#please don't ask what this is I genuinely have no answer for you

[darkmatilda]

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer needs your help examining a crucial piece of evidence...but the moment he sees you, his mind goes blah blah blah...proper name, place name, backstory stuff...

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist! female reader, same reader as in pick your poison but you don’t need to read that first—there aren’t any major references, suggestion that the reader engages in casual hook ups, reader has a belly button piercing and a described outfit, spencer's pov only

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by @trulymadlydarling it was slowly gathering dust in my inbox 😭 sorry!

"I think the threshold of my lab isn't exactly the best place for camping."

A woman's silhouette cast a shadow over Spencer as she appeared right above him in the dimly lit hallway.

Spencer sighed in frustration and hauled himself to his feet. As he brushed off his pants, he kept his eyes off the woman in front of him.

"Well, I didn't think you'd make me wait fifty-eight—"

"Oh, just say the hour. Is rounding numbers really that hard for you?" she scoffed, her voice carrying a trace of genuine curiosity. She swiped her access card, unlocking the door to the lab. With her back turned to him, he took in her appearance—an oversized fur coat draped over her shoulders, a designer handbag hanging from one arm. His gaze drifted downward, and to his surprise, he noticed…pajama pants and slippers?

"You should be grateful I even bothered to show up at this hour," she added.

"This is really important," Spencer replied as she led him inside.

She moved through the space with effortless familiarity, heading straight for the light switch. Well, this was her domain, after all—the place where she spent most of her days.

"I don't care," she replied. "Unless you've found proof that Marilyn Monroe was the Zodiac Killer all along—then, well, I care a little. Honestly, you have no idea how much you owe me for showing up..."

He rolled his eyes.

"Should I be thanking you on my knees, or...?"

"I could have been busy. I could have been out with the girls at a club. I could have been having the night of my life..."

"I get it, you made a huge sacrifice answering my request, but can you now—"

"I could have been in bed already. My own. Or not my own," she glanced at him over her shoulder. "Though in that case, I wouldn’t have picked up."

Spencer simply sighed. By now, he was used to it—the way most of their conversations followed the same pattern. How she always set the pace, steering the direction as she pleased. How she sometimes deliberately ignored his words and didn’t care if it made her seem rude. How, in general, she didn’t care what impression she left on others.

He had witnessed it countless times, found it irritating every single time, and yet—every single time—he kept the conversation going. Funny.

She switched on only one of the lights, leaving the room bathed in a soft twilight. Her handbag landed on the long counter beside one of the microscopes, and she tossed her fur coat next to it, completely unconcerned about knocking something over.

Sometimes, he watched her with quiet fascination—the effortless confidence in her movements—and wondered if she had ever, even once, smacked her hip against a doorframe. Or stubbed her toe on a cabinet. Those small, mundane humiliations and everyday mishaps simply didn’t seem to fit with who she was.

He tightened his grip on the plastic bag he had brought with him, the one containing something that needed to be examined. The team didn’t know about it yet.

The thought, the theory, had quite literally yanked him out of sleep. He couldn’t function without checking this lead immediately. But he knew that if he went through the lab, he’d have to wait until morning for the results…so he decided to ask for a friendly favor.

Okay friendly was a big word.

They had known each other for a few months, worked together on several cases, gone on a date, slept together.

Not necessarily in that order.

He was just about to open his mouth, say something, hand her the bag… when, for the first time, he actually saw her in better light than the dim glow—or rather, lack of it—in the hallway. Against his own will, his gaze started its journey over her.

From the slippers on her feet, up the loose pajama pants that ended just below the piercing in her navel, the black camisole with thin straps, to her face—completely free of makeup.

Until now, he had only seen her in two versions. One was her usual, elegant work attire. The other was her evening look—form-fitting, designed to turn heads and keep them there.

On second thought, there was also a third version. Without clothes.

But he had never seen her like this. Casual, comfortable, dressed for nothing more than wandering the walls of her own apartment.

She lifted her arms to tie her hair into a ponytail, and her shirt rode up slightly.

“If my piercing fascinates you that much, I can give you my piercer’s number,” she offered dryly, a fleeting smirk on her lips as she caught his stare. He immediately snapped his gaze back to her face, cursing internally when he realized he probably looked like he had been caught staring. Which, of course, he hadn’t been. “Excellent work. Full professionalism. Experienced hands…”

"I need you to check this stain," he interrupted, raising the bag.

They had been talking too much, and he really needed to know if his suspicions were correct.

She stepped closer to take the bag from him.

“Is this a crucial piece of evidence, or can I touch it?”

“You can touch it…”

She stopped just a step away, shifting her weight onto one hip and tilting her head to get a better look.Spencer instinctively straightened, feeling a strange tension along his spine.Earlier, he had been looking at what she was wearing. Now, what caught his attention was how she looked.

There’s a certain kind of beauty you never quite get used to, no matter how often you see it. The kind that, every time, knocks the air from your lungs for just a second—that fleeting disbelief that someone like this actually walks the earth.

She had it. She radiated it.

And she was just a step away.

She took the garment out of the bag. It was a red turtleneck sweater. She lifted it higher toward the light, furrowing her brow as she examined the stain.

Spencer’s gaze fell on her beautiful face, her eyes shimmering slightly, her lower lip slightly pursed in thought.

Suddenly, she scoffed, snapping him back to reality.

"Mystery solved, and I didn’t even need a microscope," she said, shoving the sweater back into his hands. As he took it, his fingers brushed against hers, catching him slightly off guard. "It’s foundation. I’d recognize that stain anywhere. So, hooray, happy to help, no need to put me in the case report, have a good night, and see you—"

He grabbed her wrist before she could step away, stopping her in place.

"This isn’t a joke," he said, his voice dropping, tinged with sudden irritation.She raised an eyebrow at both his tone and the way he—unintentionally—closed the distance between them. As usual, she looked him straight in the eyes, and as usual, it was hard not to be drawn in. But he tried, because this case was really consuming his thoughts. "Listen, I called you because I need someone to actually test it. Not just glance at it. It'll only take a moment, and then you can go back to crawling into bed with whoever you want. Can you do that?"

The second-to-last sentence made her expression shift slightly.

For a moment, they stood there, unwavering, eyes locked without so much as a blink. Then, the corners of her lips tugged upward—just barely. But it felt more like a forced gesture, an attempt to maintain her carefully practiced expression, rather than a sign of genuine amusement.

"Alright," she replied softly. Not to be mistaken for shyly. There was nothing shy about her, a fact he was reminded of constantly.

"I’ll test it, since it matters so much to you. And then I’m going back to bed." A slow blink before she yanked the sweater from his hands. "With whoever I want."

Why did swallowing suddenly stop being an automatic reflex and turn into something he had to consciously work through?

"That’s great," he said shortly, dryly. He could feel himself slipping into the trap again, letting her toy with him. "Have fun."

"I will."

With that simple assurance, she walked away, and the very particles of air around him seemed to loosen, finally allowing him to breathe again. He turned after her instinctively, the way a swivel chair spins when someone sets it in motion.

She crossed the lab table and leaned over an empty workstation—empty, like all the others. The entire width of the counter separated them now, along with the return of cool detachment to her face. Slowly, Spencer rested his hands on the smooth surface, watching as she got to work. Watching as her hair bounced slightly with the shift in position. Watching as her jaw tensed in concentration. Watching as she leaned over the workstation slightly.

"So," she began flatly, not pausing her work or even looking at him.

Spencer gave his head a small shake, realizing that this time, he really had been staring. At least she hadn’t seen it.

"What exactly am I testing?"

His gaze drifted to her again.

"Something related to the case."

"Wow, I never would've guessed."

He was too distracted to mentally slap himself for how pathetic he was. 

"Uh, it’s not exactly groundbreaking," he began.

He could focus—he just had to try hard enough. He just had to clear the lingering trace of her scent from when she’d stood so close. Had to shake off the echo of her words. With whoever I want, she had said. The more he thought about it, the more accurate it seemed. He firmly believed she could have whoever she wanted. With that confidence. With that face. With that body…

"That’s why I’m checking it after hours. Just, you know…backstory stuff…"

A sound escaped her lips—somewhere between a scoff of disbelief and a startled laugh. She looked at him—no, she pinned him with her gaze.

"Backstory stuff?" she repeated, her lips curling into a smile. Not even a mocking one anymore. She was genuinely amused. "Did you, Doctor Spencer Reid, when asked what the evidence pertains to, actually respond with backstory stuff…?"

“No, I…I mean…”

“Oh God, it’s a good thing they don’t put you in front of cameras. Imagine you, at a press conference. Just casually dropping backstory stuff on national television…”

“I can handle myself in front of cameras,” he clarified, feeling an odd warmth creep up the back of his neck. “But there aren’t any here. And besides, I didn’t realize you wanted me to recite the entire case file from memory…”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said with another amused snort. “Backstory stuff is actually a surprisingly accurate term. You know, very professional.”

He rolled his eyes, feigning irritation, though what he really felt was more akin to embarrassment.

“Speaking of professionalism, maybe you could get back to work?” he suggested.

“I don’t have to,” she replied, flashing him a sweet smile. “I already checked everything. And I was wrong. It’s not foundation—it’s nitroglycerin.”

