you hoped he was relieved of some burden. maybe he'd finally sleep a little better at night, maybe his eyebags went away, even if you weren't there to see it. you'd be okay eventually, but now wasn't quite the time yet.

following tara's recommendation, you downloaded dating apps. not to properly date anyone, just to take your mind off him, but it proved to be harder than she said. the men you matched with all resembled him slightly. one of them had similar eyes, the other had the same fashion sense, and another had a similar smile. when you talked to them, you tried to find traces of him within their speaking habits. none of them had his dry humor, nor did they have his tender voice or his laugh.

none of them called you to check in between shifts.

none of them were zayne.

dating was off the table when you realized that; maybe you need some more time to yourself? perhaps you need to learn to visit the places you went to with him, get used to going to the cafes you two favored on your own.

your boss wasn't breathing down your neck anymore, so you could spend your next evening visiting that pastry shop zayne adored — the one he'd order macarons from and personally deliver to your home to share with you.

however, each time you told yourself you'd do it, you felt afraid.

afraid of running into him. afraid of seeing him too happy without you by his side. what if he'd already found another woman? someone from the hospital, maybe a nurse or a fellow resident. you wouldn't be able to handle it, so you pushed it off.

"i'll do it tomorrow," you'd tell yourself.

soon, it'll be a whole year without zayne. his birthday was the most difficult day since the night you lost him. funnily enough, you thought you'd be able not to cry, but you missed him even more than before. you had the day off — a PTO you scheduled ahead of the breakup, but now you were just surrounded by the silence. the autumn breeze blew through your window and reminded you of him.

“you'll catch a cold, my love.”

“mmh, the breeze feels so nice, though. but maybe if my favorite snowman hugged me and kept me warm, i'd be okay.”

“sure, darling. i'll keep you warm in my icy embrace and shield you from the cold, won't i?”

you hugged the snowman plushie he'd won you a little tighter upon reminiscing. you cried softly against it, your heart aching again — but you found solace in knowing that he was out here working hard towards his goal. you'd support him from afar, no matter what.

today marked 12 months since the breakup. an entire year.

and today, you were going to visit the pastry shop. you had to get over him, and as painful as it sounded, it had been almost a year, and you had to keep moving. zayne would become a beloved memory, treasured within both your heart and your mind. 

dressed for the weather, you walked towards the quiet cafe but hesitated before opening the door to the establishment. the walk on the way here was familiar, and the pastry shop remained the same way you'd left it when you last visited it with zayne. the same regulars, the same jingle of the bell when you pushed the door open, the same chairs and the same staff. you searched for the seats you'd usually sit at with zayne, and you thought your eyes failed you when you see those familiar hazel eyes looking over the cafe, as if they were waiting for something to happen.

or someone to come in.

he was sitting alone, the same jasmine tea latte on the table in front of him — the one he'd meticulously pour three sugar packets in before stirring counterclockwise for 20 seconds to dissolve the sugar. he looked the same as he did that december night, if only more tired. his eyebags did not go away, it seemed.

gathering all the courage you could muster, you walk towards him. you'd get your closure today no matter what.

but when he looked your way, your steps faltered. his gaze softened, his shoulders slumped a bit, as if he'd let go of some tension he didn't know he held. zayne smiled, and you had to hold back from jumping into his arms, telling him how much you'd missed him. he spoke softly, as if afraid to disturb you — as if you'd blow away in the wind, like a dandelion's bristles.

"hi," he'd whisper, his voice as soothing as the day you last heard it.

your breath catches in your throat, and you have to inhale a bit before replying.

“hi, zayne. can i sit here?”

and he nodded, his lips slightly curling upwards. you hoped it was you he was waiting for. maybe he'd wanted to see as much as you did, and maybe he too longed to hold you in his arms. 

you waited for him to speak again, and as if reading your mind, he did. fidgeting a bit in his chair, zayne looked over at you so fondly. 

“how have you been?”

his voice. you missed his voice so much. you missed him asking about you about your day with that tone, that patient and tender, love filled tone. 

"oh i've been.. decent." 

that seemed like a good answer. you weren't good, nor were you fine. you had the man you loved, the man you love, sitting in front of you after close to a year of yearning for him, following the worst heartbreak you had ever experienced. 

“work's been tiring, but my boss stopped breathing down my neck. i get home on time now, with no mandatory overtime. it's okay now. how about you?”

zayne wasn't fine. the hospital took in some new cardiology residents, so the workload calmed down, but he still felt restless without you by his side. he gazed over all of your features, and you looked so beautiful. he missed you to death.

“i'm handling everything okay. we have new attending physicians, so the amount of long shifts has significantly decreased.”

he spoke truthfully, you knew it, but you couldn't make sense of his eyebags if that was the truth. he looked like he's had sleepless nights for months, his eyes tired and not as bright as they used to be. he still looked so charming, though, and you thought to yourself, that it wasn't your place to inquire any further.

the two of you caught up for two hours, akin to old friends having a heartfelt reunion — except you were ex-lovers. ex-lovers who valued the other's happiness over your own, leaving you both miserable but under the impression that the other was doing better without you.

he asked if you dated in the past year, and you shook your head, explaining that you had a hard time and chose to take some time to yourself. zayne didn't need to know you were unable to date because you wanted him. he didn't need to know that you refused to give a chance to anyone who wasn't him, that you looked for him in everyone you met.

secretly, zayne felt relief upon learning that. he wanted you to be happy, of course he did, but selfishly, he wanted to be the one to bring you happiness. in all honesty, he couldn't bring himself to date anyone either. the women around him weren't you. they didn't smile at him the way you did, never cared to learn more about him beyond his face and job, and none of them texted him sweet little love messages to check up on him. you were the only one for him.

you only started heading out when the cafe announced it'd be closing its doors, and even then, neither of you seemed to be in a rush. a strange sense of longing lingered around you both, a warm feeling — something that quietly begged for one more moment spent together.

zayne offered to drive you home, and you took him up on that. the car hummed quietly as you sat in comfortable silence. the last rays of sunlight quickly disappeared, leaving behind them a deep blue night. snowflakes slowly started drifting down from the sky, and you were reminded of that night when you decided to part ways. sooner than you'd hoped, zayne pulled into your apartment's parking lot.

he still knew the way to your place.

if you asked him about it, he'd answer simply. he never forgot, never could bring himself to remove the path to your home from his memory. he'd spent countless nights there, holding you in his arms while he rested before the hospital inevitably called him for a new 36h shift. zayne could never forget the way home. not your apartment, he could never forget the way to you — his real home.

getting out of his car, he walked you to your apartment. soon, you'd have to say goodbye to him, and you grew restless at the thought. it felt like if you said goodbye today, it'd be the last time you'd see him. you didn't want to bother him any longer, nor keep him tied down.

it seemed inevitable, though. it felt like it was last year again when you had to fight tears from falling upon agreeing on breaking up. helpless, unable to speak, and to ask him to stay. unable to be selfish, for once. but what could you do? you just nodded and wished him a goodnight and goodbye. it'd be over soon enough. you'd see his back as he walked away from you for the last time.

you're the first to turn away, focusing your gaze on your doorknob, trying to type in the digits to his birthday to unlock your apartment. the tears rose up, and your eyes were misty again, fog taking over your field of vision. 

it was the end.

zayne took a step back and looked at you. a feeling of doom, helplessness, and fear took over him. he'd let you go a second time, and it'd be the last this time around. no more chances — he'd never get to see your face agaim after this, but if you were happy it was worth it, wasn't it?

he watched you type in your password and heard the familiar jingle when your door unlocked.

it really was the end.

god, he really couldn't do this. he needed to be selfish for once, and he prayed you'd forgive him for it.

before you can take a step inside, you hear him call out your name, and before you can fully process it, you just feel his arms around you. he held you so tightly.

zayne was holding you in his arms. the way he desperately wanted to when he heard you cry a year ago. the way you wished he'd held you a year ago. 

“i'm sorry. i'm selfish. i can't even let you go, so please, please.”

you couldn't stop the sobs that took over your body when you heard him plead for you. you clutched onto his sweater as tight as you could, the smell of jasmine so soothing while you sobbed in his arms. his arms tighten around you when he feels you tremble against him, desperate in the way he shook slightly too.

he spoke again, his voice breaking. more vulnerable than you'd ever heard him before. more raw, full of yearning, longing, desperation and love. so much love.

“i love you. i love you so much, i love you more than life itself.”

zayne kissed the top of your head, soft tears falling down his cheeks while he whispered soft apologies and promises of a future together. he missed you so much. a part of his heart went missing without you next to him. he needed you by his side, as selfish as that made him seem.

“we'll be alright. please, let's try again.”

those words you wanted to hear, so very badly on that night, a year ago. you nodded against his chest, the sobs not showing any signs of stopping.

except this time around, zayne was there to hold you in his arms. two lovers who longed for each other's warmth for a year, finally into each other's embrace again.

it was a snowy december night when you reunited with your love, and you'd never let go this time.

🍎 pomme's final notes — if the zaynejaehyun agenda has a million fans then i am one of them if the zaynejaehyun agenda has one fan it is me and if the zaynejaehyun agenda has no fans i am dead. also i bawled while writing the breakup part don't kick me too hard

also if at any point while reading this fic you wanted to kill me just know that i was probably also wanting to kill myself but hey all's well that ends well am i right :P

[inksandpensblog]

Some of you probably know by now that I think a lot about how the presentation of a story affects how it's perceived by its audience.

Pressure has a LOT of lore that the player character's POV only gives us a very narrow window into; both because some of that lore just hasn't been implemented into the game proper yet, and because the method of gameplay progression is such that our ability to interact with that lore is strictly regulated.

Sebastian's character is actually a great example of how this approach affects the audience's perception of the story.

If you were to present me with an academic breakdown of who the characters in this story are, what they've done, what they've been through, etc., all my modern storytelling sensibilities would tell me that Sebastian is the character I should be rooting for. Sentenced to death under a false conviction, trafficked to a mad science lab where his body was mutated against his will, forced to work for his captors for years, and then kept in the dark about his innocence just so they wouldn't have to face that they'd fucked up? Plus, as vengeful as he is, all he really wants is to escape? That resonates with people.

However, it's almost impossible for players to get any of this information about Sebastian on their first playthrough of the game, if they're getting the story through the game alone.

