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darkmatilda · 2 months ago

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𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐛 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: one trip to california, one bed, two people, dozens of increasingly absurd topics of conversation, and an uncountable number of internal monologues running through spencer’s head during the night spent under the same blanket with his unexpected, self-appointed roommate.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, one bed trope in stupid circumstances (with this trope the more absurd = the better cant change my mind), mention of spiders, 7k words of talking like trust me nothing happens here (okay they fight a bit over the blanket) (guess who won), spencer is down down bad bad, reader teaches him about skin care and is wearing his clothes, cucumber somehow becomes a topic of conversation, mention that they had sex before (intimate talk, finally confront that fact), they solve crosswords like an old married couple then get married buy a guinea pig name it gideon monroe and move to the countryside (they dont just kidding)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.3k

𝐚/𝐧: shoutout to my homegirl @nightfullofparadox for conducting complex research on the walls of her room and helping me determine whether hand cream feels sticky, greasy, or moist—such an important matter that without it, this fic wouldn’t exist. marathon masterlist

"...it was during the night of June 11 to 12, after nearly a year of preparing the plan, that they finally put it into action," Reid explained, with an unconscious hand gesture—fluid and natural—showing just how engaged he felt in the story he was telling. "In their beds, they left fake heads made of a mixture of toilet paper, soap, concrete, and hair from the prison barber shop’s trash. That way, the guards thought they were asleep when in fact they were escaping through an opening in the ceiling they had carved using spoons..."

The famous escape from Alcatraz was a topic Morgan and Garcia had some superficial knowledge of, while their partners—Savannah and Sam—had virtually none. And it just so happened to be one of the places they planned to visit during their three-day trip to California (actually, it was also the reason Spencer agreed to go with them at all), so he was thrilled by the fact that he could introduce them to this orally fascinating subject. And, as a bonus, make the airport check-in much more interesting.

At one point, Savannah sighed, taking a sip of the coffee she’d bought at the airport.

"I still can’t believe that the first place I’ll visit during my vacation is a prison," she said.

Reid shrugged. For him, visiting Alcatraz was far more interesting than lounging by a pool, but he decided not to judge and instead offer up some information that might change her mind.

"The island of Alcatraz is beautiful in itself," he noted. "In 1972, it became part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area..."

He broke off, noticing the impatience with which Morgan kept glancing at his watch. His gaze was still scanning the airport, as if someone was missing. Just to be sure—not that he needed to, because he was sure—but just to be sure, Spencer counted the faces of his friends. Four, plus himself. As many as there were supposed to be from the start.

“I swear, if she’s late…” Derek muttered under his breath, gently shaking his head from side to side.

Spencer parted his lips, then closed them again, feeling at least mildly confused.

“Who?” he asked. “We’re all here.”

A laugh rang out...

A treacherous giggle escaping from Penelope’s mouth.

All heads turned toward her, which only made her laugh harder and prompted her to cover her mouth with her hand. Sam looked at her, caught by her smile; he seemed just as surprised as Reid—but in a slightly different way—positively intrigued, while a knot of foreboding twisted in Spencer’s stomach.

“What are you two up to, hmm?” Sam asked Garcia, his gaze moving from her to Derek.

A smirk formed on Morgan’s lips.

“We made sure Reid won’t get bored…”

“Well hey there, everyone,” came a voice from behind Spencer. He shut his eyes, unable to believe what was happening. He didn’t even have to turn around. “If any of you secretly manifested for me to be late, you almost got your wish. You wouldn’t believe the traffic…”

He still didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to—he knew exactly who had joined them. It was obvious just from the looks Penelope and Morgan were exchanging. Oh, he had been so right—he definitely wouldn’t be bored on this trip. He’d just end up going absolutely insane with irritation at least a thousand times. About 333.3(3) for each day of their stay.

“Just wait till Spencer finds out we booked them a shared room…”

His eyes flew open instantly—and so did his mouth, his throat suddenly dry.

Morgan burst out laughing but calmed him with a wave of hand.

“That part was a joke.”

A very unfunny one.

After a long shower and an even longer day, Spencer finally slid into the hotel bed. The hotel bed in a room booked just for him. To his great relief, Garcia’s words had indeed turned out to be a little silly joke, not something he actually had to live through.

Strange places usually meant trouble falling asleep, but that night, exhaustion worked in his favor—the first day of their stay in California was always meant to be the most intense one, strictly focused on sightseeing. His body was tired from walking, and his eyes were already beginning to close. A familiar heaviness and haze settled over his head, signaling that he’d drift off the moment it hit the pillow…

…but then came a knock at the door.

With a frustrated sigh, he got to his feet, having no clue who might want something from him at this hour. He didn’t even feel like forming a theory or guessing—he just opened the door, his face making it clear to the visitor that whatever it was they wanted, they’d better want it quickly.

The sleepiness left his body at once, replaced by surprise at the sight of the last person he expected to see from the trip. He almost groaned.

“Don’t even tell me it wasn’t a joke and we really are sharing a room…”

The woman shot him a glare, probably because of his openly displeased reaction. Not that she looked particularly thrilled herself—Spencer gave her a quick once-over, mildly surprised to see she was still wearing the same clothes from their sightseeing earlier, which might mean she hadn’t even made it to her room yet. Her expression, on the other hand—tense.

“Relax, pretty boy,” she said coolly, the nickname paired with a nod toward his not-so-cooperative post-shower hair and the sleepwear that, despite being neatly folded in his suitcase, looked a little crumpled.

Spencer awkwardly smoothed his hair a bit; not noticing, she continued—this time with more seriousness:

“As it happens, I need your help. It won’t take long.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to give in to the irritation. One thing that was constant in their relationship was that whenever they needed each other’s help, it actually took a long time. Let’s skip the fact that it could easily be cut in half just by removing their verbal sparring. And at least five minutes of convincing to do it at all. That step, Spencer decided to skip—he was too tired for that.

So he could either shut the door in her face, or help. He knew he wouldn’t survive the first one.

“Help with what?” he got straight to the point.

She looked at him a bit more kindly, like she was pleased with the readiness to act.

“I could go to literally anyone else, but since they’re all paired up I didn’t want to barge into their room all of a sudden, in the middle of the night,” she began, then sighed. “There’s a spider in my room. I won’t sleep with it in there, and I’m definitely not killing it myself. So,” she gave him a meaningful look.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before giving a verbal response, though he was aware that his expression probably gave a lot away.

“Did you get a good look at it?”

“Of course not. Then I’d spend the whole night feeling like something’s crawling on me. But it was big and scary. Come on, before it gets away,” she tried to grab his wrist and pull him out of the room, but Reid skillfully avoided it.

For one simple reason.

“You know that in California the most commonly found venomous spider is...”

“Black widow,” she finished for him, suppressing a shudder at the very thought. “Especially fond of corners in apartments, like the edges near the baseboards. And according to the California Poison Control System, around 200–300 black widow bites are reported annually in the entire state.”

He couldn’t help that the little lecture complete with stats made an impression on him. She shrugged nonchalantly.

“Why are you staring like that, Mr. Genius? You’re not the only one who does research on places you’re visiting,” she replied. After a second of silence, she cleared her throat. “Okay, especially about the spiders in them.”

Reid sighed, still with one hand on the open door to his room.

The woman met his gaze. Her eyes, as if on command, softened and grew at least twice their size in an earnest, silent plea that felt like mercilessly kicking a puppy if denied.

“Will you kill it?” she asked.

If he stared at her for another minute longer, a halo would’ve lit up above her head and giant angel wings would’ve sprouted from her back—he had to break the spell, shaking his head. He already knew her manipulative techniques. But a witch’s tricks, no matter how beautiful she was, were still a witch’s tricks.

“Fuck no,” he replied. “What if it bites me?”

As he had expected, her convincing, innocent charm evaporated, giving way to a grimace.

“Better for it to bite me?”

Spencer’s arms shot up defensively.

“Well, from my perspective…”

“Move,” she suddenly commanded, cutting off whatever he was about to say. He straightened, his brow furrowed, not understanding. She made a sweeping motion with her hand, emphasizing what she meant. He felt a little as though some invisible force had actually pushed him aside, and he struggled to resist. The woman, with her usual confidence, looked him straight in the eye.

“Move, because I’m sleeping here,” she declared.

He blinked slowly and parted his lips wide enough to swallow a tennis ball. If anyone had just shot a tennis ball at him. Taking advantage of his moment of whatever it was, the woman gave him an ironic smile and simply bypassed him, not even caring that her hip brushed against him. Spencer somehow felt that fleeting touch all over his body, not just on that small part of him protected by clothes.

He needed to jam his hand into his own head to catch up with the situation.

“You’re not sleeping here!” he squeaked. With that voice, he wouldn’t stop even a kitten from wiping its ass on his pillow (and since he’d become a cat dad, that had happened a few times—he knew what he was talking about). Let alone a grown woman, a woman like her, from literally anything.

So, he took a deep breath, turned to face her, and said in a lower tone:

“You can’t sleep here.”

“Funny, because that’s exactly what I’m doing. Now close those damn doors.”

He felt that if he really closed those doors, he’d seal his fate. And it was exactly that thought that had terrified him when Penelope joked about it at the airport. Hesitant, he looked at her, not quite so clearly in the dim room, but still...he couldn’t deny it, she was attractive. In every way. Something she was well aware of and liked to use, making his face turn red and his mind fuzzy.

It was something Spencer could fight—but only for a short while. For the rest of the time, he became pathetically defenseless and exposed to her will, and like any person, he wanted to feel like he had some control over himself, over his own corner, room, bed, sleep.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and stay patient. Her arms crossed over her chest clearly saying she had already made up her mind. Still, he tried.

“Seriously,” he said with emphasis. “You can’t. There’s only one bed.”

He stated a fact, didn’t make it up—yet she scoffed as if he had just shared some controversial, completely unfounded opinion.

“It’s huge. You won’t even notice me,” she swiftly countered the argument.

He sighed, because on that particular point, she was right. The hotel bed was enormous. He looked at it with hesitation eating him from the inside, and finally, he broke and closed the door. As he turned to do it, he caught a fleeting glimpse of satisfaction on her face. He wanted to bang his forehead against the flat wooden surface.

Realizing he couldn’t stand frozen like that for the rest of the night, he finally stepped away from the door, slightly closing the distance between them. There was something expectant in her eyes.

“You’ll have to lend me something to sleep in,” she declared, watching his reaction with amusement. A reaction he tried to keep as unaffected as possible—but didn’t succeed very well. She gestured to her outfit. “Everything’s in my room. I didn’t even get the chance to shower when that monster materialized in it.”

He let out a sarcastic snort.

“What do you think,” he began, “how many clothes did I pack for a three-day trip?”

“Certainly more than necessary, you germophobe.”

Spencer should have felt offended by that remark, but somewhere at the edges of his mind, it flattered him a little. Because in truth, he had brought more clothes than necessary, and it was related to his aversion to germs. What he didn’t know was that she knew that.

“If anything, I’ll lend you something of mine tomorrow in return,” she murmured playfully, letting her gaze trail down the length of his frame, a gesture that instantly tightened the muscles in his stomach.

“I don’t think that would exactly fit my style,” he noted, swallowing as calmly as he could manage.

She shrugged slowly.

“You’ve got a decent waist. It would suit you.”

As she walked past him, heading straight for his suitcase, she poked him in that so-called decent waist with her fingernails, her hand moving like she was picking berries off a bush. Spencer actually jumped, rendered speechless, because first of all—what the fuck—and second, that hurt!

“I’ll pass,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the assaulted spot.

He watched with a sort of sick fascination as she approached his suitcase and pulled out whatever clothes she deemed suitable for sleeping. It wasn’t the process or the act itself that triggered such a reaction in him—this inability to look away or even move—but her, in and of herself. So brazen she was practically unpredictable. And because of that, utterly captivating.

He only remembered that his body needed air to survive once his new roommate disappeared into the bathroom and the sound of the shower reached his ears. And really, it was at that exact moment that full-blown panic took hold of Spencer's back.

As they had already established, the only bed was huge—but still, it was just one. A flat surface not usually shared with random people, let alone people with whom you had such a complicated relationship. In order to even be able to move, Reid had to look at it from the opposite perspective. It was just a flat surface, a piece of wood, a mattress, and some bedding. The world wouldn’t end if he found himself under that bedding with her. Maybe he was even being heroic. Maybe there really had been a black widow in her room, and he, Spencer Reid, had to make this sacrifice for the good of humanity. For the good of one mind-blowing woman with never-flustered eyes who walked through every situation with unwavering confidence—even this one.

He realized he was still standing in the middle of the hotel room, completely frozen, and the sound of water from the bathroom had long gone silent.

To avoid humiliating himself right from the start, he hurried into bed. His thoughts tangled in chaos. It wasn’t like she was his guest or anything—he didn’t have to wait for her or make sure she had everything she needed. He had every right to simply lie down on his side, turn his back to her, and snatch a well-deserved and long-awaited sleep. And that’s exactly what he decided to do, though despite his heavy eyelids, his body and mind remained fully alert.

He heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, heard each of her steps separately, even heard the rustle of the duvet as she grabed a part of it to slip underneath. The mattress shifted. Just once. Which meant that if she had really gotten into bed, there would’ve been a few movements—signs of lying down, adjusting, searching for the right position. Spencer frowned and hesitantly rolled onto his back so he could look at her—and saw that she was frozen in a seated position, staring back at him.

He wanted to ask, a bit snidely, if something was wrong—but the words stalled in his throat at the sight of his clothes on her body, his loose t-shirt slightly revealing a glimpse of her collarbone and a few strands of hair still tucked underneath it.

In the end, she beat him to it, nodding slightly in his direction.

“We need to switch sides,” she said. He looked at her in confusion. “I mean, I prefer sleeping on that one.”

Spencer glanced at the ceiling for a moment, drawing a breath stripped of all patience into his lungs.

“What difference does it make?”

“Comfort. I always sleep on the right.”

“Oh, come on. This is my bed, and you’ve got…insane demands!”

“These aren’t insane demands. These are basic demands. You don’t want to know my insane ones.”

For a moment, their eyes met, and he pursed his lips slightly.

“You know what? I don’t think I can argue with that,” he muttered.

There was a flicker of premature victory in her eyes.

“So…we’re switching sides?”