Spencer’s jaw practically hit the floor.

For the first time since stepping into the lab, his mind was running at full capacity.

"Nitroglycerin? Are you sure?"

"Well, I don’t get these things wrong," she said, almost offended.

"Nitroglycerin," he repeated in a whisper.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Suddenly, everything made sense.

She leaned her elbows on the table, watching him with interest.

He wanted to kiss her.

No—he did not—

"Thank you," he blurted out, her words becoming background noise as his thoughts raced. "Thank you for coming. This…this really helps. I have to tell the team—"

He turned toward the door, dazed by the realization.

Something stopped him.

"Spencer," she called gently.

She didn’t seem angry that he was leaving so abruptly. If anything, there was a certain soft glint in her eyes, a quiet fascination with his sudden revelation. Standing in the doorway, he looked at her one last time, feeling himself freeze in place again. He said nothing, sensing that she wanted to say something instead.

She tilted her head slightly.

"You owe me a favor," she said.

There was something about the way she said it—something that sent a slow, deliberate shiver down his spine. Not even a shiver. More like a careful march of cold fingertips down his vertebrae.

So, naturally, he did what any grown man with an IQ of 187 would do.

He parted his lips slightly and nodded.

[holdinggrudges]

oxytocin

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, porn without plot, genuinely there is no plot, fem!reader, established relationship, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, edging, dom/sub dynamics like..a little bit, soft dom sam, size kink but also only a little bit, no use of y/n

word count: 2.3k

summary: Sam has a thing about control. So when the pieces don’t quite fall into place—when a hunt goes a little sideways, for example—Sam can get a little…twitchy. Antsy, irritable. What you’ve learned, though, is that it’s all too easy to give him back that control. To let him take it from you.

notes: i thought this was finished two days ago and then ended up writing, like, a thousand more words. whoops. anyways uhhh...i've never written anything quite like this before (this is my first ever legit pwp lmao) so uhh if it sucks don't tell me i'll cry

crossposted on ao3

Sam has a thing about control. You can’t fault him, of course; it’s actually sickening to think about how often his autonomy, his freedom of choice, has been wrested from him. Him turning into a bit of a control freak seems, frankly, like the best case scenario. It does mean that when the pieces don’t quite fall into place—when a hunt goes a little sideways, for example—Sam can get a little…twitchy. Antsy, irritable; you love him to death, but he’s a damn terror to be around when a hunt doesn’t go your way. What you’ve learned, though, is that it’s all too easy to give him back that control. To let him take it from you.

Two thick fingers press into your cunt, slow and leisurely, like he’s got all the time in the world, like you’re not falling apart in his lap. Like he doesn’t have you so wet it’s probably dripping down his wrist. He has your legs hooked over his, keeping you spread and open for him as he teases you. His smirk presses to your temple, your cheek, just below your ear as he plasters your face with soft kisses. “You’re doing so good,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your neck with the praise. “So perfect for me, you sound so pretty like this. Tell me when you’re close, okay, baby?” 

God, you’re not sure you’ll ever get there like this. “Sam, please.” You’re not above begging, not in the slightest, especially not right now. You feel like you’ve been here for hours, panting and whining on Sam’s lap. For fuck’s sake, you’ve still got your sweater on.

You feel more than hear the little laugh your whine drags out of Sam, a rumble in his chest where you’re plastered against him, a puff of air against your throat. “You need some help? Hmm?” he asks, dragging his unoccupied hand up your stomach and rucking your sweater up as he does. At the same time, his fingers curl inside you, stealing your breath and sending your head lolling back on his shoulder. 

“God—” Your hands scramble to grab onto something, anything, searching for purchase. In the end, one lands on Sam’s wrist as his hand cups your breast, the other grasping at the sheets below you, twisting them in your grip. 

His thumb brushes over your nipple, drawing a choked whimper from your throat. “Answer me, baby. Can you come like this, or do you need more?” 

How are you even supposed to think like this, let alone speak? “Fuck, Sam—” you manage to babble out, turning your head to hide in the crook of his neck. The smell of him floods your senses, pine and musk and just a little bit of sweat that lets you know he’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be. “More. I need more, please.” 

“There you go,” Sam coos at you. Then he shifts the angle of his hand so the meat of his palm grinds against your clit with every thrust of his fingers, dragging a guttural moan from your throat in the process. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? My good girl.” 

Curses spill from your lips like a chant as everything ramps up tenfold and leaves you struggling to keep up. Sam’s fingers, practised and precise, drag against your g-spot with every thrust and, combined with the pressure against your clit, they have you moaning and babbling incoherent pleas in moments. Your chest heaves with your panting, gasping breaths as the pressure in your gut grows and twists and builds until it threatens to send you careening over the edge. 

Sam’s wrist twists in your grip until you release it, letting that hand fall to white-knuckle the sheets below you with the other one. With his hand newly free, Sam draws his fingertips along your jaw and tilts your head up until he can see your face. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, sweet as candy, as if he’s not taking you apart. “Talk to me, baby. How’re we doin’?” 

Oh, he’s such a dick; he knows how you’re doing. Your pussy is pulsing around his fingers like a heartbeat, he knows damn well. He just wants you to say it. But you know what game you’re playing. “Sam…”

He presses his thumb to your lips, and his turn down on a frown that you know—you know—is performative, but that puppy look still digs its claws into your head. “Come on.” 

“Oh, fuck—” Sam curls his fingers, and your gut pulls so tight you almost forget to breathe. “Okay, I’m close, God, Sam, please—” You know it's coming, but it still comes as a stone cold shock to your system when Sam’s fingers still inside you and the pressure of his palm disappears from your clit. Your cunt flutters as the bliss that had been moments away fades out of reach; your thighs futilely trying to close, press together, but you're stopped by Sam’s legs holding them open. 

Sam carefully unsheathes his fingers from your cunt, and you could damn near sob.

He coos over the sound of your whine. “I know. But you're so pretty like this, sweetheart, so good for me.” His hand leaves your face to catch yours as you reach down to finish the job yourself, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Uh-uh. You trust me, don't you, pretty girl? I’ll take care of you.”

  You narrow your eyes, glaring even as you twist your hand to tangle your fingers with his. “You’re evil.” 

His laugh puffs over your lips as he leans down to press a quick kiss to them. It’s a little uncoordinated, and certainly not the best angle. But it’s a sweet apology. “Maybe I just thought you'd rather come on my cock.” 

Your next inhale is sharp, a response to the way his words make your neglected pussy flutter. You twist a little further, your nose bumping his with how close you are. “Are you gonna let me?” you ask, and your lips brush against his as you speak. 

He hums, and his eyes crinkle with the grin that he presses to your lips. “Say please—” he murmurs, the words washing over you like a wave— “and maybe I will.” Your hand tightens around his.

God, but if the power trip doesn't look good on him. The word comes out on a breath, just barely a whisper of, “Please.” 

Sam swallows the plea with a kiss, draws a gasp out of you as his teeth sink into your bottom lip and tug as he pulls away. “Please…what?” he urges, dragging a line of hot, open kisses along your jaw and down the line of your neck. “Come on. You want it, don’t you? Use your words.” 

You tip your head back, and you’re sure Sam feels you swallow around your need because the next kiss he lands on your throat is biting. “Please,” you say again, “please let me come on your cock.” 

Sam’s smile against your throat is so bright it almost burns, and he releases your hand from his grip. “Anything for you, baby.” He presses one last kiss to the base of your neck before his hands come up under your thighs, lifting you off his lap. “Come on.” 

You help him maneuver you until you’re laying on your back on the bed, and you take the opportunity to stretch your legs out, groaning at the stiffness from having them in that position for so long.

Sam kneels beside you, his hands squeezing at your thighs. “You alright?” he asks. His hands smooth up your legs to your hips before he draws them back down again in a pseudo-massage. 

You nod. “I’m okay,” you tell him, and then you let your thighs fall open to make room for him. You get the pleasure of watching his eyes snap from your face to your cunt, his pupils swallowing his irises whole. “Want you.” 

He lifts his gaze to yours again, and he holds it as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pulls them down and off.  “Whatever you want, beautiful,” he says, climbing over you and settling with his hips between your thighs before he pulls his shirt over his head. He tosses it aside and braces his hand beside your head.

Entirely shameless, you reach out to press a hand to his chest, admiring the solid planes of his stomach flexing as he holds himself up to hover above you. His muscles shift, a body perfectly designed to drag the tip of his cock through your folds. Your breath catches in your chest, your hand smoothing up and over his shoulders to tangle your fingers in his hair. 

He smiles, then his hand settles on your thigh. “C’mere,” he mutters, drawing your leg up over his hip. Your other leg follows suit, your ankles crossing. Keeping him close. “There you go.” With that, he presses inside you. He slides in easy—you weren’t exactly hurting for prep—but the stretch of your cunt around him still has you groaning in tandem with him. 

“Fuck, Sam—” you gasp as he bottoms out, his hips kissing yours. Somehow, you always manage to forget just how big he is until you’re so full you feel like you can feel him in your throat. 

Sam’s hand that’s not currently holding him up drags the hem of your sweater up until it’s bunched around your shoulders, leaving you, essentially, bare for him. He trails his fingers down your torso, watching the goosebumps that bloom on your stomach as he traces your skin. “Good?” he asks, his voice tight with the effort of keeping still inside you. 