Most players meet him first as a trio of glowing blue eyes in the dark, that appear when they die to explain what killed them; meaning that most players will get a sense of his attitude long before they even find out what he looks like. And his attitude is…let's say abrasive XD

But even when players do encounter him during a run, once they find his shop about 1/3 of the way through gameplay progression, and discover that his personal info is literally for sale to read, most players still won't be able to on their first playthrough; because it's the most expensive item in his shop, and chances are high that a new player hasn't collected enough in-game currency to buy it…but also because it technically has no bearing on gameplay progression, so whatever currency the player does have would be better spent on health items and light sources and batteries.

In fact, the only thing you really need from Sebastian's shop as far as gameplay progression is the keycard for the next door on the map, which he lets you take for free…meaning that if you by some good fortune happen to have a code-breacher on you at the time you can actually skip his shop encounter entirely XD and I just find it fascinating that the devs have made it technically possible to beat the game without learning anything about one of its story's most influential characters.

Most people won't skip his shop though, because Sebastian is pretty much the only interactive entity in the game with a baseline hostility level that hovers around "neutral" and only rises to active hostility when provoked, rather than being actively hostile all the time, and this makes him interesting to engage with. Plus, he's functionally a shopkeeper, and shops in videogames are designed to be appealing in a functional and mechanical sense, as hostile encounters usually can't happen in them and they provide a way for players to obtain resources. Even players who find Sebastian's attitude vexing will usually express relief upon reaching his shop.

This is a long-winded way of saying that many players will form a pretty solid impression of Sebastian as a personality before ever getting a chance to learn his backstory, because the means through which the player can engage with his character in-game are extremely limited.

Sebastian's interactions with the player are a very small part of his story overall, and if you want to learn anything more about him besides how he reacts when purposely aggravated then you have to actually stop engaging with him and seek that information elsewhere.

Even once you do buy his personal info, you can't actually read it until your run ends. Until you read his personal info, you won't know that he himself is the experimental subject Z-13 whose designation appears on the red-lit screens you'll occasionally find as you progress, chronicling the timeline of the site lockdown from before you arrived and declaring him the culprit. Unless you encounter p.AI.nter in person, you won't learn the steps Sebastian has taken to indirectly hinder your progression towards your main objective.

There's a lot about Sebastian that the player just…never gets the opportunity to learn, during normal gameplay, because the player's POV is so limited.

And that's just in a gameplay sense.

Because when you really think about it in a narrative sense, we're playing from the POV of what're basically clone troopers: a seemingly endless swarm of indistinguishable low-effort bad guys who only exist to give the main character something to fight before the next boss.

That's who we are, in the game, that's the position we have: we're set in fundamental opposition to Sebastian, and the very structure of the game keeps us from changing that. There's only one way forward.

And it's so intriguing, to me, what this does for how the story is perceived.

[krispyphan]

Danny phantom idea where he gets summoned to dc by a cult, but the bat fam had already defeated the cult before the spell could work.

Until one of them accidentally starts it, leading to Danny thinking the cult that summoned him is the bat fam.

[stillfruit]

i love not knowing if i'll ever be healthy again i love all of the time i've used to move my body become nothing i love spending my adulthood wasting away year after year for various reasons baby!

[unproduciblesmackdown]

that moment when: everyone's lives are restricted and constricted and these imposed consequences are attributed to anyone's continual individual failures to seek, find, and follow the Correct Path through Life, and so everyone is left on their own to only be seeking & finding these failures as well as the only answer to how their lives can be better....versus Not seeing the world as the free marketplace meritocracy of everyone's personal failures/successes, nor everything in your own life, and thus not forever having to scrutinize Where You Must Be Bringing It Upon Yourself by fucking up or at least failing to do the correct thing, and exist only in perpetual punishment for your ongoing failure and occasional temporary reprieves from it. recognizing everything that wasn't & isn't & wouldn't be [this is because you're bringing it upon yourself] and thus having more capacity & capability to look at the realm of your personal individual self, reality, experiences, life through the perpetual instances of seeking, finding, and following your own needs/wants through one's inherent personhood and exercises of autonomy and recognition of where & when & how one recognizes moments of their existing freely & in more resonant genuine alignment with themself, you know? endless examples to be found in endless fractals of [where & how are people's lives made smaller]. and that of course this doesn't preclude the ability/option at any time to question one's choices, since you'll be able to find more Actual choices available to you (and, also crucially, find more actual choices made by others that are in the pursuit of limiting Yours) to look at, and people getting to exercise their autonomy isn't the same as "everyone doing anything they want regardless of how it affects others" since that [how does it affect others?] element instead being Regarded would be able to lead to recognizing that, in fact, an effect might be the infringement on others' autonomy, hence: There's A Problem....like the ability to just go ham with [questioning???] anything in existence, certainly including oneself, b/c the "norm" is such that rather you're only supposed to be able to question yourself for your failings (or those positioned as less than, thus, beneath you) and not even have the language to express a questioning of aspects of life beyond that b/c stop calling anyone "cis" they're just Normal, Just Be Normal and it would all be fine

[nexus-nebulae]

well. we were going to try out some new New Member Protocols with this new guy but. whoops! speedran it anyways,

[genericpuff]

Tbh at this point you should just make your own webcomic app/website because it would probably be 100 times better than whatever going on with webtoon right now.

hahaha it wouldn't tho, sorry 💀

Here's the fundamental issue with webcomic platforms that a lot of people just don't realize (and why they're so difficult to run successfully):

Storage costs are incredibly expensive, it's why so many sites have limitations on file sizes / page sizes / etc. because all of those images and site info have to be stored somewhere, which costs $$$.

Maintenance costs are expensive and get more so as you grow, you need people who are capable of fixing bugs ASAP and managing the servers and site itself

Financially speaking, webcomics are in a state of high supply, low demand. Loads of artists are willing to create their passion projects, but getting people to read them and pay for them is a whole other issue. Demand is high in the general sense that once people get attached to a webtoon they'll demand more, but many people aren't actually willing to go looking for new stuff to read and depend more on what sites feed them (and what they already like). There are a lot of comics to go around and thus a lot of competition with a limited audience of people willing to actually pay for them.

Trying to build a new platform from the ground up is incredibly difficult and a majority of sites fail within their first year. Not only do you have to convince artists to take a chance on your platform, you have to convince readers to come. Readers won't come if there isn't work on the platform to read, but artists won't come if they don't think the site will be worth it due to low traffic numbers. This is why the artists with large followings who are willing to take chances on the smaller sites are crucial, but that's only if you can convince them to use the site in favor of (or alongside) whatever platform they're using already where the majority of their audience lies. For many creators it's just not worth the time, energy, or risk.

Even if you find short-term success, in the long-term there are always going to be profit margins to maintain. The more users you pull in, the more storage is used by incoming artists, the more you have to spend on storage and server maintenance costs, and that means either taking the risk at crowdfunding (ex. ComicFury) or having to resort to outsider investments (ex. Tapas). Look at SmackJeeves, it used to be a titan in the independent webcomic hosting community, until it folded over to a buyout by NHN and then was pretty much immediately shuttered due to NHN basically turning it into a manwha scanlation site and driving away its entire userbase. And if you don't get bought out and try your hand at crowdfunding, you may just wind up living on a lifeline that could cut out at any moment, like what happened to Inkblazers (fun fact, the death of Inkblazers was what kicked off the cultural shift in Tapas around 2015-16 when all of IB's users migrated over and brought their work with them which was more aimed towards the BL and romancee drama community, rather than the comedy / gag-a-day culture that Tapas had made itself known for... now you deadass can't tell Tapas apart from a lot of scanlation sites because it got bought out by Kakao and kept putting all of its eggs into the isekai/romance drama basket.)

Right now the mindset in which artists and readers are operating is that they're trying way, way too hard to find a "one size fits all" site. Readers want a place where they can find all their favorite webtoons without much effort, artists wants a place where they can post to an audience of thousands, and both sides want a community that will feel tight-knit. But the reality is that you can't really have all three of those things, not on one site. Something always winds up having to be sacrificed - if a site grows big enough, it'll have to start seeking more funding while also cutting costs which will result in features becoming paywall'd, intrusive ads, creators losing their freedom, and/or outsider support which often results in the platform losing its core identity and alienating its tight-knit community.

If I had to describe what I'm talking about in a "pick one" graphic, it would look something like this:

(*note: this is mostly based on my own observations from using all of these sites at some point or another, they're not necessarily entirely accurate to the statistical performance of each site, I can only glean so much from experience and traffic trackers LMAO that said I did ask some comic pals for input and they were very helpful in helping me adjust it with their own takes <3).

The homogenization of the Internet has really whipped people into submission for the "big sites" that offer "everything", but that's never been the Internet, it relies on being multi-faceted and offering different spaces for different purposes. And we're seeing that ideology falter through the enshittification of sites like Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc. where users are at odds with the platforms because the platforms are gutting features in an attempt to satisfy shareholders whom without the platforms would not exist. Like, most of us aren't paying money to use social media sites / comic platform sites, so where else are they gonna make the necessary funds to keep these sites running? Selling ad space and locking features behind paywalls.

And this is especially true for a lot of budding sites that don't have the audience to support them via crowdfunding but also don't have the leverage to ask for investments - so unless they get really REALLY lucky in EITHER of those departments, they're gonna be operating at a loss, and even once they do achieve either of those things there are gonna be issues in the site's longevity, whether it be dying from lack of growing crowdfunding support or dying from shareholder meddling.

So what can we do?

We can learn how to take our independence back. We don't have to stop using these big platforms altogether as they do have things to offer in their own way, particularly their large audience sizes and dipping into other demographics that might not be reachable from certain sites - but we gotta learn that no single site is going to satisfy every wish we have and we have to be willing to learn the skills necessary to running our own spaces again. Pick up HTML/CSS, get to know other people who know HTML/CSS if you can't grasp it (it's me, I can't grasp it LOL), be willing to take a chance on those "smaller sites" and don't write them off entirely as spaces that can be beneficial to you just because they don't have large numbers or because they don't offer rewards programs. And if you have a really polished piece of work in your hands, look into agencies and publishing houses that specialize in indie comics / graphic novels, don't settle for the first Originals contract that gets sent your way.

For the last decade corporations have been convincing us that our worth is tied to the eyes we can bring to them. Instead of serving ourselves, we've begun serving the big guys, insisting that it has to be worth something eventually and that it'll "payoff" simply by the virtue of gambler's fallacy. Ask yourself what site is right for you and your work rather than asking yourself if your work is good enough for them. Most of us are broke trying to make it work on these sites anyways, may as well be broke and fulfilled by posting in places that actually suit us and our work if we can. Don't define your success by what sites like Webtoons are enforcing - that definition only benefits them, not you.