“No.”

Saying that one simple word somehow made him feel more grounded in the situation. His brain was still in place, not melting and leaking out of his ears yet. Her chest rose with an annoyed sigh, and for a moment, she stayed quiet, locking eyes with him, giving him a chance to reconsider. And when Spencer didn’t…she simply turned her back to him and lay down on her side.

Without begging, or resorting to her usual tricks (let’s be honest—she always managed to find some), Spencer propped himself up on one elbow and stared at her back, his brows furrowed. That had gone surprisingly easily. So easily, in fact, that he didn’t feel the slightest satisfaction in having defended his rightful side of the bed.

He was just about to lie down in silence… when she let out a long, overly dramatic, loud, and thoroughly offended sigh. Yep—one short sound packed with that many adjectives.

He rolled his eyes at the sound.

“You can sigh all you want,” he muttered under his breath.

He glanced at her cautiously, silently waiting to see if she’d say anything.

She didn’t.

He was just about to rest his head on the pillow again when the sound came back—just as overly dramatic and just as irritating.

“Fine. Take the damn side.”

His eyes shut tight, and a brief thought crossed his mind: he wasn’t going to cave to one of her whims. She’d survive one night on the wrong side of the bed.

Completely against that thought, his open palm smacked the pillow in defeat.

She immediately turned to face him with a smug little grin—and this time, it was Reid who sighed, though out of disbelief at himself. Thinking she’d get up and walk around the bed, he was left speechless, eyes wide, when she simply slid over him like someone crossing two shoelaces before tying them.

A knee accidentally jabbed him in the ribs, the ends of her hair brushed his face, and finally an elbow shoved him toward the left side all within, like, two seconds.

“How sweet of you to give me my favorite side,” she added with ironic cheer, the corners of her mouth lifting. She sat cross-legged on the bed, a gap between her back and the headboard, the blanket covering part of her knees. “You going to sleep now?”

Spencer, lying flat on his back and still recovering from what she'd just done, slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. His hand, acting entirely without the consent of his fogged-up brain, reached for the nightstand where he’d left a book—just in case he couldn’t fall asleep.

Before she showed up, he’d been ready to pass out the moment he hit the mattress. Now, though, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to. He was fully awake.

In response, he just shook his head and opened the book to his saved page. It was about Alcatraz. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her tilt her head to read the title on the cover, then pick something up—something he hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

She squeezed a bit of white cream from a plastic tube onto the back of her hand. Catching his glance, she held it out toward him.

“Hand cream?”

Spencer gave her a completely blank, uncomprehending stare, like she was an alien visitor offering him some sort of high-tech ointment for immortality. And it wasn’t that the question itself was so outlandish. He was just fascinated by the escalation of it all. From inviting herself into his room and stealing clothes out of his suitcase to now sitting shoulder to shoulder in his bed and offering him hand cream.

He gave a slow shrug.

“Why not.”

She squeezed a bit of the lotion onto his hands, and after he rubbed it in, he waited a few minutes before reaching for his book again—because the thought of sticky fingerprints on the pages gave him the ick.

In the meantime, a dissatisfied grimace flickered across her face.

“All my skincare stuff is in my room,” she complained to him. “I had to use those hotel minis from your bathroom.”

She said it with such profound disgust that Spencer glanced at her over the top of his book, just as he was flipping the page, mildly amused.

“Poor thing. How ever did you survive?”

“Trust me, it took real sacrifice,” she assured him with a dead-serious expression. She picked up the hand cream again, examining the label with the air of someone reviewing classified intel. “Let’s see. Oh my god, there it is—Ethanol. Hello, instant dryness. Fragrance. Irritates, triggers allergies, wrecks your lipid barrier.”

She went on, listing off each ingredient in the cream with critical precision, offering lengthy commentary and open disdain for most of them. At some point, her monologue drifted into the category of skin-friendly ingredients—and that’s when Spencer realized he wasn’t actually reading anymore. He was just sitting in silence, eyes quietly fixed on her.

“And on top of all that,” she said suddenly, louder, pulling him out of the daze he'd slipped into. His open book lay face down on the blanket covering him up to the waist. “it just smells absolutely disgusting.”

Following her words, with some surprisingly genuine curiosity, he brought the back of his hand to his nose. And frowned.

“Smells like cucumber.”

“Exactly.”

“Cucumbers are actually a pretty nice scent.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Who in their right mind wants to smell like a cucumber?”

He felt obligated to defend the honor of cucumbers.

“Well, I bet there are plenty of people who like that scent,” he began, logically spreading his arms to the sides. She raised her brows at him, clearly not accepting that. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be so many cosmetic products with that exact smell. Personally, I don’t think it’s bad. It’s definitely refreshing.”

Her eyes swept over him almost evaluatively, up and down.

“I wouldn’t want to hear that kind of compliment.”

Spencer had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from commenting, but ended up doing it anyway.

“Oh, that’s new.”

“Hm?”

“You, not wanting to hear a compliment.”

She turned her face toward him, eyes narrowed.

“Are you suggesting I’m vain?”

Reid only slightly raised his brows and gave a brief shake of his head, leaving it open to her interpretation. After her question, he looked away from her, leaning out of the bed to place the book back on its spot on the nightstand. He figured it was probably time for sleep—another early wake-up awaited them the next day, and they’d already spent too much of this night talking. Surprisingly, Spencer didn’t regret it.

It means, he’d probably need an extra cup of coffee because of it tomorrow, but the whole thing was that after this conversation, he felt a knot in his stomach loosen, stress gradually leaking out of his entire body. Stress that had been there from the beginning, precisely because of what they were doing—sharing a bed.

A rather pleasant silence settled between them—finished, complete. Each of them focused on finding a comfortable position in which they wouldn’t be in each other’s way; no unfinished topic lingered in the air, no unpleasant words hung between them. The bed was spacious enough that, once they turned their backs to each other, they could almost forget about the other’s presence—but before they did, Spencer hesitated, lying on his back with his head on the pillow.

He caught her gaze before she had a chance to show him her back—he stopped her. She propped her temple against her palm, lying on her side, and gave him a questioning tilt of the chin. He swallowed nervously, gearing up to bring up something he had meant to say earlier but had forgotten.

“You’re going to leave early in the morning,” he said. It wasn’t a command or a request—more like…an opinion. Because he honestly thought it was the best solution, and assumed she’d agree. Her expression, however, remained unreadable.

“I mean, before the others wake up,” he clarified.

Her shoulders gave a dismissive shrug.

“I’ll leave when I wake up and get myself together. I don’t care if the others are still asleep or already done with breakfast,” she replied.

She said it with a kind of simplicity that didn’t quite apply to the way Spencer perceived reality. Honestly, he felt like rolling his eyes.

“You know what they’re going to think about us?” he asked, rhetorically.

It seemed to him that she disagreed just for the sake of disagreeing, of doing things her own way, when in reality he hadn’t asked her for anything impossible or exhausting. Just for a possibly unnoticed exit from his room in the morning.

Still, she chose to answer.

“Two consenting adults having sex. Scandalous.”

For a moment, he stared at her in silence, then sighed. His head turned toward the ceiling.

“Okay, forget it.”

The mattress shifted—her movement. Or rather, her coming closer—not out of some sudden, unjustified need for affection, but to make sure her quietly spoken words were heard more clearly, a trace of irritation in them.

“Don’t act like some blushing princess,” she chided him, with complete seriousness despite everything. “We actually did have sex, Spencer. Did you forget?”

He was glad he had chosen to keep his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Just as the topic returned like a boomerang thrown nearly a decade earlier, one that had hit birds, planes, and several of his own downcast glances on its way back—forms of escape.

Her question wasn’t rhetorical; she waited for an answer, staring into his profile with a drilling gaze. Clever responses got lost somewhere in his tired brain; defeated by the effort of searching, he closed his eyes for a moment and went with simplicity.

“No.”

The reply came a moment later, but in its own way, measured—as if planned as well.

“So stop acting like it would be such a huge shame for you. The fact that you might be accused of sleeping with me,” she said coldly. Her hand, which had until then been supporting her head, dropped loosely onto the mattress. She pulled it toward her body and turned onto her back herself, no longer looking at him.

Spencer turned onto his side to look at her—or rather, at her profile—immediately after she said it. There was no pause, no uncertain hesitation, no nervous swallow paired with searching for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a jerk. In fact, he felt so bad about how she had taken his words that correcting himself came easily, driven by too much shame.

“I’m not saying it would be shameful,” he denied. “I just…maybe I don’t want people thinking things about me, about us, that aren’t true.”

“Then maybe you should care less about what people think,” she shot back.

“And maybe you should care more.”

She tilted her head slightly in his direction to catch his gaze—and hold it. Spencer felt a dryness in his throat, realizing she was waiting, without blinking, for the moment to say what she meant to say.

“Listen,” she began slowly. Her voice didn’t rise or lower; she didn’t break eye contact, but she also didn’t let him read too much from her expression. “We’re both adults. We slept together. It was nice. There’s no need to overanalyze it.”

She didn’t say it harshly, but it sounded like the end of the conversation.Spencer, however, couldn’t just leave it like that—something inside him made him speak up before that proverbial biting of the tongue could happen. It wasn’t easy though, not when his throat felt like a desert, and the question came out surrounded by a noticeable, nervous rasp.

“It was nice? Did…did you actually enjoy that?”

As he looked at her with his lips sealed and his breath held, she looked at him like he was an idiot.

“I’m not the type to fake anything.”

Lying still, he truly wished she would look away—let him free himself from her eyes and from what came not exactly because of them, but because of her. Her presence, her closeness, everything she had said. The memory he always punished himself for replaying, at least whenever she was near. He considered it deeply inappropriate.To feel someone’s touch again, to watch them uncovered while they stood right in front of you, maybe saying something, maybe asking a question.

Maybe lying in the same bed, in which she ended up only because of a small intruder in her own room, face to face, in the quietest possible silence.

Spencer gave in and turned his head away, cursing silently in his mind. But that still felt safer than continuing to meet her eyes. And when he did, suddenly the distance between their bodies seemed to grow, ever so slightly, even though physically they remained the same—on the same side of the bed. Only then did a flicker of sober thought manage to pierce through his mind. You won’t even notice me, he recalled her words and felt the urge to scoff. Even at the moment she’d said them, he’d suspected they wouldn’t hold true.

Sure, he could turn his back to her and draw some imaginary line between them, but that line was just an abstract concept, with no real application in their reality. He could not see her, but he still felt her beside him, and her presence seeped ethereally into his mind.

He somewhat regretted putting the book down, as he really needed a distraction. They still hadn't said anything to each other, but her gaze no longer lingered on him, making whatever had hung in the air between them in that brief moment start to fade away.

Reid moved his fingers aimlessly, trying not to appear paralyzed. And that's exactly how he felt, which made him incapable of falling asleep. Even his eyelids were no longer heavy. He heard a soft clearing of her throat. Okay, right after that, whatever had hung in the air was truly gone. Or rather, they existed on the plane of that aftertaste.

"You know," came his quiet, thoughtful voice. The silence between them had lasted long enough that a certain rasp had crept in, making Spencer have to mask a deep breath he suddenly took. "I don't think I can fall asleep without some mental effort. I miss my sudoku. Left it in my room, along with my skincare stuff."

"Talking to me isn't enough?" Spencer tried to joke, adding a little cocky tone to relax things, but god, it came out as the most awkward, pathetic thing he'd said, especially considering that his brain had shrunk to the size of a peanut over the last twenty minutes.

She spared him by not shooting him a look that said seriously? He shot that look at himself instead. Then he cleared his throat.

"Actually, I think I have some crosswords in my bag."

Her head turned toward him, eyebrows raised, silently asking what are you waiting for?

Spencer nearly jumped out of bed, almost tripping over his own legs, and returned moments later with a thick crossword book and a pen. Half sitting, half lying down, he immediately felt her shift closer to his side, her head resting on his pillow so she could see the filled-in squares.

Her finger tapped one of the boxes before Reid had even read the clue.

“Benzene,” she said.

Out of habit, he parted his lips to speak, then shut them—because, well, yeah. It was benzene. He dropped his gaze to the next clue, the answer flashing in his mind with a slight delay—but she said it aloud before he could. And that’s how it went every time, even though he was used to solving crosswords at near-record speeds. It happened because every time he knew the answer, his eyes drifted toward her, checking if she did too. And that alone was enough to smack his logic and focus square across the face, causing the delay.

He tried to recover, but there was no competitive spirit in him that night. So he just filled in the answers she gave, finding a strange kind of ease in the motion itself.

Force drawing objects toward each other, the next clue read. Of course he knew the answer—but he didn’t rush to say it. After all, she said she needed the mental effort to fall asleep; this was her shot. But no response came. Well, it was late. Maybe her sleepy brain wasn’t firing at full capacity anymore.

Then he felt a certain weight settle against his shoulder.

Spencer didn’t even need to look in her direction to know it was her head. But he looked anyway—because it felt so improbable he had to challenge both his eyes and his brain to a duel, just to make sure they hadn’t conspired to play tricks on him.

But no, it wasn’t a trick at all. She had really fallen asleep, letting her neck go slack, her temple landing right in that spot on his shoulder, the crown of her head brushing lightly against his neck and jawline.

Staring at her, Reid finally forced himself to blink when the air started to sting his eyes. The crossword book still rested in his hands, open, the pen between his fingers, and his lungs—at last—uncertainty drawing in air. Gently, so as not to jostle his body too much or… well, wake her.

He wondered if she’d yell at him if he woke her and told her to move. To go back to her half—the half she’d fought so hard for. But that thought remained just that: a curiosity. Spencer didn’t actually want to do it, though he couldn’t quite explain why. He, who usually shied away from touch. Yet this didn’t feel intrusive, awkward, or unwanted. It felt like a heavy blanket settling over the body on a cold, lonely night—something that wrapped around you with the soft weight of care and comfort in that dim, suspended moment just before sleep.

Though maybe, out of respect for her, he should wake her. After all, it wasn’t like she’d done it on purpose—her head had just drifted there…

Spencer pressed the back of his own head into the pillow with a sigh.

He closed the crossword book, set it aside on the blanket, and simply lay there—not trying to sleep, not trying to stay awake either.

It didn’t take long before the former won.