“Yeah. So fucking full,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut as his hand cups your breast. “But yeah, I’m good.” 

“Good.” He draws out, dragging along your walls until only the tip is left inside, and you brace for the punch of the next thrust. But it never comes. He lingers, teasing, until you open your eyes to see him smirking down at you. “You wanna beg for it?” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan, pressing your heels into his back in an effort to press him forward. He doesn’t budge. 

“I think you’re gonna,” he says, ducking his head to press his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “You wanna come? All you have to do is say please—” He brushes his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pulling a whimper from your throat— “and then I’ll fuck you so good, you know I will. Just let me hear it.” 

You turn your head to face him, staring him down, breathing in his air as you consider his proposal. You lift your head to brush your lips against his. “Please fuck me.” If you hadn’t been paying attention, you wouldn’t have noticed, but his hand flexes just so where he’s cupping your chest. “Sam. Please.” 

Sam draws you into a proper kiss at the same time he slams home into you. Although, a proper kiss is maybe not the best way to describe it. It’s more Sam licking into your open, panting mouth, swallowing the desperate, airy moans that his thrusts are punching out of you. The pace he sets isn’t fast, but it’s deep, and with his tongue on your mouth and his hand on your tits, it feels like you can feel him everywhere, like there isn’t a single part of your body that isn’t being consumed by him. 

“My beautiful girl,” Sam rasps as he pulls away. He drags kisses down your neck, and then skips right over the bulk of your sweater to scrape his teeth over your nipple at the same time his fingers pinch at the other. Your chest spasms on a sobbing moan, your nails scraping down his back, aching for purchase. The feeling is overwhelming, lighting up every nerve ending you have until the only thing you can think about is Sam—Sam’s mouth on your chest, Sam’s voice soothing heated skin, Sam’s fucking cock taking you apart. “You sound so wrecked, baby, look at you.” 

“Sam—” His name drips from your lips like a mantra, over and over and over like it’s the only thing you can say anymore. You’re so close, teetering so close to the edge that a light breeze could push you over. “God, please—” 

His hand abandons your chest, smoothing down your ribs and over your hip bone. “I got you. I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” he says, and then he flattens his tongue over your nipple as he shoves his hand between your bodies to rub at your clit. 

It’s over—your whole body trembles with it, and you cry out as your orgasm crashes over you. Sam’s hips stutter where he’s fucking you through it, and then you feel him spill into you, the spasms of your pleasure having pulled him off the cliff right along with you. 

“Oh, fuck—there you go,” he gasps, his hips slowing to a stop as you both ride out the recovery. “So perfect, so good for me.” 

With the last of your energy, you lift your hands to his face to drag him into a spent, sloppy kiss. “Took such good care of me,” you mutter into his mouth, shivering while he takes the opportunity to carefully slide out of you. “Love you so much.” 

In a few minutes, the two of you will have to stumble out of bed to the bathroom, clean up and truly recover. But right now, Sam’s smile against your lips warms your chest enough to forget about his cum dripping from your cunt. “Love you too.” 

[nakylvr]

megan x tmasc reader smut but reader has a tdick?

as someone who doesn't have much bottom dysphoria this is how i went about this req. please do not read if it makes you uncomfortable 🫡.

and a reminder, any transphobia on this blog will get you blocked immediately. if you don't like it, don't read. don't harass me over it.

FADING INTO YOU

warnings/tags: language, nsfw content, established relationship, transmasc!reader, service top!megan, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving)

minors dni

laying on the bed in your room, you're scrolling through instagram on your phone with megan laying beside you, some show playing on the tv quietly while you both sit in a comfortable silence. her head rests on your shoulder as she looks at the tv, not really paying attention to what was actually playing though. she shifts lightly, lifting her head from your shoulder to look at you.

"yn?" she says softly.

looking away from your phone, you glance over at her. "yeah?"

"can i ask you something?" she asks hesitantly.

you put your phone down to give her your full attention, nodding your head. "yeah, what's up?" you can hear the hesitation in her voice and it makes you slightly worried.

"would you let me...try and make you feel good?" her voice is quiet, her hand resting on your chest as she sits up slightly.

"what?" you let out, eyes widening slightly. you swore you felt your heart stop for a second, not believing the words coming from her mouth. "you mean– i don't– i don't know, meg. i've never really–"

"please?" megan interrupts. "don't lie and say you don't try and relieve yourself when i'm not around, i've heard you before. please let me try? you can just tell me what you want me to do."

your face heats up at her words, your mouth feeling dry as you try to respond. "i mean..." seeing the expression on her face tells you that she's serious, and genuinely wanting to help you out. you slowly nod your head, "yeah, yeah, okay."

megan's face lights up when you answer, her hand cradling your face as she kisses you deeply. she moves so she's straddling you, your hands instantly going to her waist as the kiss that starts out slow changes. her lips move fast against yours, teeth biting gently at your bottom lip as you feel her hands trail down your chest, nails scratching slightly leaving you sighing into the kiss. she pushes her tongue inside your mouth, a quiet groan coming from you at the action, closing your eyes.

pulling away to breathe, megan looks down at you, smiling at the flushed expression on your face. "what do you want me to do, baby?" she asks softly.

your breathing is already irregular, your heart beating out of your chest as you try to form a answer. "i-i don't know," you reply, your voice shaking slightly. "anything, please. i trust you."

"okay," she nods, a warm smile on her face at your response. both at how flustered you were already and the fact that you trust her enough to do this. "don't worry, baby. i'll make sure you feel good," she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

her fingers hook around the band of your sweatpants, looking at you to see any signs that you want to stop, before slowly pulling them down along with your boxers. your legs instinctively try to close, but she's quick to grab them and keep them open. she situates herself between your legs, lying on her stomach as her hands rest on your thighs.

"are you okay?" megan asks, looking up at you while her fingers draw little circles on your skin.

"y-yeah," you answer with a nod. "just nervous," you admit quietly, almost embarrassed.

"i know," megan says. "but, you trust me, right?"

"yes," you nod again.

"then just let me help you, okay?" she presses a few soft kisses on your thigh.

"okay."

pulling your legs further apart, megan starts leaving kisses up your thighs, occasionally biting down to leave a mark a few times. when her eyes finally meet with your center, she has to fight from the gasp in her throat from coming out as she sees your hardened tdick. you've told her about it before, but she's yet to actually see it in the moment when you would usually keep your boxers on while being intimate with her.

inching closer, she hesitantly gives a little kitten lick on it, causing you to gasp sharply, your hips bucking up. her hands grip your thighs a little tighter, keeping you from moving as she wraps her lips around it, sucking on it gently. a loud moan comes from you the second she starts sucking, your hand reaching for her hair to grab ahold of.

"f-fuck! oh my��� oh my god!" you moan out, your fingers tangling in her hair.

megan looks up at you from her position, taking your reactions as good ones which has her starting to suck on it a little harder, her tongue experimentally licking up your folds, moaning into you at the taste of your slick. and judging by the way you moaned loudly, she figured she was starting off alright. her tongue swirls around your tdick, flicking over it a couple times feeling your hips jerk upward at the feeling.

"mngh, fuck!" you gasp, your eyes squeezing shut with your head falling back on the pillows. "m-more— shit!— please, please, baby."

hearing your words, one of megan's hands moves from your hip down between your thighs, her fingers dragging up and down your slick folds collecting the wetness before slowly slipping a finger in you. her eyes bore into you as your back arches off the bed from the intrusion, a little whine leaving your mouth while you squirm under her. she starts pumping her finger in and out of you at a slow speed, feeling how tight you were around her and not wanting to overwhelm or hurt you.

"oh my god!" you whine at the feeling, your voice cracking a bit. your fingers tangle in her hair, tugging on it gently at the immense amount of pleasure you were feeling.

carefully, megan pushes in another finger, feeling your walls clench around her tighter as more slick leaked from you, dripping down her palm and wrist as she slowly started to speed up. removing her mouth from you with a quiet pop, she looks up at you with big eyes. "does it feel good, baby?" she says, needing the validation that she was doing good.

"uh-huh!" you whine while nodding quickly. "s-so good— you're doing so g-good— fuck!" you gasp when she curls her fingers experimentally. "right there, right— oh my god!" your eyes roll to the back of your head when megan realizes and purposefully starts trying to hit the special spot inside of you, her long fingers reaching places you couldn't nearly reach whenever you tried to. you can feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter, your breathing getting heavier with loud moans falling from your lips without any care. "mmnh i'm close, shit!"

a smile curls on megan's lips as she watches the sight in front of her. seeing you like this has her feeling a way that she didn't know how to control. she wanted to see you like this more. nothing but a babbling, whining, mess as you roll your hips against her hand with squelching noises echoing in the room. "you're doing so good for me, baby," she says sweetly, pressing kisses on your thigh. "go on and cum for me."

with one last curl of her fingers, you let out a long whine as your orgasm comes crashing over you, your legs shaking as you cum on her fingers. you breathe heavily with your eyes still closed, a quiet whimper coming from you as megan pulls her fingers out of you, feeling her gaze on you which makes your face heat up.

moving up your body, megan's hand cups your jaw, making you open your eyes and look at her with a fucked out expression on your face, exhaustion evident in your eyes. "you did so good, baby." she smiles at you, her thumb drawing small circles. "thank you for letting me help you."