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

i'm down on my knees, i wanna take you there

summary: you are suiting up for your first mission, the only problem being everyone "forgot" (intentionally withheld) this information from Logan wc: 2.3k a/n: thank you thank you so much for all of your support about my other Logan fic!! I am really enjoying writing for him, and have a few ideas for this Logan as well as some for Worst!Wolverine aka Deadpool 3!Logan as well! More info about empath!reader's powers and her role at the school in this one <3 warnings: slight (incredibly) slight angst, protective!Logan, a bit of a hurt comfort vibe, Ororo, Scott and Jean are meddlers this is the previous fic with these two, not required reading at all, though!

The leather was cool and surprisingly soft against your skin. There had never been reason for you to have to accompany a mission requiring one of the suits before, and you were shocked at how comfortable the uniform was. Typically, when you were asked to help with a mission, you were there for intel. Scope the place out, get a read on the general vibe of the place. Your powers didn’t provide the same level of protection as laser eyes or a strong regenerative healing factor. You would typically arrive with Rogue, in clothes from your own closet and one of the least fancy cars from the garage. You would slip in, get your read, and get out. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help, you just lacked the training that the other members of the team had. And after all, someone had to stay back to mind things at the school. When Charles had approached you a few months ago about some possible applications for your mutation that would come in handy on missions, you’d been hesitant. It was so outside of your comfort zone to load yourself onto a jet that you’d never even considered the possibility. You were far more comfortable in the library where you held English classes for the students, or helping Charles keep students calm while exploring their powers. Neither scenario included the possibility of a lot of violence. 

Ororo helped you finish zipping yourself into the suit, smoothing her hands along the sleeves before giving you a final nod of approval. Jean and Scott granted you small smiles and you did your best to look as confident as you knew they felt. 

They’d promised it was a simple mission, the kind they usually took students on when Charles felt they were ready to join the team, if that’s what they decided to do after wrapping up their schooling. Charles had heard word of a young mutant who had some kind of telekinetic powers and had recently had an eruption while at school. Everyone agreed that it would be best to find them and convince them to return to the school for some training with as little force as possible, only expedited by the fact that Charles had found them hungry and afraid after running away from home using Cerebro. In the past, the kids had been resistant due to huge amounts of fear, causing them to lash out. You knew they were right that your powers would be useful at times like these, and if you were able to help in any way you were inclined to. 

“The fuck do you think you’re doing to her?” You sighed. It wasn’t that you were all conspiring to keep this a secret from Logan. It wasn’t a discussion that you’d had to agree on group espionage. It just seemed that all of you had a sort of understanding that it might be better to ask forgiveness rather than permission. Not that you needed permission. 

Logan looked furious, and what’s worse, he felt furious. You and Charles had been working to extend your powers over further distances, no longer needing to touch someone directly to know how they feel. Though it certainly doesn’t hurt matters. You’d sensed him upstairs, seemingly pacing around and seething. You’d hoped one of the kids had gotten on his nerves, or something on tv had set him off. You could see that was foolish now. 

“We aren’t doing anything to her,” Scott had his visor on, blocking his eyes from view, but you didn’t need to see to know that he was rolling his eyes. “She’s chosen to accompany us on a mission.” 

“A small mission!” Ororo chimed in, doing her best to give Logan a reassuring smile. 

You checked back in with his aura. Still furious. But it was a nice try, you supposed. Logan’s hackles were raised, his chest heaving. This certainly wouldn’t do. “Can I have a moment with you,” you glanced around the room, briefly meeting the other three mutant’s eyes. “Alone?” 

Logan was still staring daggers at Scott. He wasn’t even the one who suggested you were ready to come along. Jean and Charles had approached you this morning. You laid a hand against his arm, hoping to lead him out of the room, but he flinched away. The pang in your heart was immediate. Did he really think you were so callous that you would ever use your powers without his express permission, or some kind of emergency. You could feel the tears starting to gather in the corner of your eye, your arms wrapping protectively around your midsection. 

Jean slipped one arm through Scott’s and took Ororo’s hand with her other, gently leading them out of the room. “We are going to check a few things with the jet, last minute.” She began to hustle them out of the room. “Call if you need anything!” 

The door shut firmly behind them, and you were left alone with Logan, who looked like he was going to start shaking. “I wasn’t going to-”

“You don’t think I know that?” You can’t help but recoil. You have never been afraid of Logan, even when it may have been in your best judgement to be wary, and you still aren’t. But you can’t deny that it hurts when he snaps at you. Especially when you thought, well. You thought you were growing close. You started to turn away, but before you could, a warm hand caught ahold of your arm. “I’m not… fuck.” He took a heaving breath, shaking his head as if he could clear whatever thoughts were bothering him. “I’m not mad.” 

Despite the serious energy of the conversation, you couldn’t help the incredulous look you shot his way. He tried his best to hide it, but you could see the corner of his mouth turning up at you. “Fine, I’m not mad at you.” 

“You know, you really can’t be mad at anyone, they were just doing-” you were cut off when you fell Logan’s hand traveling down your arm, and pushing your sleeve up gently from where it was covering your hand. He slipped his hand into yours and you felt yourself relax a bit. “Just, take a look, yeah?” 

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I trust you, bub.” You searched his eyes for any sign of hesitancy, but all you found was trust. Complete and utter trust. You nodded, tightening your own grip on his hand. Doing your best not to let the gentle rub of his thumb against your knuckles distract you, you took a deep breath and opened yourself up to his feelings. 

At first you did feel anger, bright red and hot. You sifted past it, steeling yourself. The first time you had encountered such strong anger, you had felt as if you were going to collapse. But you were stronger now, more prepared to deal with these kinds of feelings. The anger was strong, but also surprisingly shallow. In the depths of his emotions, Logan was worried. Terrified. A deep dark purple that made your own hands shake. His grip on your hand tightened, effectively drawing you back to yourself. There was more, a soft inviting pink that you didn’t dare to touch and shiny bright gold, which told you he was proud. 

You opened your eyes, fighting back the heat you felt creeping onto your cheeks. His expression hadn’t changed, pure trust and tenderness. It should have been disarming, or at the very least surprising. Logan wasn’t so open and honest with people. But the two of you had always had different expectations for the other. 

You couldn’t help it, a smile crept over your features. “You’re proud of me?” 

He rolled his eyes, but his smile only grew. He took your free hand in his, pulling you in closer. “I’m always proud of you.” He hesitated for a brief moment, and you did your best to bite your tongue. You could tell Logan had been making an effort to open up lately, and not just to you, but that didn’t make prolonged silences and easier to bear. “I know it’s not my place to demand anything of you.” 

“You’re my… friend.” You cut him off, wincing at the pause. It didn’t feel like the time to pressure him into labeling whatever feelings may be floating around. “And I always want to hear my friend’s opinions. What’s bothering you so badly?” 

“I could hear your heartbeat from upstairs.” Your eyes grew wide, too shocked to try to school your expression. Logan had told you several times that he had learned to block out his enhanced hearing when he was quite young. Usually to tease you when you got on a long tangent about something you enjoyed. He pretended to zone out and ignore you, but he would always remember small details about your rants, bringing them up nonchalantly at a later date  “I, uh, keep an ear out sometimes. Helps with the worry.” 

He worries about you? Even more surprising, he’s listening to your heartbeat like background music to his day. You promise yourself you will ask him about it when you don’t have a room full of your friends waiting on you. “I thought we’d covered this. I can take care of myself.” 

He sighed, bringing a hand to rest gently where your jaw meets your neck. “Sweetheart, I know you can. But that doesn’t stop me from watching out for you.” 

Your hand moved to rest overtop of his. “The good news is that I will have lots of people watching out for me. You know they won’t let anything happen.” You receive a single huff in return. He’s not convinced. “You know that these are the kinds of missions we send the kids on. I’ll be fine.” 

He considers for a moment, before dropping his hand and nodding. “Give me a second to get changed, and we will head out.” 

You grabbed for his hand, but he was already out the door, and moving too fast for you to stop. “Logan, don’t be ridiculous.” 

“What’s ridiculous is you thinking that I would ever let you go out there alone.” 

“As we already established, I have three very capable friends coming with me. I am only going as a contingency plan.”

“Well then consider me the contingency to the contingency plan.” You huffed, following him next door. 

You darted around in front of Logan, pushing against his chest with all your strength, even if you were fully aware that it was the equivalent of a fly buzzing around him. He stopped all the same, eyebrows pulled together in frustration. “I know you’re worried and I know that this is you trying to help.” Logan had his I’m about to interrupt you look on his face, leaving you to shove him again. Thankfully, he understood your intention. “This is important to me. You can’t be there every time, and I have to stand on my own two feet. I want to contribute to the work we do here more than just teaching kids about how awesome Shakespeare is.” The look was back. “Which is still an important contribution.” You added, which seemed to appease him. “But, I don’t want it to be my only contribution. So I am going to go and make sure that this scared kid who is all alone out there makes it back here safe. And you are going to stay here and make sure that everyone gets dinner and help with their assignments. And then when I get back, we are going to have a talk about all this.” 

“All this?” A smile crept back onto your face, hearing the teasing tone in his voice. 

“Oh my god shut up!” He caught your hands before they made contact with his chest, but he was slow to let go this time. He brought the back of both of your hands to his mouth, dropping a small kiss on each one, before returning your hands to your side. 

“If you come back with so much as a bump to the head, Scott’s dead.” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and pointing out that this was exactly what you were talking about earlier did little to sway him. So you gave in, agreeing to give him a full report before slipping your hand into his and tugging him towards the jet. 

“We’ll be back in a bit.” You promised. You could feel the others staring from just inside the jet, but you barely noticed. Logan was checking over your suit meticulously, tugging zippers a few more clicks up and making sure that the collar wasn’t too tight around your neck. He kneeled down, checking to make sure the laces on your boots were double knotted. “Logan,” you laughed, reaching down to tilt his head up to look at you. “I’m too seconds away from sending a lot of exhaustion your way and leaving you passed out in here. You have to let me go, it’s going to be fine.” 

He remained kneeling for a second too long, a look in his eyes you couldn’t entirely place. The sound of the jet powering on broke the both of you out of your trance. He was on his feet in a flash, checking over you one final time. You rose up on your tippy toes, balancing by resting your hands on his shoulders, before gently kissing him on the cheek. You pulled back, nose scrunched up from the tickle of his facial hair. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Hold down the fort for us, yeah?” 