And it would’ve been very romantic to say that, come morning, they woke up in the same position—rested and refreshed, ready to take on another day of their trip, radiating energy and charm. That absolutely did not happen.

When Spencer woke up, it wasn’t even morning. Bringing his watch up to his face, he learned that exactly one hour and twenty-four minutes had passed since they’d fallen asleep—or rather, since she had. He, meanwhile, now lay pushed all the way to the edge of the bed, the knuckles of one limp hand brushing the floor.

He was literally one tiny movement away from falling off and slamming his head into the nightstand.

There was sand under his eyelids, and he was freezing. Disoriented, he forced his unbelievably heavy head upward to figure out why.

While he had been exiled to the very edge of the bed, she was lying comfortably on her side right in the middle, wrapped in their entire shared blanket like a cocoon—so tightly, in fact, that it took him a solid five minutes of analysis just to figure out which side her face was on. Eventually, he concluded it was turned toward him.

With a sigh, he reached for the edge of the blanket, hoping to claim at least a small portion of it for himself.

He couldn’t wrest the blanket free from her iron grip, no matter how hard he tried. A disbelieving huff escaped his lips—how could a sleeping body possess so much strength? And despite all his efforts, her slumber remained undisturbed.

He sighed. He was far too cold to give up.

After a moment’s hesitation about getting any closer, he finally leaned in to target the one part of her body left unguarded by the fortress—that is, the blanket. Gently, he pressed a finger against her cheek, with the kind of light pressure you’d use to test if dough had risen.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, casting him a look that was first surprised, then thoroughly annoyed.

In a sleepy, groggy voice, she mumbled something that sounded a lot like what do you want?

“What do I want?” repeated Spencer, just as quietly as she had, but with more alertness. Their words were barely murmurs; if someone had stood in the doorway, they probably wouldn’t even have realized they were speaking to each other. “I want the blanket. You took all of it for yourself.”

“Because I’m cold,” she replied selfishly.

He scoffed in outrage.

“Guess what, so am I!”

At the count of fifty-eight, she stirred, then unwrapped her cocoon, lifting a part of the blanket so he could slip underneath. Her face showed nothing short of pure pity—divine mercy, even.

The woman didn’t answer him anymore, her eyes closed throughout the entire exchange. Reid shook his head slightly in disbelief, realizing… she had probably fallen asleep again.

He decided to wait a minute. Sixty seconds before he stopped being so nice and just took the blanket from her.

Spencer looked at her hesitantly, unable to move because, well… it would mean actually getting close. Almost falling asleep face to face, nose to nose.

“No, then don’t,” she muttered impatiently, already starting to pull the blanket back when Reid made the decision—before his brain had time to logically process it.

Once he was close, she let the blanket fall over both of them.

He couldn’t close his eyes, staring at her features blurred by the dark, even though he wanted to.

“Attraction,” she said, half-asleep.

His lips parted in confusion, unsure if he had imagined it.

“W-what?”

A long moment of silence passed before she responded again.

“Force drawing objects toward each other. In the crossword. The answer is attraction.”

“Oh, right,” he confirmed, sheepishly.

Another stretch of silence followed—so long there was no doubt she had fallen asleep.

In the morning, he woke up first, struggling to make sense of the tangle of limbs they had become. Not cuddled, exactly, but complex, unarranged—labyrinthine. If he weren’t so sleepy, he might have been able to turn it into some sort of metaphor about…

“How late are we?” she pulled him out of his thoughts, sitting up with a yawn.

Her question, tone, and movements were all completely casual.

Still lying down, Spencer blinked up at her silhouette above him, trying to orient himself in reality. They had agreed to meet the rest of their friends at a specific time. He sighed, feeling the stiffness in his muscles, and slowly reached for the watch he had left on the nightstand, immediately sighing again.

“Very,” he said simply.

She adjusted his t-shirt, which had slipped partially off her shoulder.

“So I’m taking the bathroom first.”

He watched as she threw the blanket off her knees and her bare feet traced a path toward the bathroom. He followed her with a gaze that bordered on intrusive, and when he realized it, he flinched slightly. His head fell back onto the pillow at the same moment the door closed behind her.

He had just been hit by the kind of thoughts one can only face in a horizontal position.

For some reason, the room felt much quieter than it had when they had both been lying there in silence.

He fixed his gaze on the ceiling, simply not knowing what was happening to him. Once more, he replayed in his mind the way she adjusted his shirt on her body with a certain fluidity of movement, a nonchalance, a naturalness. A naturalness that, in its own way, hurt him when he thought about it too much.

The weight in his head was definitely not natural, the nervousness wasn’t natural, the way his breath changed when her face, in sleep, ended up too close to his—none of it was natural.

And yet, they had only shared a bed.

Before he could spiral fully into the rest of his anxious thoughts, a knock sounded at the door. A flashback from the previous evening flickered across his mind—when he had first been falling asleep and it had been her standing on the threshold. But now she was in the bathroom, so it had to be someone else—one of their friends.

He went to open the door and, just as he’d predicted, found himself face-to-face with Penelope.

“Do you even realize what time it is?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips. Spencer raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed it. After so many hours of quiet, her voice struck him as particularly loud. It helped wake him up—something he definitely needed.

“If you want to spend this day the way we originally planned, you better get dressed and do something about that hair, my dear…”

Penelope’s mouth suddenly fell open, her eyes widening as they locked on a point just behind Spencer. He instinctively turned—only to see his roommate stepping out of the bathroom, unaware of Garcia’s arrival.

She was still wearing his clothes from the night before, her hair damp from a morning shower, and yesterday’s outfit slung over her arm with the clear intention of returning it to her own room and suitcase.

Penelope only noticed her once both pairs of eyes had settled on her—his included—and she froze mid-step. She looked him straight in the eye, and he was sure they were both thinking the same thing—the conversation they’d had the night before.

“Oh my god,” Garcia squeaked, practically bouncing in place. She slapped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head as if to gather herself. “I mean hi. You. Two of you. I…see you’re not quite ready so…fifteen minutes? Great!”

Before leaving, she shot Reid a very pointed look—just a second long, but more than enough to make it clear that they definitely had something to talk about.

#spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #diva reader marathon 💄#diva reader ♱#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spence reid #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff

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hearts4mica · 4 months ago

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I would take the suffering from you! Prologue.

Yan Batfam + Tim Drake x Siren! Reader

Next chapter with yan! Batfam

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"Sirens tend to transform into persons that their preys love to lure them into the water."

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Rewriten! Masterlist!

It was late at night and everyone from Tim’s crew was asleep in they assignated rooms, well except Tim of course

He was sitting down outside of his ship watching the waves, it was a calm night. It was too calm. The moonlight was reflecting on the water making a beautiful scene.

Tim had been dreaming with you since he stepped onto the boat. You were gorgeous, every night you appeared in his dreams, Oh how he wished you were real.

Suddenly he saw a head come up from the ocean

He looked like- "[name]?"

The girl from his dreams? He's been dreaming about you for a whole year now and now you were there. A few meters infront of him? How!

You had been watching Tim ever since he sailed onto the ocean. The perfect prey.

After manipulating his dreams for a year you it was time to make the last act.

“Hello Tim” you say as you sit down on a rock not too far from his boat.

He didn’t answer hmm well should you tell a joke to lighten the mood?

“Did the shark eat your toungue?” Wow great joke [name] you really should be a comedian! Mm why didn’t he laugh? Dumb humans with their weird humor.

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Tim could be anything. But he was not stupid. He knew you were a siren, he didn’t know when he was dreaming since you always appeared human and he was not thinking straight when dreaming. But now you were here imfront of him swimmimg on the sea looking perfect it didn’t take a genius to know you were a siren.

Exactly what he came to the sea looking for.

Bruce had given him the mission to capture a Siren and bring it back to the batcave so he could do research on them (Wow Bruce crazy scientist au?)

Anyways now it has been a year and Tim refused to go back to Gotham without his mission being succesful.

And it seems his wait had been worth it.

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“Tiiiiimmm-“ you splash water to his face trying to get him to react. Did he fall asleep with his eyes open?

“Sorry [name]- Yes?” Tim had to convince the creature to come onto the ship by any means!

“How about you jump to the water and i can show you around the Atlantis!?” Just the way i did in your dream!” Say yes say yes.-

“Jump-?” Of course Tim wouldn’t jump! Jumping was basically a death sentence!

“I’d happily jump! But… i’d be suffering trying to stay afloat [name] i’m a really bad swimmer i mean it!”

Yeah right a bad swimmer does this idiot think im stupid? Why would he come onto the ocean without knowing how to swim?!

“I could teach you how to swim! We have the whole ocean for ourselves! I would take the suffering from you!” I shouldn’t be begging for him to jump! He should be begging me to let him live!

“I would love for you to teach me [name] but i’m to shy to jump from here!”

________________________________________________

Next step ask the siren to come onto the boat.

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“You know what? I’ll jump if you answer one or two questions!” Oh? This is getting interesting!

“Ask me anything!” Maybe i should answer honestly since he is gonna die either way.

“Where do you live?”

…

“In Atlanits silly! I told you before in your dreams! Now jump-“ “No. Where.”

“I told you in Atlantis-!” “Tell me the exact location.”

Oh so he’s got an attitude now? Ha rude.

“I’ll show you the way myself! Just jump and i’ll take you there!”

“How about you come onto the boat and draw me the location of the map [name]? And then i’ll jump with you to the water.

He was really stubborn. Well i guess there’s no other way.

“Fine i’ll do itttt! Just cause i really wanna teach you how to swim!” You say as you make the water raise you up so you stand up at the edge of the boat.

‘Stupid Siren.’

“Draw the location in the map.” He said as he shoved the map onto your face

Why was he so rude? You’re a transformed into a human like him…- wait a minute.

Can humans breathe underwater?

“Holy shit.” You say under your breathe as realization hits you like a truck.

‘Humans can’t breathe underwater! And you just told him you lived in Atlantis!-

“Well Timmy it’s been great meeting you in person but i gotta go. You knoww haha-“ suddenly one of your legs gets tied up as you take a step back.

You fell into his trap.

Now you were upside down hanging by a stupid rope

Well now you were totally powerless.

He takes a step forward towards you.

“Well you have made the mistake of stepping into this boat. My territory little mermaid it’s time to take you home where you belong” He says with a evil smirk as he grabs his phone and dials a number.

“Hello Bruce? Mission completed. I’ll see you soon.”

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This is the start of your personal hell.

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If you liked this please comment and ideas of how to introduce the Batfam or anything you like!

Masterlist!

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hesperisms · 8 months ago

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// Beyond Sanctuary

"I would like it if, what helps you get better isn't medicine, but rather, me…"

// summary: Zayne expands on the research he did into how to relieve your menstrual cramping he mentions during the Affinity 70 Secret Time, Sanctuary.

// content warnings: 18+ (mdni), menstruation, soft-dom, established history, pet names, stimulation, aftercare

// a/n: I was in pain and out of advil when I wrote this, but who needs advil when you have Linkon's best? x-posted to AO3 - likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!

"I would like it if, what helps you get better isn't medicine, but rather, me..." Zayne whispered quietly, his breath fluttering warmly across the curve of your ear while his fingers brush firm but gentle circles on your lower abdomen. While the words were sweet, there was a tone of intention behind his words that you picked up on immediately.

You reach down and slide your hand over the back of his while his fingers loop across your soft skin and tilt your head back towards him slightly, your curiosity piqued. "What else did your research teach you, Dr Zayne?" you say teasingly, catching the edge of a smirk he tries to hide from you out of the corner of your eye.

Zayne pecks a little kiss on the curve of your neck before he answers, trying to make sure his voice remains steady and measured; that it won't betray him into appearing too needy. Lying pressed up against your back stroking your delicate flesh and smelling your hair was making things hard for him. "Well," he began, a slight edge of huskiness to his voice, "while ibuprofen and other NSAIDS may help with pain relief, their usage is limited by dosage caps. I've read studies that a combination of dopamine and oxytocin topically applied can be just as effective...would you like to try it my love?"

As he finishes his sentence, his fingertips dip out from under yours and start trailing lower, finding the waistband of your sweats and teasing their way inside to brush against the fabric of your panties as he starts pecking kisses along the curve of your neck up towards your ear, nibbling gently on the edge of it while he waits for you to answer him. He already knows what your answer will be, of course, but he wants to hear you voice your consent. Your comfort is a priority for him, after all.

You bite your bottom lip as you comprehend his meaning; he wants to give you orgasms. He's waiting for you to tell him you want him to.

"Aren't you concerned about the mess?" you begin to ask hesitantly, but Zayne cuts you off with a gentle reprimand. "Silly girl," he chides in a sinful whisper against the shell of your ear, using his other hand to tug at the well-loved blanket beneath you. "I brought this old blanket in along with the tea I served you earlier with this very purpose in mind. Not to mention, being a surgeon, you know I'm very familiar with getting blood out of fabrics. The only thing I need you to concern yourself with is enjoying my efforts."

Your objections thoroughly and confidently handled, you feel a flush of heat rise in your stomach and you nod your head in agreement but this isn't enough for Zayne. "Use your words, Darling...would you like to try it?" he hums in a quiet growl, his warm breath and tone sending a flash of heat down your spine.

"Yes." "Yes what?" He challenges instantly, mouth paused mid-suck on your flushing earlobe.

"Yes please, Zayne." You whine, far needier than you intended to and your pulse quickens as he lets out a gentle little laugh, the slivery sound of it and the little puffs of air teasing your neck, making you shiver.

"That's much better my love," he coos soothingly as he takes a deep breath of the scent of your hair, bending his arm you've been using as a pillow to wrap around your chest and grip your shoulder, firmly locking you into his embrace as his little spoon. "Now let's do something about this pain of yours, hmm?"

He moves his other hand to ease down your panties, rolling the sides down your thighs to give him some space to move without brushing against your still-fresh pad and once they've been sufficiently rolled down, he reaches over you to the nightstand. As his larger weight presses you slightly into the sheets he pulls the drawer open and rummages, finding the small bottle of lube he insisted you keep nearby. You notice him juggle the bottle for a second, unsure how he's going to be able to open it and apply it with the one same hand and you giggle at his dilemma. You reach out, taking the bottle from him and uncapping it. "Thank you y/n." he praises appreciatively in your ear with a pecked kiss on your neck as he holds out his fingers to you and you drip some onto him.