"mm," you hum, nodding. "can we do that again soon, maybe?" you ask quietly.

"of course." she nods, her smile growing. "all you have to do is ask."

[eliciria]

i am ashamed of myself but i couldn't just let this slide

luka (alien stage) yandere headcanons? if you're comfortable, ofc !! please and thank you, and take care ♡

a/n : oh my god i love reading these typa stuff when I scroll through tumblr, so ofc !!1!1 I'm still answering other requests, but they're open so if you have any ideas feel free to just ask :D

warnings : spoilers, manipulation, possessiveness, yandere tendencies

ALSO IM SORRY THIS WAS WRITTEN SO LATE !! finally got over writer's block for 5 months now ehe. I JUST SEEN WEIGE WTF.

yandere! luka

×

reader

👽 I won't lie, bro was kind of already a yandere to hyuna if you haven't noticed before... ( <- written that shit before wiege. kms)

👽 If you're someone who works behind the scenes, like a doctor who checks on the contestants after their performances, a make up artist, or essentially whatever requires you NOT to be on camera, best believe he's keeping you away from that damn thing. Because 1) He's even more possessive than his usual self, and doesn't like anyone seeing you in any sort of way that his fans perceive him, and 2) He's scared that somehow you'd actually end up on Alien Stage (even if you think you don't have the talent/looks/ the passion for it.)

👽 He's obviously manipulative, I mean, cmon. spoilers warning here but like, with the way he provokes and ebbs at till and mizi is crazy. Whatever tendencies he had before are just ramped up now. He makes sure you attend to nobody, and pays attention to him and him only. He'll poke any buttons you have if it means it keeps you under him, even if it is borderline blackmail.

👽 He likes seeing you jealous. There, I said it. He likes watching people's reactions twist and turn at his words, his expressions, at him. He is no different when it comes to you. Purposely does things he knows pushes your buttons.

👽 I'd like to think that he isn't all that bad as a yandere (I'm just delusional), and does treat you like a queen, or whatever the highest treatment a human can experience. Shares whatever gifts he receives from the aliens to you, feeds you the best stuff (because he couldn't... spoilers haha...)

👽 He'a also anything but lucid. WILL see you through rose tinted glasses, essentially like a god from his perspective, and if you genuinely ask him to grovel, he will. The only thing he wishes you won't ask is to leave...because he probably won't grant that <3

👽 Man is in his late 20s to early 30s, and while human culture is extremely different in the alien stage universe to ours, I'd like to give the head canon that they probably still have some of our courting culture and stuff. He would buy an engagement ring, and internally combust ( or bust...if you know what I mean), if you wore it. Especially in public.

👽 He's crazy. Wow! No shit, but he really is. I like to think while he does care about his reputation, he just throws all that out when you're involved. WOULD sacrifice himself for you in a heart beat. He'd rather die than you die and leave him all alone.

[cloversnstrawberries]

oc intro post ! ! young!serial killer grandpa & time traveler reader

masterlist | requests open !

warnings; Mentions of violence, murder, serial killings, Everett's superiority/god complex, misanthropy (hatred of the human race), manipulation, possessive behavior, mental instability, and there might be more that i forgot :( if i missed a major one, please let me know and i'll add it !!!

additional notes; i read "garden of the dead flowers" a while back (in which i totally did the daily pass thing. yeah. totally!), and i thought it had a lot of potential for a platonic yan,, i didn't like the ending much for other reasons, but i'm fixing it here. with my oc. as god intended, of course. of course, if you're familiar with the webcomic at all, this isn't really that similar; except for the very core basis ^^ this is the option that won the second poll :D

! ! introduction blurb & moodboard below the cut ! !

Everett has met a lot of people before, that's just how it is, being the son of a wealthy businessman and a socialite. He's met a lot of strange people as well, eccentric people that makes Everett need a double-take.

But none quite so strange as you, who simply... showed up in the back garden one day. You were disoriented, wearing odd clothes as you patted around your pockets for... something. A handkerchief, maybe?

Either way, you'd be an easy kill. He'd never seen you around before, perhaps a runaway then. Nobody would miss you, in that case. And If they did, then they'd have a difficult time tracing you all the way to Everett's backyard.

But something made that train of thought stop before it even fully departed. Something about you made him hesitate, and subsequently approach and offer you help. To pull you up, dazed as you were, and help you into the sitting room.

You continued to be quite out of it, and when he returned, tea in hand-- you took it without question. You hadn't said a word, not to him or otherwise. All you did was look around, face pinched like you trying to figure something out.

By the end of it, Everett isn't quite sure what made him take such a liking to you. When you opened up, you tripped over your words-- you sounded funny, regardless of that. Saying words and phrases he's never heard, but he didn't pay much mind to that.

Regardless of your little verbal stumbles, you ended up telling him that you 'don't know how you got here', which he assumed you meant the town in general, or maybe just his backyard specifically.

The first conversation he genuinely held with you, you would always give these nonsensical answers that provided no more knowledge than before. When he asked "Where are you from?" You'd respond with "Not here.", or how you got here-- you'd always pause, and try to think it over before finally settling on "...I don't know."

Amnestic, maybe? That's what he could make of it, anyways. Other than your dazed behavior, you showed no real signs of a concussion. He set you up in a guest room-- and he doesn't know what makes him do it. Even as you wake up the next morning, no longer so confused--

Usually, he wouldn't really like people like you. Those who treat him so casually, those who treat everybody like that; like they were everybody's pal. It irked Everett to no end before,

So why is it different when you do it? With your strange words, strange habits, and even stranger way of dress-- what's got him so interested in you?

What sets you apart of his usual fare--? He could go and argue that he helped you recover so he could add you to his roster of victims, because he's not one for kicking someone when their down...

But he couldn't even fool himself with that lie. Really, he doesn't know why or how you managed to worm your way into his good graces so quickly-- enough where he let you stay in his home for the time being.

He could be harboring a runaway, either from a family or maybe even if the law. That could put him in risk, if cops come looking for you-- find his home, found evidence of what he does in and around it.

Again, it's just something about you... It makes it impossible to even think of driving a knife straight through your heart. What would be easy for him with everyone else, was like fighting an uphill battle when it came to you.

Either way, he's not letting you go now. Not after week of getting to know you-- after getting you new clothes to help fit in, getting his parents to make the school take you as a student. Just so you didn't have to sit and rot in that big house all day, of course.

He won't let you outside the grounds. Maybe because he doesn't want his new friend taken, the only person that's been entirely immune to his constant need to hurt others-- either by yourself, or anyone who's looking for you.

But he doesn't tell you that. He says he just wants to make sure you're healthy and not about to keel over from an untreated brain injury and whatnot.

Everett has grown quite fond of you, even if you're a little strange.

Maybe it's because you're so strange, that you're exempt from his usually unforgiving drive to prey on others, and rip them limb from limb like they were bugs under a microscope.

[mybworlds]

Kiss the girl

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: use of you, you’re a mermaid, I won't give any details except for nice long legs and very long hair, nudity, violence (a little?), use of both pov. If I missed smt please let me know.

Summary: your time with Marcus is over, you have to go back to your home. When you are about to leave, Marcus has the courage to declare himself, but..

Masterlist

A/N Thank you so much for the amount of love and support, it means a lot. The title of the chapter takes inspiration from the very famous song from Walt Disney's The Little Mermaid. Likes, comments and reblogs are not mandatory, but very appreciated! ❤️

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Taglist @harriedandharassed; @orcasoul; @blazeflays; @ijustlovemensm; @duck-duck-goose2; @blacksnape123

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics.

The days pass peacefully as do what Acacius calls weeks. Every evening as instructed by your aunt you take a few drops of her potion and then return to your commitments with Marcus.

When the man has no political or military commitments, he dedicates all his time to you, he even gives you clothes and a pearl necklace, although the pearls are certainly not as splendid as those you have at the bottom of the sea.

Being with him for so long, you almost feel like you've always been there with him, that you've always been part of his life and, if your initial intent was to get to know him and discover his world, now you hope to be part of it forever.

You have also learned to love the time with little Faustus, you almost feel like an old sister playing with her little brother. You’ve never experienced this pleasure and it’s beautiful. You chase each other, you giggle, you grab him and lift him into the air, you tickle him, you run to the beach and there, just off the shore, you splash each other, covering yourself in sand and seaweed.

You once noticed Marcus watching you with a tender smile, the light in his eyes is sometimes indecipherable to your eyes. Your relationship is slowly changing and you don't mind at all.

You and him have reached an almost perfect daily life and you have such trust in each other that maybe now you can tell him everything. Including your origin and the truth about you.

That summer evening there's a slightly stronger and warmer wind, you run to your room feeling the effects of the potion almost fading. You reach under the bed to get the vial and that's when you realize there are only a few drops for that evening.

A deep sense of sadness and grief creeps over you as you realize you have to return to your aunt under the sea. The moment of truth has arrived. You must speak to Marcus before you have no choice but to show him who you are.

Marcus...