He nodded, pupils slightly blown out and a dreamy look on his face. You giggled, walking backwards for as long as you can before turning around and finding a seat on the jet. You could feel Jean and Scott’s eyes on you as Ororo began maneuvering the jet out of the garage. “Don’t even start.” You muttered, settling firmly into your seat, doing your best to soak up the pride and confidence the others were projecting into the cockpit. 

as always, feedback is so appreciated! if you have any requests for these two/wolverine in general, please leave them here!

next part

[bunnis-monsters]

I hope I'm not too late! For the 5K event (congratulations btw!!! You deserve all of them ^^), could my request be of a merman pod finding reader and deciding she needs to be their mate/breeding partner? I guess it'd be kind of a similar situation with the cow/bull hybrids?? I'm not sure how it'd go, but It can be as sfw or nsfw as you want (I deeply apologize if this exceeds 1k words. Of course you don't have to write this if you don't want to). Thank you in advance! ^^

A/N: my requests and commissions are closed for the foreseeable future, but my commission wait list is open! Consider reading my commission info and helping me out! Slots are limited, so get on the waitlist while you still can~

Warning: dubcon, breeding, virginity loss

It had been a normal day out on the water for you, swimming and splashing around in a small cove near your home.

Unfortunately(or maybe fortunately) for you, it was the spot where a pod of mermen spent their breeding season, relaxing and eating there before going out to try and find a suitable mate.

As you got ready to get out and go grab a snack from your cooler, you felt someone’s eyes on you…

When you turned to look, a head quickly dipped back under the water, and you felt your blood run cold when you spotted several dark shapes swimming in your direction.

Of course you immediately swam for the shore, afraid of it being a shark or some underwater predator. You were alone out there, and if you were eaten no one would ever even know.

Before you could stand to start wading through the now waist deep water, something grabbed your ankle, pulling you under.

You cursed yourself for not bringing your goggles, unable to open your eyes under the stinging, salty sea water.

You prepared for some kind of attack, hoping it wouldn’t be too painful… but nothing happened. Your body was gently lifted out of the water, and you felt something cool and smooth rubbing against your cheek… and your belly… and pretty much every part of your skin.

When you opened your eyes, you were surprised to see that you were surrounded by strange creatures, half human and half fish. They all were nuzzling their cheeks unto your flesh, some giving you soft licks as if inspecting you.

After thoroughly looking over you, they all began purring and trilling, some cooing as they set you on your feet. Getting a better look at them, you realized they were all handsome, and were all smiling as they surrounded you.

“A female in our cove? What luck!”

You were surprised when one of the creatures spoke, even more surprised when another responded with soft trills and clicks.

“Yes, she is quite warm… and so soft!”

The feeling of cool scales rubbing against your thigh made you yelp. One of their tails was curling around you, keeping you close and still.

“H-hey! What do you think you’re doing!?”

They all flinched when you raised your voice, their fins perking up. Some looked at you curiously, while some seemed a bit annoyed or afraid.

“Mmm? We’re preparing to breed with you. It’s not often a female is so close to our cove while it’s mating season.”

You nearly fainted, this was all too much. First you were having to accept the fact that mermen were real, which was hard enough by itself.

Now, these mermen that you just learned actually existed wanted to breed with you.

Another merman pressed against your back, letting out a soft coo as something sticky and hard slipped and rubbed between your thighs.

There was one in front of you as your thighs were fucked from behind. He examined your bathing suit, talking his head and pulling at the fabric curiously.

“Something to cover your mating slit? Perhaps human females are more cunning than I thought…”

He seemed to view the fabric as a separate layer of skin, his weighed fingers moving to trace over your clothed pussy.

The merman’s eyes went wide, and his finge red pressed against your clothed hole. “Warm… so warm…”

The feeling of his cool, webbed fingers moving over your warm pussy made you shiver and buck your hips uncontrollably. This made the merman purr in delight.

“Y-you can remove it… it’s clothing,” you said, panting softly. Honestly, it had been so long since you’ve really pleasured yourself, and you desperately wanted to get fucked stupid.

Your bathing suit was unceremoniously ripped off, and the pod gathered around you.

There were whines and hisses, each merman fighting over who got to breed you first.

It was finally settled that they would go from smallest to largest. A merman, a bit younger than the rest approached you shyly. He was excited, this would be his first time breeding!

He chirped at you, giving you puppy dog eyes as his cock bobbed up and down in need. It seemed this one couldn’t speak, possibly being new to human speech.

“Go on, just inhale her scent and your instincts will take over,” one of the merman said, encouraging the other as he placed a hand on your thigh.

His face buried itself in his neck, and as soon as he inhaled your scent his body stiffened and pressed against you.

The feeling of his cock struggling to find your hole, rubbing against you desperately made your heart throb. This merman was too cute!

You loved your hand down, the man letting out a nervous yet aroused trill when you helped to guide his cock to your entrance.

“There you go, baby… r-right there…”

He nuzzled his cheek against yours, the flesh slightly rough against your soft skin.

The second he sunk his cock into your cunt, he let out a groan, unable to stop his hips from rutting into you roughly.

You but your lip, trying not to make too much noise. The other merman moved in closer to watch, and they all seemed to communicate with the one mating with you.

“Warm? You said she’s warm there?”

“Oh… cum already, I want a turn!”

The first merman came, relaxing against you as your pussy was filled with his cum. The next was eager to get a feeling of your pussy, pushing the other out of the way before pushing in.

“Nngh… w-warm…” he gasped out, his body hands trembling as they grasped your plump hips.

None of them were used to fucking into something so soft and warm, mermaid were usually cold and rough… but god you were the complete opposite.

It was a breeding frenzy after that, each desperate to get their turn fucking that fat, warm pussy of yours. The sound of wet squelching and shameful moans and cries echoing through the cove.

After each had a turn, they returned you to the shore, leaving you with a freshly caught fish before they left to go hunt.

“We’ll be back by nightfall, mate!”

“Don’t enter the water until we’re home! We don’t want our scents attracting other competing males!”

They waved to you as they swam away… and you were looking forward the summer with your new pod of mates.

part 2? might make a little series based off this concept where you meet each merman and get to know them!

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila

[superiorsturgeon]

out of curiosity, why do you like sturgeons so much?

A chance to info dump about my favorite fish…?!

I grew up in the Great Lakes area of North America, where fishing is pretty popular but everyone knows that fish populations aren’t anything like “the good old days” when people took out huge numbers of fish while messing up their spawning sites. I got pretty into fishing when I found out that I could catch bluegill in the surrounding farm ponds, and once in a while my family took me to an isolated fishing cabin for vacation, but for years I never encountered a wild fish bigger than a kilogram or two.

BUT THEN…

I found out about sturgeon! They were HUGE fish that had once lived in the rivers and lakes all around my home, and better yet, fish almost exactly like modern sturgeon had existed all the way back in the Cretaceous period alongside the dinosaurs, and they STILL EXIST TODAY!!! The fact that small numbers of these huge dinosaur fish still existed made them seem almost like a real-life lake monster/cryptid, except that we had proof of their existence!

Furthermore, there’s just nothing else like them. Sturgeon get big. Like, REALLY big. The record for the largest sturgeon was almost 11 meters/24 feet long, which is colossal for freshwater animals. They have armor plates of bone running down their sides, and at the same time they don’t have bony skeletons. They also have a crazy mouth structure, which allows them to actually pop their jaws out like a tube and suck up food. And on top of all of this, the adults are absolute tanks. I’ve seen skin nearly 8mm thick, and it’s so tough that people make leather out of it, and they occasionally lose fins or even entire gill plates and just keep on swimming! (I found out about that last one when I tried to wrestle a big female out of a river and my hand went straight into her gills. She didn’t seem that bothered by it!)

For a long time I filed sturgeon along with Alligator Gar, Giant Mekong catfish, and Yangtze paddlefish as a semi-legendary fish that may still exist, but I was never going to see except possibly in an aquarium, until I enrolled in graduate school. For those unfamiliar with grad school in the US, it typically involves both high-level classes as well as an independent research project the student designs and carries out with help from an experienced professor. When my mentor asked what kind of thing I wanted to study, I tossed out “sturgeon” as one such possibility, expecting to hear that I would probably have to limit myself to more common/accessible species.

I was blown away when she said “Actually, I think I know a guy…”

For the next several years, I got to ride along collecting wild adult sturgeon, gathering eggs, and raising the baby fish in a lab and in a hatchery. I was holding something that I had thought of as a semi-mythical lake/river monster in my own hands! I got to see a river choked with giants as big as 2 meters long, and I got to hold a 5-centimeters mottled baby whose armored scutes were still sharp and possessed the little arrowhead shape and big black pectoral fins that remind me of Mickey Mouse ears! In the video below you can even see a little heartbeat! (Don’t worry, this little guy was returned to the tank soon after to recover from his anesthesia!)

Sadly, I didn’t find anything super groundbreaking in my research, but my experience DID land me a job working in sturgeon aquaculture! If you’ve ever had caviar that wasn’t poached, it probably came from a sturgeon farm, and if you want to see a lot of big fish up close, this is a good place to do it! I probably personally handled more individual sturgeon than there are wild fish in several sturgeon species. In addition, while the wild broodstock I mentioned above might reach 2 meters and over 50kg, the sturgeon I dealt with at the farm would easily double that, and there were a LOT of them! I got to see sturgeon behavior that had never been recorded in field guides, and even a few crazy one-in-a-million mutations like the infamous “ghost” sturgeon!

I even got the opportunity to cook my own sturgeon meat (Yeah, I basically turned into the Touden siblings from Dungeon Meshi except for sturgeon instead of RPG monsters). I got pretty good at making smoked sturgeon, but the meat is also good on the grill or baked, and people have been cooking them in various ways for centuries.

My favorite part of the job was physically wrestling the big fish! Sturgeon are easier to grab than other fish with the right know-how, but a human-sized fish often has its own plans for the day and won’t always cooperate. I was pretty good at moving the adults by the time I left that job, but it was still a wild rodeo every time!

Even more exciting was how we spawned each new generation of sturgeon. In the wild, they form massive spawning runs in big rivers that in the past would be enough to tip small boats, but in a lab or farm we have to use other means. I’ll spare you the details, but I am one of a small number of people who have surgically extracted eggs from a live sturgeon and sutured them back up to swim another day.

The tldr of this essay is that sturgeon are a big, crazy-unique fish that have been around a long time, and I’ve spent a lot of my career handling and working with them. There’s just nothing like them for a fish nerd and they’re damn cool!

(Clip art not mine, I think @sturgeonposting drew or shared it!)

[hanasnx]

SQUIRTING — s.reid

“ i love how you touch, how you feel, how you breathe / baby, how you do it so good? ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | criminal minds. NOTES. never seen one single episode of criminal minds but i did miss my mutual @ddejavvu’s bday last october and wanted to make up for it. WARNINGS. fem reader ノ established relationship ノ potentially ooc spencer ノ fem squirting ノ pussy eating & orgasm mentions ノ vaginal fingering ノ explicit sexual content ノ praise kink (f receiving) ノ squirt obsessed spencer ノ lowkey unedited.