As his slicked fingertips slide down between your thighs your breath catches in your throat and your heart starts to hammer in your chest. Ever attentive to your body's signals, Zayne licks and kisses at your neck, paying close attention to your pulse thrumming in the delicate arteries of your throat. Though he'll never admit it to you, it's a game for him to manipulate your pulse this way, his years of medical training making it second nature for him to read your reactions via the heart he studied so intensely. A soft sigh leaves your lips as Zayne's lithe fingertips start to explore, circling your aching bud and sliding between your folds, while he watches you intensely with those golden-green eyes sparkling with desire. "Close your eyes and relax," he instructs, praising you as you do so with a throaty whisper. "Trust me to make you feel good." You melt back into his warm chest, his right arm still wrapped tightly around you while his other hand roams.

Feeling you settle in and squirm gently in his arms, he slips his long middle finger into your rapidly soaking folds, curling them to stroke your spot as his thumb finds your swelling clit, eliciting little moans of pleasure from you, the painful ache of your cramps gradually being replaced with an ache of longing and desire the more his fingers lavish their attentions on you.

"Can you take more?" he growls against your neck in a raspy whisper, dry humping his growing erection up against your backside. You let out a low moan and grind against his hand in response and he stops his movements, waiting for a real answer. "That's twice I've had to tell you to use your words, my love, don't make me have to repeat myself please." "Please keep going Zayne." You whimper, grasping onto his hand holding onto your shoulder. "Please don't stop, I want you." He lets out a little moan of his own against the back of your neck and resumes grinding his length against you, closing his eyes and acting on sheer instinct. As he presses himself into you, he slips a second finger into your aching walls, it joining his middle finger in seeking out your pleasure. He scissors his long fingers inside you, stretching your walls wider as he crooks them just right to hit that sweet spongy spot again and again. His thumb works your clit in tight circles, sending jolts of electricity shooting up your spine and your grip on his hands tightens.

Your vision starts to blur and sparkles dance in your eyelids as you throw your head back against his shoulder, moaning his name loudly as you come undone on his fingers, rhythmic clenches keeping his fingers trapped deeply inside you. As you come down and the orgasm subsides, he slowly withdraws his hand, sliding your panties back up your hips ensuring they're snug and securely back in place, pecking kisses on your neck. "That's my good girl" he purrs, peppering you with kisses. "You go ahead and rest, I'll be back in a minute after I clean up." Zayne gently slides his arm out from underneath you and you roll over to watch him, blushing as you see his left hand covered in blood. He notices your gaze has caught his hand and he leans over to plant a warm gentle kiss on your lips, before he presses his forehead against yours. "Don't be embarrassed, this is nothing I'm not used to y/n, I see blood all the time." he smiles against your lips and you can't help but smile back, your blush receding.

After a couple of minutes in the bathroom washing up he returns to the bedroom with a wry smile at you and slides into bed beside you, snuggling you up against his broad chest in a big bear hug, his chin resting on your hair while he gently rubs your back in slow, easy circles. You drift off to sleep, your cheek pressed against his chest, the scent of his aftershave filling your senses and the cramps long gone.

#lnds zayne #love and deepspace zayne #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace headcanons #love and deepspace imagines #zayne smut #zayne x mc #zayne x reader #lads zayne #l&ds zayne #love and deepspace imagine #18+ mdni #mdni

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tirfpikachu · 10 months ago

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when someone says that women weren't allowed to do xyz until a certain date mainstream tras might give a side look like hmm :/ this isn't inclusive of trans folks... but otherwise leave it alone.

but if you say that specifically cis/bio women and transmasc ppl weren't allowed to open their own bank account until 1974, suddenly you're making the transfems feel a bit too privileged and it causes a riot bc you're pointing out that amab/male folks used to have an INSANE amount of privilege on the basis of being born "amab" and even if they were super gnc, they still had that privilege from birth. to this day, cis/bio men and transfems do NOT go thru many specific struggles that cis/bio women and transmascs experience. but that's somehow controversial as FUCK to say in most tra spaces. why?

fr why is that? why?? why are transfems so fucking oversensitive to anyone pointing out that they're not oppressed on every single axis of oppression? meanwhile transmascs are bending over backwards being super fucking supportive of transfem rights and having so much nuance about things without much knee-jerk defensiveness at all. could it be that perhaps... hmm... "amab" upbringing does not teach amab/male folks what it's like to face misogyny, so they often do not enter feminist spaces, and now that they enter leftist spaces they don't know that we're all about intersectionality and nuance and acknowledging the ways one might be privileged in some ways and disprivileged in other ways? instead of showing allyship to cis/bio women and transmascs, transfems and their more extreme allies instead sit on their thrones and get offended whenever anyone implies that they might need to be good allies too. why is that?? why are cis/bio women and transmascs enabling that behavior so much?

hmmm it's almost like how afab/female folks are conditioned to excuse inappropriate behavior from amab/male people from a very young age... almost like the stereotypical One Of The Boys (in this case Males) trope, trying to be a Cool Girl (or Cool Trans Boy) to be validated by the ones in charge, the amabs, who are just poor sweet misunderstood cinnamon rolls uwu. i think mainstream tras really idolize transfems. which comes from a sweet place, and might feel good, but also means you're infantilizing them like precious perfect little princesses who can do no wrong. that might be validating for transfems ─ who doesn't like being coddled every now and then? ─ but also means not holding them accountable the way we're supposed to hold EVERYBODY accountable in leftist spaces. or at least that's what we generally pride ourselves in, right? isn't that supposed to be a leftist thing? intersectionality and all that?

and this is why so many cis/bio women and transmascs are joining radblr. this is why even some transfems are saying okay, this is too much now, and actually seek out female/afab voices and hear their povs and apologize for how they're treated by tras. the tables are starting to turn. people are too fed up with this shit. we are getting muzzled for talking about the most basic feminist stuff ever, things that back in the day oldschool trans folks were WAAYYYY more likely to see as common sense and feminism 101. systems of oppression are complex. you can talk about how hard transmisogyny is, and you'll get sympathy from most of us, but you gotta listen to how hard anti-female/afab misogyny is and how we're uniquely persecuted in specific ways you aren't. and you gotta work hard to learn how to be a good ally to us, you gotta research, you gotta learn. so many transfems have no fucking clue how to do that. so many cis/bio women and transmascs are acting like their loud guard dogs too, coddling them, speaking for them, enabling them. it's leading to really bad shit to happen. it's enabling transfems-on-female/afab abuse and bigotry... and you just sweep it all under the rug, say it was just a "terf" roleplaying, it must be a troll, it doesn't matter. it's just one or two victims, why should we even care about them? why make any changes to prevent further victims? that's such a classic male apologist mindset!!! this shit is not okay. we will never accept that bs.

you need to clean up all the misogyny and homophobia in your spaces or the only sane folks will come to radfems and find actual nuanced discussions about oppression, and you'll be left with crazies. if y'all are gonna act like oversensitive toddlers then radblr is gonna be where it's at for real leftist activism. enjoy your little tra circus ig 👋

#lay text #tirf #radblr #words #ponderings #nuancefem

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octopus-punching-union · 1 month ago

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Episode 17 spoilers.

Darkwick shady as always.

The fox is being kept hidden, Hyde is in charge of it, and this is crucial to something DW is plotting. "A certain somebody" is looking for the fox. And I feel like the fox used to be a person? He "still had the intellect" to open a gate and escape.

Chancellor threatening MC, and apparently the Institute is not already helping to research her curse. Is it literally just the ghouls and what they can dig up on missions?

Something at next month's Star Festival might help MC out.

Benkei used to be a professor, and advisor to Clementia. But why is he no longer teaching? Was it a subject connected to one of the defunct dorms? Did he do something and get demoted? Is it some weird requirement for all teachers to also be a dorm advisor?

At the beginning of the episode, he also says that there is a staff shortage (which is being kept secret for some reason) and is surprised that Elias is working.

With Elias connected to Dionysia and Benkei a former advisor of Clementia, I wonder if the fox is actually someone with ties to Ultio who Knows Too Much. Ultio, which contains the top-secret prison. Hmm.

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker spoilers

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voidcat · 4 months ago

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DANYLLLLLL anaxagoras thoughts pretty please ?? 🥺🤲🏼 could we ask to hear any of the recent ones you’ve had about him ?? :] this is a little unrelated too but if he were to have a pet, what kind of animal / creature do you think he’d have? :>

HIIIIIII EVIE tysm for indulging in my ...brainrot (he's gonna cry once he sees i referred to him as that)

hmm so anaxagoras thoughts it is ! i think some of these are thought by others too but hey gonna start off slow w more general stuff and move to relationship aspect of things yk. hope u like these ^_^

notes: canon compliant and some implied modern au- however you wanna take it. word count: 1.2k

-> Anaxagoras is the type of "gives good/solid advice but rarely takes it himself" person. If he notices any of his students sleep deprived or showing signs of skipped meals or dehydration, he pulls them aside during breaks as to not alarm anyone and kindly advises them to be more careful next time while offering them a high energy snack and some water. He is a wonderful teacher too.

His primary goal is to educate and to have people form their of thinking systems so on the moments he holds exams or assignments with a grading system that's not just pass/fail, as long as the idea has been defended cohorent and well, or if the way to solve an equation is logical- and just includes a minor slip up (like writing down a number wrong 5 -> 2)

He will still grade generously. however in cases of the latter slipups, were it to be a case of equation that effects the structure of a building, a device or anything that comes close contact with the living that even the smallest mistake can cost lives, he'd downgrade accordingly. So despite his certain views and his philosophy, his class will often have students of other scholars listening to him, taking notes, etc... He is considerate of his students but always within a reasonable limit, never too easy nor too hard.

-> He is very fond of his drinks, especially tea! depending on what brew, he pays attention to the notes of leaves, whether burnt or not, if it's fresh harvest or stale... But while he values his tastebuds when he is out, in the confinements of his own living space, he is quite the opposite. he can be found reheating the same mug of tea (or coffee) for thr third time until someone takes notice and whisks it away from his desk and replaces it with a fresh batch without him noticing (And considering he is often focused on his work and research to the point of forgetting his drink- he rarely notices... Maybe unless he burns his tongue at that first sip)

And speaking of Anaxagoras and work... While he is mocked for being a workaholic... That's not the case at all! on the contrary, once teaching hours are off, he takes off his lecturer coat- However when it's a topic of research that interests him, or a train of thought that he's been pondering for a while, he will lose track of time and will be getting off his desk only to realize the new day has already begun.

-> This will sound biased because they're a favorite of mine too but i can see him with a cat! In fact, it'll be the cat that adopts him other than him taking the little guy in. We have seen in some ways that he is found of dromases already so they're a given- I think he'd be close with any animal in a similar position as them (ie: used for transport, manual labor, livestock etc...) While he prefers animals with clear personalities like cats-- animals are often fond of him.

While walking through a little meadow, he'll slowly hold out his hand to a butterflu perched atop a flower and the butterfly will slowly walk to the back of his hand, accompanying him for the remainder of his walk!

Felines are a soft spot for him because unlike more typically energetic ones like canines, they're cool headed, and respect one's privacy and boundaries-- As they're fond of theirs too. Whenever he's too caught up in a research material, a cat will circle around him, bump its head to his leg and when he still shows no reactipn- jump onto the desk to sit on top of the work-- forcing him to take a break, stretch his limbs and rest his eyes. Then jumping to the counter and making him rush because he was sure the cat was about to knock a glass off- reminding him to drink water in its own way.

He lays bread crumbs and sometimes smaller legumes by his windowsill for birds to snack on, reserving a small portion of his meal (If it's edible for them) for the nearby small family of corvid to eat. in return they always bring back to him lttle coins they saw scattered around (or stole) as well as pens... One too many times anaxogaras walks back to his study to find his own pen missing from the desk- thus concluding the mystery of the pens the corvid like to "gift" him.

-> At early stages of a blooming relationship, he is more reserved and quiet, waiting for you to lead and take the initiative. But once things become clearer- or more official, he will open up more and get bolder, more confident. You’ll always feel his presence- figuratively and literally.

A hand placed by the small of your back as the two of you walk, always sitting or standing by your side at invitations and gatherings. A man who seldom often forgets to take his own advices but makes sure your glass is always filled with water.

On the days you might return home late- or will be out for work for long hours of the day, he packs you little things- snacks or energy bars, mixed nuts and dried fruit or refills your water bottle and places it in your bag. When you take it out during the day, you will feel something brushing against your hand and pull out a small post it note with a note and a little doodle.

To others maybe, his language and way of communicating might come off as distant or cold but you know he likes to keep it short and to the point. The poorly sketched dromas or sad chimera with tears in its eyes with a little speech bubble that reads “missing you already” says more than it shows.

The notes will be all over the place and office too. Sometimes as you flip the pages of your book, you’ll be met with a note asking how long you’ve been sitting in the same position for. Another note reminding you to eat— it goes back and forth whenever the both of you can help it.

-> Things start like the quiet before a storm but once a stable dynamic settles between you both, it stays. You see a side to Anaxagoras not many others see. Sure maybe it does resemble how he is in combat somehow- equally dizzying, breathtaking and exciting; but it cannot hold candle to how he makes you feel too.

Kisses like his life depends on it, leaving you gasping for air, he always makes sure his hold on you his firm, his grip on you keeping you in place lest you lose your footing. Stolen glances between the two of you, pecks here and there stolen in the hallways while nobody’s watching. There is a rush and burst of energy when you’re with him- makes you feel like those series and novellas about young rebellious love. It’s full of love, life, it makes you giddy- you feel butterflies in your stomach, blood always boiling, anticipating his next move.

Sometimes he is sweet. Some days when you think he’s leaning in for a peck on your forehead, he will whisper sweet dirty nothings to you and leaving you speechless.

Anaxagoras still minds his manners and remains his composure- to the best of his abilities. But once his resolve breaks, once you see resignation in his body language, breathy and raspy, sounding desperate, his always carefully picked words now replaced for shorter, vulgar ones because nothing else conveys that primal, desperate aching feeling of love and desire for you.