Oh, he was always so kind to you, sweet. He made you feel loved, yes you think that's the right word. But will he understand who you are? Or will he chase you away?

Maybe he should really be with someone like Augusta Lucilla, as everyone calls her, a good woman, beautiful, elegant, educated and certainly accustomed to what happens in Rome, its intrigues and its dark power. You met her more than once and she seemed genuinely intrigued and fascinated by you, she asked you many questions and you gave the same answers you had already given to everyone before. She and Marcus have also spent a lot of time alone together, and when that happened, you could watch them and see how perfect they are together. You know what Marcus thinks, but you think that maybe he should give her a chance. It hurts to think about it, but you and him—even if he accepted you—couldn't be together anyway.

When you reach him, you find him on the beach intent on watching the sunset. His amber skin is orange-toned, his greyish curls are tousled by the wind, his gaze is rapt and absorbed. You call him softly and he turns to you, smiles slightly and holds out his hand to you, which you offer, sitting next to him. You are shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm and you have never been closer.

“You’re here.” he tells you in a faint whisper.

You look into his soft hazel eyes, he seems troubled by something that you can only assume has to do with Lucilla and his now controversial upcoming wedding. Geta, in fact, does nothing but come here to his house to remind him of the impending event and does not miss any opportunity to talk to you and try to charm you or capture your attention, but so far he has always failed. You don't like his eyes and their expression at all, his voice makes you disgusted and scared at the same time, you always fear that something might happen to you in his presence. You are kind to him, courteous, but always maintain a cordial detachment and above all never spend more time than necessary with him and never alone.

“I'm here,” you say, looking him softly in the eyes.

His expression is sad, he searches for your hand again which he holds gently in his. He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb without saying anything. The silence that usually falls between you is comfortable, full of a strange and pleasant intimacy, but this seems to foretell something extremely serious.

“Your presence is always so dear to me,” he says, leaving the sentence hanging in mid-air for a while as if he didn't know how to continue, “but I fear... that we won't be able to see each other again.” you frown, looking him insistently in the eyes, while his eyes become full of regret and sadness.

You find yourself lowering your eyes, maybe it's better this way. This way it’ll be easier for you to separate from him and maybe try to forget the joy and sweetness you felt with him all this time. You will definitely have fewer regrets and probably won't want to come back to the surface as much. You had a good time with him and maybe, given his upcoming wedding, it's a good thing you're not here. You would only feel a great immense pain. You have learned to love him.

“You were my lifeline. The most precious thing that could ever happen in my life. A sweet and gentle soul who touched my heart and soul in such a unique, strong, delicate, persuasive way.” you look up at each other at the same time “Thank you for saving me.”

“I didn’t do anything… I…” you start to say, but he takes your hand again, bringing it to his lips and kissing it with such sweetness that it makes your skin pucker.

“You did, instead. You saved me on more than one occasion. Months ago... and since you've been here.” he adds still holding your hand gently in his “You gave me so many moments of joy and... with you and your innocence I discovered the purity of a feeling that I had never felt before.” you look at him surprised and almost speechless.

You thought that he, so handsome, so strong, so confident, had dozens of women he had seduced and related experiences. You never thought he could find in you what you thought he had already experienced and felt.

“I… um, I don’t know what to say,” you admit in a small voice, then he looks at you with such intensity that you think everything is probably going to burn under his gaze soon, including you.

His face is now so close to yours, his hand halfway between your face and your hair, his grip is firm, but you are not afraid of this gesture, on the contrary. You don't know what to do but stand still and watch this gesture almost in bewilderment, he must have noticed this almost stiffening of yours because he stops a hand's breadth away, “Sorry,” he whispers and you feel his hot breath against your face for the first time.

“No, I don’t… it’s just…” I’m a mermaid, you want to tell him, maybe this is the right time, the most appropriate time to tell him who you are. You are looking for the right words to be completely honest with him.

“I know,” he tells you in a tone of voice so reassuring, so sure that it silences every other word you say. Did he understand? Or see something you don't? Your words get stuck in your throat, will he accept you or want you anyway?

“Marcus...” you murmur, moving closer to his face, imitating what he had done to you a few moments before. You can notice every single wrinkle of his, his scar next to his right eye, his uneven beard, his brown eyes.

“My lord!” someone calls Marcus, it's one of his servants. You both walk away at the same time realizing that what was about to happen can never happen between you.

“What's going on?” asks Marcus, turning around. You first look at the man's profile, then you turn around too.

“The…” the servant clears his throat as if embarrassed, as if he doesn’t know what to say. You let your gaze wander from the man to Marcus who simply nods without adding anything else. His face has become a tense mask, his eyes are sad and downcast, then he turns towards you and his gaze softens.

When the servant leaves, he takes your hand tenderly, turning you towards him, “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?” you nod, concerned by the serious tone of voice and what appears to be concern.

You nod.

“It's a serious thing,” he announces.

A few weeks before...

Acacius, although has achieved a certain stability and serenity with you, is increasingly oppressed by Geta's push to quell any type of revolt that is creeping into the heart of Rome. In fact, the emperor is convinced that among the possible conspirators there is none other than the daughter of the emperor Marcus Aurelius and, according to Geta, the only way to definitively suppress the main revolt would be to marry Augusta Lucilla to the General so loved by the people and very faithful to his kingdom and to that of his brother Caracalla.

Lucilla, during her many meetings with Marcus, convinced him to participate in at least one of the many secret meetings in which she herself assiduously participates. There, Marcus discovered that many figures who are also prominent in the Senate are against the mad and bloody reign of the Emperors and ended up agreeing with their opinion.

Marcus has often totally disapproved of the two young men's methods of reigning and has often felt oppressed by their expansionist aims and from their total inability to think about the good of the people. Tired and fed up with their way of doing things, the General has, albeit secretly, decided to support Lucilla's cause and to bring back to light Marcus Aurelius' dream, or at least try. It's probably all madness, but Marcus hopes with all his heart that with the support of his men and the support of the Senate, or at least part of it, this conspiracy can succeed and the power of the two twin Emperors be overthrown.

Until then he had always kept away from such situations, but this is no longer possible. Now is the time to act.

Today...

The time is near. Many men loyal to Marcus are about to land on the coasts of Lazio. Soon everything should begin in Rome and the two Emperors will be taken by surprise, but not you. You have to go, Marcus has thought of everything. He will have you board a merchant ship to take you back to the coast of Sicily, where he first met you so that you will be safe from all of this. Marcus, in fact, does not know what could happen once the fuse is lit. Everything could explode, or implode.

You are the strangest, yet most delightful and sweet creature he has ever known. So pure and so gentle, so magnetic and magical, so strong and yet fragile at the same time. He knows he will never be the same after he meets you. He will carry the sweet memory of you with him forever. He won't be able to love you in this life, but he hopes that when one day far away you are both in the Elysian Fields, then and only then will he be able to allow himself to be happy with you.

It's not a given that the conspiracy will end badly, but if everything doesn't go as planned, then Marcus must be prepared for the worst and he knows that in this eventuality he must protect those he loves and prepare to suffer and die.

He has already arranged for the young Iulia and the little Faustus to be entrusted to a dear friend of his who will take care of them and respect them both. He will make sure that they come with you since you have grown so fond of the little one and Faustus of you. He's more than certain that their life will be peaceful and dignified.

But now the real question is how to tell you? How to tell you that he loves you, but that he has to let you go?

Marcus has been through so many difficult, dangerous and painful situations, but having to say goodbye to you is the most heartbreaking thing he has ever thought about or will ever have to do. He wanted to place his lips on yours and whisper those words that no one had ever managed to get out of him before you. You have been the sweetest of companions throughout this time, the first to make him smile and fill his heart.

He knows you have your secrets, but he doesn't care. He learned to love you for who you are and how you make him feel, and that's enough for him.

It's probably not right to kiss you and then say goodbye and perhaps the fact that you pulled away is a sign that the gods have sent to Marcus not to involve you in this foretold drama. However, the fact that you are now approaching his face and the arrival of one of his servants makes him understand that perhaps at least with you he must be clear and sincere. If he were to die and the two of you never see each other again, you have every right to know why. He doesn't want to disappear from your life like a bubble, he doesn't have that cruel courage.

You must know.

Your face changes expression continuously as he tells you what happened in the previous weeks without your knowledge, you are surprised, confused, maybe even angry and disappointed by his silence, anguished because you have surely understood that it's something that in one way or another could kill him.

“It’s not fair.” You whisper in a barely audible whisper. “Don’t leave me.” You find yourself begging him, your eyes clouded with great sadness. You look down at the wave-moistened sand.

Marcus whispers your name, moving your hair and tucking it behind your back, but you don’t look at him, “Please, look at me.” he says to you, slowly caressing your shoulder. “Please.” he adds in a pleading tone.

You look up at him and for the first time he thinks he sees something like tears.

“I don't...” you say with a shaking voice, “I can't cry, but I wish I could now.” Marcus moves his hand away from your shoulder “I - I can't. I - I... I mean, tomorrow morning I have to... leave.” you don't stop staring at the sand at your feet “I don't know how long I'll be gone, but...” for a while you stay silent, there is only the lapping of the sea to fill the silence that is growing between you “I am not who you think I am, Marcus.” you finally resume, finally raising your eyes to his face.