Don’t be fooled by SPENCER REID’s calm demeanor and harmless facade. Don’t get caught up in that little smile he does when he has nothing further to say, or the way his fluffy hair flops over his forehead when he inclines down to lend you an ear to hear you better. Don’t let your guard down when he info dumps his latest fascination, having traversed the rabbit hole of complex animal mating cycles or the latest scientific observation of quarks. Dr. Reid is no one to be underestimated.

You should’ve known better than to think of him as disarming and therefore “harmless.” It’s the first time in a long time that you’ve been so wrapped up in a guy, coming up for air rarely while you’re practically living at his place. Your clothes are strewn about his apartment, your favorite shampoo is in his shower, he bought you your own toothbrush to keep on your shelf in his medicine cabinet. Oh, it’s bad. There’s no turning back now. You’re completely and utterly helpless. If you could go back in time to warn your past self of the madness you’re about to endure…

“C’mon, baby, one more. Can’t you do one more?” it’s a plea devoid of any doubt, he can feel the way you’re pulsing around his fingers. It’s the familiar rev that quakes just before a big release, and his knuckles know the tremor intimately. That brain isn’t just used for his job, it’s memorized every part of you—even the parts you thought you weren’t ready to share.

You writhe, desperately nuzzling the back of your head into the mattress, heating up from the friction. Gritting your teeth, your body feels like it’s on fire, and the build in your gut is like something’s being taken from you. It’s a merciless pace completed by three of the longest fingers you’ve ever had inside of you, bullying your insides relentlessly prodding that spongy spot to chase a most coveted reaction. Your muscles contract and stretch, lifting your pelvis from the pillow he set it on like it’s demanding more. It’s a primal instinct, involuntarily rocking into his ramming in tandem. Your eyes squeeze shut from the pain of it, and yet you can’t stop.

“I can’t do it- I can’t do it, Spenc—ah!” you interrupt your own rebuke, your nails clawing into the purchase of the sheets as your spine goes limp. He doesn’t miss a beat, following you down to keep battering your soft tissue in just the right curl. Your tailbone has collapsed back onto the puddle of wetness, it’s cold to the touch, but you can’t even focus on how jarring the difference in temperature is right now.

You breathe like you’re readying for something, you pant like you’re in danger. Your chest rises and falls with rapid puffs of air, a sheen of sweat coating your skin—you can’t take this anymore.

Mesmerized, Spencer watches your poor pussy swallow his hand up. The wet squelching of leftover cream spatters out with every visceral plug, and his tongue forms over his upper lip to keep it busy. Your little clit calls out to him, he can feel it between his lips already. All soft and gooey, puffy and overstimulated, running between his spit-soaked lips as you scream from the two forces working together to make you cum. Not this time, he thinks, it’s not that kind of thing this time. His other hand grasps his cramping wrist, using it to cram into you faster, those three fingers forming a cone inside you to stroke the tips against the roof of you, and you cry out.

You reach for him, you try to grip anything you can, anything to get him to let up—to get him to stop. Mercy, you want. “You can, sweetheart, you can. I know it.” Sweat beads his forehead as he consoles you, letting you howl it out until he’s satisfied.

Miraculously, you manage to focus your efforts on one task. You lift your head, the prettiest and most pitiful upturn in your brows silently beckons him. It’s a silent request regardless of the noises whimpering out of your nose, you sound like a whining puppy while you make grabby hands at him. He knows what you want. Carefully, he adjusts so as to not upset the angle of his entry, but honoring your wish. Ignoring the burn of effort in his shoulder, he lays his head on your chest, and your legs suspended on either side of him bob from how hard he’s still fingering you. Your arms encase him, holding him close, clutching on for dear life as he finally tips you over that edge. There’s a change, the subtlest of tenses in your abdomen, like the tickle of pepper under a nose to attract a sneeze. You seize up, your cunt clenches down like a vice, and it idles. It’s the suspense at the top of a roller coaster.

“Oh, yeah… Oh, yeah, baby. That’s it. That’s it, uh-huh.” It’s a babble you can barely hear over the roaring in your ears, finally gushing out a hot spray. Your pussy becomes a fountain, squirting a mile high like you’ve been holding it in this whole time. It comes from deep within you, a secret stream only he can lovingly coax out. You had no idea there was anything even left in you, and yet Spencer’s patience can simply outlive your doubts, determined to wring every last drop out of you.

You can’t open your eyes, you can’t stop the earthquake in your legs, and your claws dig into his scalp. The noises you make are matched by him, groaning in maddened relief and joy at what he’s accomplished. It gets everywhere, drenching the front of his clothes as it pours down. The bed frame and the carpet and the furniture behind him are rained on, and there’s not a single thought in his mind of regret. Your abdomen flexes, pushing out every wave in pulses until it fizzles out. His hand slows, your breathing evens out, and your locked up body begins to relax muscle by muscle. He peels himself out of your hold, your limp limbs unable to put up any fight to keep him cuddled up on you. Lazily, your head lulls in his direction, eyes peering at him reverently stroke his palms over your puddle on the bed. All the releases he took from you perfectly layered on his navy blue sheets. His slack jaw encapsulates his awe at his handiwork, meeting your gaze with a brazen emotion nothing short of pride.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[pomefioredove]

😭😭 Please make more hcs of yuu's admiration club plss it's so cute and I ended up reading it so fast 💔💔 feel free to delete or not reply!<3

original post (riddle, leona, azul, vil)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Yuu Admirer Club! 2

type of post: headcanons characters: jamil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, ortho's part is strictly platonic

Kalim has never been one to ask for permission

Jamil's whole life at school is centered around adapting to Kalim's chaos

but this isn't chaotic

it's... quiet. too quiet

it takes him all of ten minutes to realize Kalim isn't in the dorm

of course, Jamil has his suspicions...

he's had his own little fantasies about running away with you

I mean WHAT who said that

as much as he'd like to enjoy the peace and quiet for once,

he knows he'll get in trouble if anything happens

and knowing Kalim, something will happen

so, now, he's standing in Ramshackle's foyer, arms crossed

"what are you doing?"

Kalim is sitting on the floor, weaving friendship bracelets

"oh, I'm gonna stay here. I like it. look, I made you one, too!"

"you cannot stay at another dorm, you are the housew-"

hmmmm... wait a second

Jamil's whole disposition changes, and he smiles all big

"you know what? you deserve a break. I'll just take care of things at Scarabia while you're gone,"

he turns to you "keep him away from open flame."

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia knows better than to worry when Ortho goes off on his own

I mean... he still does, but he knows not to

it's just a few hours... just a few hours...

but it's getting dark now, and Ortho's been radio-silent

completely blipped off the map...

Idia slips into his computer chair and starts going through the security cam feed

courtyard is empty, classrooms are dark, even the- what's that?

a familiar electric blue glow is coming from...

he switches between cams to get a good look

and it's Ortho... and you

having some kind of mock tea party with empty cups. some stuffed animals, a few other first years, even Grim is there...

Idia snorts

but... the more he thinks about it...

no. no, he cannot be jealous of his little brother playing toys with the prefect

that would be pathetic. even for him...

still, he can't help but envy Ortho's social skills

maybe, if he could actually talk to you, his yuu admiring club wouldn't have to be an account he secretly runs and folder on his computer...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

it's unusually quiet in Diasomnia tonight

usually, Malleus would enjoy the stillness of the evening, but there's something quite eerie about it now

"Lilia... have you any idea of where Silver and Sebek are?"

the vice housewarden, upside-down, shrugs

how strange... Malleus cannot recall a time where Sebek has left him alone for more than a few hours

it's... worrying

of course, he goes to you first

not out of suspicion, but because few others could give him a coherent answer while trembling with fear

when you open Ramshackle's door, there you are... and there's Silver... and Sebek...

both asleep in the foyer behind you

what a sight

you explain that some of the boys had started a "Yuu Admirer Club" and surprised you with an impromptu meeting

a sour look crosses Malleus' face

"don't be mad at them, it's my fault. I didn't have the heart to wake them," you say.

"oh, I'm not upset that they've decided to spend their time with you. I understand completely. I am, however, a little upset that I was not invited to this "Yuu Admirer Club"."

[bunni-v1]

Lighter NSFW Headcannons

🍓Hello lovelies! I managed to get this done. I do apologize if it feels rushed or anything near the end. It was getting so long, and I didn't want to write so much I had nothing else to talk about. I hope you enjoy it regardless! Love you all <3

TW: Nsfw (duh); Rough sex (alluded to)

Info: Lighter x Reader; NSFW

-There’s a lot of contention on whether or not Lighter is a virgin, and as much as I love the idea of sloppy awkward virgin Lighter… there’s just no fucking way. Look at him.

-He fucked around a lot when he was younger, it just kind of lines up with that cocky, overconfident leader vibe he alludes to a lot. Sure, he’s more responsible than most others, but I can’t imagine a world in which he hadn’t messed around at least a little.

-All that to say, he hasn’t had sex in a really long time. Like, the last time he was with anyone was before entering the underground fighting ring. It's been a minute for our poor old sap.

-It’s not like he really has much want for sex either. After joining the Sons of Calydon he didn’t trust anyone enough to handle him in such a vulnerable state, and there’s not anyone he’d want to sleep with around anyway. (Certainly not any of the girls, they’re too much like family for that.)

-He isn’t one for one-night stands much, they make him feel like he’s nothing more than his body. If he’s going to share such vulnerable parts of himself, he’d like to have some kind of emotional connection. Friends with benefits are better, but he also doesn’t like complicating his personal relationships like that, so he just doesn’t have sex.

-He masturbates plenty for sure though, usually to some kind of low-budget porno. If he’s feeling pent up and he can’t take it out in the ring, he’ll just use his hands a different way to help himself out.

-And then there was you.

-Sweet little you, who Lighter just couldn’t get out of his head. He hated how much his mind would drift to you when he was just trying to relieve himself. 

-He tried so hard to focus on the shitty porno he was running, something about step-siblings – he wasn’t really thinking too hard about it. But then, the image of you and him pops into his head. It’s innocent to start, just thinking about your pretty lips and that damned smile, but his mind just keeps drifting.

-What noises would you make? Would you be quiet or loud? He’d like it if you were loud. Can you even bend like that? Would you try for him? What would you look like sucking his dick? Could you take all of him in one go, or would he have to slip it in inch by inch while you adjust?