#evie !!#answered #anaxagoras #honkai star rail #anaxagoras headcanons #hsr headcanons #anaxa headcanons #anaxagoras x reader #anaxagoras x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you

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jacevelaryonswife · 1 year ago

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You Really Got Me | Professor!Michael Gavey x student!fem reader

summary: With a perfect CV, Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity has never seemed so inherent to you before. The new Professor of Number Theory awakened inappropriate feelings that could become risky if they were reciprocal.

a/n: well, it was quite difficult to write this because I’m not familiar with the Oxford environment and I hope that my research has made this story as credible as possible.

tags: slight slow burn, smut, p in v sex, power imbalance, swearing.

word count: 5.7k

ewanverse masterlist | next part

Michael Gavey was... many things.

A lot of things, definitely.

Michael, or rather, Professor Gavey now, aroused conflicting feelings in you.

Admiration, fear, fascination and another whirlwind was felt when it was the new and brilliant Professor of Numbers Theory. He took over the discipline of a dear veteran and great name of mathematics in Oxford, his advisor in the master’s and PhD. Obviously great expectation formed around it, around him, wondering if he would be able to overcome the grandeur of his predecessor.

And apparently he was causing a certain commotion with his above-average intelligence and his eccentric personality.

Obviously you started a search for the CV of your next professor and the finding was surprisingly extraordinary. Speaker of the 2010 class, several projects carried out, postgraduate (also in Oxford), articles published in journals with high impact factor and experience at McKinsey & Company for 2 years.

Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity had never seemed so inherent to you before.

Saying that you were intimidated by the first contact with him was an understatement- you were fucking terrified. The rumors of an alleged above-average intelligence proved to be untrue. Above average? No shit, he was far beyond everything you experienced. Your eyes didn’t dare to move away from him and the painting during the following hours, too fascinated by what was happening in your fucking front. You felt a current of pure mathematics run through your body and camp in your brain, illuminating all the neurons.

What the fuck had just happened?

You learned that every class he taught was a learning experience rarely experienced before. The passion he conveyed when teaching overflowed in all his expressions so intensely that it made you orbit around him slowly.

And that was the beginning of a problem.

A big problem.

But you hadn’t noticed yet.

“If I ever thought I was smart, forget it! Michael Gavey is the epitome of everything I want to be,” your good friend Miranda said before taking a sip of her latte.

“I know right? Every class I feel that my brain will explode,” you said while leaning your head against the table, “but I can understand what it teaches, at least a good part of things. I know I already have an advisor and our work is almost published, but I think I’m thinking of getting out of Algebra and trying something with Gavey,” you looked at her.

“Woah, are you fucking sure? I mean- if that’s what you really want, that’s fine, but I think it’s too mind blowing for me,” she said.

“For me too, but it’s fucking interesting, I really want to do at least one research in this area.”

“... hmm,” Miranda smirked, humming.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she superficially drank her coffee, “hmm.”

“Cut the bullshit,” you complained as you looked at her impatiently.

“It’s nothing, it’s just that from a certain angle he’s quite cute,” she said in a thin voice.

“Who? Gavey?”

“Yeah. He’s... different from the guys you usually date or are interested in but he’s not bad looking,” she explained.

“Come on, do you really think I’m interested in him? He's our professor and a big nerd to boot!” The last thing wasn’t totally the end of the world.

“And? It’s not like students and professors have never fucked before, although I don’t think he’d risk that much, he seems to be quite methodical,” she said calmly, “and most importantly, he’s clever as fuck and that automatically makes him sexy, if he’s not an idiot.”

That was absurd, you weren’t interested in Michael Gavey!

... right?

You thought about it for the rest of the day.

Was Michael Gavey, in addition to his bestial intellect, physically attractive?

Suddenly, you began to notice how his lips were perfectly drawn and pink as he explained the most beautiful things you had ever heard in those years at Oxford. Damn it. It was Miranda’s fault, obviously. You tried to convince yourself of that while elaborating a way to approach you about the possibility of a research project without embarrassing yourself. Obviously you tried to impress him before that, answering questions whenever possible and redoing all the examples and notes he passed around. When your own mind couldn’t assimilate some details, you looked for him to ask questions and oh Lord, he was more than attentive.

The proximity also made you realize how blue his eyes were under the glasses, and how his hands were- no, wait, what were those veins? Those long and thin fingers? You know what they say about guys with big hands... And his fluffy dirty blonde hair and those soft and ugly sweaters, his height, his waist-

DAMN IT MIRANDA!

That afternoon you gathered the courage to introduce the subject after your classmates left, using your best words to make a good impression.

“I have some interesting ideas that would yield good research, but before recruiting someone, I evaluate performance throughout the term; grades, posture, commitment, everything is observed.”

“Oh... sure, professor.”

“You’re doing well so far, you have good chances, keep it up.”

You wanted to scream. You’ve been recognized.

If your previous efforts were continuous to make a good impression, they would now be compulsive to stand out from the others. You needed to have him as an advisor. And all the eagerness to please him, all the competitive desire to excel, all that fervor triggered a fire that consumed every stretch of your body silently.

And that was a problem.

It shouldn’t be, but it became without you noticing.

“Do you know how many people would sacrifice everything to sit on these chairs? Walking through these corridors? Breathe this air? All of you have an obligation to achieve more than perfection, especially if you are here because of mommy and daddy’s money.”

You knew that very well. Gavey was very demanding about the quality of his students, always reinforcing the privilege of being in this environment, which in itself would make his discipline one of the most important of that term, but your current disposition made you demand almost all attention for him, for the test that was coming, for what you aspired to in the future.

And the result couldn’t be better.

You had a 100% performance in the first test. Excellent, handwritten next to the note. “Good work, keep it up,” he said with a subtle smile.

“Thank you, professor.”

So that’s what the butterflies in your stomach were from.

You smiled, satisfied as you reaped the fruit of weeks of hard work, too numb in your own pride to feel a close eye to follow your steps to the exit, although you had not gone unnoticed by Miranda.

“I think someone caught Gavey’s attention,” she hummed low, approaching on your side to lightly nudge your body with her hip.

“I know right? I need this opportunity,” you celebrated, oblivious to the implicit tone of her voice.

“I didn’t mean that way, babe. It's just he’s keeping an eye on you constantly, literally checking you every- I don’t know, three minutes?” She said it as if it were obvious.

“What? No, I don’t think it’s in this sense, he uses everything as a parameter of choice, he’s just observing my posture.” What? To believe that Gavey had ulterior motives? Too unreal.

“No, sweetheart, he was staring at you when no one paid attention, or almost no one, and he spent most of his time looking at you,” she insisted.

“You don't really thi-“

“I totally think so!”

Oh fuck.

“I’m not saying he’s in love with you, but he's interested, hell yeah,” she explained as you slowly processed her words.

“Fuck,” you said, “do you really, really think so? I mean- he doesn’t look like the type who stays with students.”

Definitely not, he seemed too methodical for that, methodical enough to separate the spectra of his life into compartments.

But what if there was the possibility? You couldn’t reproduce that question audibly, but in the comfort of your bed, you allowed yourself to daydream.

If there was some possibility?

Well, there were pros and cons that needed to be analyzed meticulously, of course.

In the event that Michael was a systematic monster, there wouldn’t be problems in a relationship since he wouldn’t mix romance with studies, theoretically. On the other hand, if he didn’t know how to differentiate the staff from the professional... well, you’d be fucked up if something went wrong. And that was the main point: the mistake.

The consequences would be drastic if something bad happened, especially to you, whose life was still under construction and a scholarship in Oxford could not be negotiated. The cost was too high.

However, over the weeks, you could only think about how attractive your professor was.

And now you know it’s a problem.

And with that, the end of year 2 was near when you received an email from Michael Gavey requesting to send your notes and certificates of everything you had done and participated in so far. Jesus, that man wasn’t kidding.

Neither were you.

That same morning you attached the documents to the e-mail and forwarded a response, as a result, your presence was requested at his office as soon as possible. I’m available in the afternoon, you send to him.

It was complicated to make your legs stop shaking along the way, practically jumping through the corridors while trying to stay calm. It was your chance, one where nothing could go wrong. You wore your best clothes, put on accessories that you used to wear daily and a subtle makeup to make a good impression, nothing that drew too much attention.

Stopping in front of his door, you took a deep breath and announced your presence with a light knock against the old wood, receiving immediate permission to enter the space. You would've liked the time and the absence of an observer to analyze all the details, but instead your eyes locked with his as he walked back to his chair.

“Good afternoon,” he said, a polite smile illuminating his beautiful face as he pointed to the chair in front of you, “have a seat. Please.”

“Good afternoon, professor, thank you,” you greeted him back, shaking your hands anxiously as you sat down.

With no time to allow your eyes to wander through the objects on the table, Michael cut straight to the point. "So, what aroused your interest in Number Theory?" You, to begin with.

"Well, I chose Maths at the age of 17, but things were difficult when I started the course. I was disenchanted considerably, but I always remained active. When your classes started I felt the same thing that motivated me to join here, it was as if everything had made sense again and I really fell in love with it."

“I see,” he said, crossing his hands over the table with a soft smile and a slight pink to his cheeks. Did you make him blush? No way. "I’m happy to have contributed positively to your training. I really appreciated your performance during classes and the analysis of your CV. The activities you have developed are also good but they can improve, I believe you also aspire to it. I seek a high level of quality in my students, after all we are in one of the best universities in the world and excellence is the least expected, I believe we agree on that. Have you already decided where you would like to specialise within Number Theory?"

"To be honest, no, but I would like to find out in-"

"I have some ideas that I’d like to be executed, I can show you now, if you don't have something in mind," he interrupted you with enthusiasm.

"... yes, I’d love to," you said, "but first, thank you for the opportunity you’re giving me, I admire you so much from the first classes and I feel really happy to receive this chance, I know there are many successful veteran professors, but I believe that a current view of a person as impressive as you can bring interesting results."

And if he had blushed with your previous statement, now he was red as a tomato and all disconcerted as he looked down with a shyness never witnessed before by you. It was deadly cute.

Gosh, you were really fucked.

═════════════════════

Working with Michael was exciting.

Terrifying too.

You felt constantly intimidated by his intellect, which caused a mix of sensations that varied according to the day. There was the pride of collaborating with him, the fear of failing, the paranoia of not being good enough and the satisfaction of achieving good results. It was a real roller coaster.

The passing of the months dissipated the initial strangeness and made living more comfortable. On the other hand, the proximity made you watch him for longer. It was pathetic.

Michael spent most of his time in front of his computer, correcting things, creating things and participating in events. You weren’t the only one under his guidance, there was Paul, a recent entry in Maths who was too inert in his own world to notice any non-standard deviation. Paul was a reminder and a barrier for nothing to come out of your daydreams, although he didn't seem very interested in what you were doing.

Still, you couldn't feed those thoughts, your relationship should be strictly professional.

It didn't matter how discreetly he approached you to help, or how close he leaned towards you- more than what was considered respectful. Or how good he smelled and looked so comfortable with his cheesy sweaters and old shoes. Or when you looked at him closely while he explained something.

How it was happening at that very moment.

“You're wasting time trying to demonstrate this equation, it's not so important for the project,” he said when analysing your latest advances.

"I know, but I'd like to understand better and I'm not getting it, it seems too abstract," you said with a frustrated pout, bothered by being stuck in something so simple.

"You've already solved more difficult things," he stressed, looking at you consciously, "can I?" he asked, referring to your notebook and the pen next to your laptop.

“Sure.”

Your attention focused on the numbers and symbols scribbled on the paper, trying to keep up with the speed of his thought. Watching it has always been fascinating.

“Some things are more difficult when we make them like this,” he said as he sketched on the paper.

"It's easy to say that being you," you replied, lamenting the failed attempt to absorb some of his knowledge.

"But it's true."

Unconsciously, you leaned your shoulder against his arm. "Some things are naturally difficult, not everyone can visualise like you."

"I know, it's a natural advantage," he smirked, looking at you over his shoulder, face closer than usual. "But you have a good brain, you shouldn't make it harder than it is."

So close.

"And how should I make it easier?" You held your breath, not daring to look beyond his beautiful blue irises.

"Find in the problem points that are favourable to you, try to demystify them, make them palpable," he replied slowly, taking a deep breath.

Really close.

"And if there's nothing to be explored?"

"You can always call me."

"… I know."

So close.

═════════════════════

After that, you don't know what or why, but something has changed in your relationship with Michael.

His looks became more persistent, his presence seemed closer, almost palpable. Maybe it was a daydream of your own mind, but it looked different, inexplicably different. The air seemed heavier when there was proximity. He seemed comfortable when he touched your shoulder while you read your results. It was nothing, you thought.

There was something not said and that was enough to bring out fears and expectations.

Why not? You thought repeatedly, knowing the reasons very well.

But, maybe...

Maybe you needed to get him out of your head for a few hours, meet some nice guys, drink a little, it was a good idea.

That's why that Friday night you decided to go to one of the nearby pubs with Miranda. It was a good plan, you would leave the lab at 5 PM and get ready to meet her at 7 PM. It was in fact a good plan... until the data analysis program decided to crash in the middle of your work and a malaise affected your friend, in addition to a grotesque rain that started to fall recently. Well, at least you tried.

After collecting the material from the bench, you stretched your arms above your head to ward off the hours of agonizing stress and got up from the chair. It was already late and your view was tired, more than your own body when Michael showed up with his keys in his hand after closing his own office. He spent the afternoon by your side trying to solve the damn problem in addition to his chores as a teacher.

"Everything worked out?" He asked.

"Yeah, at least that," you grumbled, picking up your backpack, "thank you for the help," you looked at him before going to the switches to turn off the equipment.

"You’re welcome," he said simply, in a softer tone than usual. Thunder echoed when you turned off the lights and made you retreat briefly in fright, making himhim laugh softly. "So, what does your generation do to have fun Friday night?" He asked casually after leaving the laboratory.

"Considering that these pubs are older than you and me, I think the same thing your generation did," you replied humorously, looking at him with a small smile, "Unfortunately not with this rain."

"Did you have plans?" He asked.

"Yes, my friend and I’d go to MacLaren's pub, but she's sick and the world decided to fall suddenly and I didn't bring my umbrella," you said faster than you intended, a brief irritation about how your night was totally destroyed. “And you?”

“No plans,” he said, adjusting his sweater. His car was close, but the rain prevented him from advancing a lot. "Are you walking?" He asked.