“I know who you are, instead.” he says and in your eyes almost fear spreads “You are the person I dreamed and hoped could be by my side. You changed me and made me see the world in a sweet and tender way.” he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand and your eyes lock, making everything and everyone fade into the background.

“It’s not like that. I… um, I’m a liar, but if I lied to you it’s because I just wanted to…” Marcus places a finger on your lips, blocking the words that would likely make him see you in a different light.

“Please don't think badly of yourself, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are so sweet, so pure, so…”

“A monster.” This word comes out abruptly from your lips, freezing the situation and causing an abrupt silence to fall between you, “Well, many... define us like this. Monsters. Murderers.”

Marcus frowns in astonishment. No, it can’t be that you were hired to kill him or kill emperors. He doesn’t believe it. Yet, a part of him has always felt you were elusive. If he had to compare you to something, he would define you as similar to a drop of water that, no matter how much you want to stop it, always finds a way to escape your grip.

Marcus interrupts your flow of words that would likely have led you into dangerous uncharted territory by bringing his face close to yours and placing his lips on yours. He feels you holding your breath and tensing, but you don't pull away. Your lips are so soft, he places his hands first on the sides of your face as if he wanted to bring you even closer to his face, lifting it just a little to deepen the contact. He knows he should have asked your permission and when he's about to move away from your face and apologize again, you're the one who stops him by placing a hand in his curly hair. Your kiss is so sweet and innocent that it almost ends up crumbling everything around you, the sounds, the noises, the lights, the words —the whispered ones, the hidden ones— everything fades into the background. You kiss slowly, almost as if it were your first and last kiss, the first and last moment, so sweet and intimate, so yours.

He doesn't know exactly what you feel, he knows that inside you it's as if two people were clashing, the sweet one who was immediately able to conquer both him and all the inhabitants of the house with your gentleness and innocence and the other one is the mysterious, seductive one that attracts everyone to you while keeping everyone away.

One murmurs the other's name in a whisper and still with eyes closed almost as if you fear that one might dissolve if the other opens his eyes, you sink both hands into his hair and whisper his name again. In his ears his name sounds almost like a sweet melody, it's as if for a long moment he had forgotten about the conspiracy, the dangers, his probable death, but he allowed himself the luxury of thinking of a world in which you and he could live in peace, happy, serene.

“Marcus...”

You open your eyes and each rests his gaze on the other, he caresses your cheeks with his fingertips, still savoring these brief moments of peace, of tenderness. He enjoys your rapt gaze, how your eyes close when he caresses your face or when his nose brushes against yours. He smiles thinking that if the gods wanted to call him to them right now, he would die in peace.

“Tomorrow morning at dawn, I have to - I have to leave.” you tell him, caressing that face that you have learned to love more and more every day and that now will be difficult to let go.

Marcus rests his forehead against yours, he doesn't want to let you go, but he has to. He doesn't know how you'll leave or who'll pick you up, he just knows you'll leave him and, although he's always been strong, this will weigh on him. He'll miss you.

Dawn comes early. You and Marcus spent the night on a triclinium, huddled together, each doing nothing but caressing the other's face, each seeking the other's hand.

The more the light prepares to prevail over the night and the more the pain in your chest increases and amplifies, when Marcus falls asleep, you gently loosen your grip and get up.

The pain in your legs makes you understand that the spell is now ending and that you are close to returning to who you are. You don't want to return to the bottom of the sea, but you cannot do otherwise.

You snuggle up and look at his face once more, so peaceful during sleep and almost always tormented during the day, his hair, a disheveled curl falling across his forehead, the scar under his eye, his lips that you kiss gently again, his big and strong hands.

You have to go now.

You turn your back on him and walk down those corridors that you have learned to know, along which you have also run, laughed, talked and marveled at the great beauty that man is capable of; now you're on the beach, the sky is full of clouds and you're ready to return to the waves despite yourself. You undress, leaving behind the beautiful silk dress that Marcus gave you, and you also leave the necklace he gave you there.

The water is cold, but it only lasts a moment, then your beautiful legs are no longer there and in their place your fish tail has reappeared. As you are about to dive in, you realize that a couple of timid tears have flown towards the waves, causing sudden, strong ripples.

You give yourself a boost by immersing yourself completely as if you wanted to push everything away and distance yourself from your life on earth.

You want to come back, but you don't know how long it'll be before you can, or if the man you love will wait for you... what you completely ignore, however, is that Marcus saw everything.

[mandalhoerian]

Hey. So, I want to preface this by saying I know I’m just a random user on this platform. I don’t think of myself as someone particularly important, and I’m not trying to be a big deal. I’m just here to write, share what I love, and enjoy fandom like everyone else.

And honestly? I’ve had such a great experience. I’ve got wonderful mutuals that interact with me even though I'm awkward, people who support my work in ways that genuinely mean the world to me, and fandom space(s) that’s been so welcoming. I don’t take that for granted. I really don’t. It's why I'm able to write so much, I want to give back.

Which is exactly why I hesitated to make this post. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, or like I’m complaining for no reason. But I also think this is something worth talking about, because — despite all the wonderful interactions I’ve had — sometimes, there are moments that leave me feeling bad. Not because of outright hate, not because of drama, but because of things like this.

I got an ask recently that seems polite enough. But it left me feeling kind of awful. I don't want to put this user on blast so this isn't a direct answer to their ask and their handle is blurred.

I get why it might seem harmless that even I questioned why it made me feel bad. They’re nice. They say they like my writing. They even acknowledge that I can ignore them if I want. So why am I feeling weird?

They tell me my writing is their favorite among all the stuff they’ve read. And at first, that might seem flattering, right? Nevermind the content-ification of "good stuff" and them deserving equal amount of praise if not more. But here’s the thing — if they actually loved my writing that much, wouldn’t they have supported it in some way?

I checked. They’ve never commented, or reblogged anything I’ve written. Sure, they left a like on fiab. But there’s zero trace of them engaging with my work before this ask. No interaction, no nothing, not even a quick “hey, this was great” in the replies if they couldn't be bothered by reblogging.

So when they say my writing is their favorite, it doesn’t actually feel like praise. It feels like bait. Like they’re just buttering me up so I’ll be more likely to say yes to their request.

They phrase this whole thing in a way that makes it feel like I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi and I'm their only hope.

“I can’t very well ask anyone I know to be my proofreader.”

Why not? Why me specifically? Why someone they’ve never spoken to before instead of a beta reader, a writing group, or literally anyone else?

This is the kind of wording that makes it really hard to say no without feeling like you’re being mean. Like, if I refuse, am I leaving them stranded? Am I crushing their last hope for feedback? The way it’s framed puts all the emotional weight onto me, a total stranger, instead of acknowledging that asking someone to do work for you is already a big request.

And then there’s the way they say:

“You don’t have to read them all—just some (read also: ANY) feedback to let me know if it’s even worth reading would be super awesome.”

This one really got under my skin.

First, the self-deprecation. The whole “if it’s even worth reading” thing. I get it. We all have insecurities about our writing. I just discovered I used the word "shift" like 32 times in my recent work, and "something" even more and I'm twiddling my thumbs about how uncreative I was. English isn't even my first language and I feel lacking every single day.

But the way they phrase it turns it into another pressure point for me. Like, suddenly, I’m not just reading for fun — I’m being tested. I’m the one who has to decide if their writing has value. That’s a LOT to put on someone, especially a stranger.

And second, that little “read also: ANY” bit. It’s a cutesy way of saying “I’m desperate, please read anything,” but it also comes across as pushy. It makes it sound like any amount of effort I give will be acceptable, but what they’re actually doing is making sure I don’t just say no outright. It’s a way of leaving the door open so that even if I don’t want to read all of it, I might still feel pressured into at least glancing at it.

It’s a really subtle way of making it hard to say no while making it seem like they’re being easygoing about it. And I don’t like that.

At the end of the day, the biggest reason this made me feel awful is that it made me feel used.

This person didn’t interact with my work. Didn’t support me in any way. Didn’t talk to me. I don't know them. They didn’t exist in my space until they wanted something from me. Like my writing was good enough to get something from me but not good enough to actually support. And it just sucked the joy out of my day. It leads me to believe they haven't even read the thing and just look at the notes and go, "this user right here".

And listen. I am not against helping people with their writing. I love talking about writing. I love giving feedback. I read a lot, I do my best to reblog and gush about what I like, but it's a bit time consuming since I want to do it long and be thorough. But there’s a huge difference between building a relationship with someone — engaging with their work, supporting each other — and just cold messaging a stranger with a request that only benefits you.

It’s uncomfortable. It puts me in an awkward position where saying no feels rude, even though I never invited this interaction in the first place.

I’m not posting this to be mean. I’m not even mad. I’m just upset.

Because this happens a lot. Writers get messages like this all the time, and it’s exhausting. It makes us feel like we only exist as a resource, not as people. Like our time and energy don’t matter as much as someone else’s desire for validation. And that’s a really shitty feeling.

So if you’re someone who loves a writer’s work and you genuinely want to connect with them? Start by engaging. Reblog their work. Leave a comment. Be a presence in their space. Show them that you care about their writing before asking them to care about yours if that's your goal in the long run.