-It’s like a parasite he can’t quite get out of his head, whispering all the horribly indecent thoughts about you, making him so desperate for your touch all the time.

-That’s before you’re even together, it only gets worse after you finally make things official with him. 

-Before he felt shameful, you were just a friend and he was totally disrespecting you, but now that you’re together? Now that he’s allowed to find you attractive, now that he knows how you feel in his hands and how you taste on his lips he’s done for.

-He’s awful respectful of you and your space, and he really does want to take things slow, but Christ you don’t know what you do to him. Or maybe you do, and you’re torturing him on purpose because you like to see him squirm when you jut your little lip out in a pout.

-Your first time with him is sloppy, as most first times are. He just can’t contain himself.

-You’re sitting on his lap, shirt, and pants long since forgotten in some corner of the room, working your sinful little mouth over his. He can’t help but grab at the fat of your hips, dragging you over his painfully hard erection. 

-The feeling is way better than he’d ever imagined, much nicer than his hand, and way better than those stupid pornos – had sex always felt this good, or are you some kind of secret god? It doesn’t occur to him that, maybe, going so hard might be enough to make him cum until it’s way too late.

-He creams his pants about five minutes into your little grind session.

-It’s so, so embarrassing for him. He’s usually so well-composed, and it’s not like he didn’t have the stamina. It was just… overwhelming to finally get to have you exactly how he wanted to have you for so long. And… he totally ruined it.

-He looks like a kicked puppy. He’s not saying anything but you can tell he’s beating himself up over it, so you have to hold his face in your hands and coo at him and assure him that everything is okay. That it’s a compliment, that you love him. 

-He has a hard time believing it until you slide down and help him clean up, and suddenly it's not so bad anymore – not with the way your mouth is working around him with such ease.

-So, sure, your first time together doesn’t exactly go as planned, but that’s just one time. What else does Lighter have in store for you?

-Firstly, Lighter is definitely a switch, though he heavily prefers topping. Specifically, he’s a service top. Everything he does is to make you feel good, even when he’s being rough and brutal, it’s because that’s what you want from him. 

-He likes to take his time with you, to really feel you beneath him. His hands are calloused and big and they trace over your flesh like they’re worshipping you. Committing every inch they can reach to memory, like if he doesn’t he will forget the feeling.

-It’s damn near overstimulating with how much he drags those rough fingers along your ribcage, but it’s so incredibly heavenly as well. 

-His lips always follow in his finger's wake, pressing across each mapped inch like markers for when he wants to come back up. 

-He mumbles sweet praises into every single curve and divot, “Beautiful,” “Perfect,” “Mine.” Like a man possessed, he nearly forgets that other goals must be achieved, right up until he’s just above your most sensitive parts.

-When he gets there he breathes in, deeply, and then he plunges right in, and dear god he’s amazing with his mouth. His fingers too.

-It feels like he’s trying to consume you, the way his lips cup around you – sucking as if his life depended on it. His fingers will happily busy themselves by playing with whatever part of you isn’t already in his mouth, occasionally swapping the two to keep you on your toes.

-If you think that’s nice, you should also know that he keeps his eyes on you the whole time he’s doing it too and just watching your expressions, enjoying having all of his senses filled with nothing but you. 

-You have to cum with his mouth or fingers (or both) at least once. Not because of his ego (though it definitely grows when he feels you clenching around his annoyingly deft tongue), but because he is big and no matter how many times you take him, there is always quite the stretch. 

-Speaking of how big he is, he’s certainly much larger than average. I’m thinking much closer to seven and a half inches, with a similar girth fully erect. He’s a grower, not a shower.

-And goodness is it nice to look at. There are two prominent veins, one running along the bottom of his shaft and another on the side that stops about halfway up. The tip is always blushed and angry red, and the shaft itself is slightly darker than the rest of his skin, but it’s awful pretty.

-He keeps himself pretty well groomed, though there is hair there, it won’t irritate you when you’re giving him head. It’s just something so that he doesn’t feel bald down there.

-He prefers it when you give rather than receive, though he enjoys taking care of you like that very much. It’s just that you look so cute trying to swallow down all of him. You can never quite get him down, he’s just way too big even with plenty of training, but you always try so hard. The tears pricking your lashes and the redness of your cheeks are intoxicating.

-He’ll give you the sweetest smile as he watches you struggle to swallow him down, hands wound in your hair guiding you to take just a little more. “You can do it, baby. Go on, just a little more… good job.”

-Unfortunately, he isn’t much of a noisemaker, though he’ll give you more than a few groans when you do something particularly nice. He’s more of a talker.

-He loves to just talk you through what you’re doing, praises and hums of approval rumbling out of his chest. His voice is much deeper and more gruff than you’re used to, but it's heavenly hearing him mutter out a deep “Oh fuck,” when you run your tongue right along that vein.

-Once both of you are nice and ready, you all loosened up for him, and he’s got the condom and the lube applied he finally lines himself up. 

-He teases you with the swollen head of his dick a few times, rubbing it around the rim of your desperate little home, then finally he pushes himself in. Just the tip, because even that is such a stretch for your poor little hole.

-It’s not so bad with the way his calloused fingers play with the sensitive skin right above where you’re connected. It’s like a reward for taking him so well, even though it hurts. 

-Again, he purrs out his praise, “Good job, baby. You’re taking me so well, just a little more… that's it. Keep sucking me in like that.”

-He inches himself so nice and slow, giving you all the time in the world to adjust. His hands soothing over your thighs until you’ve finally swallowed him whole. Then, he leans down, intertwining your fingers with his, and carefully pulls himself out.

-He’ll always start slow unless he’s feeling jealous or neglected, and he always holds your hand. He wants you to know that he still loves you, even in such an intimate moment where he could easily lose himself, he reminds you that you are his everything.

-He isn’t always soft, though. He wants to be soft and loving and gentle, but Lighter is very easy to rile up if you know what you’re doing.

-As I mentioned, jealous and needy sex happens, and it’s rough. He’s staking his claim on you, making sure to leave bruises and bites that will last the rest of the week. If you’re not giving him the attention he feels he needs, he’ll pull you aside and make you give it to him.

-When he’s feeling like that, he loves to hear you moan, and he’ll outright tell you to do so. If you don’t he will shove his fingers in your mouth and force you to make them.

-Something else that’ll really get him going is roughhousing. Regardless of if you’re legitimately boxing with him or if it’s just playful stuff on the couch, it really gets him fired up. 

-As shameful as it is he loves putting you in your place. Something about the way you desperately hit at him, the way your skin gets sweaty and flushed, it all just does something to his brain. You always end up with your legs tossed over his shoulders.

-He likes knowing how much stronger he is than you, not that it isn’t obvious. So he loves to manhandle you whenever he gets the chance. The way you give him all the power in the world to move you around is heaven to him.

-Ah, but his favorite sex is the kind you have on his bike. He loves to see you in nothing but his jacket and his scarf bent over the seat of his bike, just waiting for him to take advantage of you.

-He’ll drive you out to some quiet corner of the outback and absolutely fuck your brains out. 

-Maybe this one is a bit odd, but he likes to have you sit on his bike in just your underwear and rev the engine just to see you squirm. It’s never enough to make you cum, but it sure does feel fantastic, especially with how he presses himself up behind you and purrs praise in your ears.

-To him, it really is all about how you’re feeling. He’s happy so long as you cum, and if you want to help him along, even better.

-Help him if you ever suggest letting him cum inside, it might actually make his head explode. It’s not like he has a breeding kink or anything, but it’s the fact that you’d trust him enough to do something like that.

-To be real about it, that’s what sex is about to him. Trust. It’s a symbol of all the love and admiration you have for each other. It’s so intimate and such a difficult thing to share with you, so despite all the rough treatment and kinks and everything in between, sex is just another way that Lighter shows you he loves you.

[aquanutart]

I was talking and I mentioned that I have my old Game Boy and original Pokemon cartridge. I said, "I think they still work."

I was told, "The internal batteries on the Game Boy cartridges have run out. They're all dead."

"Oh," I said, trying not to show how crestfallen I was. I felt like I was losing nerd cred for not knowing that, although I never kept up with that type of info anyway. I'm here for the fantasy and imaginative aspects of games, and tend not to follow the competitive or technical details.

I tried not to feel anything as I went home. If they were real animals, I reminded myself, I would have had to say goodbye long ago.

But like so many other people, Pokemon was my childhood. It was all I thought about and dreamed about, and the closest thing I could imagine to heartbreak was the knowledge that they weren't real. I spent nearly all my time writing longhand self-insert Pokemon fanfiction--far more than I spent actually playing the game. My Pokemon were with me in my imagination wherever I went. I started playing Pokemon Blue when I was 5, and the last time I had played it was probably when I was 9 or 10. I remembered I had turned it on again one more time after that, not to play it, but to look at my childhood Pokemon.

It was during high school, after a move overseas that completely upended my life, and I was struggling with the crushing blow of being taken away from everything I knew and trying to make sense of anything (least of all adolescence) in another language. All I wanted was to go back to childhood and have everything go back to how it was before.

Seeing my Pokemon, just as I'd left them, had comforted me. I had looked at their stats pages, taken photos of them with my digital camera (that I don't even know if I still have), and then turned it off without doing anything.

That was probably 9 or 10 years after the games came out. It had been a long time since then. I had long since taken the AA batteries out of my Game Boy Color and left it untouched. I didn't even have AA batteries anymore.

It had worked then. But now it had been 27 years... I thought about not trying to turn my cartridge back on. As long as I didn't turn it on, I could believe my Pokemon were still there, the way I remembered them.

On my day off, which happened to be Pokemon Day, I googled and read that some people on forums and Reddit were still able to play their original Pokemon games.

Then... it was possible. I went out to buy toothpaste. At the store, I asked where I could find AA batteries.

It was a big thing for me to be able to go to the store and buy things myself. When I moved at age 13, I felt like something went wrong with growing up. It was difficult to follow what people were saying, and people didn't always understand what I said either. I had been introverted even in English, but now I had enough negative experiences that I became afraid and stopped trying to talk to people altogether.

I threw myself into video games and reliving childhood memories. The internet was where I could communicate in my first language and understand. I lived online and didn't interact with the real world. On the internet I felt like I was understood and could find people who shared my interests the way I did, but in the real world it always felt like I could get hurt if anyone knew me.

I realize now that I could have had a better experience overseas if I'd known how to adapt and socialize, but this was not something I knew even in English, and trying to learn in another language made it ten times harder. I'm sorry now for missing out on interactions that I know I could have had, but I just didn't know how. I wouldn't know how until I learned, and it took me a long time to learn.