"Yes- I mean as soon as the rain passes," you crossed your arms and hugged yourself.

"I can take you," he said, his words beginning to make your heart beat faster.

It's no big deal, it's just a polite gesture.

"Oh no, you don't have to, honestly. I can wait," you said, although the twinge in your heart meant the opposite. Why the fuck did I deny it? Damn it.

"It's no big deal, besides we don't know when it will pass," he said, "we can wait in my car, I'm fucking freezing here."

"Sure." You tried not to freak out at the idea of being in such a restricted and warm environment with him, but Michael didn't seem to share the concern, since he basically ran in the middle of the fine rain to reach his car. Okay then. You went right behind, putting the backpack above your head to protect yourself from the water and closing the door harder than you intended. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting that,” you said with a light laugh.

"I just needed this heater," he said with a small smile on his lips, messing with things on the panel, "I also didn't bring an umbrella."

Avoiding making him uncomfortable when analyzing his every movement, you took your cell phone to try to distract yourself, relaxing when the hot air became present. It was almost 6:45 when You Really Got Me filled your ears and made you look at him.

"Do you like The Kinks?" You asked.

"I'm a fan, what about you?"

"My friend is a big fan."

“And you?”

"I like some songs."

"My grandfather was a great vinyl collector, he left everything to my father but he was never into rock in general," he said as he adjusted his glasses, looking at you with soft eyes.

You looked at him with interest. "I started listening to rock to get the attention of a guy I liked. It didn't work but I really liked the songs, although I don't listen to the same bands as I did when I was younger."

Michael laughed. The sound was carefree, almost relaxed even, a facet you didn't see often. He looked soft, cozy, in that burnt orange sweater he wore. "And what do you listen to?"

“I listen to a lot of Oasis, but that's not really 60's stuff. But I also like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Strokes...”

“Big fan of Oasis,” he said.

“Really?”

"I have all the vinyls and I went to a concert in Manchester before the separation." He paused, "Would you like to see them?"

There was an intensity in his look that made your breathing fail, making the air heavy. The casualness of the situation did not seem so natural all of a sudden. He meant-

“In my home.”

Shit shit shit shit

You couldn't, you shouldn't.

“Yes.”

═════════════════════

And so, contrary to all the possibilities of the night, you were in Michael fucking Gavey's house.

A veiled restlessness endured in the air and in the way your heart beat as you were taken by the unknown path. You couldn't believe you had agreed to that, but here you were, looking at every detail of his flat with curiosity. It was large, clean and almost minimalist in design, some thematic objects of mathematics scattered around on the shelves, walls and table. Nerd.

A short silence was maintained while your eyes eagerly explored his place. "Do you want to drink something?"

"Water would be great," you tried to keep the modesty, while watching him go to the kitchen and approach with your request with his gaze locked on yours.

You couldn't be imagining things, there was something there, a different glow, an unspoken truth that caused chills to run through your body.

"You can sit down, I'll get the vinyls."

Your heart was almost exploding since the invitation. You couldn't believe he brought you here, much less that you agreed to come. What the fuck should you do? Let him show you the records and then go? That was stupid.

You forced a conscious smile when he appeared with the records in his hand, watching with a certain curiosity.

“Here,” he said with what you assumed to be a nervous smile, “This is definitely my favourite, although What's the Story? Morning Glory introduced me to the band-“

Your brain wandered when he started digging non-stop about the albums, not giving a damn about Noel and Liam Gallagher's drama, all that mattered was that you were next to Michael Gavey, on his couch, at his house. Michael, the man who took away your sleep and made you constantly daydream. The man who fascinated and intimidated you to the same extent, who made your body warm up when it was close and imagined what it would be like if he got closer.

With his beautiful eyes, nose and lips, big hands and long fingers, soft and beautiful dirty blond hair.

You've wanted it for a long time.

You wanted him.

Wanted to fuck him.

You wanted to fuck your own professor.

And you're tired of denying it.

"I know I shouldn't do that, but it's all I've been thinking about for months."

You interrupted him, touching his cheek as you slowly leaned against him. He froze in place, not preventing your advances as your faces grew closer and closer. Your lips gently brushed against his before pressing harder, starting a fearful and shy, almost chaste kiss.

He didn't reciprocate.

Your heart sank, panic blooming in your stomach.

What did I do?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

His lips silenced any doubts that dared to emerge, holding the back of your head while kissing you experimentally. You didn't waste time in moving your lips at the pace he set, holding the back of his neck and smoothing his beautiful face, tasting the taste of his lips.

You couldn't believe it, you couldn't! He was kissing you!

Michael Gavey was kissing you!

"I'm sorry, we shouldn't-" he said as he walked away abruptly, but you didn't care.

You attacked his hungry lips and made him move the discs away when he leaned against his body, climbing on his lap and holding both sides of his neck. His hand went down your back and held your ass firmly while the other grasped on the back of your neck, pulling your body closer and asking for access to your mouth with his tongue. You kissed, sucked, and bit his pink lips, taking advantage of everything you could before moving away to look into his eyes, looking for any sign of reluctance.

“I've wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed.

“Me too,” you said.

And then you were kissing him again, and again, and again until your lips were red, wet and swollen. Your body warmed up when a bulge emerged below your thighs, instinctively grinding against it.

“Fuck- I can't, we can't do that, I'm your fucking professor,” he said out of breath, holding your arms and briefly pushing your body away. "This can ruin everything- fuck up our relationship-"

He was red, dilated pupils and heavy breathing, a fucking vision.

“I know, I know. But... just this time, we can forget just this time... what do you think?"

He held firmly one side of your face and looked into your eyes. “Are you fucking sure about this?”

“I'm fucking sure.”

Just this time.

"... just this time."

He leaned over to kiss you quickly, moving his hands under your blouse to take it over his head, groping the exposed skin of your arms, waist and belly with his big hands while drinking from your body with lascivious eyes. "Beautiful," he whispered.

His lips traveled to spice up moist kisses on your neck, sucking the conjuncture with his shoulder, licking your throat, making you melt and close your eyes when he found your sweet spot. Who knew he had that fire? He nibbled and sucked the sensitive skin, holding your waist firmly when he raised you and put you on the floor, leaving you stunned as he guided you by the hand to the room.

Michael didn't have time for your reasoning to come back when he gently pushed you against the door with both hands next to your head. “You're fucking gorgeous.”

“And you're handsome,” you removed his orange sweater, touching the skin of his torso.

"... you don't have to reciprocate the compliment."

Your chest hurt when you heard that, which made you touch his cheek instinctively. "I'm not saying out of courtesy, Michael, you're fucking attractive," you traced his lips with your thumb, looking at him firmly. “Fucking handsome.”

A slight blush took over his cheeks and he captured your lips with passion, holding your waist while kissing life outside of you. Your head was spinning and your stomach warmed up by intimacy, straightening his soft hair. You were in the damn clouds.

His hands moved to unbutton your pants and lower them, kneeling before you to remove your shoes and jeans, kissing the stomach trail to the top of your panties and shamelessly touching your drenched pussy.

"Mmm," you shuddered and closed your eyes when he started rubbing your clitoris, increasing the moisture between your thighs. Fuck. Your goddamn professor was kneeling in front of you. If you weren't wet before, now a river has accumulated in your center.

"Is that good?" He asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, holding onto him for better support, watching him continue to massage your clit now directly into the skin while leaving kisses on your belly. You leaned dramatically against the door when he stuck a finger in your entrance, pumping slowly, feeling you, teasing. “Fuck.”

Michael removed his finger and stood up, unbuttoning his belt quickly and taking off his pants and shoes, leaving you warm and needy and following him like a puppy when he went to the headboard near the bed and opened the upper drawer to take off a condom. Damn it, he was so fine. Before his hands were on your body, you slowly pushed him on the bed and took control, removing the bra and discarding the panties. You couldn't believe what was about to happen.

Your body trembled when he pulled you by the waist and clapped your breasts as you sat on his covered cock and ground over it.

"Fuck," he grunted, sucking one nipple.

"Michael," you moaned, panting. 'Professor,' that's what you wanted to shout, pulling the hair from the back of his neck. He moaned when you kept grinding against his erection and hoisted your hips to lay you on the sheets.

Your mouth opened when he discarded his underwear - not even in the wettest dreams did you imagine that size. He was fucking fine. Tall, thin, defined and with a beautiful cock. Fuck-

Michael Gavey was really a box full of surprises. He barely had time to adjust his glasses and put on the condom before he was pulled by you to take over the top, caged by your legs.

He captured your lips in a sweet kiss, leaning on his elbow as he adjusted between your thighs. The next thing you felt was the welcome intrusion into your folds, stretching you open deliciously. The initial stretch was a little painful, it's been a while since you've been with someone, but he was slow and careful when sinking into your core, making your toes curl up and a relieved moan come out of your throat when he was totally inside.

"Are you alright?" He asked with his face above yours.

"Yes," you held his back, "just wait a minute, please."

“Okay,” he said with a red face, hoarse voice and almost breathless.

Your walls were pulsating when you finally received it, relaxing when the slight discomfort passed. “Move.”

His thrusts were soft, but firm, looking at you closely. You couldn't believe that, yes, Michael was fucking you. Finally.

You leaned up to kiss him while holding your back, groping his wrinkles around your eyes. He was fucking handsome. His hips went further and faster when your body was totally receptive, the moisture and heat surrounding him and making him slip without hindrance. He leaned his forehead against yours and held your hips when you dug your feet on the bed, hitting deeper than before, making you moan loudly and your pussy squeeze instinctively.

A hoarse moan was his response, almost a whining that was swallowed by your lips.

You were in the fucking clouds with the intimacy of the moment, tracing patterns on his back and pulling the blonde strands from the back of the neck when the thrusts became more intense, deliberately repeating his name. Michael attacked the conjuncture of your neck and lifted your thigh even more to go deeper, deliciously hitting your core.

"Michael- fuck-" You could only think of how good he felt, how big his cock was and how his bulbous head brushed your sweet spot whenever he moved. You needed it too much. Holding his shoulders and pushing him away a little, you looked at him panting, making his eyes widen.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked with a tense body.

"No, no, It's just-" and then you moved to take control, resting your hands on his chest, "this." You wanted to ride him since the time you called me in your office. You rubbed your hips against his groin in an addictive rhythm, loving the friction against your clitoris and the feeling of being totally filled.

"Fuck," he grunted, squeezing your ass, groping your hip, holding your breasts, covering every piece of skin available.

You started moving on his cock, touching his chest gently. You felt it all over your core and that burned your whole body, especially when your spongy spot was being brushed rhythmically. Michael pulled you to a scorching kiss full of tongue and teeth, leaving your movements sloppy, but constant, almost frantic, your moans and whining became higher and higher, your velvety walls squeezing his thick axis more and more.

"So fucking good," he moaned against your mouth and leaned his feet on the bed, holding your buttocks and hitting his hips against yours.

“Fuck-“ you almost screamed, resting your head against his chest when he started pushing quickly into your hot pussy, creating lascivious sounds that echoed all over the room.

“You're squeezing me so fucking hard - you're close, aren't you?” He asked, almost breathless.

“Y-yes,” your eyes closed when the family tingling intensified and your juices lubricated it even more.

"Come for me baby," he grunted when your folds pulsed around him, "cum in my fucking cock."

Shit.

Your orgasm hit you hard; hot and sudden as lightning, making your body tremble and a flash blind your vision as the air disappeared from your lungs and your mind went blank.

"Fuck," you heard him moan far away, feeling his cock pulsate and the squeeze on your ass increase when his erratic movements stopped, leaving only a few slow pushes on your sensitive pussy.

You melted completely when the orgasmic euphoria spared, coming out of it unwillingly so as not to deprive you of the air and stabilize your own breathing. Your mind was tired although very aware of the fact that you had just fucked your professor.

You can't fucking believe it.

Fucking finally.

"Are you okay?" He asked, all red and sweaty as he looked at you with crooked glasses.

“Absofuckinglutely,” you looked at him tired, panting, attracted by how cozy he looked. “And you?”

He smiled softly, pushing away some strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead, fingering your face with his thumb. “I'm fucking great.”

Michael pulled you to rest on his chest when a comfortable mist hovered between you as you recovered. None of you said anything for the next few minutes, just enjoying the calm silence before reality starts to come back. You fucked your professor.

You fucked your professor.

What did you have in your head?

You tried to convince yourself that nothing would change after that, that your relationship would not be affected, but you were not sure of that

Just this time.

═════════════════════

taglist: @venmondiese @re-per @anukulee @slytherincursebreaker @tulips2715 @rhaenyslay @angelinap09 @cupidelocke @aegonswife @fan-goddess @thenightmistress @deliaseastar @scarletbedlam @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk

my lovely beta reader: @moris-auri 💙💙

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x fem!reader #smut #smut fic #michael gabey smut #saltburn #ewan mitchell #ewanverse #masterlist

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alexanderlightweight · 2 months ago

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My fucking asshole of a bf prompted me for a Malec meet cute over pool and like… now I have to research billiard innuendos and “what are the positions for the suggestive learning how to play pool trope’ because I may not know them but Magnus sure as fuck does and is going to use every single one he can get away with.

I love you babe @queensaryn

But also you’re explaining why something makes sense as an innuendo if it’s too confusing.

Magnus: let me teach you a few tricks, hmm pretty boy?

Alec: I already know how to play pool? you just challenged me to a game? We’re opponents.

Magnus to himself: if the hets can get away with it, so can I

Magnus: You call that playing? Let me show you a real game, sweetheart.

(No actually the reason Magnus gets away with it is because while Alec is playing by himself and Magnus is admiring him he meets Magnus’ unglamoured eyes as he hits the cue ball and uh, he’s so flustered he kind of forgets to control his strength? And the cue ball AND the ball he was aiming at both go through the table AND the wall. So Magnus asks Alec for a game in return for fixing it with magic and then offers to teach him and when Alec tries to protest that he can play they both end up looking at the wall and Alec’s like… you know what. I’ll let you have this one.’

To himself he’s like ‘okay at least I won’t get distracted by his handsome face and gorgeous eyes this way’ and then Magnus stands behind him to ‘guide’ him and yeah.

No one thought closely enough about how that would go.