Because trust me — when you support a writer, when you show up and really engage, you don’t even have to ask for connections or advice or feedback. It happens naturally. Because at that point, it’s not just asking for something. It’s a conversation. A relationship. A real, meaningful exchange.

But if you skip all of that and just go straight to “Hey, I don’t know you, but do this for me” you’re not just making it awkward. You’re making someone feel unseen. And I promise, no writer wants to feel like that.

And to the person who sent this ask, I’m not angry at you. I don’t think you meant harm. But I do need you to understand that this didn’t come across the way you probably intended. I don’t know you. You’ve never interacted with me before this.

On top of all this, proofreading and beta-reading, no matter how hand-wavy, take time. Thought. Effort. And they’re not things you just ask a stranger to do out of nowhere. Writers — especially fic writers who do this for free — are not here to be an on-demand editing service. Beta-reading is not a casual favor. It’s a commitment. It’s work. And when you ask someone you’ve never even interacted with before to do it, without offering anything in return — not even the time you're asking for them to invest in you — it doesn’t feel like a friendly request. It feels like being used.

And that’s what made your message hard to stomach. You didn’t support my work at all — but you still felt comfortable asking me to invest my time and energy into your writing. That’s what makes it feel transactional. That’s what makes it discouraging.

If you’re looking for a beta-reader, there are better ways to go about it. There are writing communities, Discord servers, and fandom spaces specifically for finding people who are open to that kind of exchange. But cold-messaging a stranger — especially without having ever interacted with them — isn’t the way to do it.

Use “Read More” for Long Posts

That said, I really do hope you have a good experience on this site and find your footing as a writer. Since you mentioned being new to Tumblr fics, I want to give you some quick advice to make things easier for both you and your readers. Not the feedback you were looking for or wanted, but one I want to give you anyway. Tumblr has its own rhythm when it comes to fanfiction, and while it’s different from AO3, once you get used to it, it’s a great place to share your work.

Tagging: Always tag the fandom (e.g. #[fandom name] fanfic, [character name] x reader) and the main characters/ships so people searching can find it.

If your fic is over 500 words, Tumblr etiquette is to add a Read More break after a couple paragraphs for "preview". This helps people scroll their dashboards without being overwhelmed by a huge block of text and makes your post look cleaner.

Tagging & Content Warnings Matter

Make sure to tag properly, and/or put the warnings in your author's note before the fic itself. Some people track specific tags, and good tagging helps your fic reach the right audience. A few key things to keep in mind:

Warnings: If your fic has sensitive topics (violence, major character death, explicit content, etc.), use tw [topic] or cw [topic] (e.g., #tw blood or #cw angst). If you don't want to tag, put it in your author's note/warning list. Some readers rely on these.

Break up long paragraphs. Huge text blocks are hard on the eyes, especially on mobile.

Avoid Over-Tagging: Tumblr hides posts from search results if they have too many tags. Keep it to 10-15 relevant ones.

Make Your Fic Posts Easy to Read

Unlike AO3, Tumblr doesn't have a built-in formatting system for fics, so readability matters. Some quick tips:

Use bold or italics for emphasis, but don’t overdo it. If you want to make the text look pretty, you can use small text.

If your fic has multiple parts, consider making a masterlist post and linking previous chapters in new updates.

Having graphics really works to get people's attention. You might want to use banners and dividers, there are accounts out there that are dedicated to making/providing resources for these.

Likes are nice, but reblogs are what actually share your fic with others. If you enjoy someone’s work, reblogging it with tags or even a short comment is the best way to support them.

Engagement is Key — Fandom Thrives on Interaction

One of the biggest differences things about Tumblr is that reblogs are the lifeblood of fic visibility. And on Tumblr & AO3, there is no algorithm you can rely on.

If you want engagement on your own fics, start by engaging with others — reblog stories you like, leave nice comments in the tags, and interact with writers. Fandom is built on mutual enthusiasm.

[xtinyslip]

"... as you so politely reminded me..." NOT. "i'm not a child. i have manners. mom taught me then just fine." no, he didn't expect for his dad to ever have cared to pay attention to it but cory did have manners. in fact, he was quite the gentleman when given the actual chance to be. "aw, you mean i'm not the heir?" yes, that was sarcasm at it's finest but it was difficult to swallow back every little comment. "i am under no illusions that i would ever be heir, and dad i seriously don't want to be. i'm good precisely where i am. this is where i'm meant to be." also true. "are you really going to make me ask?" raising his eyebrows. "who is your heir?" that was the million-dollar question. wasn't it? the fact that he was actually getting to his father genuinely smile or at least that was what it looked like was strange enough. he didn't really feel the need to probe into that any further right now. not when there was more pressing matters at hand. "i know enough about business to know you don't need me to answer that question. you already know how much she means to me or you would have used something else. right? although, your kind of shit out of luck when it comes to me seen as work is currently taking over my whole life." true and also not so much but he wasn't about to volunteer people his father could have used against him instead. he wasn't that stupid. "that's not yourself?" oh, it might have sounded like a total dick thing to say but WASN'T IT? the person he cared about the most wasn't himself? the fuck? he was genuinely asking. "uh." well, shit. how was he going to walk himself back from this one? and of course, he was expecting the 'cecilia will be fine' response. "there was a VERY specific reason why this article did not go ahead the last time. okay? before you give the final green light on this. read it? please? cecilia has worked her actual ass off to build back any form of reputation that finn ruined with his latest stunts and i know you were helping her do that. this --" it was bad. it's why it had remained dormant, collecting dust on his hard drive all this time. "she is not going to want people to know this." @fcdcdmcmories

"GOOD. WE'LL WORK ON THAT. i'm not about to have a son that does not know his manners." and he supposed that if this one was going to STICK AROUND.. he was going to have to make sure that he behaved. no, he wasn't about to be EMBARRASSED in any sort of way, especially when he finally brought kat home, where she belonged. she'd want him to take MERCY on this poor idiot, no? "did you ever hear the expression.. the heir and a spare, cory? IN THIS CASE.. YOU ARE THE SPARE. THE ONE THAT STICKS AROUND FOR GOOD MEASURE. JUST IN CASE. not that i would ever give you a penny of my money if something were to happen to my true heir, but.. YOU SHOULD BE HAPPY. FOR ONCE, YOU HAVE A PLACE IN THIS FAMILY." theo would have a home and a family once he was finally here and.. he supposed that he could keep one of the other three around. finn was gone, elaine needed to be taught a lesson, and so.. HE SUPPOSED CORY WAS THE BEST CHOICE NOW. "things are different now. everything is. the world has.. SHIFTED." knowing that she was out there? knowing that he could get to see her again soon? it made him smile, before he could hide it down. "very well. do as i say and i will. or do you not know the first thing about business? if you want something, you have to give something. SO THE QUESTION.. HOW MUCH IS YOUR MOTHER'S LIFE WORTH TO YOU?" he only smiled again, shaking his head. "the one person that means the most in the world to me. that's all you need to know for now, so no need to bend your back attempting to figure it out. I'M SURE YOU'LL CROSS PATHS WITH HER SOONER THAN LATER." hopefully later than sooner, but he was not worried about it in the slightest. not when he had her back. kat. "good. that's precisely what i'm after, something that he will not be able to get back from. and if this article makes sure people believe it? EVEN BETTER," there was only one opinion that he cared about. hers. only hers. "and cecilia will be fine. we'll take care of her. if anything, people will see her for just how strong she is. AS A SURVIVOR." and she'd have him and kat to help her get through that. yes? / @xtinyslip

[teyvatairconditioningco]

Fuck it, the Avisos boys as cucumbers

Beelzebub is a Marketmore 76, the quintessential cucumber. You acquire a whole bunch of them aaaaand they're gone (to mold).

Bael is a Boston pickling cucumber, very crisp, takes spices very well. Also has several flavors of psychological trauma.

Naberius is an Armenian yard-long cucumber. Knows the secrets of the universe, easily digestible (those two things are unrelated).

Stolas is a Richmond green apple cucumber. He's just a little guy. Just a little war criminal. Bit thin-skinned. Vibes of a Cancer (astrological).

And finally, Amon is a lemon cucumber. Kinda wanna throw him, kinda wanna shove him in my mouth whole. Would confuse the shit out of your grandmother. Probably tastes great if you can find one.

All of them when they see [you]

[gingermintpepper]

hi I love your tags so so much! they were so sweet and so interesting and creative and the whole Aphrodite type of beauty thing sounds really interesting do you have any articles and recommendations to read further into it??

-hogoflight

Hello my fine feathered (I am assuming possession of feathers if you are, indeed, capable of flight) @hogoflight! I'm always always happy to hear that people appreciate my frenzied rambling in the tags :D! I have a lot of articles and recommendations :D!! Ancient Greek notions of beauty and representations of it in their art and sculptures is a pretty well studied topic! There isn't any way for us now to know definitively what the beauty standard was (it varied widely from region to region and culture to culture after all) but here are a couple of my favourite reads about Aphrodite and what her representations tell us about idealised beauty!

Probably the most empirically extensive one I can list is Krönström's thesis which compares statues of Aphrodite and literary text referring to both the goddess and mortal women to determine physical ideals for women in five specific eras of Grecian antiquity. Including measurements of the statues there are many descriptions of Aphrodite as 'curvy' with a 'voluptuous figure' and with 'ample buttocks and bosom'.