I grew up online, in the company of others who had trouble fitting in with the real world, even in their own language. Those experiences shaped me, and the friendships I've made and support I've received online are invaluable to me. The internet gave me a way to live, and through it I learned how to interact with others. But in many ways, for many years, it felt like my life was put on hold and I stopped growing up.

Several years ago I moved back, to not far from where I was born, and I was able to work for the first time. I began to interact with people and feel like I had a place in the real world.

After shutting myself away for so many years, every little step I made out in the world felt terrifying. But every little thing I did on my own made me feel like I was living for the first time.

Even something as little as going to the store and buying a pack of batteries.

I was directed to a shelf at the end of an aisle, and found myself looking at a rack of lithium AA batteries. Did they not sell the old kind anymore?

I walked around to the other side and was relieved to find the familiar black and brown Duracell batteries I'd known from my childhood. I felt more confident about putting in a battery that looked the same as I remembered. The smallest pack they sold was an 8-pack for $12.99. I really didn't need 8 batteries. I didn't have any other devices that used them.

I thought, what if I turn it on and it doesn't work and I'll have wasted $12.99?

I also thought we might already have batteries. I might be able to say, "Mom, do we have any batteries?" and she'd pull out two AAs from a drawer somewhere and I'd save my money.

But somehow I felt like part of what was important about this was being an adult and being able to buy my own batteries.

Yet... what if it just ended up making me sad? Was it better not to know?

I went to the checkout with just the toothpaste and stood hesitating at the edge of the checkout line.

If I didn't get the batteries now, and it turned out we didn't have any batteries, I wouldn't try it. I knew I would just put it off until even more time passed, and then... "Are you in line?" someone asked me.

"No," I said, and I turned around and went back to the shelf.

I bought the batteries.

At home, I took out my original Game Boy Color from the drawer where I left it, the one my dad had surprised me with when I was 5 years old and that I had brought overseas and back.

I put the batteries in and turned it on without a cartridge first to make sure the batteries were inserted correctly. The Game Boy logo scrolled across the screen and it made the familiar blinging Game Boy startup noise. I turned it off again, satisfied.

I took out my original Pokemon Blue cartridge, momentarily having to remember which way it went in, and slotted it in.

I turned it on, watched the whole Pokemon Blue intro out of nostalgia, and then pressed START.

My heart leaped for joy.

MY POKEMON!!!! MY POKEMON ARE ALIVE!!! 🥺🥺🥺

My original Pokemon, that were with me in 1998 when I was 5-6 years old, are still with me 27 years later. I want to cry!!! I love the old sprites, I'm SO happy to see them again 😭😭😭 the Pokemon look so little and cheerful at the same time, which I love 🥺🥺🥺 I know there are people with many more hours on their games, who have leveled all their Pokemon to 100. But these are my Pokemon who were with me through my childhood, and I spent many more hours making up stories about them than actually playing the game. I'm so happy to see them again 😭😭😭

All I want is to see my Pokemon. My other Pokemon are in boxes. Now, how do I get to the nearest PC? Where am I?

Oh... Oh. I have to confess something. When I was a kid, I was scared of the dark cave areas, and whenever I got to them, I stopped playing for a while. (I was stuck at Mt. Moon until I was like, 7.) So I never actually beat the game.

And here I am on Victory Road, with the team of Pokemon I was taking to the Elite Four, without an Escape Rope.

The only way for me to see my other Pokemon is... to finally make it through Victory Road, after 27 years?!

[lay-z]

Simon 🤝 forced orgasms

Given his violent canon background, I’m not sure how I feel about “forced” anything and “Simon/Ghost” in the same sentence—especially not him doing it to you, but how about some good ‘ol overstimulation and premature ejaculation instead, hm? :)

Synopsis: Simon comes home from a mission and needs you to take care of him.

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x gn!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | established romantic relationship; domesticity; cussing; smut; cum eating; praise kink; aftercare/fluff

It is early evening, when the front door opens and closes again, and you can breathe a heavy sigh of relief—air that feels like you’ve been holding inside your lungs forever since he left for another deployment.

Simon has kept you up to date since he had cell service again, stuck far away in a foreign country and waiting for a plane home; informing you of a mission done, no major injuries, no need to worry, a rushed few texts.

couple more hours luv

give o take

dont stay up fr me

i love you

You’re curled up on the couch, barely paying attention to one of the comfort shows you’ve been re-watching for days now, rather listening to his heavy duffel bag hitting the floor, his muffled grunts and groans as he makes his way down the hallway towards you—not running towards him, flinging yourself into his arms like you used to in the beginning of your relationship, knowing how anxious your excitement has always made him back then.

No, you let him come to you; dragging his sore legs into the living room and making your heart skip several beats when he pulls his balaclava off with a soft sigh as soon as he approaches the couch, leaving his dishwater blond hair dishevelled and crazy, short strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, the buzzed undercut he’d left with now growing out once more.

There’s a lot of non-verbal communication going on as soon as he sinks down into the cushions next to you—leaving an arm’s length of space between the two of you, not wanting to soil you with his stank and muck (his bygone words not yours) as he leans back, head tipping back against the backrest with a low groan, tawny eyes fluttering closed with exhaustion.

He falls asleep within seconds, your quiet presence enough to calm his mind and ease some of the tension, and soon enough his snores fill your ears, making you feel lighter, an adoring smile ghosting over your lips.

You let him sleep on the couch; adjusting his position with practiced manoeuvres, so his neck won’t get stiff. He merely grumbles some gibberish under his breath while you take off his boots and strip off his combat fatigues—to make him more comfortable and do first damage control, tracing fading bruises, green purplish-blues, dotting his pale skin—a Dalmatian pup getting its first spots, though this is way less pleasing.

Still better than a gunshot wound, broken bones or some gnarly cuts.

At 2:39 in the morning, you’re awakened by the sound of the shower stream turning on in the ensuite bathroom, and for a moment you consider joining him before rolling over, stretching with a yawn and deciding against it.

Simon will come to you when he’s ready, and he does not shortly after, drawn to you like an invisible force in the dark; mattress dipping under his weight as he slips underneath the preheated covers—thanks to you.

His skin is still slightly damp, towelled off in a rush, and he’s completely nude when he finally curls himself around your body, spooning you from behind and pulling you impossibly close.

And he knows you’re still awake, when his rough palm snakes under the front of your sleepshirt to press flat against your thudding heartbeat. His breath is minty with freshly scrubbed teeth, a cool puff against the back of your neck, when he brushes his lips over your skin.

“Missed you, pet,” he murmurs gravelly, nosing along your rapidly thrumming pulse point. “Always miss ya s’bloody much.”

As if to underline his whispered confession, he grinds his pelvis against your clothed ass, and you can feel how hard he is already—how hard he’s been since boarding the bloody plane back home. It sparks your own body with buzzing arousal and skin-crawling need—a need to assure yourself that he really made it home safe.

Rolling around in his embrace, you face him in the darkness of your shared bedroom, barely able to make out the silhouette of his chiselled features and massive frame.

“I missed you, too, baby.” You stroke your palm over his pecs, feeling a tuft of coarse chest hair. “So much.”

His skin twitches at the gentle contact, squishy muscles flexing and firming under your fingertips, rough breath stuttering in his throat when you lightly pinch and tug on a tiny nipple.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groans, “don’t you fuckin’ stop.”

He rests his forehead against yours; breaths mingling hotly as you slot your leg between his muscular thighs, and Simon knows the drill—starts humping your own thigh slowly, his weeping cockhead leaving a sticky trail of precum on your flushing skin.

The covers rustle when his hand grips your waist, fingers dipping below your underwear with increasing urgency to feel your flesh give under his fingertips when he gropes and squeezes.

“Touch me, pet,” Simon grunts, chapped lips brushing over your temple as he speaks, and it’s more a desperate plea than anything else while his prick leaks heavily. “Need t’feel ya.”

You capture his lips in a slow kiss, tongue delving into his needy mouth, and you feel his heart slam against his ribcage before you caress your hand along his torso, down the planes of pude-covered muscle and scar tissued skin—to cup his heavy sac, full of cum, and feel his hips jolt with a sharp gasp.

“Ngh, please–!” His jaw clicks when his teeth grit together; buff chest heaving with a deep inhale. “Won’t last, lovey, not ah–fuck–not like this–”

“I know, baby,” you coo, “–‘s okay.”

The covers slip and lift as he squirms and the scent of his arousal hits your nostrils—clean skin, fresh linens, and the heady musk of his cum—making your head spin and your own desire pool deep and searing in your guts.

When you do finally swipe your thumb over his sensitive, drooling slit, you bring your fingers back up to lick at the milky essence coating your fingers with a pleased hum before slipping them past his lips, feeling his slick tongue swirl around your digits as you press down on sharp-edged teeth and silky gums.

A guttural moan is muffled and it dissolves into a low whine while he swiftly pulls you closer against the length of his body; hand fisting into the back of your shirt with growing desperation, bed rocking as he ruts against your thigh more fervently while his thick cock drags along supple skin, his ruddy, swollen tip nudging against your soft abdomen.

You keep your fingers in his mouth, his strong jaw slack and relaxed now—a loving handler trusting its feral dog to not get mauled—while he drools steadily, spit trickling down your wrist.

His hips stutter, thrusts faltering, and Simon cums with a broken string of whimpers and moans; panting while his fat prick gushes a generous load against your stomach that soaks into the old fabric of your shirt—his shirt—painting your skin where he’d rucked it up to feel you.

It’s a warm, sticky mess, one that will surely dribble down into the sheets if you’re not careful, and it goes on for a moment; cock throbbing and spurting cum that he couldn't get rid of for days, his balls pulsing as the pressure and frustration finally eases some.

You pull your fingers out only to cup his face and seal his wet lips with yours, kissing him with unbridled passion as you rub your thigh against his spend cock, feeling it twitch as his whole body shudders with aftershocks.

“Fuck… fuck, I needed that,” he mutters against your lips, his voice wrecked and hoarse now.

“I know.” Your eyes flutter closed with a soft smile, emotionally satisfied and fuzzy inside, while Simon peppers your face with saccharine kisses, nuzzling into your hairline, hands roaming greedily to explore the curves of your pliant body, branding the feeling of you in his arms into the crevices of his brain like countless times before.