#lumine rambles about writing #saeth & kitten #lumine’s meta abyss

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under-my-pillow · 25 days ago

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Su-won's Character Development Chart Part I

I am doing this as a personal exercise to prove that Su-won has a lacking character development problem.

Another thing to note, Su-won accurately pin-points the looming poverty crisis, lack of trade & realizes Chishin can't simply rely on its dwindling mineral resources, has obviously done some research on the trends in Kai to tell Yun-ho to serve her tea to the visiting Kai merchants. - Hmm...that's an awful lot of insight for a guy who has a poor point of view.

Something interesting about this arc which might be less obvious is the moment when Hak sees Su-won for the first time since the coup.

When Yona sees Su-won for the first time, she is frozen, drowning in her thoughts and isn't able to make a decision before Su-won stops her. In a similar manner, when Hak sees Su-won, Su-won isn't able to make a decision until Jae-ha stops Hak.

I have always felt the Sei arc is the most emotionally complicated arc written by Kusa in AnY. We see many characters forced to face the feelings they have locked away. Hak, Yona, Su-won, Ju-doh, Ki-ja, even Mun-deok.

Also since the story is mostly about Yona I don't think many people actually realize how much Su-won has grown into his role as king. How much will, effort & reason it takes to stop oneself from getting drunk on the victories, the power.

It cannot be denied. Su-won had a violent, oppressive start. It was necessary at that time, but what many don't realize is how easy it is to continue on that lane especially when it comes to power, but Su-won grabbed every opportunity possible to change lanes.

Also we end up contemplating what determines right? Ki-ja says Hiryuu is the rightful owner of the country. Does that mean if roles were to flip and Yona was not a reincarnation of Hiryuu no matter what she did for the people and the country do not matter? or Is he referring to her right as the daughter of the former king?

Second thing about this arc is when Hak & Su-won work together. We are shown Yona's thoughts asking herself how they turned out like this. I believe it is possible that it was not only Yona asking herself that. We all know how well our author loves to play with parallels.

The third interesting thing about this arc is we are given a small insight into Mun-deok's complicated feelings towards Su-won too.

I think time has given him an opportunity to make peace with the Su-won's ascension to King. Despite his mixed feelings he was even expecting Su-won to get married and have an heir

So to summarize part one -

Kills IL - chases Yona Hak out of the castle - suppresses wind tribe - Becomes King - Hides Yona - Improves earth tribe economy- gains the respect of Geuntae - stops fire tribe rebellion - teaches kyo-ga how to rule and trusts him as the next head (cause its very easy to trust the son of the man who started a rebellion to not stab you in the back.) - investigates nadai - motivates Lili to stand up for her tribe - thwarts a south kai fleet - gains Joon-gi's support - reclaims lost territory (there was a slight mishap with Kin province) - thwarts a future Sei invasion - starts facing his feelings towards Hak and Yona.

Nope, no growth at all.

#soo-won #yona of the dawn #akatsuki no yona #yona #zeno #su-won #su won #dragon warriors #soo won #Su-won lacking in character development #Am I being sarcastic?#obviously

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otomehoneyybearr · 1 year ago

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Ikemen Prince 4th Anniversary Eve

Yves & Nokto: A Table Full of Alcohol, Alcohol, and More Alcohol

One day at Rhodolite Castle――

Yves: "Hmm, this alcohol seems strong, so it might go well with cream puffs."

Nokto: "..."

Yves: "This one here has a beautiful blue color like the sea... Oh, but it surprisingly has a sweet taste."

Yves: "In that case, it might pair well with a slightly bittersweet chocolate cake."

Nokto: "..."

Yves: "Hmm? What's wrong? You've been staring at me for a while now."

Yves: "Oh, I see. It's because your big brother—"

Nokto: "It's not that."

Yves: "But I haven't said anything yet!"

Nokto: "You were about to say something like 'Your big brother wasn't paying you any attention, so you were bored,' right?"

Nokto: "I don't need to hear it to know what you're going to say, Evie."

Yves: "I see."

Nokto: "…..Wow, you're really happy about that. You're so optimistic."

Nokto: "But seriously, how can you drink one glass after another?

Nokto: “I mean just look at the table; more than half of the glasses are empty. Aren't you even a little tipsy?"

Yves: "Not at all."

Nokto: "The gap between your innocent face and your bottomless capacity for alcohol will always amaze me."

Yves: "Hehe, my alcohol tolerance is as strong as Jin's and Leon's. This is only just the beginning for me."

Yves: "Oh, and Nokto, don't try to drink as much as your big brother, okay?"

Yves: "Well, if you do get drunk, I'll take care of you. Because I’m your big brother!"

Nokto: "Alright, alright, enough of that. Please just continue your research on snacks that go well with alcohol."

Yves: "Geez, you guys always brush me off like that..."

Yves: "But, I do appreciate you always getting me all these different kinds of alcohol from both domestic and foreign sources.”

Yves: “Being able to drink with you like this is the best way to bond as brothers.”

Nokto: “Well, I do think that spending time with you is valuable, since I get to learn which alcohol pairs well with sweets for free.

Nokto: “And I don’t need you to say, ‘Isn’t this supposed to be aa fun time drinking with big brother?’”

Yves: “Ugh… It’s good that you understand big brother so well, but it’s frustrating that I can say it.”

Nokto: "Speaking of which, there was a girl I met at a party who liked alcohol and sweets."

Nokto: "Maybe I should invite her to drink the sweet blue-colored alcohol we talked about earlier. Along with some chocolate cake."

Yves: "Hey, don't use my efforts for your womanizing."

Nokto: "Whether or not I use the knowledge I gain is up to me, and you should be happy that your little brother is actually listening, right?"

Nokto: "So, what other snacks go well with the other drinks?"

Yves: “You’re a smooth talker, but I won’t be falling for it this time.”

Yves: “But, just for today, I’ll teach you in a way that’s easy to understand!”

Nokto: “You’re already falling for it.”

Yves: "Okay, let's decide what to pair next. Oh, this peach-colored one looks good…"

Nokto: “Your face tells me that your really happy to have your little brother rely on you.”

Nokto: “Seriously, my big brother is so easy to read, it’s almost troublesome.”

Master List

▼・ᴥ・▼

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri translations #ikepri jp #ikepri spoilers #ikemen prince spoilers #ikepri yves #yves kloss #ikepri nokto #nokto klein

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spindle-and-nima · 3 months ago

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I’m curious. How did you get into rabbits? Did you rescue one? Found one? Get one on a whim?

Hmm I mean i loved animals a lot since i was young so its not one particular instance.

It did increase though when I was in Palestine as I noticed that animal care wasn't very well talked about because while people knew of livestock, pets were not very common. Hence a lot of people just didnt really get how to handle them. I had rescued some baby bunnies and did a lot of research on how to best care for them as there are no vets where I was and gained skill in that regard. Some stayed pets and some became meat rabbits but I did my best to use them as educational ambassadors so I could teach kids about animal behavior and proper care and treatment. Even if they are destined to be food they should be handled and treated with utmost care and respect.

Though in general I'm notorious for just scooping up animals in need where I find them because I adore the beautiful little yet deeply significant lives we have been blessed and gifted to observe and care for.

I just adore rabbit behavior, especially because its so charming and full of silly delight and I want people to see that these little friends are extremely clever and expressive

#bunblr #bunnies of tumblr #asks

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dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 18 days ago

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Hellow this is my first time asking, and I'm sorry if this has been asked before.

I was (re-) reading "Bill Wins" fic again (great fic btw) and when I got to the part where Ford (in a showing passion lol) defeted Bill. It got me thinking, What if Stanley just stays as he is? Or maybe the "brain scramble" had gone much longer?

Or maybe without Axol intervean and just let Stanley brain "Heal naturally" how long would that take?

I'm sure Ford would somehow magically figure out how to put Stanley back together, but Mainly I kinda wanna know what that version of Stanley would affect Ford and the other on long terms.

(Play into Fidd, beliving Sganley is "Nikolas" and teach him how to be a person, Clara being the only one believing Ford that This cat man is Stan.)

Hell, maybe even stanley himself and how he preserved his sense of self and the people that preserved him. Will he be aware over time? Does he even care?

"Ford wants to go bring Stanley whole but ingnore the person that's already in front of him. Even tho He is strange (-er)- doesn't think and behave like the Cuning Nikolas/Stanley. He is still a person :("

Again, sorry if this had been asked, and have a nice day/night!

Thanks for asking! It hasn't been asked before, so let me think!

In a world where Stan stayed brain scrambled, Fiddleford absolutly takes the reigns of trying to teach 'Nikola' how to be a person with mixed success. Partially from Stan not understanding why he can't fit places anymore, partially from Stan purposely messing with Fiddleford. Any attempt at trying to convince Ford that Stan's just a normal cat gets a ranting Ford who tells them how much he knows this is Stan but ultimately explains none of his reasoning.

Since this is still ultimately Stan, just brain scrambled, Ford has an easier time accepting his differences as part of his catness and working with him. Gets a lot of soul research in, finds way to strengthen souls, helps heal the cracks Stan has in his, etc. It'd take a while, but Stan would slowly act less scrambled and more like his grumpy self in moments. Like, he'd be sitting in the living room, laying on the floor purring while someone pets his hair, then sit bolt upright and smack them, hit with the realization he was getting pet. Recovery would be hard, as he'd flip flop between grumpy Stan and cheery brain scrambled Stan, but he'd eventually find the words and get his brain together to say 'no Fords not crazy, I am Stanley Pines and this is just my life now i guess.' I'm thinking it'd be a month or two before it started happening, then his mindset would rapidly improve, then slow down again and get rough. By the time the twins rolled around he'd be where og BW!Stan is, maybe with moments here and there of increased cat behavior.

As for if Stan had to heal naturally and didn't get blasted with the pieces of his soul all in one go... hmm.

This is the one where Ford would have to face the fact that he might never have the same Stan he used to know, sort of like perma memory wiped Stan. It'd take months for Stan to be able to move around more, he'd have to go through a lot of PT from laying around so much, and his memories would take a while to come back in such a way he can process them for what they are.

Kind of like how he knew Ford was his brother, but didn't remember his name? This but for everything. He knows certain things, names of some things, funtions of others, and its a chaotic mess. Struggles to remember to talk, things like that. Stan had his whole self shattered to pieces here, and while it is coming back, its coming back so slowly he's relearning who he is as a person faster than his memories return to tell him who he is. Takes a few months to get the energy to move around more, a year to speak more than sentences, more to remember his childhood, or it all comes back in disorganized chunks that doesn't give him enough context to really remember it. This is a long time recovery scenario, and while he'll end up similar to how he was (criminal, sense of humor, likes being a nuisance) he's also had time to change in between (quieter, more affectionate, gets lost in his own head)

But Fords trying! This is his brother! He's not going to stop until Stan's back to his old self! He'd eventually have to have an intervention about how they know he loves Stan and misses him, but Stan's right here, and him running off and ignoring the person in front of him in favor of chasing the person he used to be is doing more harm than good. Ford keeps saying he'll 'fix' Stan and Stan's still at the point that he's not sure whats wrong with him and its making him second guess himself constantly trying to 'fix' himself, try to become the person Ford wants even though he doesn't remember who that person is anymore.

At some point Ford will stop shoving his 'ideal' Stanley onto Stan, but it'll be a rough road until they get to the point to where he accepts he's gonna have to relearn how to be Stan's brother, relearn who Stan is, and remake their relationship from that.

Definitely fun to think of all the alternative paths, and no worries about repeat questions! I love to yap away!

Have a good night/day yourself!!

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #ford pines #cat stan #how to cat burglar a family #bill wins

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waylamia · 22 days ago

Text

Questions and Answers

recommended listening: I Look Up To You by LAKE

This is a weird little thing. Idk. just had a thought I needed to get out. pinky swear I'm working on an actual fic. mama has just been. distracted.

general warnings/desc: calebmc of course. reader is mc. reader is not described in anyway physically. angst (no one dies or explodes anymore than usual). formatting is a little...unique on this. mostly dialogue.

approx. 1.4k words

"Where do crayons get their colors from?"

Pigments. Like, crushed up color mixed in with wax.

"Where do pigments get their colors from?"

Lots of stuff. From outside.

"Like... a tree?"

Yeah. Like leaves. Or flowers. Or fruit.

"Like apples!"

Exactly. Like apples.

An introduction isn't the only thing Caleb had to learn to repeat. 'Who are you?' only ever being the first of many questions. You've always had an innate, boundless curiosity. One that was only amplified and renewed every time you... came back.

In the research center, your material for questioning is limited, and so there are some questions he's heard more times than he'd like to count.

"How come our voices bounce around at us?"

The room is empty, and the door is shut, so our voices don't have anywhere to go.

"When it's dark, where does the sun go?"

Somewhere that people who have been in the dark for longer can see it. We take turns.

"Why do needles pinch you when they go in?"

They're reeeally sharp. And skin is soft, and full of nerves. I know it's scary but being sharp is good. It means it's quick, and it hurts the least skin. And it's good that you have nerves too, so your body can tell you when it's scared. You just have to let it know that it's ok. And when it's not, you just have to tell me.

"Do the doctors know we're scared? If we cried, do you think it would help?"

...I'm not scared. And... you... hey. Come over here, close to the glass. If you breathe like this really reeally slow, it'll fog up. See? Now, use your finger to draw shapes and I'll guess em.

In your first year in Josephine's care, when the whole world was new, your questions get trickier. Demand more research and guesswork on his part.

"How do planes stay up?"

Because of the wings, and how they move the air around the plane.

"How can the ants carry crumbs that big?"

Because of their exoskeletons, and how light their bodies are, they can carry big stuff because they don't have to worry about carrying themselves.

"Why are peppers spicy?"

Because of a chemical called capsaicin, it makes all of the taste buds in your mouth think they’re being cooked.

"What are the birds chirping about?"

Dunno. Maybe they're keeping track of who's caught the most worms.

"How many stars are there?"

Way too many to count. Try it Pips, count as many as you can.

Each answer is met with silence, a squint in your eye as you focus on absorbing the information. Followed always by an approving hum or a confused mmph. In the latter case, you'd work together, until you could come up with an answer that pleased you.

Caleb was always happy to satisfy you're curiosity. Though, he'll admit...

"What's your favorite color?"