"When the beauty traits are described in the texts, they are never extreme or anything that could not be found in normal people just that they are more beautiful in every aspect. Furthermore, the sculptures’ physical forms look healthy, they are tall and have distinct curves. Great examples of this are the Knida sculpture and de Milo (the Melian) sculpture."

Of course, these images are still idealised, and there was still a concept such as 'too fat' or 'too skinny' found in written records (and this thesis even includes analysis of pornographic writings and descriptions of the fashion and stylings of pubic hair of women from different regions!!) but from an interpretational standpoint? There is absolutely no reason why these can't refer to a fuller figure. Height was also a very important factor after all and over the course of many eras, it seems like being well proportioned in addition to the length and appearance of one's hair were the most important factors (and, like Apollo, greater beauty was given to those with curlier hair)

Mireille M. Lee's 'Other Ways of Seeing' essay which talks about the forgotten female viewers of Knidian Aphrodite which is also extremely illuminating on how Aphroditic sexuality and sensuality was perceived totally differently from the well documented male voyeuristic gaze (which was overly preoccupied with the statue's nakedness and therefore over-sensationalised the statue's physical appearance) vs women's perspective on the statue which is more centered on the beauty of simplicity in Aphrodite's garment and decoration and in her power and ability to captivate both in her finery and without it. I think it's especially useful in exploring the importance of finery, jewellry and adornment in representations of Aphroditic beauty.

"Some of the small-scale copies are heavily jeweled, especially those from the eastern Mediterranean, for example the Hellenistic gilded terracotta statuette in the Çanakkale Museum (Fig. 5) in which the goddess wears, in addition to the armband on her (right) arm, the following: a necklace with multiple pendants; cross-bands extending over both shoulders and hips, with a cascading pendant in the center; a coiled snake armband on the left arm and another snake on her left thigh, and a twisted anklet on her right leg. (The left leg has been restored, and might also have featured an anklet.)"

"Jewelry is especially associated with Aphrodite in Greek literature. As seen above, in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite, the goddess adorns herself with gold jewelry, dress-pins, and earrings in the shape of flowers (162–3)..."

Finally, and to me, the most important one in the argument for an interpretation of Hyacinthus as fat, beautiful and fundamentally Aphroditic comes from Brilmayer's brilliant brilliant thesis done on Aphrodite's work and influence in Archaic Greek Poetry which does away with all of that masculine preoccupation with physical proportion, measurement and bodily ideals for a focus on a Sapphic Aphroditic ideal centered in clothing, ornamentation and, most importantly cunning as symbols of Aphrodite and ultimately a feminine idealised form of beauty. This paper also discusses Pandora and Helen in these terms and it is just kind of a wonderful read tbh.

"Combining Homeric and Hesiodic elements with her own ideas, she [Sappho] alters the way female beauty is viewed. For example, the Homeric war chariot – a symbol of male, military prowess - comes to symbolise the totality of Aphrodite’s power uniting in itself male and female qualities. Having addressed the concept of beauty directly, Sappho then concludes that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. With the help of Helen of Troy and her beloved Anaktoria, Sappho sets out to reinvent the concept of female beauty as a godlike, subjective quality that may be expressed in many ways, yet remains inspired by Aphrodite."

The conclusion to all of this of course is that Aphroditic ideal beauty is much more fluid compared to its stricter Apolline masculine standard. The nuances and understandings of both are of course, constantly being studied, analysed and scrutinised but really, if Dionysus who was both bearded and clean shorn, effeminate, birthed and rebirthed (and twice gestated!) and strongly associated with vegetation can be popularly portrayed as fat and handsome, why can't Hyacinthus?!

[starflungwaddledee]

[outeremissary]

kasander + 😴 please!

Thank you ❤️ Sleep questions about D&D elves always lead peculiar places, don't they?

hc + 😴 for a sleep-themed headcanon

Kasander seldom sleeps willingly. Their trance is already haunted by half-alien memories of blood and darkness, disorganized images they struggle to stitch together and match to their origins. It's upsetting even without any supernatural incursion causing more extreme visions, and it makes them fear resting. Sleeping, on the rare experiment trying to avoid the memories, is much worse. They always dream, and they always dream Bhaal's dreams. And it takes such a terribly long time to wake. So they avoid sleeping, and they're thankful not to have a reason to.

However, sleep is the most convenient way for the Emperor to contact them, and the Emperor has a way of pulling them under whenever he pleases. When they first met and the Emperor was still in the form of the Dream Visitor the Emperor offered to soothe their nights from the restless, terrible trance by quieting their dreams- if only they would sleep, of course. Disoriented, still largely amnesiac, and distressed by the visions, Kasander agreed eagerly (there was a lot of agreeing with the Emperor then) and committed themself to the psionic protection out of desperation for any relief from the growing fear there was something wrong with them. It did seem to work- mostly- but when Kas began to break with the Emperor they stopped sleeping nightly as well. By that point they were ready to grapple with the horrors of trance again, as painful and difficult as they were.

[fragglerockopinions]

The worst thing about suffering is that it still hurts when the danger is over but no one cares about it anymore because it shouldn't hurt. No one will ever say "I'm sorry that happened to you" especially when they barely say "I'm sorry that's happening."

[im-phoenix-black]

So I have a genuine good faith question I want to ask.

Aside from obvious consent issues and birth defects of resulting offspring, why is incest not okay?

That is to say, a hypothetical situation in which a brother and a sister date as adults and take care to prevent pregnancy and always enthusiastically consent... What harm is being done?

I fully admit that in reality, consent is frequently a grey area and not fully black and white, so I'm giving you a hypothetical where it is, to make the question I'm actually asking about more obvious.

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

- sylus x reader

you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!

note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)

“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”

On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.

“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”

“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—

—fell into Luke's arms.

In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—

“What are you doing?”

And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.

“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.

However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”

Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.

“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.

But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”

“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.

As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?

As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.

“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”

“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”

Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.

“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”

You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”

“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”

You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”

It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”

You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”

“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”

. . .

“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”

Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”

"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”

“You don’t have to…”

“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”

“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”

Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"

You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”

There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—

But after a while...

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”

You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.

But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.

But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”

“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”

If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.

“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”

A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”

Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.

He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.

“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”

“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”

“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”

A wicked grin curved his lips.

“I'll pick up where I left off.”

[sarcosmiiic]

PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND:

we, as fans, do not have a right to private information. anything shared with us on this is a privilege. please do not abuse it. the cc's could shut down and never talk about it if we overwhelm them.

also, please keep in mind that ONE HERMIT and THE ENTIRETY OF HERMITCRAFT are NOT THE SAME THING. the entire fandom is not 'ruined' or 'completely unsafe' because of the actions of one person.

PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME THAT THE OTHER HERMITS KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT WHATEVER'S GOING ON WITH ISKALL. this is not some big conspiracy, it's the consequences of one person's actions. they weren't hiding this from us, that's not how hermitcraft works, they truly didn't know. they probably knew as much as us about this, so making it an 'us against them' situation is immature and shortsighted.

ALSO, I AM BEGGING EVERYONE TO PLEASE NOT SENSATIONALIZE THIS. PLEASE DO NOT TURN HATING ISKALL INTO A MEME OR A JOKE.

mcyt'ers being revealed to be less-than-great people is not a rare thing, sadly, but i've seen it turned into a joke/meme/trend in other fandoms. this both minimalizes the actual people's/victims' struggles, makes the entire situation feel less serious than it is, especially to outsiders looking in, and makes everyone in the fandom look immature, petty, unable to take anything seriously, and genuinely harmful.

this server, fandom, and community are not dying, it is not ruined forever, this is one (major, i'm not trying to minimalize it) issue that we're currently dealing with. it will be okay. we will move on. this is not the beginning of the end. please calm down. i love this fandom, god bless all of you. <3

edit: doc has said on stream that we will likely get more information as time passes. like i said, this is a PRIVILEGE. we are not OWED information. please be grateful for what we're given, and POLITELY ask questions if you must. if a cc doesn't give you the answer you want, or doesn't answer at all, LEAVE THEM ALONE. THIS IS NOT AN EXCUSE TO HARASS PEOPLE. the hermits are likely just as stressed out as us, if not probably more so, so please keep that in mind when contacting them.

don't freak out, we'll be okay, this is not the end of the world, nor is it the end of Hermitcraft. we will be okay.

second edit: please remember that (at least as far as we know) ISKALL AND STRESS WERE NOT KICKED OR BANNED. THEY LEFT OF THEIR OWN VOLITION.

ALSO!!! VERY IMPORTANT!!!

WE. DO. NOT. KNOW. EXACTLY. WHAT. HAPPENED.

PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME ANYTHING SIMPLY BASED OFF OF OTHER MCYT'ERS PAST ACTIONS/SCANDALS. WE DO NOT KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. WE MIGHT NOT EVER KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. WE NEED TO BE OKAY WITH THAT AND NOT DRAW OUR OWN CONCLUSIONS.

TWITTER LINKS TO VICTIM RESPONSES:

https://twitter.com/Kasszi_/status/1860670647946604985

https://twitter.com/emoslab_/status/1860697161245323559