“Gonna make it up to you, pet,” he grumbles, cheeks flushed under his stubble. “Jus’… gimme ten minutes.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

weber's law

in which spencer reid comforts fem!reader when she's having a panic attack at the rossi mansion

fluff warnings/tags: panic attack lol, spencer is really cute and sweet my little perfect cutie pie angel baby, classic spencer info dumps bc they're pretty much his love language, established relationship, cheesy and sweet at the end a/n: this one is for my queens with panic disorders who are triggered by literally nothing and everything i see you have this ilysm

When Spencer had invited you to a small get-together at Rossi’s, you’d imagined a small get-together at Rossi’s. 

And maybe that makes you a complete idiot. 

Or maybe Spencer is just so used to FBI work functions that to him, this really is small.

But now you’re sitting on an expensive couch in a very nice house, and you’re surrounded by FBI agents who are all milling around and talking and laughing, and you’re worried maybe your outfit doesn’t look as nice on you as you’d thought it did, and you keep having very vivid visions of spilling your drink all over a furry throw rug that probably costs more than your rent does. 

Music that could reasonably be considered relaxing or at the very least not objectionable plays over the sound system throughout the whole house and thus is inescapable—not that you’d get up from the couch even if you could, because Spencer is sitting to your right and he has his hand on your thigh and it’s the only thing that has until this point been keeping you from a full blown panic attack.

Maybe that makes you a complete idiot, too.

Regardless, you try to focus on nothing but the weight of his hand as it travels slowly up and down from knee to hip over the jeans you’re not so sure about, and the feeling of your breath coming and going, as slow as you can possibly summon it without passing out. 

Spencer is laughing at something JJ is saying as she stands next to the couch with Will and you really like JJ but her voice seems so loud right now, and nothing is going particularly wrong but everything feels so, so wrong it’s scary. 

All the buzzing tension in your body telling you to run away because you’re unsafe and at the same time locking you into place builds until you have to express it somehow. So you revert to an old habit—bouncing your leg rapidly like a rabbit thumping its foot. It’s not entirely conscious, but it feels better than being completely still. That is, until Spencer’s hand strays inward and cups just above your inner knee, where he begins fanning his thumb back and forth over the fabric. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, head angled toward you and voice low enough to not draw attention. You force yourself to plant your heel to the ground even though it worsens the feeling of gears crunching in your chest. 

“Nothing. Sorry.”

That gets his attention. 

Because of course it does. He’s always telling you to stop saying sorry so often. 

His tone solidifies, still quiet but committed to this conversation now and no longer the whispery apparition of a quick aside. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I don’t know, it wasn’t—it’s nothing.”

You barely avoid apologizing again. 

For a moment he doesn’t speak, just watches you—and you make the mistake of raising your gaze to meet his. He has that curious, analytical look about him, concern tightening his eyes and knitting his brow. He’s doing that annoying mind-reading thing again, and as soon as he actually sees your eyes, he’s figured you out. 

“Do you want to go outside for a minute? Get some air?”

After examining his face for any clues that he’d rather stay in here, (not that you’d really know what to look for), you nod hesitantly. Spencer mirrors your nod and stands, holding out his hand for you to take as you follow suit after setting your drink on a side table (without spilling.)

JJ is now wrapped up in conversation with another agent and the two of you manage to abscond without attracting unwanted attention, which makes you feel slightly better as Spencer leads you deftly through rooms with high-vaulted ceilings and big windows and heavy, expensive looking oak furniture. It seems like you’ve been wandering through a maze when you arrive to a quieter part of the house and he opens a french door for you—which leads out onto an empty patio. 

A cool breeze immediately sinks into your skin, and your nervous system is so hyper-alert that it gives you chills. Spencer notices the way you shiver and steps closer after closing the door behind him, his hand finding the small of your back immediately. 

“You okay?” he asks, intentionally avoiding impeding your view of the sweeping backyard and the trees beyond. Sometimes focusing on something stationary is less overwhelming, but they’re so tall they seem imposing. Threatening, even. 

But then again, everything feels threatening right now. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Spencer seems unconvinced by your monotone—when you glance over at him he’s still watching you like you’re a puzzle to be solved. 

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re not.”

“Why are you so convinced something is wrong?” you laugh, but it comes out too manic. You cross your arms. He looks pointedly at the motion. 

“For starters, that. Often times crossing your arms is a subconscious way of comforting yourself when you feel defensive or threatened. And you could say it’s because you’re cold, but—” he pauses, reaching out to touch your cheek. “I can feel how hot your face is, and you shivered when we came outside even though it’s 71 degrees because your nervous system is overreacting to external stimuli. The leg-bouncing is also often indicative of an activated parasympathetic nervous system. Is me touching you okay?”

Again, you nod—unsure how to deflect when he calls you out so efficiently. 

Spencer’s hand slides down to just beneath your jaw, where he rests two fingers. Each second that passes has him looking progressively more worried. You wish you weren’t quite so catatonic—the fairy lights hanging from the pergola shine through his hair and make him glow so appealingly you want to kiss his cheek. 

“Your heart rate is really high, honey.”

That would be due to the sense of impending doom. Thanks for pointing it out.

But you’ve lost your words, and along with them has gone your sense of humor. All you can manage for a 30 second span is a meaningless shake of your head as you avert your eyes, staring at the sprawling carpet of blue-green grass soaked in night as each blade doubles with your tears. 

“I think I’m dying,” you finally croak.

“Technically, we all are. Very slowly.”

Ah. There’s that social tact he’s so well known for. 

“Spencer.”

“Right,” he kisses your cheek as you stare up at him, affronted, and pulls you into his chest. “Sorry. I was actually trying to be helpful. Changes in brain chemistry and hormonal activity associated with panic attacks change your perception of time and make things feel really fast which can contribute to feelings of anxiety. But in reality time is moving just the same as it always is. One second is always one second. Sometimes remembering that helps me to slow down. Not literally, of course. My gravitational pull isn’t great enough to have any discernible effect on the passage of time.”

You sniff, pressing your cheek to his tie. His words make your head spin, seeing as you hadn't been prepared for a lecture in psychophysics—but it spins in the opposite direction than it had been going previously. It's nice.

“Change your perception of time?”

“Weber’s law of perception. Stimulus sensitivity will increase proportionally with increased stimulus intensity. You’re only perceiving time to be going faster because your cortisol and adrenaline levels are making you hyper-vigilant and sensitive to all the markers of time passing.”

“Like what?”

Spencer hums, the bass of it a comforting resonance against your ear, and strokes your hair unhurriedly. 

“Like… your internal clock. Your body measures time with your heartbeat, so when your heart rate increases, time seems to go faster. Also environmental cues, which lead you to understand that the world is not stagnant and thus is not frozen in time. Like the sound of the wind chimes…” he pauses, long enough for you to realize that indeed, you can hear the gentle, sonorous ringing and tinkling of steel chimes bouncing against each other. “And the wind itself, which is coming all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. Some studies actually suggest that wind direction can affect your energy levels and mood.”

It’s a gentle breeze more than it is full-blown wind. It feels cool against your hot skin. 

Spencer’s hand on the back of your head, still rhythmically smoothing your hair, seems to slow down the passage of time as well. You focus on that, and the sound of the wind chimes and the breeze on your skin for a few minutes, until your breathing and your heart rate slow and soon you regain your footing in the temporal dimension, exactly sure of where you stand on Rossi’s patio and in your boyfriend’s arms. 

“You tricked me into doing a grounding exercise,” you mumble into Spencer’s jacket. 

“I did not trick you,” he defends, voice quiet to match yours. “I just wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

You pull away from him and he lets you, watching on as you sniffle and wipe your tears on your sleeves. 

“Yeah, it did. Thank you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak as you gather yourself. He leads you by the hand to a cushioned hanging bench at the end of the patio, taking a seat next to you and gently rocking the swing. 

“Do you know what triggered that?” Spencer asks, over the gentle creaking sound. You shrug, observing the dance of the fireflies in the grass. 

“Nothing. Sometimes I just feel like everything’s wrong and scary but I didn’t want to tell you and ruin your night.”

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulder. “You are not ruining my night. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“But all your friends and coworkers are inside, and you’re out here with me.”

He angles his head down toward you and you look up to meet his eyes, even warmer than the sticky summer night. 

“I am. Do you know why?”

“Because I suck,” you sniffle, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you attempt to look away. But Spencer’s not having it. He encourages you to sit up again so you can look at him properly, before wiping tears away gently with his thumb. When he speaks, it’s in soft, soothing tones. 

“No. I’m out here because if all my friends were inside having fun, and you were outside having a panic attack, I would choose you every time.”

You manage a laugh through the crying. 

“I don’t know if that’s healthy.”

“Whether or not it’s healthy is an entirely different discussion,” Spencer smiles wryly, before it melts into something softer and more sincere. “All that matters is that it’s true.”

For a while after that, you simply lay your head on his shoulder. Spencer controls the speed of the swing with his much-longer legs, kissing your head and rubbing your arm as you admire the expanse of Rossi’s lush yard bathed in moonlight and the black silhouette of the forest beyond. 

Eventually, Spencer speaks again, likely to make sure you’re not spiraling alone in your head. 

“Can I tell you an extremely classified secret that I've been trying really hard to keep to myself for three days?” he asks, and the mischievous edge to his voice catches your attention. You hum in assent, already wondering what kind of information Spencer would have a hard time keeping to himself. It could be anything. 

“Anderson is sleeping with Childers from Operational Tech.”

“What?”

Despite not working for the FBI yourself, Spencer and Penelope have you so filled in on the drama that you know exactly why that’s shocking. 

You pick your head up to look at him like do not fuck with me right now. 

His eyes sparkle as he nods.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you tell me Childers was dating that girl in sex crimes?”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth twitches. You gasp. 

“No! What? Does Anderson know?”

“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“Wait—Anderson told you this?”

“Yeah!” He laughs incredulously at your complete disbelief. “People tell me things! I’m an excellent confidant!”

“If you’re relaying all of this information to me then you’re a terrible confidant,” you chuckle, still watery—but feeling light years better. 

Spencer brushes your hair away from your face fondly, leaning a fraction of an inch closer. 

“You don’t count. Telling you secrets is basically the same as keeping them to myself.”

“Basically,” you tease, angling your head up by a few degrees in invitation. Spencer says nothing, does nothing for a long moment—just studies you with soft eyes, continues stroking your cheek. When he takes too long to kiss you, you get impatient. “I’m still kinda anxious, you know.”

He smiles knowingly.  

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, looking pointedly at his lips. “You should kiss me better.”

“I think that would take more than just one kiss,” he murmurs through a smile, leaning ever closer until your noses are bumping. “I think I would have to devote several hours to that. Maybe even a whole day.”

“How does tomorrow look for you?” 

He’s laughing as he finally presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet and lingering. 

“For you? It’s wide open.”