Hmm... Come out of the shade for a sec?

"Ugh. Fine... Hey! Caleb! Watch your fingers! You're gonna poke my eye out!!"

That color. Riiight there.

His favorite questions were always the ones you'd ask about him.

"Who teaches you how to tie shoelaces?"

Caleb does, of course. Come sit in the entryway Pip.

The ones you'd ask about him, and the ones you'd ask about you.

They change as you get older, the questions.

"Why does math suck?"

Because someone keeps pretending to fall asleep every time I start explaining how to solve differential equations.

"Caleb, this party is dumb, can we go get ice cream?"

Been waiting to hear you say that for an hour, let's go.

"Why do you always give me all your Valentine's chocolate?"

You like sweets waaay more than I do, Pips. Plus, chocolate just looks like extra miles to me.

"Boo. You didn't tell me I was walking home with no-fun Caleb."

I'll remind you that no-fun Caleb keeps your snack supply well stocked.

They change again, when he leaves for the Aerospace Academy.

"Caleb! What is your braised chicken recipe? Gran and I are craving."

Just watch me make it next time I'm home.

"Repeat: Gran and I are craving NOW."

Patience is a virtue, pip-squeak.

"So is generosity!"

And again, when you leave for college.

"I don't have plans for my next break, are you gonna be home?"

Text me the dates, I'll make it work.

"Have you talked to Gran recently? She said you haven't called in awhile, which I said was weird cuz we've been talking every day."

I'll call her as soon as I'm back from this mission, promise...You're gossiping behind my back with Gran now?

"Only since forever. Anytime you're being big-dummy Caleb."

Your world gets bigger and with it goes the width of your wonderings. Once simple curiosity has long since expanded to interrogation and examination, unprompted quizzing and provocation.

What never changes is who you ask your questions to. Even after he's gone, even after he returns. After fighting through 'Where were you?' and 'Why?' and the first 'Who are you?' he isn't sure you want to hear the answer to.

He knows that he's not helping his case, his delicate new place in the life you've had to live without him. If you catch him, if you ask, he'll tell you your bag fell over on it's own, that the notebook slipped out, opened by itself. That he'd only meant to right it, tuck it back away.

"How could you?"

"If you were here, right now, what would you say?"

"What would you do?"

"How would you fix this?"

"How many pairs of shoes did you own? There's nothing left of the house. I remember how many models, I think. But I can't remember your shoes. It's freaking me out."

"What am I supposed to do if it feels like this forever?"

"You never told me the fucking chicken recipe, Caleb. What if I never figure it out?"

"What if I never forgive you?"

He doesn't know how to answer you. He doesn't know if he has the right to.

He writes the braised chicken wing recipe down, tucks it into the page.

Put's everything back in it's place.

It's more random now, and darker, the questions you ask. He can't tell what you're looking for. A reaction from him, maybe, some meaning to be gleaned inbetween the words. You've always been curious.

All he can do is answer.

"Does your arm hurt?"

Only when it's under repair.

"...Would it hurt if I bit you?"

Try. Hard as you can.

"If all your friends think you're dead, and you tell all my friends I'm dead, are we ghosts?"

Guess so.

"What's our unfinished business then?"

You tell me.

You ask him questions in his sleep, too.

"Caleb, how come you're always the first one to find me?"

Easy questions, from smaller you's.

Maybe It's because... I love you a little more than you realize.

But the easiest question, you ask him when things are finally better.

Better, relative to your lives, to the threats you are under.

Curled into each other, in his bed, the only time his muscles really untense. Wrapped so around you that the rising sun won't be able to touch you. Breathing you in, breathing out onto you.

"Caleb."

"Yeah, Pips?"

"How do you want to die?"

The world is so quiet, the sky still so dark, there is only room for the easy, easy truth.

"Like this. With you in my arms." He can't tell which of you squeezes first, at the words.

Nothing else matters.

You hum, and he closes his eyes, lets the dark hold you both.

The easiest question, followed by the worst.

"Caleb."

"Mm."

"How do you think you will die?" He tenses. You tuck your head into his chest. Ear to heartbeat. He tries to steady it. He breathes slow.

He thinks about his life, about what he's seen, what he's been through. What he knew and what he knows, now. He thinks about you because he's always thinking about you, because his life is you.

He thinks about the research center, he thinks about the explosion, he thinks about the fleet and Ever and Viper and Lucius.

He thinks about how he'd like to die, and his luck.

"Caleb?"

All he can do is answer.

For the first time in his life, a part of him wishes you hadn't asked.

He pulls you in tighter, throws a leg over yours, fills his lungs, until his ribs expand, tries to fit you in the spaces between.

No room left for anything but the truth.

"Not like that."

#lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb lads #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #calebmc #caleb x mc #lads caleb x reader #hey so angst two days post birthday is crazy #sorry gang #jdfjdsfsjjs we've all had our fun now its back to BUSINESS

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dark-frosted-heart · 1 year ago

Text

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 10 Premium Story

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

nsfw, minors dni

cw: dubcon.

What you call romantic love’s just a dysfunction of the brain or a misunderstanding caused by sexual desire.

I have to teach an egoist who said that about being in love.

Roger: Hmm, so eating ice cream together’s a lesson in love?

Kate: It’s not like I wanted ice cream or anything…

(I boasted that I’d teach him about romantic love on a date…but was at a loss)

To hide the fact, I licked the ice cream I bought as part of our date after seeing a queue near the station.

Roger: Hey, Kate. You’ve been in love once or twice, haven’t you? What was that like for you?

(What love is like for me…)

Kate: …I don’t have much experience.

Roger: I’m not asking for advice from a veteran. Just let me hear it.

(Well, for example…)

Kate: To me, romantic love is something that gives me the image of something that glitters in everyday life. I feel joy because I like someone. It makes me want to work harder than usual, and makes me happy.

Roger: Glittering, huh.

Kate: Ah, you don’t believe me? I know you’ll laugh and say there’s no scientific basis for it. The person I like is different from everyone else. They’re especially glittering.

(Wait, that was a bit childish…)

I glanced at Roger sitting beside me, and contrary to my expectations, he smiled softly.

Roger: That sounds nice. The word through your eyes sounds fun. Ah, the ice cream’s melting.

Kate: Waaahhh…

When I rushed to eat my ice cream, I could hear the bitter smile from his voice.

Roger: But the more I ask about it, the more I find love to be uncertain, vague, unidentifiable peculiarity that’s inefficient.

Kate: Inefficient?

Roger: An unexplained emotion manipulates you into feeling happy or sad. But there’s no guarantee that the other person likes you back. Is there anything else in life that’s so inefficient?

(W-what a cold way of thinking…)

Kate: Heh, hehe. That’s such a you thing to say that I can’t help but laugh beyond amazement. …But, it’s a curious thing.

Roger: Hm?

Kate: Ah, well…when I learn more about your rational way of thinking… I wonder why you even bother with me at all.

I can’t think of any benefits to being with me at the moment.

Roger: Jude asked me the same thing. “You’re a super pervert that only cares about your own research and don’t like dealin’ with trouble.”

Kate: He’s as harsh as ever…but he’s right.

Roger: I didn’t plan on keeping you around at first. But I found something in you that I like.

Suddenly, those eyes behind his glasses softened.

Roger: When you first became Fairytale Keeper, you told me about how crushed you felt by your own weakness. “I won’t despair”.

(Now that he mentioned it…)

Kate: Strong…I want to be strong. Because I…don’t want to hate myself.

Besides…life’s too long to live in despair.

Roger: …O_O

Pfft, hahahahaha!

(At the time, Roger laughed so hard that tears formed in his eyes)

Kate: …Yes. I remember.

Roger: Even though you felt depressed, it was sweet seeing you keep looking forward and not give in to despair. I also believe that in life is to give despair the finger.

Kate: Give despair the finger?

Roger: Yeah. I went through the trouble of being born. I’m not gonna give into despair so easily.

As he said that, Roger’s smile was so radiant. I stared at it as if under a spell that stopped time.

Roger: And Kate.

He leaned forward and peered into my face.

Roger: I enjoy being with you right now.

Kate: …

Those straightforward words shot me right through the heart.

Kate: T-that’s…good to hear.

(My face is hot…I could only give a reply that wasn’t cute at all)

Roger: …Hey, Kate. My curse is “betrayal”. Like how the hunter in Snow White betrayed the queen. My “tragic fate” is to be doomed to be ruined by my own guilt.

My heart suddenly thumped after learning about Roger’s “curse” and “fate”.

Kate: …Roger.

Roger: However, I’m gonna change my fate. It’s absurd to allow myself to be controlled by it. Kate, I’ve taken a liking to you so I’ll promise you this. I will never betray you without a reason. Never.

Roger’s smile as he said that once again shot through my heart.

(That’s nice. I wonder if…I’ll be strong like him some day)

The instant I thought that, I understood.

(Ah, I see. Maybe I…admire Roger)

Not wanting to joke about it, I nodded.

Kate: Thank you, Roger… Ah…my stomach.

Roger: Pfft, hahaha! Your stomach’s feeling healthy today.

We talked and walked a lot.

To end the day—

Kate and Roger: Let’s go eat, Roger/Kate.

We looked at each other and laughed after saying it at the same time.

Kate: I am definitely not going to drink that much tonight.

Roger: Kate, do you know the saying “what happens twice will happen thrice”?

Kate: I’ll be fine, I’ll take care of myself. I’m an adult after all.

The night grew old—

Roger: Some adult you are. You’re dizzy after 2 or 3 drinks.

Kate: …Hmmm? Where am I?

Roger: My room. We’re back…Hey, watch out.

Kate: Ow…

I tripped over a desk leg or something and my vision spun with the dull pain.

The next thing I knew, I was looking down at Roger who sank into his bed…

Not knowing what was going on, I just stared at him blankly.

(Wow…This angle’s pretty nice)

(But Roger always looks good…)

Pushing him down made my heart speed up somehow.

Kate: …Hey, Roger. I get angry whenever you push me around.

I fixed his glasses and smiled, heart throbbing.

Roger: Pfft, haha…what, you’re slandering me while drunk?

Kate: …The way you push me around’s annoying, but more than that, it’s exciting.

I rested against his thick chest; he smelled like sweat and sunny days.

Roger: …

Kate: What kind of person…will I be tomorrow. I’m looking forward…to seeing how you smile…when I get stronger.

(I couldn’t be honest like this earlier)

Kate: …I also like…being with you.

Roger: …O_O

Kate: Roger, just watch…I’ll get stronger…

In an instant, strong arms surrounded me.

It was as if I was imprisoned in a sweet cage.

Roger: I wasn’t planning on messing with you because of all the noise out there, but I’ve changed my mind. Do you…want to do something that’ll feel good, Kate?

(What did Roger say…? My head feels fluffy…)

Kate: …Mm? Mmmm…?

Before I could properly reply, a hand held my tilted head.

Roger: I gave you a chance to escape.

Kate: Mm, mmmm…?

Roger’s lips devoured mine, cutting off my breath.

Kate: Ha…Mn, mn…nnn

I could hardly breathe and my mind immediately went numb.

Kate: Enough…mn…

Roger: Don’t set your own limits. You’re gonna be a strong woman, right? Heh.

He removed his glasses and brought his face closer to mine.

His lips were much closer than before, and he dove in deeper—

Kate: Mn…Nnn…

Straddling Roger, our tongues intertwined until my head felt like mush. When we finally parted, a hand slipped under the gap in my blouse.

Roger: I found something delicious.

With a mischievous voice, Roger’s lips enveloped a nipple through my blouse.

Kate: Ahhh

Teasing my breasts with his tongue, Roger sat himself up with me in his arms.

Now sitting in his lap, Roger pulled my blouse down from my shoulders. I jolted as his tongue flicked at my exposed nipples.

The stimulation alone felt so good that it drove me crazy, but when thick fingers slid between my legs, the pleasure building up felt like bursting—

Kate: …Roger…I…

Roger: I can’t go all the way…Can’t put it in ‘til I train you.

Kate: Ah…

His hips pressed firmly against mine and I couldn’t help but cry out as I felt him even through hs pants.

Kate: …I’ve never…heard of anything like this.

Roger: Hmm, if we’re not not going to be lovers, then what’s there to worry about? Just focus on this for now. I’ll make you cum soon.

Kate: Aaahhh

More fingers pumped inside me and my whole body trembled.

(Roger’s fingers are driving me crazy…)

(Want to feel them…deeper. I want to feel good…)

The next morning, I woke up not remembering anything at all—

Unfortunately, that wasn’t actually the case.

(What—have I done)

I remembered every single detail and was filled with self-loathing.

Kate: I only had 2 or 3 drinks.

Roger: *yawn*...When you’re tired, your metabolism slows down, which affects your liver’s ability to process alcohol. Meaning, even if you drank less than usual—

Kate: Thank you for the medical explanation! But even so, why…with you…

Roger: Ah, you mean when I stripped your clothes and pleasured you?

Kate: Please don’t say it so directly. Besides, you and I aren’t like that…so why!

Roger: I got turned on watching you say all those cute things. You should praise me for being a good boy and taking care of myself in the end.

Kate: Taking care?! Ah, um… Y-y-you’re the worst!

Roger: Who’s the worst here? This is the first time I’ve stopped half-way. Is it so wrong to love your own dog?*

(At this stage, It’s disgusting how you’re treating me like a dog again)

Kate: You don’t do perverted things with your dog!

Roger: I like dogs the best over any other animal. That’s how it is.

Kate: Huh…?

(If talking about favorites, then I’d say humans are among them…but that doesn’t matter!)

Kate: I-I won’t be tricked like that. I was dumb to think I wanted to be like you because I respected you.

Roger: Oh, that’s the first time I’m hearing about that. Respect, huh?

I had a feeling that anything I said right now would make this horrible man happy.

Kate: Next time you do something perverted, I’m breaking our friendship!

Roger: Pfft, haha! Are you a kid or something? Dummy.

Kate: Calling someone dumb makes you dumb.

I fixed my blouse and rushed out of his room with rumpled clothes.

My body still felt hot and I sighed when I was alone.

(Being with Roger always drives me mad)

Though I was drunk, everything I saw was the truth…that made it even worse.

—At the time, I was so absorbed in what was in front of me that I didn’t realize how deep the “despair” was inside Roger.

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